The Ex Who Wouldn't Die (13 page)

"
Because you
'
re a good person.
"

Amanda snorted,
irritated,
but
a part of her was
relieved. This was the Charley she knew, always working the angles.
Simple con job. No fancy tricks. She didn't like this Charley, but she was comfortable with him, understood him. 

Walking around the boxes on the floor, she plopped into the wooden rocking chair in the corner of the room, leaned back and tented her fingers under her chin
.
"
Start talking, creep,
and if you say the right thing
fast enough, maybe I won
'
t call the cops and have you hauled in for
stealing my gun
and…and impersonating a dead person!
"
She wasn't certain the latter was illegal, but it sounded like it might be, certainly ought to be.

Charley grinned.
"
I
'd like to see them put me in
handcuffs.
"

"
Get to the point. What do you want to talk about and how did you convince the police you
'
re dead? Whose body was in your apartment?
"

"
Mine. It was my body. I
'
m dead.
"

Amanda threw up her ha
nds. "Fine. You're dead. What is it
you want my help with? Getting rid of the body?
"
She sat bolt upright.
"
You didn
'
t kill somebody, did you?
"

"
No! Of course not! But I know who did.
The man who killed me is the same man who tried to kill you
then
broke
into your apartment and stole your gun.
"

Amanda rocked back in the chair and narrowed her gaze. "Let me se
e if I understand
. You called me and told me if I'd bring you this gun in question that you'd sign th
e divorce papers. You d
idn
't sign the papers
, so I refuse
d
to give it to you. Now I come home to find that same object missing and you in my apartment
with some crazy story about a man who killed you, tried to kill me and stole my gun because, of course, you had nothing to do with my gun going missing.
"

Charley looked uncomfortable.
"That's about the size of it.
He took
the gun
because he thought it
was his
, but it wasn't
.
"

Amanda glared at him.
"It belonged to somebody else? You stole the gun you gave me? I've had a stolen weapon in my possession all this time? So that's why you took it. You couldn't have me turning it over the police
if
it was stolen." She slapped her hands on the chair arms. "I should have known!"

"No!" Charley protested. "I bought your gun! Totally legal. I can't believe you think I'd give you a stolen gift."

"Yeah, you're so morally upright, you'd never do anything like that. So why would this burglar think my gun was his?"

Charley
looked down, refusing
to meet her gaze.
"
I told him it was.
Then
I tried to tell him the truth, that
I never had it in the first place
, but he didn't believe me
." He shrugged. "
So I told him you had it
.
I thought if I could get you to bring your gun to him, since it's the same
kind
as his, he'd take it and go away and not kill me.
"

Amanda shook her head. "Charley, Charley, Charley. With your talent for making up stories, you should have been a writer instead of a con-artist."

Charley looked up, his expression wounded. "I'm telling the truth."

"Okay, fine, you're telling the truth." There was no point in wasting her breath arguing with him. "So why did this mysterious burglar think
you
had his gun in the first place?"

"H
e
'
s not a burglar, he
'
s a murderer. Well, I guess he is a burgl
ar now that he's stolen your property
. But mostly he
'
s a murderer.
He killed a woman with the gun he thought I had."

"
That
'
s enough of your
lies
.
"
She pointed a finger at him.
"
I am a murder suspect, and now you
'
re somehow involved in the theft of the item that can prove my innocence. You need to tell me what
'
s going on, and I don
'
t want any of your
evasions and bullshit
.
"

"
The guy…Kimball…he thought I had his gun, th
e one he used to murder a woman, and he wanted it back.
But I didn
'
t
have it
.
" Charley smiled and spread his hands, palms-up, as if that statement should clear up the whole matter.

"Kimball. So you gave this burglar a name," Amanda said. "Nice touch. Why did this Kimball, this murderer and burglar, think you had his gun?"

Charley's gaze locked on hers, and she recalled that she'd once found that blue gaze riveting. But now she knew him too well. That
intense
expression just meant he was
formulating
a lie. "No! Do not lie to me, Charley Randolph!"

"Yeah, about that." He sighed and grinned ruefully. "I can't."

"You can't what?"

"Lie."

Amanda threw her hands into the air. "Really? You can't lie? That's pretty amazing. We won't even discuss the times you lied to me about women and money. Let's just talk about your family, about the stories you told me about being an orphan. Your father was murdered.
Your mother died in your arms from
a drug overdose. Little brother murdered by his foster family. Poor orphan Charley. No family." She folded her arms and glared at him. "Funniest damn thing, half the town of Silver Creek thinks you're family."

Charley shrugged and gave her his big-blue-eyes innocent look. "That leaves a whole half of a town
that's not my family
."

Amanda glared. "This is serious. I almost died in that motorcycle crash
,
and there's a dead man in your apartment
,
and the police think I killed you…him…somebody! I'm in trouble, and the evidence that could clear me is gone, and you say you know who stole it, and this whole thing is just insane, and you need to tell me the truth for once in your worthless life."

"About your motorcycle accident—"

"Don't change the subject!"

She knew he would anyway.

"I was worried about you. You took a really bad tumble, and I was afraid you wouldn't be able to make it back to the highway. I helped you.
I saved your life.
Doesn't that count for something?"

Amanda frowned. "So you
were
there. They told me you couldn't have been because you were
dead."

"Of course I was there. You needed me, and I was there." He looked quite pleased with himself.

"Oh, yeah, you're always there when I need you."

"Maybe I haven't been, but I will be now. I think maybe that's what this is all about, this hanging around after Kimball shot me.
I'm here to take care of you.
"

Amanda closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Getting something out of Charley when he didn't want to tell it was always painful and frequently futile.

She gave him her sternest gaze. Probably not as effective as his riveting gaze, but it was the best she could do. "Charley, either you tell me something that makes sense about this…this whole thing…the gun your friend stole, why you aren't dead, what kind of scam you're up to this time…or I'm calling the cops right this minute to report a break-in and a stolen gun."

She
rose, crossed the room, picked up
her
phone and punched in
9-1
.

"Last chance."
When she looked up, Charley had left the room. Well, he couldn
't have gone far. S
he hadn
'
t heard the front door close.
With a sigh, she punched the last
1
.

W
hen two uniformed police officers arrived fifteen minutes later, she still
could n
ot locate her almost-ex, almost-deceased husband.
He must have somehow slipped out without making any noise. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Come in," she said, stepping back. "The box where the missing gun was stored is in the bedroom."

The tall, lanky officer stepped into her living room and pulled a small notepad from his pocket while the other
man
studied her front door frame.

"Are you Amanda Randolph?"

"I am."

"You called 911?"

"I did."

"Can you tell us what happened, Ms. Randolph?"

"Someone broke in while I was gone and stole my gun," she said.

"No sign of forced entry." The second officer
loo
ked up from the
door
frame
.