The Deepest Cut (50 page)

Sproul bobbed his head. “When the men are in prison, the women run the show on the streets.”

Early’s focus was so deep, she hadn’t moved a muscle until now. “So Marvin Li, whose Guns Gone organization had been awarded grants from the state and many cities to reform gang members, remained a faithful captain and active member of Hell Side Wah Ching. His job was to protect the acting head, Grace Shipley. So he deployed teams of criminals under the auspices of Aaron’s Aarrows to serve as lookouts.”

“Thanks for your report, Alex,” Kissick said. “Li probably told Chang that his number was up, that if Chang falsely confessed to Scrappy’s murder, we’d stop sniffing around and Li would be able to protect what was really going on— a gang war between Hell Side Wah Ching and their rivals, Black Dragon. He’d set it up to make it look like he was delivering Chang to us, but Chang wasn’t about to go down for a murder he didn’t commit.”

Lieutenant Beltran stroked his upper lip. He’d shaved his mustache weeks ago, but still subconsciously smoothed it. “So Scrappy Es-pinoza, a two-bit snitch, is murdered in Old Pasadena, which leads to Marvin Li, which leads to Grace and Meghan Shipley, which leads to Sun Kao, which leads to breaking open a violent territorial war between two rival Asian gangs.”

Kissick concluded. “All discovered because Scrappy Espinoza had recognized Tanner Persons as the man who’d attacked Nan Vining and tried to blackmail him.”

They sat in silence for a while.

Kissick caught Early’s eye and said, “Word is Axel Holcomb will be released from prison soon.”

With that last piece of news, he ended the meeting.

FIFTY-SIX

A
T HOME THAT EVENING, AT DUSK, VINING STOOD ON HER TERRACE
and enjoyed her view of the hindquarters of L.A. and the tips of the downtown skyscrapers that she could glimpse above the hilltops. She’d stopped by the market and bought groceries for favorite treats of hers and Em’s that she hadn’t cooked in a long time: lasagna, stuffed bell peppers, enchiladas, and Toll House cookies. She had time on her hands.

On impulse, because she rarely drank, she bought a margarita in a flip-top can. She’d poured it into a glass over ice and stood on the terrace sipping it.

For the first time in a year and a half, she hadn’t felt T. B. Mann out there, watching her. Now he had a face, he had a name, and he wouldn’t bother her anymore.

Vining let an ice cube slip into her mouth and chewed it. She put down the glass and walked to the wind chimes. They were silent. She didn’t even sense a vibration from them as she had in the past right before they had been set ringing by Frankie Lynde’s ghostly hand. Vining hoped she had finally appeased the ghost who followed her.

She took the clapper between her fingers and hit it against one of the larger steel tubes, emitting a somber, resonant tone. She sounded
it for Frankie Lynde, then once again, for each of the others: Cookie Silva, Marilu Feathers, and Johnna Alwin.

After the last tone faded, she rang it one more time. This was for the Nan Vining that T. B. Mann had made. She was no longer a reflection in his twisted eyes. She and Em were finally free of his dark shadow. Vining was her own Nan now.

FIFTY-SEVEN

T
HAT WEEKEND, VINING RELEASED EMILY FROM BEING GROUNDED
and let her go to the school dance with a group of friends, including Lincoln Kennedy Zhang.

Vining conned Kissick into helping her serve as a chaperone. She was wearing a late-summer dress she’d bought and strappy high-heeled sandals she’d found in the back of her closet. Her grandmother, the former hairstylist, had done her hair in an upsweep.

They stood in the shadows of the school’s multipurpose room, watching Emily slow dance with Ken.

Vining told Kissick, “I apologized to Pearl Zhang for accusing Ken of being in a gang.”

“How did that go over?”

“Better than I expected. She apologized to me, too, for her cousin Marvin.”

He nodded.

They stood listening to the music, their fingertips interlaced. After a while, he asked, “Would you like to dance?”

“I would, except I think that Emily would be embarrassed.”

“She’s not paying attention.”

They both looked to see Emily and Ken gazing into each other’s eyes as they danced.

“Oh-oh,” Vining said.

“Oh-oh is right. Come here, you.” He pulled her onto the dance floor. As they swayed to the music, he said, “Did I tell you that you look fantastic?”

“Yes,” she grinned.

“It’s worth saying again. You look fantastic.”

“Thank you.”

He nuzzled her neck.

She squealed a little when it tickled. “Watch yourself, Detective. There are minor children present.”

He held her close. “Nan, promise me one thing. No more lies?” He said it as a question.

“Never again,” she replied, and at that moment, she meant it. She leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. She saw no nightmarish scenarios playing on the backs of her eyelids. Instead, she glimpsed a happier future for her, Emily, and Jim.

There were more words to say, many more, but they could wait. They had time. The song ended. The dancers clapped. One couple was not quite finished. Kissick tipped Nan backward into a dramatic dip. She arched her neck and pointed her toe.

Emily watched the whole thing. While she expressed to her friends that she was mortified, secretly she was delighted.

Read on for an excerpt from

LOVE KILLS

by Dianne Emley

Published by Ballantine Books

TWO

T
hanks, honey
, but I’m just going to relax at home. I’ve cracked a bottle of Veuve and I’m going to enjoy some peace and quiet.”

Catherine “Tink” Engleford strolled around the swimming pool in the backyard of her estate in Pasadena’s San Rafael hills while talking on her BlackBerry to her girlfriend and waving a glass of champagne.

“Cheyenne didn’t call you?” Tink pursed her lips. The Juvederm treatments she’d had in the lines around her mouth allowed the fifty-year-old skin to crinkle slightly. “I agree. She’s not the best personal assistant.” She laughed.

“Well, she’s had a hard life and I’m trying to give her a leg up. We can all use help now and then, right? But yes, it’s time for another talk with her when she gets back. She’s in Ventura for the weekend and I’m enjoying the peace and quiet.”

She changed the subject. The less certain of her friends knew about her life, the better. “Kingsley’s out of town, too, on a business trip to Dubai. He’s great. It’s too soon for us to be spending holidays together anyway. Honey, don’t worry about me. I’m fine being alone on Easter. I haven’t been alone until just now. I went to the nine a.m. service at Church of the Angels and then I had brunch at Annandale with golfing friends. I’m looking forward to curling up with a good book.”

Tink let out a yelp when her stiletto heel teetered on an uneven piece of flagstone. “Dammit! Spilled champagne on my new St. John.” She brushed her bright pink jacket with her fingers and walked across the patio to the open bottle of Veuve Clicquot in an ice bucket. She refilled her glass.

“Darling, I only had one tiny mimosa at brunch. Three of my four friends didn’t touch a drop. Everyone was going on about how old they are. They can’t touch a drop in the middle of the day, they can’t wear heels anymore, blah, blah … It’s like they’re in their eighties, not their fifties. When did medical procedures become cocktail party conversation? I couldn’t wait to escape and get home.”

In truth, Tink couldn’t tolerate the flashes of pity in her friends’ eyes. The caring hand on her arm, the probing gaze, and the inevitable question, “How are you
doing
?”

She’d lost her twenty-three-year-old son, Derek, and her husband, Stan, in the space of two years. Her son, the product of her first marriage and her only child, had been killed in a motorcycle accident three years ago. Her husband of five years, the love of her life whom she’d felt blessed to meet in middle age, had dropped dead at the Annandale golf course just over a year ago. She felt like telling the concerned souls, “How the hell do you think I’m doing?”

All things considered, she was all right. Every day she got out of bed. Every day she did something to improve her mind, body, and spirit. She sought solace in traditional sources: her Anglican faith, good diet, Pilates, and yoga. She’d also dabbled at the fringes, into alternative philosophies and practices. She’d flirted with the occult. The pendulum was swinging back from the fringes. Lately, she’d been doing some spiritual house-cleaning. Severing ties that she’d come to learn were more than simply not
nurturing
, but were downright
parasitic
.

She looked at the spot the champagne had left on her jacket. “I can’t believe it’s already Easter. Can you believe it? I haven’t even started on my New Year’s resolutions. How can you not make New Year’s resolutions? Mine are the same as last year’s. Lose weight. Fall in love. Meet my astral shadow.”

The last one was a joke.

She paused. “Wait a second, honey.” She pressed the phone against her chest and said to her guest, “This is a surprise. What are you doing here?”

Tink moved the phone back to her ear. “Honey, I’ve got to run. Everything’s fine. Have a wonderful time tonight. I’ll call later. Bye.”

She walked around to the other side of the pool, still holding the phone. “Let’s go inside. Looks like it’s going to rain again.” She started to walk past the chaise longues lined up side by side. “Want something to drink?”

Before she knew what hit her, Tink stumbled backward and fell into the pool. What had hit her was a long cushion from one of the chaises. Her champagne glass flew into the water. Disoriented, Tink found her bearings and started swimming for the surface. Her wool knit suit grew heavy and one of her shoes fell off.

Just as her right hand broke through the water’s surface, she was again submerged. The cushion was over her torso, her assailant now in the pool and on top of her, keeping her from raising her arms. In shock, she opened her mouth and swallowed water. She began to panic.

Stay calm, Tink
. Then she thought,
I didn’t do anything to deserve this
.

She’d always been athletic and wasn’t going down without a fight. She wrenched her body and kicked viciously, touching the side of the pool with her feet. Retracting her legs, she propelled off it, moving the two of them and the freaking cushion toward the shallow end. Her toes touched bottom. Then her feet did, too.

She clawed at the cushion and felt her acrylic fingernails tearing. Her long blond hair became tangled as she thrashed. Using her hard-earned flexibility and strength, she hooked a leg around her assailant’s, shifting the balance. The side of her face broke the surface of the water. She opened her mouth against the cushion and was able to take in a strangled breath. It wasn’t much, but enough to keep her going. She got her other leg around, encasing her would-be murderer’s other leg in a viselike grip. They were now both sinking beneath the surface.

You’re going down, too, asshole
.

She knew it was false bravado as she felt herself growing weaker. Every cell in her body cried for oxygen. Then she felt herself floating off, observing from someplace that had nothing to do with water, earth, or air. The fight didn’t so much leave her as it seemed silly to struggle any longer. Her legs released their grip. Her hands opened against the cushion. She was floating. She’d always loved the water. It will support you if you only let go. She was being moved along with the current. Everything except her lungs felt light and free. They burned. They were all that was holding her back. They would feel free, too, if she only released that last part. She saw her dead husband and son, smiling, like the last time she’d seen them together. There was something else, lurking at the edges. Was that her astral shadow? She finally let go.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DIANNE EMLEY gained critical acclaim for the previous books in the Nan Vining series,
The First Cut,
a
Los Angeles Times
bestseller, and
Cut to the Quick.
She lives in Pasadena, California, with her husband, Charlie.

www.DianneEmley.com

Copyright © 2009 by Emley and Co., LLC

Excerpt from Love Kills copyright 2010 by Emley and Co., LLC

All rights reserved.

BALLANTINE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book Love Kills. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

eISBN: 978-0-345-51255-0

www.ballantinebooks.com

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