Killing Bliss (28 page)

Wayne smiled. This
was
excellent news. Millie was ten, a good kid, but a troubled one. Tough, though. She reminded him of Addilene Wartenski. "That's great. I was getting worried about her." And that was the goddamned truth. Millie deserved a break and now she was getting one. If you didn't celebrate the successes in this business, you'd end up cutting your own throat. Wayne held up his hand for a high five. "Way to go, Curl."

Linda slapped his hand, her smile nearly splitting her face. "And to celebrate, I'm taking you to Holly's for a beer after work, and I—being on the winning streak that I am—will not take no for an answer. Holly's at five-thirty, earlier if we can swing it."

He started to protest, stopped suddenly. Jesus, he was a walking freak show. A fucking mental case. Yesterday he'd planned a murder, today he was afraid to go for a beer with a coworker. A tic, signaling the onslaught of yet another headache, jittered low in his skull.

His heart pounding, he said, "Done."

She gaped at him. "You're kidding me. You're actually going to have a drink with me?"

He burned and reddened, knew he'd made a terrible mistake. She'd been kidding him along, expected him to say no. She wasn't interested in him. Why would she be? Sandra was right, he wasn't a real man.

You call that excuse for manhood, a cock, Wayne? More like a cocktail sausage, you ask me.

He wanted to slink away, hide, but he was frozen in place, his tongue a tangled knot in his mouth, his stomach a hard clump of organ and sinew being torn apart by metal gloves.

She stared at him so long he got uncomfortable, tugged at his collar. That's when she grinned. "Grover, baby, you've made me one very happy woman." She leaned forward. "And if you didn't have windows in this office, I'd show you how happy." She stood, straightened her jacket, and gave him an impish grin. "Hell, you start drinking with me, the possibilities are endless." She licked her lips, laughed, then turned and walked out of his office, deliberately giving her shiny-panted ass a shake before she closed the door behind her.

Grover put his head down, centered his attention on the papers on his desk, ostensibly going back to work, but mainly to hide the wash of relief. He took some deep breaths to calm down.

Then he started to sweat.

Sandra would kill him this time for sure.

If she found out...

His phone rang. "Grover, it's Bliss."

The voice punched at him, made his flesh contract, and he swiveled away from his office window, guiltily, stupidly—as if anyone glancing in would know instantly he was talking to a killer and parole violator on department time. "Yes," he said, and choked back the seethe of hatred that made him tremble.

"Any news on Harding yet?" Bliss sounded bad-tempered and impatient.

"No. But I've got some calls out."

"You call me, ASAP, you hear anything. Anything at all. You got that?" he growled. "My bitch is holed up in the goddamn hotel, probably won't make a move until Vanelleto gets to wherever the hell it is he's supposed to be—maybe another day or two. My guess is it's where Harding's got Wartenski. Goddamn losers must be planning some kind of fuckin' reunion."

"Don't worry, Frank," he said, hating the sound of his own soft, soothing voice, yet finding the play easier with every lie. "I'll find the Wart." He swiveled to hang up the phone, then turned back to the window.

And when the time is right, I'll tell you where she is.
He had a flutter of panic at how long he could hold Bliss off, but shoved it aside. Everything was under control, and he intended to keep it that way.

How Sandra would laugh if she could see him now, making dates, plotting murders.

"Not so useless. Not such a coward now, my love," he murmured.

Still some loose ends, but so far...

He knew where Bliss was, where Beauty was, and thanks to Susan's excited call to him less than an hour ago, he knew the location of Harding and Wartenski. Vanelleto was still the wild card, but where Wart met the Beauty, Vanelleto wouldn't be far away. He was sure of it.

Feeling better now, less anxious, Wayne thought about what was in the glove compartment of his car—the knife, the shiny new gun—the keys to a shiny new life.

He held out his hands to the light coming in his office window. They weren't shaking. He was truly and finally ready.

Ready to kill Bliss and anyone else who threatened him.

Ready to play God.

* * *

Addy, in the office for the afternoon because Toby had a doctor's appointment, picked up the phone. "Star Lake."

"Addy?"

She slumped into the chair behind the counter. "Beauty. Where are you?"

"Seattle. The Everwood. I drove straight through. Have you heard from Gus yet?"

"No, but he'll be here, don't worry." Addy coiled the cord of the old phone around her finger until its tip went white. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I think Bliss is a few hours behind me," she said, her voice flat, carrying none of the fear and emotion of her first few calls.

Addy heard her take a drink, or maybe drag on a cigarette, she wasn't sure, but she hoped it was the latter. Booze and Beauty were too scary to think about. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Better than okay, knowing Bliss will be six feet under when Gus gets through with him." Her voice was frigid.

"Beauty, that's not—"

"Save it, Wart, the die, as they say, is cast." Another pause, another drag or drink. "I should give you this number. Got a pen?"

"Uh-huh." Addy, her mouth dry as dust, wrote down the number, then said, "Beauty, can I ask you something?"

This time she heard the tinkle of ice in a glass. Definitely drinking. Damn. "Sure, fire away."

"That night, when Gus went downstairs and you followed him?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you see who killed Belle? Was it Frank? Or Brett?"

"You know I don't like talking about... what happened. Besides, you asked me that question when we first got to Star Lake."

"I know. I'm asking again."

Silence. "And I'll give you the same answer. It had to be Frank, because I'm sure I heard Brett leave before the shooting started. He yelled something to Belle about her being a whore and slammed the door—shook the damn house. Man, that family gave new meaning to the word dysfunctional."

"But you didn't actually see him do it?"

"I told you back then I didn't see anything. Why are you asking me this now anyway?"

Addy rubbed her forehead. "I don't know. I guess I thought after all this time, you might have remembered something." She squelched her own guilty thoughts, the insecurities that had sprung up since she'd talked to Cade. She didn't understand it herself: why, after all these years, she was reliving that night, doubting her friends. What kind of a friend did that, what kind of a person? A thinking, all-grown-up kind of person, she told herself—which didn't make the shaky ground that came with the doubt any easier to stand on.

"It wasn't Gus, Addy." Beauty said, her tone low. "I know that as sure as I know Bliss is a murdering, lying, raping beast. It was him who killed Belle, then he lied and blamed it on Gus. Not only was Gus handy, Frank hated him." She took another drink. "Besides, Gus was with me. We were in Belle's room, trying to shut up the kid. I had a pillow and—"

"Dear God. You never told me that." Addy's chest tightened, and her words came out on a gasp.

"What was to tell? I didn't do anything. I was so scared, so hyped, I wasn't thinking. The kid was fine. Really. Gus took, uh, care of it."

"Took care of what, for God's sake?"

"Forget it. You want to talk, we'll talk when I get there. This is hardly the stuff for a phone call."

"Beauty."

"Look, I've got to go. Quit worrying, will you? And quit trying to figure things out. What happened, happened, and we can't take any of it back. All we can do is survive the best way we can." She paused, added in a softer voice. "It was such a long time ago. We were kids, Wart. Scared kids with no place to go." She let out a breath, and it came through the line guilt-laden and resigned. "Call me, will, you? The second Gus arrives—the very second." She hung up.

Addy dropped the receiver on the counter as if it were a dead rat. She couldn't take her eyes off it, couldn't make her brain stop superimposing a new and deadly image over the old—the one framed by trust, loyalty, and lost innocence.

That wild night, chaos, noise, blood, fear... the gunshots.

Gus and Beauty in Belle's room, both of them wounded, panicked, and angry, desperate to escape, get out of that terrible house... with a crying baby—and a pillow.

Had they—

No. She covered her face with her hands, her body trembling and weak. No. She would not, could not believe they'd hurt that boy. Gus was cold, self-protective, and domineering, but not inhuman, and Beauty might be rash sometimes and irresponsible, but never, never cruel.

They were her friends, the only two people in the world who'd ever cared about her, other than her mother.

She straightened away from the desk. In all these years, she'd never believed Gus or Beauty had anything to do with Belle's murder. She wouldn't start doubting them now.

That Bliss lied to protect himself, she could believe. She could also believe that Bliss... hurt the boy. But why? There was no reason for Frank to hurt him. At least none she could think of. Damn. The whole thing made her head ache. Just because Gus and Beauty were the last ones to see the boy didn't mean—

Startled when the bell over the office door jangled, she looked up. It was an older couple, an extremely tall man and a woman—much smaller—with silvery white hair and one of those expensive haircuts that put every hair on her head in exactly the right place. She was pretty though, and the man was smiling.

Grateful for the distraction from her miserable, disloyal thoughts, she went into work mode, and smiled back. "Hi, can I help you?"

"Sure can, little lady. If you can handle it, we'd like a cabin for a couple of days. Maybe three."

"That I can do," she said, thinking the term "little lady" would pretty much describe any woman this giant of a man ever met. She handed them a registration card. "My name is Addy Michaels, and I'm the owner of Star Lake." She stuck out a hand in the usual ritual, knowing they'd introduce themselves in return. It was her way of hearing names, rather than having to have them read to her. Names were the hardest of all.

"Stan Brenton," the big man said, his smile broadening. "And this is the love of my life, Susan."

His hand was warm, big as a shovel, and equally as firm. Addy nodded. The woman's hand was small and cool; she peered at Addy intently, as if measuring her in some way. Addy, uncomfortable under her scrutiny, said, "I can put you in Cabin Seven, Mrs. Brenton, it overlooks the lake. Will that be all right?"

"That will be fine," the woman said, momentarily shifting her gaze from Addy and nodding toward the office window. "This place is a real gem—the painted cottages are lovely." The praise was as cool as her hand.

Addy turned to get them keys. When she turned back, the man was picking up brochures, and his wife was studying Addy as if she were a dissected toad.

"Thank you," she said, vaguely uneasy. "I've been working on the cabins for some time now."

"Well, it certainly shows." Susan took her key, but not her eyes off of Addy.

"Let's go, love," the man said, tugging her arm. "After all that driving, I could use a lie down."

"If you need anything, let me know," Addy called out as they walked out the door.

"We certainly will, dear. You can count on that." She looked back over her shoulder, gave her a fierce look.

Addy's motel-owner smile dissolved into a frown as she watched the twosome get back into their car and drive the few yards to Cabin Seven. The woman went inside, while the man went to the trunk of the big Mercedes and unloaded two small bags.

When Cade's door opened, and he and Redge came out, her attention switched to him. She stifled a sigh at the sight of his fit, lean body clad casually in a white muscle shirt and runner's shorts. Such a strong body...

While her thoughts made an unscheduled detour into the mist of last night's lovemaking, and her breath stumbled along her windpipe, she saw Cade nod at the man and sort of cock his head at the woman, who still looked annoyed about something. When Mr. Brenton set the bags by his side, and offered his hand, Cade shook it, nodded, and the two men talked briefly before Cade and Redge headed for a run on the path circling the lake.

"New guests?" Toby asked, stepping in the door.

"Yes. Cabin Seven." She watched the man go in and close the door, then turned to Toby. "Just for a couple of nights though."

"Good thing, we're damn near empty after yesterday. Two couples leaving early and all. This keeps up and this here resort will be running on empty before the weekend."

"Motel," she corrected automatically, then blinked. "What did you say?"

"I said if we don't get anybody else checking in, we'll only have renters in Six, Eleven, and Seven come Saturday. That's only a couple of days away." He came around the counter and sat at the computer, a coffee in his hand.