Some Like It Lethal (31 page)

Spike had heard something in my voice and came over. Silent, he crouched at my feet, his beady eyes fixed on Hadley's face.

"You're a rat, Hadley."

He said, "Can I help it if I have expensive tastes?"

"You could have gotten a job."

He laughed brightly. "Good heavens, remember who you're talking to. Can you see me waiting tables?
Filing returned library books? Suggesting wines at Sabu? I'm suited for no useful work at all."

"But you're perfectly suited to extortion?"

"Another harsh word! Is this the result of hanging around with the criminal element? Because it's not attractive—"

"You are the criminal element, Hadley. And don't you dare compare your idea of civilized behavior to Michael Abruzzo."

"Oh, Lord, you're not going to start quoting bad romantic novels next, are you?"

"I think you'd better start quoting the fifth amendment," I said. "Because you're going to need it."

"Do you think so?" he asked archly. "I don't. I don't believe you'll find a shred of evidence against me. Nothing that will convince judge or jury, at least. I chose a crime that's very difficult to prove, you see. I'm cleverer than you think. I didn't stoop to murder."

"Yes, you did. You were the cause of Rush's death."

He waved his hand to dismiss the accusation. "Impossible to prove."

"The only thing I haven't figured out yet is why you blackmailed Tottie. What secret did you discover about him?"

He tried to look surprised. "You haven't learned yet? Then you're not the detective I thought you were."

"Tell me now. Why did Tottie feel he needed to pay for your silence?"

"He didn't pay, actually. That briefcase he left in the square? It was empty. He told me to take his dirty laundry and—well, it was another crude expression, so I won't use it. I managed to get the briefcase despite
Kitty Keough's interference—she didn't remove it from the park, by the way, but was merely checking to see if Tottie had followed my orders. When I got the case home, I was very disappointed. It seems Tottie would rather have the truth come out than pay me the pittance I requested."

"What was the truth?"

"That he was Rushton Strawcutter's natural father."

Spike looked anxiously up at my face.

More calmly than I thought I could manage, I said, "How did you know?"

"An old auntie of mine was one of Tottie's girlfriends back in the stone age. She knew there was an illegitimate child floating around, and I asked her to gossip amongst her ancient friends until she learned the truth. It wasn't hard. Surely you were near the truth yourself."

"I can't believe you're so heartless."

"I figured if Tottie was crazy enough to loan huge sums of money to a child he never knew, he could spare a few thousand for me."

"And instead of paying you? Do you think Tottie might have attacked Rush in a rage? For—"

"Honestly, kitten, I couldn't care less who murdered Rushie. He couldn't come up with the cash to pay me, so I sent the photos of him necking with your sexy sibling to Gussie. And who knew what a hot button philandering was for her? I received my first installment from her last night. Even now that her husband is dead, she wants to keep his affair with Emma quiet."

The triumph on his face was too much for me. My hands were tight on the rake handle. It took all of my self-control not to swing it at his head. Spike began to growl very softly.

He continued. "I figured you had started to guess I was behind my little money letters. So I thought I might offer you a deal."

"Little money letters? Is that how you make blackmail sound well-bred?"

"Do you want to know why I didn't pressure you to pay me? I have an offer."

"I don't want to hear it."

He looked at me frankly. "We could be partners, Nora."

For a second, I thought I might be physically ill. "You are despicable."

"Think of all the secrets you know. You're even more connected than I am! With your insider knowledge and my willingness to exploit it, we could—"

"Shall I call the police to kick you off my property," I said far more calmly than I felt, "or will you go peacefully?"

He regarded me again, and we communicated our farewells in that moment.

He said, "I'm sorry you feel this way. Maybe if you think it over—"

"I don't need to think. I am no longer your friend, Hadley."

"Nora—"

"I'm going to see the FBI today, anyway. Shall I tell them about you?"

"I will make your life miserable"—he cocked an eyebrow at me—"if you tell the FBI or anyone else what I've been doing. I could make the lives of your family and friends miserable, too. I guess that's what counts with you, isn't it? See? I know what strings to tug."

"Go away," I said.

He shrugged.

We both heard another vehicle enter the driveway. Libby's minivan rounded the side of the house.

Hadley tightened his scarf and sauntered attractively toward his car. Spike followed, hugging the ground like a lion stalking prey. Hadley got into the car and started the engine. Spike began to bark at him.

I called Spike, but he didn't listen.

Hadley put the car in gear and revved the engine.

"No," I said. "Spike!"

Hadley's car jerked and swung hard toward the dog. By then I had dropped the rake and started to run. Spike leaped to escape, but he was too small and the car too fast.

I heard him yelp, and then a bloodcurdling howl. Hadley swerved back onto the driveway and accelerated, narrowly missing the minivan.

I reached Spike and fell to my knees. He thrashed on the ground, his jaws snapping convulsively. I put both hands on him, and he immediately bit me. His teeth punctured the muscle of my hand just below my thumb, and then he rolled his eyes up to me for help. He hung on to my hand, and I let him.

An instant later, Rawlins was beside me on the ground. "Aunt Nora, Aunt Nora!"

I was cursing and soothing at the same time, talking to little Spike and trying to hold him still.

Rawlins ripped off his coat. "Here," he said. "Wrap him up in this. We'll take him to the vet."

I managed to ease Spike onto the nylon jacket, but he cried and yipped with every move. He began to pant, and I knew he was dying.

"Come on," said Rawlins.

My nephew hauled me up by my elbow and bundled me into the front seat of the minivan. I cradled Spike, still letting him hang on to my hand with his teeth.

There was blood on Rawlins's jacket, but I didn't know who it had come from.

Rawlins spun the minivan in a tight circle and thumped over the potholes. In a minute, we were speeding on the road, heading south. Rawlins drove fast, grimly clutching the steering wheel. I murmured to Spike, but the puppy's eyes had begun to glaze and his breathing was shallow and pained.

We arrived at the vet's office in a spray of gravel. I climbed out with Spike in my arms and ran to the door. I'd been to the vet once before for Spike's shots, and I knew my way inside. Rawlins burst in ahead of me, calling for help. The nursing staff rushed out from behind their counter and took Spike from me. He held on to my hand until they pulled him loose. I heard him yip weakly as they rushed through a set of swinging doors.

Rawlins held me in the waiting room, pulling me to a windowed corner. "It's okay, it's okay," he kept saying. "Spike will be fine. Don't worry."

But Spike wasn't fine, and I knew it.

A mother and young daughter watched us from the waiting room chairs. The mother held a cardboard cat carrier on her lap, and a kitten mewed inside the box. The little girl looked at me with her face ready to crumple into tears of sympathy. A wave of sickening blackness washed over me. I put my head between my knees.

"It's okay, it's okay," Rawlins said, patting my back.

I sat up finally. "It's not okay, Rawlins. Hadley did it on purpose. Did you see? He deliberately ran over an innocent puppy!"

"I know. I couldn't believe it. He didn't even stop."

The chief nurse came out and told us the veterinarian was with Spike and doing his best. But I could see
by her expression she was doubtful my dog would live. And there was an accusatory gleam in her eye, too, telling me I could have avoided hurting Spike if he'd been on a leash or better trained. She gave me an ice bag for my hand.

I sat down unsteadily and applied the ice to my bleeding hand. Rawlins sat beside me and awkwardly patted my arm.

At last my mind began to focus. I wiped my nose on my sleeve and cleared my throat. "What are you doing driving around on a school day? Have you been expelled again?"

"No." He looked at his lap. He had various bits of jewelry pierced through his lip, eyebrow, nose and ears. The little girl sitting a few feet away was fascinated. But for all his effort to look like a dangerous man, Rawlins still had soft hands and gangly legs and slumped teenager's shoulders. He said, "I had to talk to you."

"Well, thanks for bringing us here. If you hadn't come along, I don't know what—"

"It's okay."

"No, I mean it, Rawlins. If you hadn't—"

"Hey, I feel like a shit already, okay? Just leave it alone."

I turned my attention to Rawlins at last and realized he was gnawing on his fingernails as if they were his last meal. "What's the matter?"

He shook his head.

"What's going on?" I asked. "Is it your mother?"

"No, she's fine. If you think it's okay for her to be dating this weird doctor guy."

"Is she still seeing him?"

"Who knows? I hardly ever go home anymore."

"Rawlins—"

"Look, I got to get this off my chest," he burst out. "Plus she says she'll kill me if I don't tell you, so here goes."

"What in the world . . . ?"

"I admit I haven't always been smart, but really, I didn't think it was such a big deal. Mick went with me and made me tell Mom, but then she went ballistic and everything got—"

I had no idea what he was talking about. "What does Michael have to do with anything?"

He sighed. "Here's the thing. I have this friend. And he gave me something to keep for him. So I kept it. But Mick noticed I had it, and—"

"Just what exactly are we discussing?"

"A gun," Rawlins said. "I had a gun."

I stared at him.

"I had this gun," he went on, "when I went to the airport to pick up Mick from Paris. We put his gear in the trunk, and he found my friend's gun in the—"

"Wait a minute. Are you saying Michael took a gun away from you?"

"I know I shouldn't have had it." Rawlins looked miserable. "But it was only supposed to be for a couple of days, see? But Mick took it and said I had to tell my mom, and she said I had to tell you, so—"

I put my face into my hands. I felt like crying, but somehow it came out like a sick laugh. "That was your gun? And Michael took it away from you?"

"No, it was my friend's gun. See, that's what I'm trying to explain. I didn't plan on keeping it, and maybe I shouldn't have had it in the first place, but—"

"Rawlins," I said. "Stop."

He stopped talking.

"Rawlins, my husband was shot to death."

"I know," he said, sounding tired.

"He made a bunch of mistakes in his life, but the biggest one was starting to associate with people who carry guns. It got him killed, Rawlins."

Rawlins sighed.

"For me, there is no
maybe
about having a gun or being with friends who have guns. A person with a gun is never, never your friend."

He nodded.

I took his hand in both of mine, and the two of us looked down at the blood all over my hands and clothing. "If your sister or your mother or one of your little brothers got hurt, do you think you could live knowing that you brought a gun into the lives of people you love?"

He shook his head.

"Promise me you won't carry a gun ever again, no matter who wants to give it to you."

"Okay."

"And can you stand it if I say one more thing?"

He allowed a tiny hint of a smile. "Maybe."

"I love you."

He choked on a little laugh and bumped his head against mine, which was as close to declaring love as a teenage boy could get, I suppose, considering we were being watched by a woman and her daughter and their kitten.

The nurse came over and told us we could step into the doctor's office. I held on to Rawlins's hand, braced for the worst news. We sat down in front of a desk decorated with paw-print stickers and a framed photograph of a young family, each child holding a beagle puppy. A moment later, Dr. Gilley came in. He was almost as small as a beagle himself, with the same guileless expression. He wore sneakers and a set of blue hospital scrubs, flecked with blood.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Spike's in very bad shape. We've sedated him, and we need to take some X rays, but he's got multiple broken bones, probably including his spine."