Drop Dead Gorgeous (32 page)

Dick raised his head and looked at him with baleful eyes. “No. Why?”

“You could put it under me, then shoot me so the blood and gore doesn't get everywhere. The cops can find evidence of blood even if you think you've washed it away.”

Dick grimaced. “I really hate blood. It makes me queasy.”

Being on the wrong side of that gun, Laurence knew all about feeling queasy. He played Dick's squeamishness for all it was worth. “Killing someone's a messy business, you know.”

“I hate messes.”

Laurence hated messes, too, especially when it involved his own blood. He debated whether it was time for his punch line, but figured the boy wasn't quite there yet. “The mess aside, once you've killed me, you have to figure out how to get rid of my body. Do you have a chain saw?”

“No. I usually hire the gardener to cut the trees.”

“How about a good butcher knife and some acid?”

Dick rolled his eyes. “That's disgusting.”

“Well, you can't just drag a body out without someone noticing. It needs to be in pieces.”

Dick groaned. “Oh, I'm going to be sick. How did I get myself into this?”

Laurence flicked his thumb down to see if he could find the knot. Barely, just barely. If he wiggled a little more…“All right. Let's think. You've got my car, which you'll have to get rid of anyway. So, you can take me back upstairs…” And being free to walk up the stairs, Laurence would have a fighting chance. “…kill me in the garage, put my body in the trunk, then dump the car at the airport and take a taxi to yours at the mall. It could be weeks before anyone notices I'm in there.” He narrowed his eyes. “Except for the smell. Make sure you park in Long-term.”

Dick moaned, his head once again between his knees, and Laurence wondered if he'd gone too far with the scenario. Or not far enough.

Laurence grabbed the advantage and jerked on his bonds, but hell, they weren't going to just fall off. “But then someone would probably hear the gunshot. Do you have a silencer?”

Dick shuddered, huffed in a big breath, blew it out, then started to talk. “I hunted high and low for a house with a basement, for a moment just like this.” He waved the gun. “You don't know how hard it is to find basements in California. Especially in such a good neighborhood.”

Dick couldn't have known he'd need a basement to hide Laurence in. He'd needed it for the women who'd refused his so-called comfort. Like Madison. Laurence pictured her trussed up in the chair, and his head throbbed even worse. If he didn't stop Dick now, Madison might very well end up as the next victim. He gave his bonds another desperate tug.

“I think it must have been a bomb shelter. The house was built in the fifties.” Richard paused, bit his lip. “I just don't know if I can do it.”

Laurence almost sagged with relief. Until he felt the bite of the rope that still wouldn't give.

“I've never killed anything, you know.”

Laurence remembered the squirrel.

Dick read his mind. “I found it already dead. And the idea just came to me.” For a moment, he almost looked pleased with himself, a slight smile on his face, the lightbulb casting a long shadow of nose. “Maybe I
can
do it. But you're right, someone would hear the gunshot if I do it in the garage.”

Oh shit. Him and his bloody mouth. Now what to say? He was sure he could work himself out of these damn ropes given a little time alone. Laurence went for the gusto. “All right, so you'll do it down here. The walls will muffle the shot.” Maybe not, but Dick seemed to buy into that with a nod of his head. “But you'll need some stuff first. Got some coveralls?” This time Dick shook his head. “Blood spatters. You'll need coveralls. And a tarp.” With a quick glance around the small room, he added, “Make that three tarps so you can cover everything. Are you going to go the chain saw route or the acid route?”

Dick turned green again. “Why are you helping me?”

Laurence almost laughed, stopped short of crying. The kid was kind of pathetic. And just a little stupid. He wasn't even a man; he thought like a boy. Even though he was in his thirties, he acted like a boy. Laurence could win with his superior intellect. The timing wasn't going to get any better. “You want the truth?” Dick nodded almost eagerly. Laurence went for his punch line. “I don't think you're a killer, kid. You might be able to shoot me if you close your eyes and put the gun right up here next to my head, but you won't like dealing with the aftermath, cleaning up the blood and the brains. Because you can bet you'd splatter my brains all over.”

“Please don't talk about it.”

“See? If you can't talk about it, you can't do it.”

“What other choice do I have?” A whine crept into his voice.

“You can untie me and let me go.”

“But you'll tell the police.”

“I won't—” which was a lie “—if you promise to leave Madison alone.” He couldn't allow the boy the chance to try again.

“How can I believe you?”

“You have my word of honor.” Honor didn't count for much when there was a gun stuck in your face. Besides, the kid needed help. This way he'd get it.

“I don't know.”

“It's the coveralls, tarps and chain saw if you don't. The choice is yours.”

Dick took one baby step toward him. Then Laurence's cell phone went off in the pocket of his jacket.

Dick jumped back. “What's that?” he cried as Laurence's phone toned the first few bars of Beethoven's
Fifth.

“My phone. It's okay. I can't answer it.”

Dick waved the gun at him. “Who is it?”

Laurence groaned. “How would I know if I can't answer it?” The tune played irritatingly and finally cut off. “There, it's gone to voice mail. Everything's okay.”

Dick's eyes darted. “No, no, we have to know who it was.”

“Why?”

The gun shook in the boy's hands. “What if it's Madison, and she's looking for you?”

“She's not going to find me here. Just untie me, and you won't have to worry.”

“No, no, it's all changed if Madison knows about me.”

“I'm not going to tell her. I won't tell anybody.” Laurence began to work harder at the ropes, reaching under with his thumbs, regardless of what the kid might see.

“I want to hear the voice mail.”

“Jesus.” It would be Madison, he knew it. What if she said something about last night? The kid would go ballistic. God, now that was a very bad word choice. But Madison wouldn't say anything like that, not with her family all around. No, it would be something harmless, then he could get back to the task of getting Dick the Pathetic to untie him.

“It's in my pocket. Go ahead and listen.”

Dick's playing in his pockets unnerved him more than the gun in his face had. But he gave over the codes and listened as the kid held the phone out for them both.

Madison's sweet voice had taken on a mechanical caste. “T. Larry, call me right away. I know who it is.” Oh shit. He didn't have a chance to look at Dick's face. “You're going to be mad because you were right. It's Richard. I don't want to believe it, but it's him. Call me when you get this message.”

Dick punched the end button with his thumb. “She knows.”

Shit.

“What did you say I'd need? Coveralls, tarps and acid?”

And shit again.

 

“H
E ALWAYS ANSWERS HIS PHONE
.”

“Maybe he was in the bathroom.”

Madison had a bad feeling, a very bad feeling. Richard drove a black Beemer, and it bore a striking resemblance to the one T. Larry kept staring at in his rearview mirror as he drove her to her mother's. She should have known then. Jeez, how dumb could a girl be? She'd wanted to believe in the goodness of people, so she'd ignored all the warning signs that bad things were afoot. Now T. Larry was in danger. It was all her fault.

“Then he should have called back. Sean, I'm scared.” She didn't like admitting it; she'd been admitting far too much out loud lately, but this…well, this was about T. Larry.

“Ma, clear the kids out, would you?” James, being the oldest, took charge.

The noise level dropped to tolerable as Sherry, Sophie and Carol took their respective broods to the backyard.

“We should call the police, James.” She should have called the police an hour ago when she realized Richard had stolen her slippers when he trashed her apartment.

“T. Larry is fine.”

She narrowed her eyes on Patrick and his disclaimer. “What were all of you talking about out front of the house when he dropped me off?”

“Guy stuff.”

That earned Sean a narrow-eyed glare. “You know where he went, don't you?”

James answered for all of them. “He was just going to ask some questions. You're getting all het up. He'll call you back.”

“Who was he going to question?”

“That Harriet girl, and the kid at the office, Zach or ZZ or whatever.” And Richard. That would have been part of his plan even if he hadn't said so.

Madison left her brothers to whisper among themselves while she made some phone calls. Harriet hadn't seen T. Larry; the concern in her voice tilted Madison sideways. ZZ Top was a no go, too. T. Larry's not being where he said he'd be wasn't like him.

She just knew he was in trouble.

“W
HAT DID THE COPS SAY
?”

Family meeting in the living room: couches and chairs full, three brothers, two wives, mother and sister present, children outside. Problem of the big ears again.

Madison suppressed a small hiccup that might have been a precursor to tears. “They said he couldn't be considered missing for twenty-four hours, and that neither Richard's shoe fetish nor my missing slippers were enough to get a search warrant for his house.” This time the hiccup bubbled out. They'd also run a search on him yesterday and nothing came up. “They did say they'd drop by his house today and ask him a few questions, maybe shake him up a little.” That simply wasn't good enough.

“T. Larry may still answer your call.”

It had been two hours. T. Larry would never wait this long. Unless he was avoiding her because of last night. But that didn't make sense; she'd left him such a detailed message about Richard. Even if he wanted to avoid
her,
he wouldn't avoid that message.

“He's not
able
to answer, James.”

“You're blowing this way out of proportion, Madison.” Sean shook his head, disapproval pulling down his mouth at the corners. “Give the guy some credit. He wouldn't go doing something stupid like pissing off your stalker and getting himself killed.”

“How can you even say that?” It was exactly what she'd been thinking. Not the stupid part but that T. Larry, in trying to protect her, could actually get hurt. Or worse. Madison stood, suddenly as resolute as her brothers appeared. “I'm going to Richard's.”

“You don't even know where he lives.” There was almost a question in Sean's voice.

“Yes, I do.” She didn't go into how insistent he'd been that she take down his address, that she call him if she ever needed anything,
ANYTHING,
underlined and in capitals, a fact which now took on a whole new meaning. For some weird reason, Richard had become obsessed with her. “And no,” she answered Patrick's raised brow, “I've never been there. But I can find it.” She stuck out her chin for emphasis.

“That's a stupid idea, Madison.”

Ma, silent up to this point, set her glass of iced tea down on the coffee table with a definite clunk. “You can't let your baby sister look for T. Larry on her own. You'll all go with her.”

“But Ma, she should wait for the police.”

“Don't ‘but Ma' me. Your sister is right. So go with her.”

That was that. Ma was Queen Bee of her household even though her sons—and daughter—were all over the age of twenty-one.

 

L
AURENCE SAT IN THE DARK
, bound and now gagged. He'd ripped his fingernails to shreds, but the bonds, though looser, were not falling off. Dick had left with his list of supplies. Laurence could only pray that buying tarps, a chain saw and acid would call attention to the purchaser of such items. Police attention. He wouldn't, however, bet his life on it.

He might be betting Madison's life, though. If Dick carried out his nefarious plan, there would be no one to protect Madison from what the evil pipsqueak would do.

Christ. Madison. Laurence had loved her in one breath and failed her in the next. He wasn't deserving of her trust or her love. He'd screwed up. Royally.

Only one thing lay in his favor. He wasn't dead yet. If he did get out of this alive, he'd squash Dick like the worm he was. And he'd set Madison free to find a man worthy of her. One who would love, honor
and
protect her.

Then he heard the door above open.

 

“G
IVE IT UP
, M
ADISON
. No one's answering. The guy isn't home, and T. Larry isn't here.”

Frustrated tears stung her eyes. She couldn't bear it if anything happened to T. Larry. “We'll canvas the neighborhood to see if anyone's seen or heard anything.”

“You're not a cop. No one's going to talk to you.”

She'd been listening to her brothers' negativity for forty-five minutes, the entire drive from Palo Alto. She was ready to scream, cry or stamp her feet. She was ready to break into Richard's house. She was ready to admit that T. Larry was right, falling in love
wasn't
one-sided. She needed him to be all right so that he could return her love.

“I want to look in the garage.”

“Someone's going to call the cops on
us.
”

“Good. Then they'll have to talk to Richard, too.” And find T. Larry. Safe.

She determinedly marched along the neatly trimmed front path to the driveway, went up on her tiptoes and stuck her face to the garage door windows.

“Oh my God.” The words came out as a shriek.

“What?” Her brothers stumbled over themselves getting to her side.

“That's T. Larry's Camry in there.”

James peered through the glass. “You don't know that for sure. You can't even see the license plate.”

“Richard doesn't drive a Camry. He drives a BMW. That's not his car. It's T. Larry's.” Panic rose in her throat. In the space of a few hours, T. Larry might have been ripped right out of her life. Panic wouldn't do. Later, but not now.

James backed off and paced the drive. Two children on bicycles rode past slowly, but when he raised a hand—presumably to ask them if they'd seen anything funny—they sped off as fast as their legs could pump. “All right. We'll call the cops.”

“We don't have time.”

Patrick jammed his fists on his hips and stuck his face down into hers. “And just what do you propose we do?”

“We have to break in. T. Larry's in danger.”
She
was in danger of losing him. Strokes weren't the only way people died. Car accidents and serial stalkers happened, too. Oh yes, she now knew all about bad things that happened.

“We'll get arrested.”

“Fine. You go sit in the car, and I'll break in. Then they can just arrest me.”

“You know we can't do that. Ma would kill us.”

She grazed them with her most scathing look. “You're all a bunch of babies.” Then she brushed them aside and went to the front door one more time. She wouldn't lose T. Larry, not now, not ever. Even if it meant making sure she lived long past her twenty-eighth birthday. Across the street, a red SUV pulled into the drive. A man got out and stared.

Madison raised her hand, pounded on the door and yelled as loud as she could. “Richard, if you're in there, you better answer right now. And I mean
right now.
”

Her brothers stared at her with mortified faces. They didn't believe. They honestly didn't believe she was right.

No sound from inside penetrated the door. She peered through a side window, but every curtain was pulled against her. Richard could be out. His BMW was gone.

She pounded on the door again. “Open. Up.” With the next breath, she yelled, “All right. I'm breaking in.”

She stepped backward off the front porch, turned on her heel to head for the backyard with some vague idea of finding a tool back there, something to smash a window or jimmy a lock.

The front door opened.

Her jaw dropped. She hadn't expected Richard to open the door.

“Why are you yelling, Madison?” He raked a hand through incredibly spiked hair, the antithesis of his usual neat, fashionable style. His clothes appeared Saturday work-in-the-yard raggedy, yet the quality of wool in his sweater and the dry-clean-only look of his pants contradicted that.

Her brothers moved up, gathered round, protected.

“What are you doing here, Madison? And who are these men?”

“My brothers. Where's T. Larry?”

Something flickered in his eyes. “Your boss?” He was stalling, she knew.

“I saw his car in your garage. We've called the police. They're going to be here soon.” Even as she said it, distant sirens sounded. She hadn't called. Maybe Mr. Red SUV had. Or the frightened mothers of those two scared children. Then she saw the cell phone in Sean's hand. Adrenaline rushed through her veins. Thank God help was on the way.

“You're acting like a crazy person, Madison.” Richard eyed her brothers surrounding her. “I think I'm feeling a little threatened here. Maybe it's a good thing you called the police.” His mouth lifted in a smug smile.

She realized then that he didn't have to let the cops in his house. They wouldn't have a search warrant forcing him to. And three strapping men, all over six foot, well that was quite daunting. They might even be considered a threatening gang. The ones in danger of being arrested were her brothers and herself. And then how would she help T. Larry?

She acted without thinking. Or rather, she thought extremely quickly and decided there was nothing else she could do. With what she hoped was a terrifyingly primal scream, she launched herself at Richard, knocked him flat on his back, scrambled over his prone body and started yelling for T. Larry.

Noise all around, sirens and shouting and the distinct thud of body against body. Madison plunged into the darkened house. She'd find him, and she'd never leave him alone again. Not ever. She opened doors to closets and rooms, a bathroom, the garage, then almost plunged down a deep set of stairs.

“T. Larry.” The name came out as a whisper, something that certainly couldn't be heard over the commotion going on behind her. “T. Larry,” she called louder.

The dark turned her inside out. A light switch beckoned just inside the door, but she couldn't bring her hand to move to it. What was down there? What if it was—oh please no—T. Larry's body? She choked back a sob, then reached to the switch and exposed the room below with dim light.

She would have recognized the back of that beautiful bald head anywhere. Stumbling down the stairs, catching her footing, then hurling herself to the floor beside him, she said his name.

Only his eyes could move. But thank you so much God, he wasn't dead. He didn't even look hurt. She would never ever ignore bad things that happened. Her blinders were off for good, this her solemn vow.

Gray duct tape covered his mouth. Heavy rope tied him to the arms of a metal chair. A blue plastic tarp lay spread at his feet. On the workbench lay a gun and at the foot of it, a chain saw, a can of gas, two gallons of some sort of acid and—no it couldn't be—her hairbrush.

She fumbled at the knots underneath the chair arms, poorly tied but still causing her numbed fingers problems. Plus she seemed to be crying buckets, crying so hard she could barely breathe. He was safe, but if she'd been a few minutes later, if she hadn't forced her way in…well, he wouldn't be safe at all.

“What the hell is going on here?” A uniformed cop stood at the head of the stairs.

T. Larry started to mumble behind the tape. She reached a hand to tear it off. The cop barreled down the stairs. “You're under arrest. Don't touch a thing.”

She ripped the tape away, and T. Larry yelled. She was sure he didn't hear her say she loved him over the sound.

 

“Y
OU DIDN'T HAVE TO TEAR
my skin off.” T. Larry touched the still-tender flesh of his lips.

“I'm sorry. I thought you were trying to speak.” He was safe. Madison wanted to hug him to her and never let him go.

The police had, in the end, arrested Richard, not Madison. They'd impounded T. Larry's car, had him checked out for any injuries, found none, then taken everyone down to the police station for statements and rounds of endless questions.

The sun having gone down on the whole episode hours ago, they now stood at the bottom of the stairs to her apartment. James had dropped them off. There'd been no question as to whether T. Larry was going to spend the night with her.

“I've got some lip balm upstairs.”

He looked at her a moment longer than necessary to say yes. Her stomach sank.

“I should have had your brother drive me home.”

“I can drive you.” No, she wouldn't. “After the lip balm.” She started up the stairs.

He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “I don't need any lip balm, Madison.”
I'm not spending the night, Madison.
That's what he was really saying.

“Why?”

“Because my lip isn't that badly damaged. I can take care of it myself.” He didn't need her help. Not for that, not for anything else.

Her heart started sinking right along with her stomach. “What are you really saying?” Gee, wasn't she just a glutton for punishment?

“I realized something very important down in that basement.”

She was terribly afraid he wasn't going to say it was that he'd discovered he loved her. She asked anyway. “What?”