Fatal Lies ( Lies Mystery Thriller Series Book 2) Page 4

  “All I’m saying is that transitioning back into the free world hasn’t exactly been easy for you emotionally. Will a visit to your old prison bring back all of those old memories in a rush that may be more than you can handle?”

  “If you’re there with me, I can handle it.”

  I’d never been to a prison before. Never had a desire to. Scary places. Definitely not my cup of tea. On the other hand, I’d be going with Sabrina and I would go anyplace with Sabrina. So I guess that was settled.

  “We go to visit Terri then,” I said.

  The rest of the meal was quiet. We managed to talk about normal things not related to any of this. We decided that when we got back to Massachusetts, we’d have to take a couple days and visit Mo—and to a lesser extent, Seymour, my cranky tenant on the second floor—in East Boston. A few nights in my old apartment would be nice. Even though Mo went up everyday to run the water, air the place out and water the plants—she said it was the least she could do for the free rent—sometimes it just needed to be lived in.

  We were sitting across from each other in the booth and had just paid the bill when a man and a woman slid in next to us, the woman on Sabrina’s side and the man on mine. The woman was mid-thirties and blonde. There was no question that she was the one who had impersonated Daisy. Next to me the man was dressed in a button-down shirt, a tie, and a blue sports jacket. His hand was in the pocket of his sports jacket and there was a definite bulge that indicated he was holding something. A gun?

  “Let’s talk,” said the woman.

  I glanced at Sabrina, then looked at the guy’s hand. He had pulled it out of his pocket. Definitely a gun. We needed to play this one carefully.

  “What would you like to talk about?” I said nonchalantly. At least I thought it was nonchalant. Probably wasn’t, though.

  “Just shut up and listen.” The woman was the mouthpiece of the couple. “Walk away from this now.”

  “Oh I don’t think so,” said Sabrina, cool as a cucumber. How did she do that?

  “You think this is a game?”

  “Frankly, we have no idea what it is. Your man in Chicago was too busy crying like a baby to tell us what it was all about.”

  The blonde didn’t say anything

  “So are you going to tell us?” Sabrina asked.

  “It’s all about the fact that if you don’t walk away from this, we will make you disappear. Nobody will find you and they will quickly forget you ever existed.”

  I laughed. It came spontaneously before I had a chance to think about the fact that I would probably piss them off by laughing. The blonde gave me an evil look. “Oh, I don’t think so,” I said. “Everyone would miss us, and thanks to your picture on the bank video,” I was hoping the video would come up with something, “everyone will know our killer. You don’t know who this is, do you?”

  The woman looked blank, and maybe just a little nervous. Her evil façade was breaking. She didn’t say anything.

  “Sabrina Spencer.”

  She still looked blank.

  “Bestselling author whose face has been on the cover of just about every magazine and every news and entertainment website in the civilized world over the last few months,” I said. “You don’t think she’ll be missed?”

  The blonde said, “And you?”

  “Oh, my mom will miss me.”

  Sabrina broke in. “How about you tell us what’s going on. You keep telling us to drop it, but you give us no incentive to, other than your toothless death threats.”

  “They have teeth,” said the man. But he had obviously overstepped his bounds and the blonde told him to shut up.

  “It’s private business,” the blonde said.

  “Not good enough,” I said.

  “What was Daisy leaving me in the box?” asked Sabrina.

  “It was information she had no right leaving for someone else. It’s personal.”

  “To whom?”

  “Not to you.”

  “This isn’t getting us anywhere,” I said.

  She hesitated. “That’s all you’re going to get.”

  “Why did you kill her.”

  “We had nothing to do with that,” said the man.

  The woman shot him another nasty look and he shut up.

  “So why did she die?” I asked.

  “We don’t know.”

  Was she telling the truth? I couldn’t tell. She was probably an accomplished liar, so anything was possible.

  She continued. “This is bigger than you—and I don’t give a shit how famous you are—and it’s bigger than me. We have a job to do. Anyone who gets in the way dies. Period. And there can be collateral damage.”

  She left it hanging, giving us a moment to ponder her line.

  Sabrina was the one who caught it. “Daisy’s daughter.”

  The blonde put her hands up in an “I don’t know” sort of way.

  “Shit happens,” she said. She slid out of the booth and her cohort followed. “Keep it in mind.”

  “Well, that was pleasant,” I said after they’d gone. “What do you want to do?”

  “I think we have to call Moody and let him know about the encounter. After that…” She left it hanging.

  “You want to pursue it?” I said.

  “Honestly? No. I wish Daisy had never involved us in this. But now we know we’re being watched. When’s it going to end? Is this some short-term thing or is this going to follow us for years? Is someone going to clean up loose ends and decide we are two of them? I don’t think we have a choice. I think we have to be extra careful, but I think we have to follow it through.”

  I nodded. “So what’s our next step?”

  “It’s time to check out the bustling metropolis of Spur, Texas.”

  Chapter 7

  We called Moody after dinner and filled him in on our dinner guests. He told us that the bank camera had a clear view of the blonde. We made arrangements to meet him the next morning in the coffee shop in the hotel.

  He joined us at nine looking exactly as he had the day before. Different suit, but the same bags under his eyes. He had a Starbucks Grande or Venti or some such thing, black coffee. It’s why I liked Dunkin Donuts. I knew what I was getting. It was simple: small, medium, large, or extra-large. I understood those terms.

  Anyway, he brought print-outs of the surveillance shots of the woman. It was the woman from the night before.

  “We couldn’t run prints. If you look at the picture, you’ll see that she is wearing latex gloves. When I first started in this business, someone wearing gloves would have sent up all kinds of red flags, but not anymore. With all the germs out there, more and more people are wearing them in public. That’s what she told the tellers. But it tells me that her prints are probably on file somewhere. What did the guy look like?”

  “Pretty vanilla,” said Sabrina. “Like the woman, probably mid-thirties. He was clean-cut, wore a sports jacket and tie. He looked like he could have been a stockbroker or an insurance agent.”

  I looked at Moody. “Or a detective.”

  He grunted and looked at his watch. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll let you know if we come up with anything. You heading home?”

  “By way of Dallas,” I said. “We’ve never been to Texas, so we thought we’d drive to Dallas and fly out from there.”

  “Well don’t get excited. Between here and there, it all looks the same.” He shook our hands and left.

  “Drive to Dallas?” asked Sabrina, when Moody was gone.

  “Spur is in that direction, sort of. Dallas is about a five-hour drive and rather than sit around Lubbock to catch a flight to Dallas and change planes to Boston, why not drive?”

  “After all, we do like to travel,” said Sabrina. “Good idea.”

  We checked out of the hotel and called Hertz to let them know we’d be dropping the car off in Dallas, and then we were on our way. Spur was only about an hour’s drive and it was a sunny day, so it was pleasant. My feeling was that any
time spent with Sabrina was pleasant, no matter the weather. I was still mesmerized by her and couldn’t believe that someone like Sabrina had come into my life. I had spent ten years doing online dating and had become pretty jaded about relationships. Sabrina turned all that around the moment I met her. It was well worth finding out that I had a really sleazy family history in order to get her in my life.

  “I had a thought,” Sabrina said when we were out of the city. “There was something about the guy who was with the blonde that didn’t fit. And then when you told Moody that he could be a detective, it made me wonder more about him. Why did you say that to Moody?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it was because it was also the way Moody was dressed. Although Moody was definitely the sharper dresser.”

  “But you are right. The guy last night had the look of a detective or FBI or secret service, or some such agency, didn’t he?”

  “But he definitely wasn’t in charge last night.”

  “Which tells me that he’s someone who’s used to taking orders.”

  “Something to file away.”

  Moody was right. The landscape was exactly the same from one mile to the next—dust and more dust. And people really chose to live out here?

  We took Rt. 70 south from Rt. 82 when we hit Dickens.

  “Great names,” said Sabrina. “Is that like ‘Hot as the dickens out here?’”

  It didn’t take us long to reach Spur. As we drove into town, the first thing we saw was a giant iron spur sticking about thirty feet into the air.

  “Cute,” said Sabrina.

  “I guess we’re in the right place.”

  We had looked online to get the details of Daisy’s death and learned that she was killed in the parking lot of a small diner called The Wagon Wheel, about two miles outside of town. We asked the first person we saw where The Wagon Wheel was.

  “About two miles north, on the way to Dickens.

  “We must have passed it,” I said, turning the car around.

  “It’s such a bustling place, it was easy to miss,” said Sabrina.

  As was always the case, Sabrina had learned all she could about Spur, including the fact that it had a whopping 1300 residents. It was kind of rundown, and yet, it had character of sorts. In her research, Sabrina had found that Spur was known for its tiny houses. In fact, in 2014, the town proclaimed itself “The nations’ first tiny house friendly town,” whatever that meant. We passed some of them. Tiny was an appropriate word. They all looked to be the size of one room. Sabrina read that to be approved, they had to have flush toilets and proper plumbing and electrical wiring. Frankly, most of them didn’t look any larger than a bathroom.

  The other thing the town was known for was the giant spur sculpture we had passed. The sculpture was built by a local welder, John Grusendorf, in 2009. It was built in honor of Spur’s centennial celebration.

  Way too exciting for me.

  We headed back north and found the diner in no time. It was a real hole in the wall with two cars in the parking lot. It was only 11:00, so the cars probably belonged to the workers. As we got out of the car Sabrina looked over toward a dumpster.

  “According to the published reports, she would have been killed right over there.” She scanned the area. “What a horrible place to die.”

  “Is there a good place to die?”

  “Anywhere but here.”

  We walked in the front door. A waitress called out to us that they wouldn’t open for another fifteen minutes.

  “That’s okay,” I said, “We’re actually looking for information on one of your ex-employees.”

  The waitress approached us with a wary expression. She was older, probably around the same age that Daisy was when she died. Unlike Daisy, the waitress was skinny as a rail. She had sunken eyes, bad teeth, and she reeked of cigarette smoke. A definite junkie. It struck me as very sad. Nobody else was around, although we heard dishes clinking in the kitchen.

  “You cops?”

  “No,” said Sabrina. “Daisy was my friend.”

  The woman looked Sabrina up and down.

  “I doubt that.”

  “It’s true. I hadn’t seen her in a couple of years though.”

  “Uh huh.” She crossed her arms. It was going to be tough to get anything out of her.

  Or not.

  “What do you want?”

  “Anything you can tell us about her life here. Why she was here. Where she lived.”

  “It’ll cost you.”

  “How much?”

  “A hundred.”

  It wasn’t worth negotiating. We were feeding her drug habit, but I had a feeling she was a lost cause no matter what we did. I pulled out a hundred dollar bill and handed it to her. She quickly slipped it in her pocket.

  “Not much to tell you.”

  “Then what did I just pay for?”

  “The little bit I know. The little bit anyone here knows.”

  We waited.

  “She showed up one day about a year ago looking for a job. Our night cook had taken off a week before, so we had an opening. Roy—he’s the owner—liked her, so he hired her. She never talked about herself, but it was obvious she had just gotten out of the joint. She did a good job and she kept to herself. Nice enough. Never called in sick. Around here that makes you a gold-star employee. If we asked questions, we figured she might leave, so we steered clear.”

  “She didn’t give you even a hint about herself?” I asked.

  The waitress looked at Sabrina and pointed at me. “He’s not too bright, is he?” To me she said, “Were you listening?”

  Duly chastised, I looked to Sabrina for help.

  “Do you know where she lived?” she asked.

  “Other side of town. About three miles from here. Cactus Grove Trailer Park. Ain’t one cactus in the whole place. Only know where she lived ‘cause I dropped her off a few times when it was pouring and once when she got sick at work. Usually she walked. Didn’t own a car. She lived in a ratty trailer in a corner of the park. They’re all ratty, so you’ll have to find the manager to show you which one. It’ll probably cost you.”

  “What a surprise,” I mumbled.

  She heard me. “Ain’t much money around here for most of us. We take it when we can.”

  We thanked her for her time and headed back out to the car.

  “That was helpful,” I said when we were on our way.

  “Maybe we’ll have better luck where she lived.”

  It took us no time to travel the three miles and we pulled into the entrance to Cactus Grove. More dust. Not only was the community not paved, the road that wound its way through was full of ruts and potholes. We asked the first person we saw where we could find the manager’s office.

  “I’m him.” The man was sitting on a rickety lawn chair in front of one of the nicer trailers—“nicer” being a relative word. He had no shirt, a king-sized paunch, and looked to be in his seventies. He was dark and leathery from a lifetime in the Texas sun. The source of the paunch was evidenced by the beer bottle in his hand and the barrelful of empties next to his chair.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I was a friend of Daisy Leduc,” said Sabrina. “I was told she lived here.”

  “Who told you?”

  “A waitress at The Wagon Wheel.”

  “Okay.” He was waiting for more.

  “We were wondering if her place had been cleaned out yet.”

  “Cops been through it with a fine-tooth comb, but it ain’t empty.”

  “Is there any way we could go inside?”

  He considered the request, but not for long.

  “It’ll cost you.”

  I reached into my pocket. “How much?”

  “A month’s rent. $400.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Hey, it might take me months to rent it. I’ve gotta get something out of it.”

  I sighed and pulled out what cash I had left. It was only $250. Sabrina managed to com
e up with the other $150. After this, we’d have to stop at an ATM.

  He went inside for a key, handing it to us when he returned.

  “Go all the way to the end of this road and turn right. It’s the one set in the corner. Number thirty-seven. Enjoy your stay.”

  I think he was being facetious.

  We maneuvered around the ruts and made it safely. The trailer looked about the same as all the others. We got out of the car and approached the front door.

  “Movin’ in?”

  A tiny woman was sitting on her stoop watching us. She looked to be about a hundred, and was so leathery she could have passed for a piece of beef jerky.

  “No,” answered Sabrina with a disarming smile. “I knew Daisy. We’re just checking the place out.”

  “Daisy’s dead.”

  “Yes, I know. Very sad. Did you know her well?”

  “Nope. Said hi from time to time. That’s it. She left in the middle of the afternoon every day walking to work and would come home in the middle of the night. Sometimes I saw her when I got up to pee. I get up to pee a lot.”

  That was information I could have gone to my grave without knowing.

  “Other than that, never saw her and never talked to her. Kept to herself.”

  “Did she ever get visitors?”

  “Nope.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Well, once,” said the woman. She had kind of a squeaky voice, as if the years in the sun had dried up her vocal chords. “The day she died.”

  “Did it look like someone she knew?” I asked

  “She wasn’t here. She had already left for work. Looks like they mighta broke in. Pretty easy. The locks here are a joke. They were there a few minutes, then left. Don’t know if they got anything.”

  “Did you call the police?” I asked.

  “No phone. Was gonna tell Daisy, but she was killed that night.”

  We thanked her for the information.

  “So basically,” I said as we approached the trailer, “it doesn’t sound as if Daisy was in contact with anybody. And it sounds like if there was anything to find, her visitors might have found it before the police had a chance.”

  I put the key in the lock and opened the door, and was immediately hit with an overwhelming stench of rotting food.