One Deadly Sin (39 page)

I
t took Holt a minute to recover from the earthquake he’d just survived. He sat in the car, hoping for another miracle. But when Edie didn’t pop out the door and call him back a second time, he took off. Ended at his office, where he found a note from Sam saying Terry had made bond and been released.

Just as well. Holt wasn’t in the mood to deal with Terry tonight. No, he was in the mood. The wrong mood.

He tossed his keys into the top desk drawer as always, saw the envelope with Edie’s name scrawled on it. He tore it open. Her bike keys fell into his hand. Couldn’t get away from her if he tried.

Itching to kick someone across the room, he kicked his chair instead. It went spinning and crashed into Sam’s desk, toppling a neat pile of papers and a soft-sided black book with “Appointments” embossed in gold.

Fuck. He stared at the mess, exhaled a huge breath, and picked up the stuff, knowing she’d had it in a certain order, which he’d never be able to replicate. He set the appointment book on top, then thought better of it. It wasn’t Sam’s. She kept her appointments on her phone.

He opened it, saw Dennis Runkle’s business card clipped to the inside front cover. So, they’d found it. He wondered when the hell Sam was going to get around to telling him.

The book was divided by day, each day with its own page. An index card marked the day of Runkle’s death. He ran his finger down the page. Real estate appointments were listed by address; the one with Edie was 144 Dogwood. The next one was also on the east side of town. Not too far from Dogwood on Myrtle. Runkle must have grouped them together. Holt fixed on the house number, tapping the book. The address sounded familiar, though he didn’t know why.

He was thinking of getting in the car and driving over there when it hit him. He knew who lived on Myrtle.

Terry Bishop.

The house on Myrtle was eerily menacing in the dark, its wide, beveled shape stabbing the moonlit sky. Holt climbed the steps and ducked into the blackness beneath the makeshift arch of overgrown shrubs a few feet from the front door. The house appeared on the other side, and if he’d been twenty years younger, he might have thought twice about knocking. His younger self would have imagined all sorts of gothic horrors behind the shadowy walls. But Holt was all grown up now and he knew the only horror waiting for him was Terry.

Ellen Garvey answered his knock, peering at him curiously. “Chief!” A hand went to her heart, her eyes scrunched into worry. “My goodness, has something else happened?”

“I’m looking for Terry, Miss Ellen.”

She looked a little disheveled, as if she’d been lying down. At one point she’d applied a coat of red lipstick and it had blurred over her mouth and strayed over the lines of her lips, making her appear a little clownish. Holt felt sorry for her. She looked old and frail and now she had Terry to worry about.

“Sorry if I woke you.”

She waved the apology away. “Oh, I was awake. Now tell me about Terry. Is he all right? He’s not hurt, is he?”

Holt assured her that as far as he knew, Terry was fine. “I’d just like to talk to him.”

“I was just about to go to bed, but…” She opened the door wider. “Come in, come in.” She led the way to a small sitting room with a worn carpet and paint chipping off the walls, but no Terry.

“Please,” Ellen said, “Sit down.”

“That’s okay. I won’t be long. If I could just see Terry.”

“I’m afraid he isn’t in.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“He’s not in trouble again, is he?”

“I don’t know, Miss Ellen. Did he happen to mention seeing Dennis Runkle the day he died?”

She looked taken aback. “Why ever would he?”

“He never mentioned Runkle at all?” Holt asked.

“Not that I recall. At least not until after he died. But then, so did everyone else.” She shivered but there was a note of excitement to it. “That black angel business.” She tsked. “All I heard about for days.

“Did Terry ever tell you he had some information about the Hammerbilt plant”?

“My goodness. Information? What kind of information?”

“Something… secret. Embarrassing maybe.”

She shook her head. “Where in the world does that boy get these notions?” Fretful, she crumbled the cloth of her slacks. “I don’t like to admit this, but my nephew tends to make himself more important than he is. It’s a fault, I know, but he doesn’t mean anything by it.” She gave him a pleading look, as if asking him not to judge Terry too harshly.

Holt frowned. “Do you know where he is now?”

She shook her head again. “I believe he borrowed the car again. A young man needs a car,” she said.

“You be careful now,” he said sternly. “I know Terry’s your nephew, but he’s not always on the side of the angels.”

“Well, I don’t suppose any of us are,” she said stiffly.

“I’d hate to see him take advantage of you,” Holt said.

“You don’t think…” She laughed nervously. “Surely Terry wouldn’t hurt me.”

Holt wasn’t sure, but he also didn’t want to alarm her. “You just call me if you need anything.” He handed her a card.

Later, after Ellen had seen him out, he breathed in the night air, warm and overladen with the smell of vegetation, but still fresher than the mustiness of the old house.

He drove to Red’s, but Terry wasn’t there and hadn’t been all night. He wasn’t at the Cloverleaf either, and when Holt called Prewitt, the motel owner said he hadn’t seen Terry in a week.

Stumped and not a little worried, Holt leaned against his car, stared out at the “loverleaf” sign, and shoved his hands in his pockets. His fingers traced the outline of a small set of keys, and he pulled them out. Edie’s bike keys. He didn’t remember putting them there, but then again, he didn’t remember much except tossing his office.

Would she be awake? Of course she would, it was barely ten. Would she talk to him? After their awkward and aborted dinner, she probably wasn’t too interested in seeing him again tonight. Hell, she wasn’t interested in seeing him period. All in the name of his own good, of course.

Well, screw that.

He took off, keeping a close eye on the streets in case Terry or anyone else was where they shouldn’t be. Didn’t take long to get to Amy Lyle’s house. Didn’t take long to get anywhere in Redbud.

He pulled into the drive, parked the car in the same spot he’d left it a few hours ago. Made the same walk up to the door, bracing himself for the same reception.

She opened the door, surprise on her face.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “Didn’t expect to see me so soon.”

“Something wrong?”

“I got something for you.”

Edie cocked her head. He was giving her a present? Not exactly what she’d expected after he left. It killed her to admit it, but despite what she’d said she was glad he’d come back. Stupid, of course. Downright idiotic. But who was she to tell her body not to get all neon glowy just looking at him?

“Hold out your hand.”

“Holt—”

“Come on, hold out your hand.”

She played along. Held her hand out, palm up. He dropped her bike keys into it.

Her gaze snapped to his. She searched his face but there was no sign he was punking her. “Really?”

“Really.”

Still, she wasn’t ready to accept. She leaned against the door jamb, the keys still sitting on top of her open palm as if they might bite if she got too close. “You’re going to get in trouble for this, aren’t you?”

“Nah.”

“Yeah, you are. See? This is exactly what I meant.”

“Will you just take the damn keys?”

It was selfish, but she couldn’t hold out any longer. She closed her fist around the keys. The minute she did, he grabbed her hand and pulled her to the car. She barely got the door shut.

“Wait a minute!”

“Come on. I want to get this over with.”

He bundled her into his car and drove downtown to the office. They got out and he led her around the corner and down the block to a small lot bordered by a chain-link fence. She grabbed a handful of wire and gazed in. Her bike sat in heavy chains against a post.

“What if I take off?”

“Then I’ll hunt you down.”

A fair enough bargain, especially since they both knew she wasn’t going anywhere. Her stomach swirled and her heart spun with it. It seemed to take Holt forever to unlock the gate. Sick with excitement, she ran to the imprisoned Harley. Another eternity and he unlocked the chains.

She ran a shaky hand along the sleek body. Her chrome was dusty. “You need a bath, girl,” she said to the machine. She switched on the “run” button, turned the key, and pushed the starter. The engine turned over, rumbling to life. That deep, throaty growl set off another electric wave inside her, an indescribable need to feel the road quake through her body. But before she could go anywhere, Holt’s phone rang. He stepped away to take the call.

“What?” she asked when he returned. She was impatient to leave, anxious to feel the wind against her shoulders.

“A neighbor reported a break-in at the Community Church.”

She pulled the passenger seat from a saddlebag. “I’ll take you.” She didn’t wait for an answer, just fixed the suction cups to the fender. “Faster than going back for you car,” she added.

He conceded the point and got on. When they were on the corner of East and Courthouse, he tapped her shoulder. She slowed to a stop. From there they could see the back of the church. A Saturn sat near the door.

“That’s Ellen Garvey’s car,” Holt said.

Edie parked the bike and they crossed the street, instinctively moving fast and low. They crept to the back door. Slowly, Holt tried the handle; it turned.

Inside, the church was dark, but light spilled from a hallway up ahead. They inched toward it. Stopped at the corner. Flattened against the wall.

Holt peeked around the edge. Took Edie’s hand and slithered around the corner. A few feet down the lighted hallway, a door stood open.

They snuck up to it. Gradually, Holt widened the opening until they could see inside. Brooms, mops, cleaning supplies. A janitor’s closet.

And in the middle, sitting on an overturned metal pail, Terry Bishop was poring over a manila file.

50

H
olt straightened, hands on hips next to Edie. “What you got there?”

Terry jumped sky high. The folder fell to the floor, papers spilled out. Edie grabbed them before Terry could. “What’s this?” she asked.

Terry looked guiltily between them. He opened his mouth. Shut it again.

“Reports,” Edie said, answering her own question. She flipped the pages. “Production stats from Hammerbilt. Daily. Weekly.” She flipped more pages. “Monthly.” She checked the top of the pages. “Look at the dates—1987, ’88, ’89.” She exchanged a glance with Holt.

“Where’d you get this?” Holt asked Terry.

Terry’s lips flattened. Holt grabbed a handful of Terry’s shirt. “Answer the question. Where’d you get the file?”

“I found it.”

“Uh huh. Where exactly did you ‘find’ it?”

He squirmed in his seat on the pail and finally admitted, “At Aunt Hannah’s.”

“What do you mean?” Holt said to Terry. “Where at your aunt’s?”

“In her room.”

Holt eyed Terry. He avoided the lawman’s glance. “What were you doing in her room?” Holt asked.

Terry didn’t reply.

Holt shook him. “What were you doing—”

“She was dead, okay? Wasn’t going to need nothing. She had all these pins and necklaces and stuff. And I needed the money. I’m not gonna get stuck in this town for the rest of my life. I got plans.”

Holt shoved him away with disgust. “Jesus, Terry. Stealing from the dead.”

“What about the file?” Edie asked.

“Hidden in her closet. Behind a bunch of old-lady stuff. Hats and shoes and things.”

“Why would she hide—”

“How should I know?” Terry said. “But I figured she wouldn’t have hidden it if it wasn’t important.”

“Let me guess,” Holt said. “This is what you wanted to talk to Edie about in the motel.”

Terry flicked a hangdog look at Edie, shrugged, and nodded. “But I didn’t wreck your stuff,” he said.

“Yeah, I know,” Edie said.

“You… you do?” Terry gaped as if it was inconceivable that anyone would believe him about anything.