Authors: Merry Jones
‘Want company?’ Vicki started to get up.
Harper’s, ‘No,’ was too emphatic. She added, ‘Thanks, Vicki. I just need a second or two.’
Not certain what she was going to do, Harper headed for the hall. On the way, she grabbed her phone.
When he picked up the call, he said, ‘Harper?’ He didn’t sound surprised to hear from her. In fact he sounded glad. ‘I’m glad you called.’
‘Rick’s dead.’ She closed the door, leaned against the bathroom wall.
Silence. Then, ‘What?’ His voice was thin.
‘He’s dead. They haven’t found his body yet, but I saw him.’
‘What the hell happened?’
‘What do you think?’ She snapped, had no patience for bullshit.
He hesitated. ‘I have no idea.’
‘You sent him after me and Burke, didn’t you?’
‘What?’ A pause. ‘Harper, are you telling me that you killed him?’
‘Me?’ Why would he say that? ‘No. But I would have if I hadn’t fallen.’
‘Look, I don’t understand what you’re saying. I asked Rick to bring you guys on board. I owe you – all of you. And I’m finally in a position to pay you back. Harper – I thought I explained all this last time we talked. Rick was supposed to convince you, Everett and Murray to accept my offers, that’s all.’
The man was buttery smooth, sounded sincere, caring. No wonder voters loved him. Harper sat on the toilet lid. ‘Well, Rick’s idea of “convincing” us was rather forceful. It involved a gun.’
A slight pause. ‘That’s not – no, that’s just Rick. He’s carried since the war. It’s legal; he has a permit – the gun has nothing to do with what he’s doing for me.’
‘Really? Because Rick stalked me, broke into my workplace, snuck up on me with his weapon. Tried to force me at gunpoint to accept your offer.’
The Colonel swore under his breath. ‘Harper, I swear I have no idea what you’re talking about. What you’re describing is unbelievable. It’s way beyond what we’d . . . I’d never have imagined . . .’
Really? ‘Well, you better imagine it, sir. Because while he was attacking me last night, somebody killed him.’
Baxter didn’t reply for a moment. Harper heard background voices. Papers shuffling. Machines whirring. The sounds of a political campaign in its final hours.
Finally, ‘It’s chaos here today, sorry for the interruptions. Now, tell me. How? Who?’
‘How is still uncertain. But it was some guys who traffic stolen antiquities. He ran into them while coming after me.’
‘Antiquities? What? Look – damn. Hold a sec.’ His voice muffled as he covered the phone and spoke to someone. When he came back, he sounded shaken. ‘Harper, this is terrible news. Terrible. Rick was like a kid brother. He was my go-to guy. I trusted him with my life.’
And with the truth about the money you stole? Harper couldn’t help it; she had to ask. ‘Sir, back in Iraq—’
‘I’ll never forget how the four of you saved my life.’
‘Yes, sir – but—’
‘I’ve told you, I’ll never forget your courage. I’m deeply indebted.’
‘It was our job to protect you. But, sir, that cargo we loaded. What was it?’
Oh God. Had she really just said that?
‘The cargo? I don’t remember. Supplies. Standard stuff. Why?’ He didn’t sound elusive. Not even a little shady.
Was he that good a liar?
‘It wasn’t money?’
‘Money?’ He let out a low whistle. ‘What gave you that idea?’
Harper fudged. ‘Just a rumor.’
‘Great, wonderful. That’s all I need. Another rumor. Ever since I started running for office, there’s been one after another. Now, what are they saying? That I did what, stole a helicopter full of money? What’s next? That I started the war? Who thinks this stuff up, anyhow?’ He sounded indignant. Wounded. Honest.
Could Burke have been wrong? Had he or Pete invented the cargo story?
‘Wait.’ The Colonel changed focus. ‘Didn’t you say they haven’t found Rick? So are you sure? How do you know he’s actually dead?’
God. Did he think she didn’t know dead when she saw it? ‘Because, like I said, I saw him.’
More background sounds. Another interruption.
Then: ‘Thanks for letting me know.’ Colonel Baxter lowered his voice. ‘The election’s tomorrow, Harper.’
‘Don’t worry, nothing about Rick will hit the news before then. It won’t interfere.’
‘What? Oh. No. I didn’t mean that, Harper. I meant I’m tied up completely today and tomorrow. After that, let’s talk some more. You’ll fill me in on what happened, what you said about Rick’s odd behavior – his breaking in and so on; you’ll explain the details, OK? So we can figure this out? Remember, I can put in a good word for you with Van Arsdale. Or fix your husband up with a new position. Maybe you’ll reconsider my offer. I’d appreciate having you around, especially now that you’re the only one left.’
When she got off the phone, Harper stayed in the bathroom, holding her head in her hands, trying to make sense of the conversation. Colonel Baxter was blustery and pushy, but he’d almost convinced her that he was a stand-up guy. That the story of the theft had been invented by Pete or Burke. That the violence and deaths to members of their detail had been the work of Rick alone.
When she came back into the kitchen, the conversation stopped and three heads turned toward her.
‘OK?’ Hank folded the newspaper, slid it into the recycling bin.
‘We’ve decided you need a diversion, Harper.’ Vicki stood. ‘How about a girls’ day? A facial? Or a massage?’
‘What?’ Harper sat.
‘I called my favorite spa. They have openings in an hour. A facial or a massage – aromatherapy, deep tissue. You choose, whatever you want. It’s on Trent and me.’
‘Go,’ Hank urged. ‘Relax you.’
‘Consider it a sign of our love.’ Trent refilled his coffee mug.
Really? Harper thought about it. A massage? Zina and Burke were dead. Rick, too. Relics had been ruined – what good was a massage?
Then again, it would only last an hour. Might help her release some tension. Besides, she had most of the day free. She had an appointment with Leslie later, but that was all she had planned. Still, what was the point? Harper stood, carrying plates to the sink.
‘No, don’t.’ Trent put up a hand.
‘Clean up. We’ll.’ Hank took the plates from her.
Harper went for her bag.
‘Leave it. You won’t need it.’ Vicki grabbed her arm, led her out the door. ‘I’ll drive.’
‘No, it’s OK.’ She headed for the Ninja. ‘I’ll take the bike. You won’t have to drive me home.’
‘I don’t mind. The whole point is that you can relax.’
But Harper climbed on to her motorcycle, rolled it down the driveway to Vicki’s car, following her into town.
The first day of November was brisk, the air refreshing. The sky bulging with blue-gray clouds. Harper sped along, trying to be in the moment, but kept seeing herself wandering an endless dark tunnel that led to Chloe Manning’s skeleton. Zina’s lifeless body. Rick’s dead eyes. Or a mound of broken crates and smashed artifacts.
Her mind mimicked the passageways, tangled with thoughts that led nowhere, or into and around themselves in an endless loop.
A massage, she decided. She would have a massage and let go, stop thinking for an hour. A whole hour.
Ahead of her, Vicki turned right. The spa was just a few blocks away, on Audubon. Harper followed, was halfway through her turn when she noticed some pedestrians standing at the corner. One of them was Salih Salim.
Harper was surprised to see him; Rivers had said that she couldn’t find him or his family. That they had disappeared. But there he was, right out on the street.
Harper pulled over to the curb. ‘Salih?’ She pulled off her helmet.
He turned, startled. ‘Harper?’ He seemed surprised to see her, but grinned, stepped over to embrace her. ‘Good to see you again!’
‘Where have you been, Salih? The police wanted to talk to you about your sister and—’
‘No, no. I’ve been away.’ His smile vanished; he looked away. ‘With the family. It’s been a difficult time for us.’
Harper nodded. Of course it had. Zina had been murdered.
‘Our business is shaky at best.’
What? He was upset about business? Not Zina? ‘And your sister . . .?’
‘Well, of course.’ His eyes didn’t rest, kept moving. ‘My sister. Despite my family’s claims to the contrary, they all feel Zina’s loss. In fact, that’s where we’ve been. I convinced my . . . my father decided to provide for her funeral. We all went back home to bury her.’ He paused, took a breath. ‘I got back just yesterday. A quick trip.’
Harper nodded, didn’t know what to say.
‘So there’s nothing to do for her any more. She’s at peace. And now, I have to hurry and salvage our business or it will die, too.’ His mouth formed a sad twisted smile. ‘Good to see you again, my friend.’
They hugged, separated, waving goodbye. Then Harper remembered Zina’s bracelet. It was back home, still in her bag. ‘Oh – Salih? I have something to give you.’
‘To give me?’ He called as he walked away. ‘What is it?’
‘Something of Zina’s.’
He stopped, turned. Met her eyes. Looked away, at traffic. Hurried.
‘I can bring it to you.’
‘Good, if you don’t mind – I’m at the same hotel as before. Oh – I don’t use my own name. I’m registered as Smith. Come by, say, around three?’ He waved, turned, and, as the light was green, headed across the street.
Naked under a sheet, listening to music that sounded like water, Harper smelled scented oils that reminded her of the oil burning around Rick’s body. She thought of seeing Salih, of how hurried he’d seemed. Of taking Zina’s bracelet to him. But her thoughts wandered and waned, and gradually faded altogether as she paid attention only to the hands of Kara, the masseuse.
The hands worked steadily, slippery and lubricated, building friction, causing waves of heat to roll through her muscles, one by one. Soreness Harper hadn’t known about rose up and fought, only to be vanquished, banished by Kara’s hands. Aches she’d tolerated as permanent were soothed. Her left leg almost wept with sweet release. For an hour, the hands of a stranger pulled the tension from her tissues, and Harper was immersed in sensations, indifferent to time.
Afterwards, wrapped in a terry robe, she sat with Vicki, sipping water with lemon slices. Vicki’s face was bright red, glowing.
‘Was yours good?’
Harper nodded, closed her eyes, almost too relaxed to speak. ‘Yours?’
‘Mmmm.’
They sat, speechless. Sipping. Finally, forced themselves to shower and dress. Harper thanked Vicki. Hugged her. Reminded her of their Tuesday night dinner. And got back on the Ninja, almost too relaxed to drive.
But she did drive, floating on her Ninja all the way home. Hank was outside, working a leaf blower. He shut it down, beaming. ‘Bought today this.’
Half the front yard was already clear, the rest a speckled sea of leaves, even though they’d raked just days ago.
Harper forced a smile, aware that, until recently, Hank would have discussed the purchase with her before making it. And would have wanted her to go with him to the mall. But never mind. Hank was his own man again, and that was good. She walked over, gave him a hug. He smelled like the outdoors, hard work.
She looked at the leaf blower. ‘So you have a new toy.’
‘More. Snow blower. Bought. On sale. And mower. Drill set. Saw, too. All.’
Really? He’d bought all that? Without even mentioning it? Harper felt stung, as if disenfranchised in decision-making. The tools would allow Hank to work around the property, but where would they get the money to pay for them? Hank’s disability didn’t provide much. And she had tuition debts to pay off. Harper bit her lip, didn’t comment. Didn’t want another argument.
‘Massage? Good?’
‘Yes. Very.’ But tension was already building up in her shoulders, tightness in the small of her back. She pecked his cheek. ‘I have to go – an appointment with Leslie.’ Then, because she was practicing openness, she added. ‘I ran into Zina’s brother before. He’s back in town.’
‘From where back?’
‘He said the whole family went home to bury Zina. Maybe he meant England? Or Syria? Anyhow, I’m going to stop by and drop off Zina’s bracelet.’
‘Bracelet?’
‘Remember? She left it here that night—’
‘Rivers no?’ Or Rivers know?
Know? Oh right; she’d wanted to talk to Salih. ‘I’ll let her know he’s back.’
Hank yanked the electric cord of the leaf blower, began winding it around his arm. ‘With you go.’
‘No, Hank. Stay here. Do what you’re doing.’ Her stubbornness rose, resisting him. Insisting that, if he could do things alone, she could, too. ‘I’m seeing Leslie in an hour. I’ll just stop by the Embassy Inn on the way.’ She started for the house.
‘Hoppa. Letter for you. Sad. Burke. Came,’ Hank called.
‘A letter?’ Sad? Burke?
Hank had started the leaf blower again, couldn’t hear her. So Harper went inside, where she saw it in the foyer. She picked it up, looked at the envelope, sighed. The name on the return address was Burke Everett. It had been sent Friday, right before Burke died.
She tore it open. Looked for a note, an explanation. Found none. Only a list of serial numbers, crate numbers, shipment numbers. Receipts dated the final day of their assignment with Colonel Baxter, all with his signature. Itemized accountings of parcels, crates and containers – the shipment her detail had nearly died to protect, the one that they had loaded on to a helicopter in Iraq.
The one Baxter had insisted was full of supplies.
And that Burke had insisted was full of cash.
Harper stared at the papers, picturing Burke in his last hours, desperate, unable to reach her, increasingly certain that he wouldn’t survive. Managing to mail these papers to her, hoping that she’d act on them, since neither he nor Pete could. She recalled his jittery hands, his darting eyes. Burke had been unbalanced, paranoid. Might have invented the theft in his mind. Might have sent her a list of serial numbers of standard supplies. Did she really believe that this envelope contained proof of a major multimillion-dollar heist? And, even if she did, did she really want to create a scandal, embarrassing the Colonel – potentially ruining his political career by asking the army to confirm the contents of his shipment?