The Price of Candy (2 page)

She decided to return the woman’s call partly
from curiosity and partly because it meant a possible reconnection
with Philadelphia, which remained an agreeable part of her.

The Abby person answered sounding pleased.
“Here we are, both of us down here in Florida. We’re old soul mates
from Philly, the juvenile rehab center out near the airport,
remember?”

The words jerked Sandy back hard to her
teenage years. She recalled having few friends while trapped in
that shameful place. Of course, she was joined in sisterhood with
every other teenage girl locked up there, but was too angry with
everyone at that time to realize it. A rehab sister wasn’t exactly
the same as a friend. Now that she thought back, she did recall
having at least one friendship, but the girl’s name wasn’t
Abby.

What was her name? Some young girl from the
sticks. Every place between the Mississippi River and California
was the sticks to Philadelphia girls. One time they had huddled
together in the supply closet to avoid clean-up duty, peeking out
through the crack of the door like children playing some mystery
game. Sounded corny when she thought about it. The girl talked
continually about her hometown in Iowa, or was it Arkansas?

Gloria it was...yes, homesick, depressed, and
vulnerable. Red meat for a certain counselor. Poor, stringy-haired
Gloria, a lamb to the slaughter. Sandy suffered more than one
sleepless night agonizing over whether to volunteer to take
Gloria’s next inglorious turn with him. He’d welcome the
opportunity to get at Sandy. She considered it seriously. She could
handle it; it was tearing Gloria apart. She couldn’t bring herself
to do it. She admitted sadly that she hated the thought of him more
than she cared for Gloria. Someone else would have to save the
world.

Thinking about Gloria brought a dreadful
question to mind. Was Abby one of the abused girls confined in that
juvenile rehab facility? If she had endured the exploitation, Sandy
wanted to meet with her.

She didn’t remember her at all in spite of
her mention of being a soul mate. Some people, she supposed, are
truly fortunate enough to have soul mates. None of Sandy’s friends
rose to that level, certainly none of her teenage cellmates. Unless
Abby was considering all of the girls soul mates by virtue of their
common experience.

“I never forgot juvie rehab, but can’t place
you, Abby.” The rehab affair was not an experience Sandy cared to
rehash. “You say we were both in there at the same time?”

“Yeah, same giggle of girls,” Abby said. “I
saw your picture in the local newspaper down here last month and I
thought, hey I know her. You must be one hotshot lawyer to solve
the murder of that politician and get your brother out of
jail.”

“Not a lawyer yet, still a law student.” Four
months ago, she had reluctantly quit her intern job with a criminal
defense firm in Philadelphia to come to Florida. Temporarily, she
assumed, to help her brother. He hadn’t bothered with her for years
and then, after he was seduced and framed for a murder in Park
Beach, he desperately phoned her in Philadelphia and sought her
help. She resented having her life interrupted. At first, she had
told him to go to hell.

“His arrest and confinement was appalling,”
she told Abby on the phone, “but I created enough havoc and
reasonable doubt to get him cleared of all charges.”

“Getting him released was one thing, but
according to the paper you didn’t leave well enough alone and went
after the true killer.”

“I had help. Do you need a lawyer? Is that
what this is about?”

“No, don’t need a lawyer. Can’t I just phone
an old juvie buddy? Well, in fact, I do have a little problem. But
let’s just get together and talk. I’m out in West County. Do you
ever get out this way?”

Now she was curious about meeting Abby. As
Sandy recalled the rehab situation, she alone had escaped the
sexual exploitation. If Abby was there at that time, that creepy
counselor might have gotten to her too. Psychological effects could
persist and meeting with Sandy might help. Issues from that old
juvenile detention experience up north remained in the back of her
own mind as well. She’d been walking around with uncomfortable
thoughts from the past for too long. Perhaps recalling some of
those concerns with this alleged juvie buddy would help. She agreed
to meet her despite the bad vibes.

Abby Olin snapped her phone shut and smiled.
With that call, she had successfully involved an old rehab
acquaintance, Sandra Reid, in the murder scheme. The scheme in
which Abby would get lots of money despite Toby, her so-called
boyfriend. He was going after the same money, was willing to give
her some, but that wasn’t good enough for her. She intended to have
the lion’s share, and any truthful lion will tell you
Lion’s
Share
means all of it.

Toby assumed he’d get the money and he
assumed he’d get laid. He gets the money, gives some to her, and
she puts out. What’s the problem? What he was going to get was
dead.

He was ten years younger than Abby, okay
looking, and bursting with energy. Why let all that virility go to
waste, she had asked herself. Why not make out with him a few
times? Wait until he starts to cool off
then
shoot him. An
interesting interlude, but she decided going directly for the gold
was more important.

Her murder scheme all started back on the
night they returned from their first date. They had nestled in her
living room talking and drinking until she felt sufficiently
buzzed. Then she was ready. She started unbuttoning her blouse
while leading him to the bedroom.

It was nice to be wanted, but he was overly
excited. For more than an hour, he had sat on the couch watching
her bare legs moving around carefree under her short denim skirt.
At last in the bedroom, he popped before she could get her shoes
off. Her jaw dropped. With her shoulders hunched and palms turned
up, she gave him the classic what-the-hell-was-that look. She was
pissed. What did she expect, almost thirty years old and still
living with his mother? She hurried him out of the house that night
and demanded he never call her again. Never! Got it, Toby?
Never!

The next day he phoned.

“I think I’ll be okay next time,” he pleaded.
“I’ve been thinking about you a lot. So, I’m kind of used to you
now.”

“I’m glad you’ve been practicing, but no
thanks.” Even considering her lousy sex life, one must have
standards. No point in giving him a second chance, she thought.
With his evident level of experience, he probably didn’t know
what-went-where. Men can have their virgins, women prefer someone
who knows what they’re doing.

He showed up uninvited at her door anyway.
There’s no pest like a horny pest. Fortunately for her she decided
to let him in. He babbled about some money, big money. She wasn’t
buying any male bullshit to get her back in bed. While sitting
there wondering how to get him out of the house, he reached in his
pocket and came out with some bills to show her. It didn’t look
like much...at first.

“Fan them out for me, Toby.”

Just ten bills but all hundreds. Where’d he
get the money? He wasn’t certain he should tell her. He did say he
had a lot more. Flashing that money was his first mistake.

She couldn’t hide the grin. “Do you have more
down in your pants? Maybe I should look.”

For some reason, she believed him when he
announced he had more at home and that presented a problem. With a
couple hundred she could say, let’s go out and blow it. On the way
back, she’d invent a headache and brush him off. Even a thousand
wouldn’t be much of a challenge for her. If he did have serious
money, she needed a plan. Like a get-all-of-it plan.

She fixed him a drink and sat him down in the
living room. “Toby, we need to talk.” Meaning: shut up Toby, here’s
what you’re going to do.

“You’re mad at me because of last night,
aren’t you Abby? I want you to have this thousand. It’s okay—I’ve
got more.”

“More, Toby?” she asked as casually as
possible.

“Don’t know if I should talk about it.” He
squirmed. “We going in your bedroom later?”

“You’re not suggesting I’d screw for money,
are you?”

“Not unless you wanted to.”

“What?”

“No, what I meant was...the thousand’s
yours...whatever.”

“Well, I should think so.” She had no idea
why she should think so. “I’d love to go to bed with you, but I’m
too tired. Anyway, my daughter Jamie is home tonight. She’s in her
bedroom now. So keep your voice down.” In truth, her daughter was
down the block sleeping over with a friend.

“I could come over tomorrow night and show
you some more of the money, but it’s like...I’m all ready tonight,
you know?”

“I’m eager as well, Toby. Let’s do this. Go
home now and think hard about me. And I’ll think hard about you at
the same time. That would be the proper way to handle your problem.
Then bring the money over tomorrow night.”

She spent most of the thousand easily the
following day. That night she opened the door to an eager and
slicked up Toby. He appeared so nice that for an instant she
regretted telling Jamie to stay home. After they settled together
on the couch, he took out a handful of new hundred dollar bills and
placed it on the coffee table in front of her. The bills were so
fresh and crisp they fell in line like a new deck of cards. He slid
the stack toward her and announced it was her half.

Huh?

Her half of what, she was afraid to ask. She
couldn’t resist touching the bills. She evened them up, placed her
hand on top of the stack, and flicked the sides of the beautiful
bills with her thumb. She picked them up and shifted them from hand
to hand, as though weighing gold. Unreal. For chrissake, there must
be a hundred bills in that stack. She did a quick mental
calculation. One hundred, hundred-dollar bills would be a thousand
dollars. No! That’s not right. It’d be ten thousand dollars. “Yes,
it’d be ten grand,” she thought aloud unintentionally.

There it was. The most cash she’d ever seen
in one pile. An amount some people would kill for, including her.
He’d just set it there, pretty as you please and declared it was
her half. Now that it rested on her table, no way was that money
leaving her house while she was alive. It was there; it was
hers.

She gathered up the money and hesitated a
second, waiting for his protest. None came. So, she smiled nicely
at him and walked alone to her bedroom. She closed the door, leaned
back against it, and let out a deep breath. Life is good. She held
the money high in the air and shook it. She loved touching it. She
could smell it. She could taste it. She could hear it speaking to
her. She turned on her bedside lamp and examined a couple of the
bills closely. Unbelievably gorgeous. She stuffed the money in a
closet shoebox. She replaced the lid and patted the box gently. Ten
thousand waiting to be spent. With ten grand, she could fly to some
exotic resort and let some attractive men do their best to seduce
this naïve American woman.

If that was half, it meant he had the other
half. Another ten grand. It made no sense. Toby didn’t look dumb,
he just did dumb. Like handing her a bunch of money. Of course,
he’s looking to get laid, but he didn’t need ten thousand for that.
She smiled remembering that half a candy bar had worked once,
however that was a long time ago. Toby didn’t know it yet, but he’d
get zilch for his money.

She listened for him. He was still in the
living room mumbling something about what might be on TV. She
quietly took the small Smithy .38 from the nightstand just in case.
She removed the trigger lock and pushed the gun down into the
pocket of her slacks. Would she use it if necessary? For ten
thousand? She laughed out loud.

In the kitchen, she found a bottle of Jim
Beam and two glasses, and hurried back to the living room. “Drink
up, Toby, celebration time. Sorry I couldn’t get a babysitter so
I’m afraid Jamie will be here again tonight. But at least we can
have a drink.” She laughed. He looked like a disinherited relative
after reading the will.

Where’d he get it, she wanted to know? Was it
hot? Was a Mexican drug lord going to bust through the wall
wielding a machete? She explained she was sorry, but simply
couldn’t accept any more money unless he explained how he got
it.

That led to another nail in Toby’s coffin. As
fatal mistakes go, this one was definitely worth getting killed
over. He proceeded to give her all the details: what had happened,
where the money came from, and how he could get more. His story was
good and his plan simple. Amazing, she thought, that Toby Towalski
had put it together all by himself.

Why had he cut her in? Why was he willing to
split with her? She wondered why but wasn’t about to ask him. She
didn’t want him to rethink any of it. Maybe he’s thinking about a
million-buck jackpot. That must be the answer. So what’s a measly
ten grand for the girlfriend who is going to spread wide the
gateway to paradise? What would it take, she wondered, to get her
hands on all of it?

Toby made another mistake the next day. He
came back and asked for all the money back.

Of all the nerve, she thought. He said he
needed car repairs, his mother was behind on her mortgage or dying
or something. He just had to have the money back. Forget about
it.

His mistake in sharing with her had finally
sunk down through his scalp, she guessed. He might also have
realized, since Abby was not putting out as expected, ten grand
could buy him a fantastic amount of sex around town. A fool and his
money are some party. Of course, the first bimbo he connected with
wouldn’t leave his side until she had it all. Like the lion that
lies down beside the zebra for days until all the bones are picked
clean.