Chapter Seventeen
Thankfully for Wesley, his pretended state of drunkenness had provided the perfect excuse to leave early, and after he’d walked a straight line to prove to the other’s he was fit enough to drive, he took off and drove a up the road a little ways, aiming straight for the little spot on the road above Pamela’s beach house that he’d seen on the way down; what looked to be a small abandoned dirt road. Must have once been the head of a hiking trail or something, he thought as he noticed the clinging overgrown trees that barely left enough room for his car to pull off. He hesitated and looked at the rugged terrain a bit longer before he shrugged and pulled off.
The lurching tires rubbed raw his edgy nerves; he winced as the convertible rambled and hit a pothole and his exhaust pipe scraped on the hard earth. With the car pulled off and well hidden under a thicket, he opened the backseat door and reached for his gym clothes. The smell of stale sweat and another odor that reminded him of mildew greeted his nose as he held the still slightly damp clothing in his hands.
He stood there looking down at them for a moment. Well, he didn’t have much time to waste. He figured he was about two miles from the beach house, and Johnny and Torres were supposed to meet at 10:00. That left him about a half hour to beat them there. There was nothing else to do—he wasn’t in the mood to go traipsing about the countryside in a suit. Mind made up, he quickly stripped off shirt and pants and pulled on the gray T-shirt and blue shorts.
Grinning at himself, he stuck his foot on the car fender and did a few stretches before he set off at a brisk pace for the shore. Then he was running on the beach, the sand flattening out like a hard pancake beneath his shoes. So much for listening to the water, he thought ruefully to himself—his loud breathing deafened the gentle sound of the waves.
Several minutes later he thought his legs had died and he was forcing their carcasses forward. Whoever thought moonlight runs along the beach romantic was crazy. It was torture, pure and simple. But this rendezvous could be the key to unraveling the murder mess, so he couldn’t miss it just because it was hard for him to run a few miles. If Johnny was tangled up in the mess, he could pull Katherine into it. He really wished he’d taken Mike’s advice earlier about improving his cardio.
Fresh sweat re-dampened his shirt and by now he was positive he stunk to high heaven. Then after what seemed like an eternity, the beach house light appeared and all at once Wesley was finally mounting the five steps that led from beach to porch.
He paused on the east corner of the porch, the one next to the locker room, and stood listening. Silence. Chancing he was early enough, he uneasily inched closer to the door, only to pause and cringe as one of the wooden planks squeaked resistance beneath his feet. He took the last step in a leap and opened the locker room door. If all else failed he could pretend to have stumbled in accidentally.
But only dark silence greeted him. Where to hide? A faint stream of moonlight filtered in through a small window hidden somewhere in an upper corner. The two benches were much too shallow to hide beneath. That left the small closet.
He had only just buried himself among an assortment of men’s swimming trunks when something brushed against his leg. A scream of pure terror had almost escaped his mouth until his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he saw two glowing eyes staring up at him. Pamela’s fat orange cat, Molly, was rubbing against his leg. “There you are!” he whispered as he squeezed down beside the cat. “Pamela has been worried sick about you.” He spread his hands too wide to pick her up; she wasn’t fat and round anymore, but skinny, almost scrawny. At that point he gently felt in the corner. His hand met a little heap of fallen swimming clothes, then on top, a pile of tiny fur balls asleep.
In that instant the same blasted board Wesley had stepped on groaned again outside and he slowly leaned back against the wall, still trying to catch his breath. His chest was threatening to explode from his attempts to keep quiet as he paced out his breathing into long, slow even breaths. And his heart began to pound again. And the door creaked open and shut.
The smell of smoke drifted into the closet. It wasn’t expensive enough to be one of Torres’s Cuban cigars; must be Johnny with his cigarettes. Soon thereafter the door creaked open again.
“Whoa, what’s that smell in here?” Doug’s Spanish accent instantly gave him away. “Smells like sweat or something. Kinda strange for a swimming locker room, don’t you think?” Wesley cringed, holding his breath.
“Mike was prolly in here,” Johnny responded carelessly. “He’s run out here from town before. Wouldn’t surprise me at all if he ran out here for the party tonight, and changed into his dinner clothes in here.”
“He runs all the way from town?” Doug’s accent couldn’t quite disguise the awe in his voice.
“Yep. All the way from town.” Wesley smiled at Johnny’s sarcastic tone—it was a relief to know he wasn’t the only one jealous of Mike’s godly physique. “What’s this about?” Johnny cut to the chase. “I’m sure you wouldn’t risk a meeting like this in person unless it was something important.”
“You always think you’re the smart one, but you missed out on this one.” There was a moment of silence while the smell of Cuban cigar smoke mixed with the other smoke and drifted under the door of the closet. Wesley held Molly on his knees as he crouched on the rough flooring, hoping the two men on the other side of the door couldn’t hear her loud purring as he petted the cat slowly.
“What did I miss out on?” Johnny’s voice sounded on edge. “I sure didn’t miss out that you had my girl attacked; so tell me what I’m missing out on.”
“We have to protect ourselves.”
“Not by attacking her, we don’t.”
“Get off your high horse and listen to me. What you missed out on this time. Maybe after this you’ll pay more attention when I say not everyone can be trusted.”
“What is it?”
“Something right underneath your nose . . . or should I say someone?” Doug’s voice was irritatingly patronizing. Why had he never before noticed how disgusting Doug was? Wesley wondered. His voice was so slimy it was like snail going through honey drizzled over an oiled surface.
“Who?”
“Right under both our noses,” Doug continued, his voice tinged with anger. “And I didn’t realize either. I don’t like being made a fool of.”
“I don’t see anyone making a fool of you.”
“Well, our precious Wesley Grant is making a fool of both of us—and getting your girl at the same time.” The last Torres added slowly, maliciously.
Wesley felt as though he were slowly petrifying in the closet as the meaning of Doug’s words sank in. How had Doug figured him out so quickly? His hand petting Molly froze in midair as he strained to hear the conversation better.
“Wesley?” Johnny’s voice registered disbelief. “It can’t be! I don’t believe it. I know he’s always liked Katherine—she dated him briefly, but he doesn’t know anything about this. He can’t.”
“He can, and he does. I don’t know how, but he’s in with Bailey on this deal. Bailey found out Drake’s death wasn’t suicide, got the verdict changed. Apparently we underestimated him also.”
“How—how could he know? Are you positive?”
“Of course I am. My contacts don’t lie to me.”
“Which contact was this?” Johnny’s voice almost sounded fearful.
“You don’t know him. He works in a shady bar downtown. Never thought he’d come in handy, but he sure pulled through last week.”
Wesley’s mind was racing. The bar, downtown . . . where he’d met Bailey secretly. The friendly bartender had been one of Doug’s contacts? He didn’t know which was worse, that he’d been exposed or that the bartender had been able to recognize him despite his disguise.
“So what’s the plan now?”
Wesley barely heard Johnny’s question since Molly, jealous of Wesley’s diverted attention, began to meow angrily.
“What’
s that noise?” Johnny asked.
There was tense silence outside the closet door as the two men listened and Wesley quickly began petting the cat again, trying to quiet her.
“Probably just a rat or something. Better check inside the closet just in case,” Doug instructed Johnny. The wooden flooring groaned as Johnny stepped forward to the closet door.
Wesley held his breath as the door slowly creaked open. Johnny looked inside. “Wha—” His voice was cut off as Wesley threw Molly onto Johnny. Morgan yelped and fell back out of the doorway as Wesley shot out, making a break for the locker door.
“Catch him!” Doug shouted at Johnny who was removing the cat’s claws from his shoulders. He lunged forward, his fingers grasping at the end of Wesley’s sleeve; Wesley’s slimy shirt slipped away from him before Johnny could get a firm grip. But as soon as they were on the porch, Johnny lunged for him again, this time tackling and pinning him to the porch.
“Pamela!” Wesley called, his face pressed against the wood planking.
“Wesley? I thought you left?” Pamela switched on the porch light as she came to the door. The spreading rays of light and Johnny releasing Wesley happened in the same moment. And both men stood up, shaking off their clothes.
“Wesley, you came back? And you changed, too.” She sniffed in the air. “Gosh, something sure reeks out here.”
“Is Mike still here?” Wesley cut in quickly before Torres or Johnny could get a word out.
“Yeah, he’s talking to mother in the living room. Did you want to talk to him? Molly! There you are!” She snatched the orange cat up off the porch and clutched it close to her chest. “Where did you come from? And you’re skinny!” She snuggled her nose to the cat’s.
Wesley turned the conversation back to Mike. “I was wondering when he was leaving. Thought I might catch a ride back with him. I had some car trouble on the way home—blown out tire. That’s why I had to come back.”
“I could take him home.” Doug supplied smoothly to Pamela. “We wouldn’t want to disturb their little chit-chat in there. It really is a beautiful night out anyway.”
“I wouldn’t mind either.” Johnny found his voice. “I live closer to Wesley than Mike does, so it really makes more sense for him to come with me.”
Wesley desperately reached for a final straw of an excuse. “I actually have some exercise stuff I’ve been wanting to talk over with Mike. Didn’t get a chance to during the party. I really need to talk to him about it tonight so I can incorporate it into my morning workout.”
Understanding dawned on Pamela’s face. “Oh, of course you should go with Mike then.” She reluctantly replaced Molly on the porch. “I’ll go get him now.”