A Dead Issue (24 page)

“You're serious,” I said. “You're really going to Brazil?”

Dusty said nothing.

“Brazil's nice,” Liza added. “Some people run off to Brazil. Others run off to Fannett Meadow.” She crossed her arms over the crucifix and stared straight ahead. Then she added, “‘Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose.'”

Suddenly, I understood. This wasn't about Dusty. This was about me. I looked over at her and nodded. “Janis Joplin.”

“I don't see a ball and chain around your ankle, Mr. Bobby McGee,” she said and let the matter drop.

Not yet. She had no idea how much I had to lose. Freedom isn't freedom if you're sitting in a cell, and sometimes troubles do follow you. Running away would tell Devereaux that I was guilty and I would never be free to return home—ever. There was no way to explain that to her without telling her about the night Jonah died, so I said nothing for the rest of the trip.

Mike Granger closed the hood of a car as we pulled into his shop. He wiped grease off his hands with a blue rag as he approached and smiled a greeting. We had a nodding acquaintance through my car, which he knew better than he did me.

“How's it going?” I asked in a casual reference to the world in general and more specifically to my Saturn.

“Solenoid was shot and your battery is weak.” He tucked the rag into his back pocket. “I picked up a starter at the junkyard—saved you a few bucks, but I got to tell you—it's time you should dump your Saturn for something from this century.”

I knew he was right. Driving a Beamer and a Lexus was spoiling me. “I'll think about it,” I said as I pulled out my checkbook.

“Three hundred even will cover it.”

Liza and Dusty joined me and we followed Mike into his
little office to do the paperwork.

“The keys are in it,” Mike said, writing out the bill.

“How about the Mustang?” Liza asked. “What's that going to set me back?”

“The one we picked up on Old Belhaven Road?” He smiled like he was about to give good news. “Nothing,” he continued. “Mr. Lovell picked it up—paid cash.”

Nails like talons gripped my arm.

“Shit,” she whispered in the same tone airline pilots use right before they crash into a mountain. Dusty must have sensed something was wrong as he searched our faces for a clue.

“When?” I asked. My tone brought a look of concern to Mike's face.

“Fifteen, twenty minutes ago. You just missed him.”

I tore the check out and handed it to Mike. “Dusty, take my car, but please—don't run off to Brazil—not yet.” My tone was light, but Dusty caught the seriousness in my eyes. “At least . . . not until you get me the wedding tape.”

Dusty frowned. “Wedding tape?”

“The one with Phil and Dexter getting drunk and ruining everything.”

It took Dusty an eternity to sort his way through to my real request. “No problem,” he said. “I think I know right where I left it.”

He gave us a nod and darted out of the office.

We waited for the receipt to print out, and as soon as Mike gave it to me, I grabbed Liza's wrist and pulled her toward the door, leaving Mike Granger with a perplexed frown on his face. We stepped out in time to see Dusty drive off in the Lexus.

I slid behind the wheel of the Saturn, and we sat in stunned silence for a full minute.

“Holy God,” Liza said, shaking her head in total defeat as I slipped the key into the ignition. “Christ!”

I started the engine and she continued shaking her head. “I didn't see this coming,” she said almost to herself. “I thought I'd have more time. Sheesh.”

I dropped it into gear and stepped on the gas. A car appeared out of nowhere turning into Granger's. I jammed on the breaks, screeching to a halt bumper to bumper with
Detective Devereaux's unmarked Ford. At the same time, something hard slid forward from under the seat and struck the heel of my foot. Devereaux stared at me from behind his windshield, and I couldn't tell whether his little pig eyes expressed anger or relief at seeing me. I backed up to allow Devereaux to pull into the lot and reached down between my legs to retrieve whatever was now under my foot interfering with my driving.

It was Jonah Heard's missing pistol.

CHAPTER 42

I let the gun drop from my fingers and tried to nudge it back under the seat with my heel, but a fold in the floor mat blocked the way. I could not risk bending down, looking like I was stashing something under the seat. Devereaux and I got out of our cars at the same time and approached each other. He strained to see beyond me until I heard a car door shut. Liza joined me, and Devereaux's eyes locked onto me.

“Everything all right?” he asked, directing his question to both of us, but his eyes shifted to Liza as he waited for a reply. I couldn't conceive of any reason why Devereaux would look in my Saturn to see the gun on the floor, but its very presence screamed for attention.

“You OK?” he asked Liza.

Liza shook her head.

“Then you know he's here.”

Liza nodded.

There was a long pause before he continued. “He showed up at the station earlier. Wanted to know where Fog Hollow Road was and to report a stolen car.” Devereaux looked off into the distance. He seemed pained by his thoughts. “I had to tell him his car was here at Granger's. He must have just picked it up.”

“Twenty minutes ago.”

“I also told him wives can't steal from husbands—community property. He'll have to take that up with you.” He paused and studied Liza for a moment. “The trouble is I think he's going to do just that.”

Liza's hand slid into mine and squeezed. Devereaux caught the move with a flick of his eyes.

“I never got around to telling him where Fog Hollow Road is. That's the good thing. The bad thing is . . . I had to give him his .357—it's his. He had all the paperwork.”

Devereaux shifted uncomfortably. “It's none of my business what your personal life is like,” and his little eyes jumped to me and then back to Liza. “But I got to be honest with you, Miss . . . Mrs. Lovell—your husband seems very upset.”

“I wouldn't doubt it,” she agreed with a little more composure.

“He might even be dangerous.”

“He is dangerous.”

“I'd be afraid of him,” Devereaux pressed.

“I am.” And she managed a weak smile.

Devereaux's face struggled with a compassionate twitch that might have been a smile. “This isn't the place to be discussing this.” His head tilted to Sally's Diner. “How about a cup of coffee? I need to ask you a few questions anyway.”

He lumbered away without waiting for a reply and his polite invitation had now become a direct order. Liza quick-stepped after him, but I held back. I wasn't sure if his ‘invitation' included me. I had thoughts of slipping back to the car to tuck the gun back under the seat. When Liza caught up to Devereaux, he looked back over his left shoulder. “You coming?”

I jogged a few steps to his side and threw a glance back over my left shoulder—back toward my Saturn with Jonah's gun on the floor, wondering how it got there.

“Dusty, you stupid son-of-a-bitch.” I mumbled to myself.

CHAPTER 43

Sally's Diner was a relic from the forties, expanded and remodeled, leaving behind only a few traces of the art deco flavor of the past. Devereaux squeezed into the last booth by the back window, his stomach nudging the edge of the table. Liza and I slid in opposite him. In the mirror behind Devereaux I saw a waitress headed our way past a row of empty booths.

“Three coffees,” he said before she could pull out her pad. “Anything else? Eggs? Pancakes?”

We shook our heads and the waitress left.

“So,” Devereaux began, folding his hands on the table. He looked at Liza. “What are your plans?”

She had no response.

“I mean,” he continued, “you're here to settle Jonah's estate. I know that, but where are you staying? Not the farmhouse . . .”

“She's staying with me,” I jumped in. “I don't think she'd be safe at the farm.”

Devereaux nodded. “You're right. Mr. Lovell already knows that connection. He also knows you're here to settle the estate?”

“Probably,” Liza said quietly. “My grandfather's lawyer contacted me after he died, but the message came through my mother's sister-in-law. I kind of hoped that she'd keep her mouth shut, but it looks like she talked. Sheesh!”

“Then Mr. Lovell smells money. That could get messy if you file . . .” Devereaux stopped. He looked uncomfortable with where he was headed.

Liza smiled sadly, “Romani law is different. We don't file for divorce.”

Devereaux frowned and thought for a moment. ‘You mean your marriage isn't on the books.”

“Not your books.”

“Then you can just walk away. Legally, he has no claims . . .”

“There's no ‘legal' about it. Tony wants that money and he needs to get his honor back after I cut his balls off by leaving him.” She paused and stared at Devereaux for a moment. “So he's not going to kill me until after the settlement and we're away from here.”

“That's what I'm afraid of.”

“You'd rather he kill me in your jurisdiction?”

“I'd rather he not kill you.” Devereaux glanced toward me. “Either of you.”

He stared off into space for a moment while the waitress came and poured our coffee. Devereaux sipped at his, ignoring the steam rising from the cup. He waited silently as we added milk and sugar. I watched the waitress walk away in the mirror.

“The land,” Devereaux said almost to himself. “It's all about the land.” He put the cup to his lips and pulled it away. “All along, I've been thinking they were after something of value, but Jonah had nothing. And then, two days ago, it hits me. It's the land. Jonah has one hundred and seventy-three acres of unpreserved farmland, a developer's dream—worth millions in the right hands.”

Devereaux blew the steam off his cup before taking another sip.
“There's a developer in Easton—Horace Stem. He has a subdivision in the works—400 units, and he'd love to get his hands on that land. It's right next-door. Opens things up for expansion.”

Horace Stem . . . Stemcell's fathe
r? I wondered.

Devereaux stared at me for a full five seconds. Something was coming, and I braced myself. I caught Liza's puzzled look. She must have felt it, too. “There's someone else who's been sniffing around,” he continued. “On the other side of Jonah's farm is Cameron Industries.”

Devereaux sat back, allowing his hands to unfold and fall to his side. He studied our reactions, waiting for some telltale sign that my interest in Liza was less than romantic, or that Liza now suddenly suspected me of insincerity—as if she wouldn't have sensed it from the start. Liza looked at me. She placed a hand on my forearm.

“Mark hasn't mentioned buying the farm—yet. But I'll tell you what—I'll keep a real close eye on him and call you if he decides to blow his last McDonald's paycheck on one hundred and seventy-three acres of prime real estate.”

Devereaux's lips strained against a smile. “You do that,” he said and shifted in his seat to reach his wallet. “Here's my card.” He tried to tuck his wallet back into his pants pocket but had to give up, slipping it instead into his jacket like a service revolver.

“Actually, I wasn't thinking about Mark paying for all that land. That check would be signed by William J. Cameron.” Devereaux folded his hands on the table again and zeroed in on me. “So you didn't know that your father was interested in that land?”

“I didn't even know the properties were next to each other. I didn't know that Jonah's farm extended that far.”

“But you knew your father has been buying property,” Devereaux probed casually.

“Of course—it's been his hobby over the last decade or so. He's bought up 643 acres of surrounding property—a square mile. That has always been his goal.”

Devereaux put his cup down. “Yes, but when you hear that your square mile of country heaven is going to have a housing development pop up next door, you might want to change your goal—expand your territory—especially if you have the money to do it.”

I wondered if all that cash in my father's vault had anything to do with territorial expansion. I found myself nodding my head in agreement with Devereaux's logic.

“He never said anything to you about buying more land?”

I shook my head. “I don't think you understand. My father and I don't talk—we argue. That is, until a few days ago . . .”

“When you agreed to work for your father.”

“As a caretaker. That's about the extent of my involvement in Cameron Industries.”

“Never worked in the shop?”

“They have a deep fryer in there?”

Devereaux's lips twisted into his painful little smile. I was starting to regard his stoic demeanor as a challenge and each little smile a minor victory.

“See, what I'm thinking is,” he took a deep breath—possibly to arrange his thoughts, “we have two people who want that land. One of them, Horace Stem, stands to make a lot of money developing it. The other, your father, wants it to hold back the city from coming his way. He doesn't want to have to look at all those houses.”

Devereaux was right. My father cherished his untarnished view from the Crow's Nest.

“Both men have enough money to buy the land,” he continued, “and that puts Jonah in the driver's seat.”

“A bidding war,” Liza said thoughtfully.

Devereaux aimed his index finger at her like a gun and fired off a shot by flexing his thumb. “Right on target,” he said. “Highest bidder gets the land.” He waved at the waitress and made a pouring gesture in the air and she headed off toward the coffee machine.