“Remember what we talked about.”
“Hi, Sweets.” she said, trying to sound friendly to Mac without drawing Don’s ire.
“I gotta hurry,” Mac said. “It’s gonna be a crazy day.”
“You can handle it, Sweets. Just focus on being a grieving husband—like we talked about.”
“I’ll try. What are you doing today?”
“To tell you the truth, since we can’t get together for a while, I thought I’d drive to L.A.”
“L.A. What for?”
“I’m going to visit with an old friend, Gloria, just to keep my mind busy.” It was difficult to concentrate with Don listening to every word.
“What if I need you?”
“I’ll still have my cell. But you can only call me when nobody can see you.”
“Yeah. If they did and there’s no record of the call on my main cell, they’d know I had two phones.”
“I want to thank you again—for both Mickey and me.”
“Had to. You needed me. I probably ought to get going. I’ve got a lot to do. I love you.”
The words were bittersweet. “I love you, too,” she said.
She hung up and tossed the phone into her purse. “Sorry, Donnie. I had to say it.”
“You know you’re just like a black widow, don’t you?”
“Huh?”
“They kill their lovers when they’re done with them.” He looked right at her. “We gotta get rid of ‘Sweets,’” he said, making air quotes.
In the beginning she was so desperate to help Mickey, she tricked herself into believing they could pull off the con without anybody suffering any long-term damage, but now it was clear that Don’s only certain path to the cash was just as he had said in the beginning: to dispose of his brother entirely. Otherwise he would be at Mac’s mercy to share the money. It was all or nothing for both of them.
Regardless of how they got to that point, two people were dead and it was imminently clear that the black widow comment was Miranda’s not-so-subtle notice that Don expected her to help him with the third—his brother.
Her entire body felt cold. Her love for Mac was every bit as strong as her love for Don. She couldn’t kill either one of them—but she had to—but she couldn’t—but she had to.
A road sign said they still had 80 miles to go.
Chapter Sixty-Five
After Mac called for a cab, he placed the call that he genuinely dreaded more than any other he’d ever made.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Granny. It’s me, Mac.”
“Yes dear? Is everything okay?”
“To tell you the truth. I’m pretty worried about Rachel.”
“Why, what’s wrong?” she said quickly.
“We were supposed to meet at the bowling alley last night, but she didn’t show up, or come home all night. I was hoping you’ve heard from her.”
“Oh, dear! No, I haven’t. I hope she’s okay.” The pain in her voice grated on his ears like screeching tires at an intersection just before an accident.
“Me, too. I guess I’ll check to see if she made it to work this morning. If not, I’m going to call the police.”
“Okay, and please be sure to let me know as soon as you hear anything. If I don’t answer, keep trying.”
“I will. Bye.” It was excruciating. The best way to escape his guilt was to go on. He speed-dialed Rachel’s work number.
“Palmdale High School. Ms. Place speaking.”
“Hello, Angela. Mac Evans here. Rachel didn’t come home last night. Have you seen her this morning?”
“No, I haven’t seen her, Mac. I’ll check around, just in case she’s in the teacher’s lounge or talking to somebody in the hallway. Where can I reach you?”
“Do you have my cell?”
His last call was right into the belly of the beast: the police station. “Missing Persons.”
“Hello. My name’s Mac Evans. My wife didn’t come home last night. I need you to find her.”
“When was the last time anybody saw her or spoke with her, sir?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Evans, but we can’t do anything until she’s been missing for a full 24 hours.”
“But she’s never done this before. Can’t you make an exception?”
“Sorry. Call back after she’s been missing for 24 hours. Then we’ll see what we can do.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he bellowed, releasing some of his own inner tension. “It’s already been eighteen hours. A few more hours isn’t gonna make any difference.”
“I can’t help it, sir. I don’t make the rules.”
Mac’s cab was still a half-block away from the Lucky Strike Bowling Alley when he breathed a sigh of relief. His indigo pal was the kind of bike that thieves preyed upon, but fortunately she was patiently waiting for him right where he’d left her.
As the cabbie pulled away Mac jiggled Annie’s kickstand into place. It was almost like being home. “Morning, Annie. I’m glad you’re okay.”
“So, the proverbial shit’s hit the fan?” he imagined her saying.
“Yeah. It’s getting hairy now. I just hope we haven’t forgotten anything.” He inserted his key and started her up. “I gotta convince some pretty smart people that Rachel committed suicide.”
“But Miranda’s skipped off again, just when you need her most?”
“To be fair, she had a good point. People might be watching me for a while so we can’t really get together anyway. All we can do is talk on the burners when nobody is watching.” He shifted her into gear and pulled away.
“Where we headed?”
“Safeway. I need a couple onions and they’ve got an ATM. After that we’ll get a late breakfast, then buzz over to the Missing Persons Bureau.”
Chapter Sixty-Six
A dark sedan pulled in front of Rachel’s home a little sooner than Mac expected. His eyes already stinging, he made a quick trip to the fridge where a baggie contained an onion that he’d cut in half a few hours earlier. He patted the onion’s wound with the ring finger from each hand.
At the door stood a stocky white guy in his fifties who looked like he’d enjoyed more than a few raised-glazed donuts; and a young, golden-skinned Hispanic woman, both in plain clothes. Mac spoke softly. “Is this about Rachel?”
The fellow held up a badge. “Sergeant Byrdswain.” He tilted his head toward his female partner. “This is Detective Sanchez. Can we come in?”
“Where’s Rachel? What’s going on?”
“We’d prefer to come inside if you don’t mind.”
Age-wise, Sanchez could have passed for Byrdswain’s granddaughter. She was no taller than five-three, thin, with a tiny hint of bluish-grey eye shadow that belied child-like eyes as dark as her plush, medium-length hair.
Mac stepped back, let them in and pointed to his couch. Byrdswain took a seat, but Sanchez waved off the offer and meandered across the living room. She glanced down the hallway, then back toward the kitchen before she returned her attention to Mac.
“I wish we had better news,” Byrdswain said, breaking the silence.
Mac straightened and glared at the old-timer. “Oh, no. Tell me it’s not real bad.”
“The Park Service discovered your wife’s car a few hours ago, in a canyon, about thirty miles out of town.”
In that split second, Mac knew that four well-trained eyes were drinking in his every move and gesture. He frowned and feigned a fearful look. “A canyon? What would she be doing up in a canyon?”
“There’s a viewing station up there,” the sergeant said, softly. “They found her on the canyon floor. It appears she may have jumped. We’re sorry for your loss, sir.”
Mac scowled. “Loss? Are you saying—”
Byrdswain nodded. “We just came from there, sir. It’s a very long fall.”
“Oh my God!” Mac buried his face in his palms and tapped his onion-coated fingers to the corner o
f his eyes. The sting was immediate. ”This has to be a mistake.”
“No sir. It’s not a mistake,” Byrdswain said. “They found her car.”
“And her purse,” Sanchez added. “It was inside the car. Women don’t usually leave their purses lying around like that.”
He raised his head as the first onion-tear rolled down his cheek. “I can’t believe this.”
“She’s not the first one,” Sanchez said. “We don’t think she suffered.”
Mac wiped away the early tears and caught the corner of his eyes again, sobbing. “This just can’t be.”
“Are you going to be okay, Mr. Evans?” Sanchez quizzed. “Do you have somebody you can call?”
Mac shook his head. “Just her grandmother.” He lifted his head. “Oh, no. What am I gonna tell Granny?”
“Granny?”
“Rachel’s only relative.”
“I see. Where does Granny live?”
Mac waved his hand dismissively. “Glendale.”
Byrdswain pulled a small notebook from his pocket. “I know this is a bad time, sir. But, we have to ask you a few more questions.”
Eyes burning, Mac looked briefly at the sergeant, then at Sanchez.
Sanchez pointed down the hall. “Would you mind if I look around, Mr. Evans? To see if there’s anything that can help us.”
“Go ahead,” he said softly.
Sanchez disappeared down the narrow corridor and into the main bathroom. “Did Mrs. Evans work outside the home?” Byrdswain quizzed.
“She’s an assistant principal at the high school. I guess I’m going to have to call them, too.”
“When was the last time you spoke with her?”
“Yesterday. I called her just before school let out.” He allowed another onion-tear to glide to his jaw before wiping it away.
“Was there anything unusual about your conversation? Did she sound okay?”
“Now that you mention it,” he said before sniffing, “she seemed a little gloomy.”
Byrdswain tilted his head. “How so?”
“Short sentences, almost whispering, like something was on her mind. I asked her if she was okay, but she said I’d find out later. I just figured it had something to do with one of the students.”
Sanchez returned, moved into the kitchen and out into the garage.
“What happened next?” Byrdswain asked.
Mac hesitated. “I suggested we meet at the bowling alley, around dinner time. Maybe grab a couple burgers. I thought all the activity might cheer her up.”
“What did she say?”
“Said she had something to do first, so I told her I’d have a couple beers while I waited.”
“Is that all she said?” Byrdswain asked. “Did she agree to meet you?”
“Yes, but she stays late sometimes. Helps kids. Talks with their parents. I just assumed it was something like that.”
“Anything else about that call that might help us?”
“I dunno,” Mac said. “I guess she seemed distant when we said goodbye.”
“Distant?”
Mac sniffed, wiped his eyes again. “She whispered that she was sorry. I assumed it had something to do with her staying late or whatever she was doing.”
“What did you do after your phone call?”
Mac paused. “I took a shower, then dropped by the ATM to get some cash before going to the bowling alley.”
“What time was that?”
“I dunno. Must have been at the ATM about four o’clock. At the Lucky Strike about fifteen minutes later.”
“Will somebody there remember you?”
He looked directly at the sergeant, displaying his red eyes. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I’m sorry, sir. Nothing personal, but we have to check everything out. Just to be sure. You must have spoken with somebody?”
He dipped his head just once. “The bartender, and a salesman. I got his business card for Rachel.” He lowered his head. “She won’t be needing it now.”
“How long did you stay at the bowling alley?”
“I guess I was there until eight-thirty or nine.”
“Weren’t you worried about Mrs. Evans while you were drinking those beers and waiting?”
“Not at first. She’s stayed late before. But after a while I tried to call her plenty of times, but she didn’t answer. I just thought she was tied up with some other people or her phone was dead, so I just waited. Eventually, I had too many beers, so Cecil had some kid take me home.”
“I see. What do you do for a living, Mr. Evans?”
“I’ve been trying to find some construction work, but the economy’s so bad nobody’s hiring. Then I met Rachel.”
“I see.”
Sanchez returned and Byrdswain twisted his head toward her. “We’re just about done here. You got any questions?”
“Just a few,” she said, turning toward Mac. “Were you and Mrs. Evans getting along okay?”
“Yes, of course. We loved each other.” He rubbed his eyes again. “I shoulda known it was all too good to be true.”
“What was?” asked Sanchez.
“We just met about seven months ago. Hit it off great. Then a few weeks back we went to Vegas and got married. When we returned Granny sprang this trust on us.”
“Trust? What kind of trust?”
Mac and Miranda had already agreed that it would look better if the cops heard about the trust from him rather than stumble upon it on their own. “Apparently when Pappy was alive, he and Granny set a lot of money aside for Rachel that nobody knew about until after we got married.”
Sanchez looked at Byrdswain and they both looked at Mac. Byrdswain spoke again. “Just how big was this trust?”
“Over eleven million dollars. They got it from selling their ranch in Silicon Valley.”
“But that was the first time you heard of this trust?”
Mac nodded, wiped his eyes again. “Neither one of us knew anything about it until after we got married. Pappy wanted Rachel to get married before they told anybody about it.”
“That’s a lot of money, Mr. Evans. Are you sure you didn’t know about this trust until after you got married?”
Mac shook his head. “Nobody knew until that night.”
“What happens to all this money, now that your wife has passed away?” Sanchez asked.
“Huh? I don’t know. I guess I’d get it, but I don’t want to think about that. I’d rather have my wife back.”
“I’m sure you would, sir. Would you mind if we borrow your computer for a couple days? It might have some useful information in it.”
“Go ahead,” he said, his eyes still smarting.
A moment of awkward silence filled the air before Byrdswain stood. “Okay,” he said. “That’s about it for now. We’ll do some checking around and get back to you when we know more. I’m going to need your cell phone number, along with the receipt from the ATM machine if you still have it, and that business card you mentioned. Oh, and the grandmother’s name and address.”
“Sure. Can I go talk to Rachel’s grandmother? She’s going to be devastated.”
“Go ahead. We’ve got a couple other stops we can make.”
Mac dropped his head into his hands. “How’m I going to tell that sweet woman that her only grandchild is dead?” A real tear formed in his eye.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Over the next few weeks Stump fulfilled his community service and was doing better in school, but he was still worried about Dogg. One lazy day right after school, he stepped out back with a bowl of food for his four-legged pal, who was curled up in the shade of the house. It took a couple of “Here, boy’s” before Dogg lifted his head and came over to investigate. Stump lifted Dogg’s ears.
“How do they look?” Stump’s mom asked from behind his shoulder.
“Better, but he still doesn’t hear too good.”
“If it weren’t for my severance package I couldn
’t have afforded his pills,” she said just as the doorbell rang. “That’s Myles. I’ll get it.”
Stump sat down on a lounge chair and petted Dogg while he ate. A minute later, the adults came out back. “Sweetie, Myles would like to talk to you so I’m going to take Dogg for a walk.”
Myles sat on a folding chair next to Stump. “I hear congratulations are in order for finishing your community service. How’d it go?”
Stump picked a small rock off the ground and tossed it toward the center of the yard. “I could tell some of the guys had been in trouble before. One guy’s mom picked him up in her Cadillac.”
Myles nodded. “That’s what we said at the air show. Some people have it made but don’t even realize it. That reminds me, how’s Richard doing?”
“He’s home but spends most of his time in bed or a wheelchair, rehabilitating.”
“He’s another good example of what I’m talking about. He may have more material things than you do, but I bet he’d trade his problems for yours. That makes you the wealthier one.” Myles smiled and put his hand on Stump’s shoulder. “You just keep taking responsibility for your future and you’ll do fine.”
“I guess so.”
“I’m not sure if your mom told you but we’ve been talking about getting married. I was hoping you’d give us your blessing and be my best man.”
“Why you asking me? If I say no, you can do it anyway.”
“True, but it wouldn’t be as nice for your mother. I was hoping you’d be excited about it.”
“Well, I’m not. I’d rather find my dad.”
Myles nodded. “I can understand that, but you may never find him and your mom and I love each other. That’s what really counts, isn’t it?”
“You’re okay I guess, but right now I just want to find out about my dad. See who he is and if we can be a family.”
“I know I’m not your dad but I’d be like a dad. I can show you a few things about discipline and help you make something of yourself. You could even go to college some day. How does that sound?”
“Like a commercial to join the Army.”
Myles smirked, “Yeah, I guess it did. Sorry. Let me try again. We get along well, don’t we?”
“You’re nice enough but what happens if you fall off the wagon and make mom start drinking again? That would make things worse. I’d have two drunks on my hands.”
Myles reached in his pocket and showed Stump his token. “See the six on here? That means it’s been six years since I’ve had a single drink. Not many people can say that.”