The Good Die Twice (11 page)

“Have you been waiting long?” Dagger had
coached her on a strategy and how to keep her guard up around Worm.
She took a wild guess that Worm had just received last-minute
instructions from Sheila.

“No, just got here myself.” Worm smiled
broadly. “You look soooooo different in leather. I mean, without a
dress on. I mean.” His face turned the carrot color of his
hair.

Sara smiled and walked into the restaurant.
They were greeted by a woman in black pants and a tuxedo shirt. She
led them along red brick flooring to the mezzanine level in back of
the restaurant.

The walls were painted to resemble a quaint
eighteenth-century New England village. Wrought iron railings and
an abundance of hanging plants gave the room an outdoor ambiance.
Sara had seen the restaurant before, had had a cup of tea last
summer in the outside patio. But she had not been inside. She had
tried to coax her grandmother to join her on trips into town. But
Ada Kills Bull had rarely left the reservation land except to sell
her fresh vegetables and canned goods at the roadside vegetable
stand Sara had built at the entrance to the reservation. Cars would
line up for two blocks on both sides of the street just to buy the
home-grown vegetables, canned goods, and herbs.

Sara marveled at the light posts
strategically placed throughout the restaurant and the large
chalkboard where the daily specials were written. Her eyes were as
wide as a child’s on Christmas morning. She had eaten out with
Dagger before, but each new restaurant found her in awe of the
decor and furnishings.

“You’ve never been here before, I take it?”
Worm patted his bristle-stiff hair in an attempt to tame it. In his
youth he had been called matchstick because his bright orange hair
always grew straight up. That, and his bony physique, made him look
like a lit match. He was almost relieved, once in high school, that
his friends started calling him Worm instead.

“No.” Sara studied his face. Though freckly,
it was smooth, like a baby’s skin, which made him look younger than
his twenty-three years. He was eager, with an inquisitive face and
a sweet smile. Just knowing he had to work with Sheila filled Sara
with pity for the young reporter. She wondered if Leyton Monroe had
a strict dress code. Worm seemed overdressed even for Sheila
Monroe’s gofer.

They no sooner ordered than Worm began his
laundry list of questions. “So, Sara, where were you born? I’ve
always been interested in life on a reservation.”

“And why is that?” Sara slowly stirred her
iced tea.

“I don’t know for sure. Maybe it’s a
throwback from when I played cowboys and Indians. I always felt bad
for the Indians.” He blushed when Sara didn’t respond. “That was a
lame answer. I guess you hear that a lot.”

A group of waiters and waitresses started
clapping and converged on a table where they presented a woman with
a cake. They led the group at the table in a rendition of Happy
Birthday. Sara was surprised when everyone in the room started to
sing.

“Does this happen often?” Sara asked.

“A lot of restaurants do it now. It’s really
kind of embarrassing.”

Over lunch, Sara sprinkled the conversation
with vague answers to Worm’s questions. Yes, she grew up on a
reservation somewhere near the Canadian border but after her
parents died, Grandmother moved her to South Dakota, then
Wisconsin. They eventually settled in on the tiny reservation land
in Cedar Point her grandfather had owned. She told him she was
home-schooled. She soon turned the conversation to Worm, as Dagger
had suggested.

“Did Sheila tell you about Rachel Tyler?”

“About her being alive? Yeah. That was some
bombshell Dagger dropped on Mr. Tyler. Did he believe Dagger?”

“No.” Sara swirled pasta around her fork. The
salad was crisp with a tangy Italian dressing. She especially liked
the black olives, something she had never eaten before until Dagger
started introducing her to different foods. “What was really
interesting,” Sara continued, “was that Sheila didn’t believe
him.”

“Why is that interesting?” Worm pushed his
empty plate away and grabbed the dessert menu.

“I had always heard she was such a great
reporter. I would have thought the entire concept of Rachel Tyler
being alive would have sparked her nose for news.”

Worm laughed, placing the menu down and
settling back in his chair. “Sheila doesn’t like news stories where
she has to do a lot of legwork. She likes grunts like me to do the
work and she gets the by-line.”

Sara set her plate to one side and watched a
group of high school-aged youths filter into the restaurant. She
found herself wondering what it would be like to feel part of a
group, to be able to shop with close female friends and share
laughs like this group was doing. These were things normal friends
did. But she had to remind herself, she wasn’t normal. When her
grandmother was alive, she had been the one to shore up Sara’s
confidence, to remind Sara that she was unique. And no matter what
she may have missed out on in life, she experienced more than
anyone could ever dream of. Now she had to find that strength
within.

“Sara?” Worm touched her arm.

Pulling her attention back to Rachel, Sara
said, “I’m sorry. I was just thinking that I can give you some of
the details and you can follow up on them, write the story, and
take the credit.”

“Fat chance.” Worm leaned his elbows on the
table, his eyes darting around the restaurant. He leaned closer to
Sara and whispered, “Leyton Monroe will always make sure his
daughter gets the credit for everything. It’s a nowhere job. But
it’s the biggest newspaper in the city, owned by one of the richest
men in town who owns six additional newspapers across the
country.”

“Is that so important?”

“Is it important?” He laughed, settling back
in his chair again and digesting the significance of what Sara had
said. “Actually, no. I was always taught in school the most
important thing is the facts.”

Sara placed a hand on his arm and peered into
his eyes. “Don’t tell Sheila you are working on the story. Write it
up and present it to Leyton Monroe’s biggest competitor as an
example of your investigative techniques.”

“I don’t know.” Worm stared at Sara’s hand,
then placed his on top of hers. “As long as I’m employed by Leyton,
anything I work on belongs to
The Daily Herald
.”

“Only if he or Sheila commissioned you to
work on it. At least that’s what Dagger told me.” She slowly
slipped her hand out from under his. “If what we find out confirms
that Rachel Tyler was alive up until last Thursday, and if we find
her killer or killers, this could be a breaking story for you,
Worm.”

Worm looked at her in a way that made Sara
feel uneasy, not leering, not the way Nick had looked at her, but
just different.

“Would you like to go out Saturday night?”
Beads of perspiration worked his glasses down the bridge of his
nose. He pushed them back up.

Sara looked away, clasped her hands in her
lap.

“It’s Dagger, isn’t it? You’re in love with
him.”

“Dagger understands me and that’s not an easy
thing to do.”

“It’s okay. He’s good-looking, brilliant,
mysterious. All the things women are attracted to. I’m just a
nerd.”

Sara smiled and returned her hand to his
freckled arm. “Nerd is just another name for an intelligent,
focused, serious professional.”

Worm considered what she said, nodded to
himself as though agreeing with some of her assessments. Then he
smiled broadly. This time when he touched her, it was a brotherly
pat.

“You’re right. I’ll do it.”

CHAPTER 18

Padre walked up to the front door of the
townhouse where deliverymen were carrying in washers and dryers.
Inside the unit Dagger claimed was the crime scene, he saw two men
in bib overalls installing the vent for the dryer. No one paid any
attention to him. He was dressed like any vacationer with his
floral shirt hanging out over his madras-print shorts and deck
shoes sans socks.

As Dagger had suggested, Padre took several
vacation days so he could work on the case. If anyone at the
precinct knew he was working on the Rachel Tyler case, word would
get to the press quicker than you could say murder.

He had covered the beach area, and Maria, the
desk clerk, had been right—none of these townhouses was occupied.
Matter of fact, the water hadn’t even been turned on until this
weekend.

All the wooded property belonged to the Dunes
Resort, so there were no nearby residential houses or streets
running alongside which might produce a witness from early Thursday
morning.

Dried twigs crunched under his shoes as he
walked west, away from the townhouses. He stopped and looked out on
the lake where sailboats dotted the horizon. It was a beautiful
view. No wonder the rental charges were anticipated at five hundred
dollars a night.

“Sure thing, Padre,” the police sergeant said
to himself. “You can afford a two-week vacation here. Bring the
wife and kiddies.” He turned his gaze to the side view of the
buildings.

They could have carried the body out the
front door to a waiting car, tossed the body in the trunk. But
then, what about the rug? If it were stained the way Dagger
described, they would have had to get rid of it, probably use a
large truck.

If they opted to carry her out the patio door
and down to a waiting boat, they would still have needed to get rid
of the bloodstained rug. Unless the body was still wrapped in the
rug.

Padre turned and followed a path along a
bluff, walking slowly and looking for a fresh gravesite. They may
not have had time to dig a grave after they killed her but they
could have dug it beforehand. He wiped a forearm across his damp
forehead and was thankful he wasn’t wearing his heavy blue
jeans.

The underbrush was thick with wildflowers and
shrubs. Nothing looked trampled on, disturbed, or moved. Bending
down, he pulled on a number of plants to make sure they were real.
Over the years he had learned to expect just about anything from
creative felons.

Up ahead he could hear laughter, children’s
voices. As he neared the end of the path, he saw an inlet filled
with paddleboats and large inner tubes. A slide emptied out into
the pond.

Padre rubbed his stomach. The aroma of
grilled hot dogs and hamburgers filled the air. It was time to take
a break. Besides, he might find a witness. It was worth a try.

“Are you sure you weighted down the body
before you dumped it in the lake?” Luke asked. He waited until
after the waitress delivered their sandwiches before speaking. “You
fucked up when you killed the woman. Then you left that earring
behind. You two make this whole operation look like amateur night.
Now I had to go and promise that we’d get the earring back.”

Mince shoved a wad of French fries into his
mouth. He chewed and smacked his lips while he spoke, causing the
craters on his face to appear inhabited, the critters frantically
looking for a way out. “You know this Detective Dagger who has the
earring?” Pieces of French fries dropped from his mouth and onto
his plate. He replaced it with a corner of his roast beef sandwich
and took a slurp of his Pepsi.

They were huddled in a booth in the far
corner of the restaurant. Joey placed the newspaper on the seat and
cocked his head to eyeball the petite waitress’ rear as she walked
away. He said, “He’s just like any other two-bit private dick. They
don’t know what else to do and nobody will hire them so they hang
out a shingle.” Joey’s eyes followed the waitress around the room.
She had firm breasts and a small waist. He licked his bottom lip
and mentally peeled off her clothes.

“Hey.” Luke snapped his fingers in front of
Joey’s eyes. “Pay attention. This is pay dirt. You might be able to
redeem yourselves.” He leaned his elbows on the table, his massive
biceps struggling under his short-sleeved Henley. The waitress came
back with the check and smiled at him. To most women, Luke
resembled a beefy Paul McCartney because of his, what women termed,
bedroom eyes. But he didn’t return the smile and waited until she
left before speaking again. “We need to get the earring back. This
will eliminate any proof of who the victim was.” His cellular phone
rang and he scooted out of the booth.

Once Luke left the table, Joey asked, “We’re
not going to tell him?”

“No. It’s our only edge. Just look?” Mince
gazed out the window toward the entrance where Luke was talking on
his cellular. “If we’re in this together, why does he shut us out
when he talks to Tyler?”

“You’re right. How do we know they aren’t
cooking up a way to cut us out all together?”

Their glares were dangerous, conspiratorial,
each untrusting since they had been double-crossed more than once
in their lives. This time, they had their best ace in the hole—they
still had the body.

“Is he going to work with us?” Dagger spread
the blueprints out on the coffee table. His black denim shirt had
the sleeves ripped off, the sides split open to just above his
waist. These were his easy-to-maneuver-in work clothes.

“Yes,” Sara said. “Worm left the restaurant
with very little information about me and all kinds of leads and
questions about the case.”

“YOU’RE LATE, YOU’RE LATE, AWK.” Einstein
flew over to Dagger’s desk.

Sara stroked the macaw’s back. “Miss me?”
Einstein bobbed his head up and down. “I brought you something.”
She handed him a thin branch from an apricot tree. Einstein wrapped
one foot around the branch and brought it up to his beak.

“COMPANY, COMPANY. AWK.”

Einstein held onto the branch with his toes
as he eyed Simon curiously. “MR. POSTMAN. AWK.”

“Hey, there, Einstein.” Simon reached out to
touch the macaw and was met with a gentle nip from his beak. “Whoa,
take it easy,” Simon laughed. “Jittery guy.”