But it was no use. She’d seen that look in his eyes plenty of times. He was too revved up to play slow-down games. A half-hour later, they’d both cleaned up and Don was fast asleep. He just needed a little more time.
* * *
Two mornings later, north of San Francisco, with giant redwoods all around them, Miranda and Don pulled out of the gas station and headed for home. Don drove, which gave her an opportunity to lay her head back. As far as she was concerned Don blew a good opportunity.
It wasn’t necessarily his relatively sophomoric performance in the bedroom that bothered her as much as his general lack of intimacy in the day-to-day life. If it weren’t for his other qualities such as excitement, loyalty and his calmness under pressure, she’d already know which brother to spare. And then there was the fairness issue. He was still getting used to life out of prison.
“I’ve bit my tongue long enough,” Don said, abruptly. “It’s time to talk about eliminating that prick brother of mine.”
She sucked some air between her teeth. She either had to argue or agree. “I know you’re right, Donnie. We have to do something but I’m still hoping we can find some way to patch things up between you two and split the money.”
“Screw that,” he snapped. “While I was in the shithole taking a crap in front of other dudes, he was screwing you and that other cow. Now we’ve got millions and it’s my turn to enjoy the goodies.”
“Calm down,” she said turning toward him. “I still like the idea of renting a house in a quiet neighborhood and away from anybody who knows us. Then, when we’re certain we’ve got the account numbers in the trust, we can decide what’s next.”
”We both know damn well what’s next. We’re both going to off him.”
Inwardly Miranda recoiled, but she let her silence do the talking.
“I guess you’re right for now,” Don said. “In the meantime, you still have to get pictures of his tats, when he’s asleep, so I can duplicate them.”
“Will do,” she said just as her burner rang out. “It’s him. I’d better get it.”
Don nodded.
“Hi, Sweets. How are you?”
“Overwhelmed and I miss you.”
“I know. Me, too. But is everything okay?”
“Sucks. I feel sorry for Granny, and everything else is morbid.” Miranda squinted. Mac did it again, illustrated another excellent example of contrasts. While Don was methodically plotting a third murder, Mac was feeling compassion for an elderly woman he barely knew.
“I know how you feel, Sweets, but you can’t afford to get sentimental. Are you going to be alright?”
“It’d be a hell of a lot easier if the cops weren’t following me.”
“Oh, no.” She tapped Don’s elbow. “The cops? How do you know?”
“They must think I’m stupid.”
“Well, you’re not stupid. You’re smart. But don’t worry. I think they’re just covering their bases.”
“I hope so, but it makes me nervous. I need to see you.”
“We have to wait a little longer, until they give up.”
“No. I don’t want to wait. I can ditch them.”
She didn’t need this. “If it looks like you’re trying to ditch them, they’ll think you have something to hide. I think we need to play it safe and lay low a little longer.”
“I ain’t doing that. I know exactly what to do. But it has to be during rush hour. How about tonight?”
“No, no, no, Sweets. It’s not safe yet.”
“Yes, yes, yes it is. You have to trust me on this.”
She sighed. “Even if I want to, I can’t tonight. I’m still on the coast.”
“Then we’re doing it tomorrow night.” His voice was strong, inflexible. “Five o’clock. Your place. Have your garage door open.” He hung up.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
It was late afternoon when Mac and Granny returned from the mortuary after making Rachel’s burial arrangements. Granny gave him a hug. “Thank you for driving, Mac. I couldn’t have done it.”
“No problem,” he said, struggling to look her in the eye. “Do you need a ride to the services on Friday?”
“Why don’t you call me later; I might have my neighbor take me.”
That would make it a lot easier on him, but he still felt an obligation to help her if he could. “Sure. I’ll check in with you later.” He returned to Annie and pulled away from the curb, hoping she’d eventually get over losing Rachel. Previously, Mac had derived a certain amount of comfort from knowing that Granny had lived so well all those years without Rachel’s trust money, but now her heartbreak was so complete, his own comfort had dissipated.
He made a left and joined the traffic. Then he saw it. Off to the right. The gray station wagon—at the 7-Eleven, with two men inside.
A half-mile later, he and Annie joined the northbound bumper-to-bumper insanity of the California rush hour. Mac examined Annie’s left mirror. The wagon followed about five cars back. Perfect. He casually pointed to the ground and took the next lane to his left. The wagon turned on its blinker and lost some ground before it too could change lanes. “That’s right, assholes,” he said. “Let’s do it again.”
He and Annie inched along in the center of their lane for a few hundred yards or so, while brake lights flashed on and off like strings of red lights.
“You’re setting them up, aren’t you?” Mac imagined Annie saying.
“Yep,” he said, inching over yet again. “Another mile ought to be about right. It gets very congested up here.”
“I’ll be glad when we can go for some cross-country rides again.”
“Me too, Annie,” he said as he moved another lane to the left. Back at least ten cars the wagon turned on its blinker. The taillights up ahead began to glow. Everybody was slowing down. “Miranda said she’d be willing to go to Sturgis. I’d like to show her off.”
Another dip to the left and Mac had made it next to the high occupancy lane. He glanced at the overhead road sign. “Two miles ‘til our exit, Annie. We’ve got ‘em where we want ‘em.”
“Good, I’m tired of this slowpoke pace. I’m ready to haul ass.”
Mac snickered. “Not this time, Annie, we’re going to crawl our way out.” Usually red lights meant stop but when the next snake of taillights flashed as if in unison, it meant the opposite to Mac and indigo Annie. “This ought to be funny.” He slowly dipped onto the white lines that separated his lane from the one next to it. Even if somebody let the wagon inch over, they were going to have to pick one lane or the other and all the lanes were at a near standstill.
“This is too easy,” Mac said, grinning. He and Annie proceeded ever so casually up the lines, between the lanes, and slowly but methodically passed a couple dozen unmoving vehicles. Then they nonchalantly dipped in front of one of the cars on their right and slid on over to the next set of lines. Mac laughed in the breeze. In what surely must have been the slowest get-away chase in the history of California highways, Mac and Annie made sluggish but steady progress up the broken lines. He checked the mirror again. The wagon was so far back there, he couldn’t see it. They’d ditched it without going more than ten miles an hour. Miranda’s home was just a few miles away. The next exit and a few side roads would take them the remainder of the way.
* * *
While Miranda prepared for her visit with Mac, she reflected on the San Francisco trip. It proved that Don would never be the lover that she hoped for. At one point he said, “You’re responsible for your orgasms and I’m responsible for mine.” It sounded like a comment he’d picked up in prison.
His quick climaxes were ordinarily followed by a nap or a good night’s sleep, while leaving her feeling empty and abandoned. When it came to intimacy, they’d become water and oil. Now she held legitimate doubts if she could live an entire lifetime with a man like that.
On the other hand, nobody ever understood her needs better than Mac did. In that regard, they were soul
mates.
Nearly ready, all she needed to do was put on her shoes and open the garage door as Mac had requested. She turned toward the closet just as she heard a car pull up.
She moved toward the window to take a peek. A cab? She slid her foot into her shoe as the back door of the cab swung open. She recognized the yellow shirt. Couldn’t believe her popping eyes. What the hell was Don doing here?
She bolted downstairs to meet him. Her heart pounded as the cab drove off and he approached her front door. She flung it open. “Dammit, Don. What are you doing? You know your brother’s going to be here any minute.”
Don forced himself inside and looked her up and down. “You sure got dolled up. How come you never do that for me?”
Miranda sighed, couldn’t believe her ears. “I wore this same outfit for you, in San Francisco, but you didn’t say a word.”
“Bullshit. If you’d dressed like that, I would have noticed.”
“Well I did, but it was cold. I wore a jacket too. We don’t have time for this right now. You’ve got to get out of here. Take my car—anything—just go away before you ruin everything.”
He brushed her hands away. “Oh, I ain’t going nowhere.”
“What? If Mac sees you, everything’s over. Twelve million flushed down the toilet.”
“I’m going to be hiding out upstairs, in the bedroom next to yours, so I can hear everything you guys do.”
She rose nervously and said, “You can’t do that, Donnie. How’m I supposed to act natural, knowing you’re right in the next room?”
“Oh, you’ve got plenty of experience. I got a feeling you’ll do just fine.”
Exasperated, Miranda raised her arms. “Well, then I just won’t bring him upstairs.”
Don shrugged. “That’s up to you, but if you don’t, I’ll get real curious and be forced to sneak downstairs to look for you. You wouldn’t want that, would you? Then you’d be the one who ruins everything. I can get by without that money, but what about Mickey? If you screw this up, he could be the one who gets the shaft.”
She turned completely around. “Oh my God, Donnie. This is crazy.”
“Serves you right. Every time you run off with him, you stay too long. Drives me nuts. It’s about time you deal with some of the drama for a change.” He pinched the end of her sleeve. “Besides, I just might learn something. I bet you’d like that.”
Miranda heard Mac’s motorcycle coming from down the street. “It’s him,” she said, shaking. “Quick, hide.”
Don stood firm. “What’s the rush? He ain’t in the garage yet.” He held up his index finger. “Remember. One hour.” He sounded like Officer Jackson on conjugal visit day.
“But I can’t cut him off too soon, Donnie. We’re supposed to be in love. How would that look?”
“About the same way it looks when you cut me off, but you don’t seem to have a problem doing it to me.”
The rumbling reached the driveway.
“But the trust money is still in his name, not ours. If we piss him off and he dumps me, we lose everything.”
“Then chase him the hell away right after he enjoys your services, just like you do to me.”
The rumble stopped. Brief seconds were all she had left before Mac would be inside. She shook her head. “I can’t believe this.”
Don pointed in her face and whispered, “One hour from the first second he walks in the door.” He turned and headed up the stairs toward the bedrooms.
Miranda grabbed her head, looked toward the kitchen, then back at Don climbing the steps. The knob of the kitchen door turned. She took a deep breath and scooted toward the door as it swung her way. Mac entered and handed her a single long-stemmed red rose. “You don’t know how much I missed you,” he whispered.
Miranda smiled nervously, quickly filled a vase with water and plunked the rose into it. She tried to control her harried breathing. “Me, too.” She closed her eyes. If only she could tell him how stressed out she was.
They held each other in silence. Longer. Tighter. Longer still, while she gathered her wits. Their lips gently blended together but the kiss only lasted a few seconds before Mac backed away slightly. “Something wrong? You don’t seem like yourself.”
It had taken mere seconds for Mac to read her. “I was just worried about you. That’s all,” she said softly. At least Don couldn’t hear their conversation from upstairs. “Are you sure nobody followed you?”
Mac grinned. “Nah. Dotted lines make it easy.”
“Clever, but what if they get another biker to follow you next time?” She visited her music center and hid her shaking hands while she selected a playlist.
“That would be even more obvious than the station wagon.”
“Just don’t act suspicious; they’ll get bored and give up before much longer.” She wondered where Don was, exactly.
“I hope so. You know something,” Mac said, changing the subject, “I’m kinda hungry. I feel like a burger at a drive-through. How’s that sound?”
Her pulse quickened. She couldn’t take that much time. “No, I have another idea.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that?”
She twisted her head and flashed him a smile. “Well, sometimes being apart makes getting back together all that much more exciting.”
“True that. I’ve been climbing the walls.”
“See what I mean? Think how horny we both are. It would be fun to get it on right now, without messing around. Down and dirty for a change, but with one more twist.”
Mac smiled, “Okay, I guess we could do that. What’s the twist?”
“That’s where my idea gets interesting,” she said, leading him upstairs. “You’ll have to leave as soon as we’re done. Not even talk about it. Like two mystery lovers who have only minutes to do what they can in secret, and then end up wanting each other just as badly the next time.”
Mac frowned. He shook his head. “I don’t need to make up ways to want you. I already miss you whenever we’re apart. You’re my island of sanity in this sea of craziness.”
They reached the landing. Thank God Don had closed the door to the small bedroom next to hers. “But that’s the fun of it, Sweets,” she said. “It’ll make us crave each other even more.”
“But you’re the one who keeps saying how risky it is to get together in the first place,” he said as they entered her room. “Wouldn’t it be better to spend the time together now, while we have the chance? I was hoping to spend the night.”
Miranda locked the door behind them. “You just leave everything to me.”
Mac grinned. “You’ve never closed that door before, let alone locked it. You must have something extra special in mind.”
Miranda held her index finger to her lips. “Shhh. No more talking.” She pulled him onto the bed.
Chapter Eighty
Detective Sanchez and Sergeant Byrdswain rendezvoused at the police building for an early morning meeting. “I know you’re a little dubious,” she said tactfully, “but it’s been a couple of weeks. Don’t you think we owe Mrs. Ellerbe an explanation of what happened to her granddaughter?”
“You too, huh? Just yesterday the Mayor asked me the same thing.”
“So what are you thinking?”
“This one has always bothered me and we can’t afford to be cavalier.”
“Cavalier? We’ve gone over everything again and again.”
“Yeah, I know. But let’s go over it again in case there’s a flaw in the logic or something we overlooked. Why don’t you give me a synopsis of how you see it.”
“Alright then,” she said, honored. She took a deep breath. “The Medical Examiner’s report confirmed that Mrs. Evans died from the fall somewhere close to four-thirty. There’s no sign of foul play and she left a credible suicide note. The husband is the only person we know of with a motive, but he’s got no rap sheet, and an iron-clad alibi. There was nothing fishy in his phone records or his computer and there’s no sign of an accomplice
.”
Byrdswain nodded. “Not much room for doubt, is there?”
“You’re the one who’s always saying things are usually just as they appear. I think it’s suicide. It happens.”
“I don’t know. Most people work all of their lives and never even dream of that kind of wealth. But right out of the blue, a drifter meets a rich woman, hits it big. It just doesn’t seem right.”
“But people meet each other all the time. I know I do. And, Mrs. Ellerbe said Evans didn’t know the victim was rich until after he married her. Somebody had to fall into the pot of gold. Just happened to be him.”
“Maybe, but what are the chances that the rich woman would die within a month or so of receiving the trust?”
“Coincidences do happen. We can’t hold up Mrs. Ellerbe just because there’s a single coincidence in the wind.”
“What about the supposed affair? If our victim was messing around with that Lapport fellow, we should have found some phone records, emails, love letters. Something. But we came up empty. How could that happen?”
“Are you kidding? There are all sorts of reasons that people want to keep their relationships quiet. Religion. Shame. Racial or economic differences. You never know. She might have just liked having a mystery lover.”
“Mystery lover? You’re single and only twenty-two. What do you know about mystery lovers?”
“Don’t you ever read romance novels? Happens all the time. Boy meets girl at a bar or party and they have an instant fling—no questions asked—it’s exciting because they don’t know anything about each other. It’s so mysterious they do it again and again. Probably the same time and place every week or once a month.”
“Go on.”
Sanchez smiled, pleased that her boss wanted to hear her out. “Somewhere along the line the victim meets Evans. But she hasn’t had a lot of men in her life and figures either one of the guys could skip out at any time, so she strings them both along. Eventually she finds out Evans wants to get more serious but Lapport never really declares either way. So she focuses on Evans, keeps Lapport on the sidelines just in case Evans doesn’t work out.