“You okay, Baby? You’re like a robot.”
“Let’s just do what we have to do.”
Very little was said as the nude couple went about their work. Miranda wiped away carnage while New Mac stuffed the other messy items, the burner phones and the sledgehammer into Mac’s makeshift coffin, thereby putting all the evidence into one single place. When done New Mac nailed the top back on the crate.
An hour later they had cleaned up, and were on their way toward the main drag. New Mac looked Miranda’s way. “I didn’t think you could do it. Hit him like that, I mean.”
Less benumbed than earlier, Miranda turned toward him. “Why not? I told you I could.”
“I know, but I thought when it came right down to it, you’d chicken out.”
Off to the left, a convenience store came into view. She pointed. “It’s over there.”
New Mac slowed, surveyed the situation. Several customers were using the front gas pumps and other vehicles were near the entrance of the store. “There are people all over the place.”
“They’ll keep the clerks busy. Take the side driveway. The trash area is in the back.”
New Mac hesitated. Then, “Okay, but we’ve got to hurry.” He turned onto the side lot, pulled slightly past the dumpster. He parked and Miranda looked in her mirror.
A white pickup truck had taken a position at one of the pumps on the side of the building facing their SUV. Almost instantly, the driver got out of the cab and marched toward the store.
“Wait ‘til he’s out of sight,” Miranda suggested. “With all those people in there, he’ll be inside awhile.”
They waited before New Mac flung open the tailgate and took hold of the crate. “Give me a hand, will you?”
Together, they tugged the wooden container to the back edge of the SUV and let it fall to the ground.
“Let’s do this,” New Mac said, his voice filled with determination.
Her mind still partially deadened, Miranda squatted and attempted to reach her arms around the box but it was bigger than she expected.
“Okay. Lift,” he said.
New Mac elevated his end a half-foot, but Miranda immediately lost her grip and dropped the crate to the ground. “It’s too heavy. I can’t do it.”
“Well, we can’t leave it here. Let’s try again.”
“I can’t.”
At that moment, the door to the rider’s side of the white pickup truck swung open and a young teenager headed their way. “You guys need some help?” he asked. He looked at Miranda, then at New Mac. “Hey. Hi. How you doing?”
New Mac ignored the comment. “Help me lift this.”
The boy nodded and they stooped down to get their hands underneath the lower end of the crate. “Lift with your knees,” New Mac said. “One, two, three. ” They both strained as the crate rose a foot off the ground, then two, then the top leaned over the edge of the large container and a couple seconds later a crate full of Mac and other bloody items settled in the bowels of the dumpster.
New Mac rested his hands on his knees to catch his breath. “Thanks, kid. I appreciate it.”
Miranda noticed the youngster staring at New Mac. “We gotta go.”
“Don’t you remember me?” the lad said. “We’ve met a couple of times.”
“I don’t know you,” New Mac said, as he took another deep breath.
“Yeah, you do. I’m Stump. I came to your meeting and talked to you at the football game before the accident.”
New Mac hesitated. “Oh, yeah. I almost forgot. When you’ve seen one wreck, you’ve seen them all. Sorry, but we gotta go. Thanks again.”
As Miranda and New Mac drove away some of the vacantness in her mind had dissipated.
Chapter Eighty-Six
“How you doing, Baby?”
It had been five days since Miranda and New Mac had disposed of Mac’s body. In that time her thought process slowly returned to something resembling normal, but her feelings and emotions took a little longer. At first nothing mattered. Not even Mickey. For the most part she went along with whatever New Mac wanted. She knew that Mac was gone but didn’t recall the gory moments of the murder. “I’m okay,” she replied.
Then, she and New Mac transferred a small amount of money from each of Mac’s mutual fund accounts into his checking account to verify that they could move the trust money around at will. Everything worked perfectly. The millions they’d worked so hard to capture were indeed theirs. At New Mac’s suggestion she mailed a check for a hundred thousand dollars to The Broadhouse, but there wasn’t much gratification in it. It was as if she were paying a utility bill.
After that she and New Mac flew to Hawaii to get their minds off the past and into the future, as he referred to it.
While there, New Mac practiced his brother’s signature. They used Mac’s credit cards over and over without incident. By the time they went to a fancy dinner on the final night, she had just about come to grips with her new paradigm. She was with New Mac and would be forever. “I’m sorry,” she said to New Mac. “But it’s harder to get used to what we did than I expected.”
He shrugged. “You can feel sorry for those other two, but my brother got what he deserved.”
She slumped in her chair. “I think I loved him.”
“Yeah, I know. But I told you to watch out for him. Sooner or later he would have stabbed you in the back.”
“You’re always so confident, so under control, but the only way I could do my part was to play a role.”
He placed his hand on hers. “I’m sure it was hard, but you were great. You even convinced me for a while—and I knew it was all play-acting.”
“I’m glad you understand.”
“Sure I do. When you have to pretend like that for so long, you actually become the person you’re portraying. Otherwise everybody can see right through you. I hear it happens to professional actors, too.”
“I need you to bear with me. It may take me a while. Okay?”
Fortunately, Hawaii was good for that. Don handed her a paper sack in which there was an engagement ring.
Chapter Eighty-Seven
County restrictions forbade the unnecessary running of water, so Miranda turned off the hose as soon as she gave her SUV a good soaking. It was the third time she had washed the vehicle in three days, trying to wash away all traces of their sins. Don wanted her to trade in the SUV, but she wavered. It was a link to the past, a time when Mac still lived. By this time when she spoke of her partner she had trained herself to refer to him as Mac, but in her own mind he was still Don.
“Son-of-a-bitch.” She turned toward the profanity. New Mac was back near the garage and trying to figure out that purplish motorcycle they’d inherited. He kept swearing at it. Miranda could get by without that damn bike too.
As she dipped a sponge in her bucket of water she noticed an unfamiliar car approaching. She splashed a sponge full of water on her bumper as the vehicle came to a stop right behind her SUV. She wasn’t expecting anybody. A closer look revealed a man and a woman. Too old to be cops. Probably husband and wife. What the hell did they want? She looked over her shoulder toward Don, but he was squatted down, with his back toward her and dealing with the bike.
The couple exited their car and came directly toward Miranda. “Hello. Are you Mac’s wife?” the woman asked. Up until that moment Miranda and Don had played their new roles in safe settings, but this smelled like something more threatening.
In their mid to late fifties the couple had less tanned skin than most everybody else around there. Probably from out of town. “Er, no. I’m just a friend. Who are you?”
The woman looked over Miranda’s shoulder. “Oh, that must be him,” she said. “He always liked motorcycles.” The woman walked right past Miranda toward Don with her partner in tow. Miranda didn’t like this. The lady was too friendly.
“Mac? Is that you?” the woman asked. She pointed at the bike. “Oh, of course, it is. You’ve got anot
her Annie.”
“Huh?” Don turned around. His eyes widened, but the remainder of his body seemed to freeze in place. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“What’s going on?” Miranda asked. “Who are you people?”
“My name’s Bonnie. I’m his mother.” The woman glanced back at Don, stared for a moment. “Hey. Wait a minute. You’re not Mac. You’re Donald.” She smiled. “Now I’m the one who doesn’t know what’s going on.”
Uh-oh. This wasn’t good.
The woman’s partner extended his hand to Don. “I’m Arnold. Your mom found your brother’s name on the Internet—something about him getting married. Is he close by too?”
Don declined the handshake. “You’re wrong. I’m Mac and I don’t want to talk to you.”
The woman took a step toward Don. “I don’t mean to be difficult, but a mother knows these things. I see that little mole on your neck. You’re my Donald.”
Miranda’s jaw tightened. She looked rapidly up and down the street. This had to end before too many questions were asked and suspicions were sparked. “We don’t want you people around here,” she snapped.
“She’s right,” Don said. “We didn’t invite you.”
His mother tilted her head. “Why are you so unfriendly? Have you and your brother been in touch? He lives in the area.”
“We don’t have to explain anything to you,” Miranda said. “Just get out of here before we call the cops.”
The woman hesitated, traded glances with her partner.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Don snapped at his mom. “I haven’t seen you in fifteen years. You were a lousy mother, now you show up out of the blue and have the nerve to start asking questions.”
The man stepped forward. “You don’t have to be so rude. She tried to call but couldn’t find a number. Se we flew all the way across the country. The least you can do is be civil.”
“Screw you, old man. I said to get out of here and I mean it.” He grabbed a large wrench like he was prepared to use it as a weapon.
The woman shrugged, shook her head. “Okay, Okay. I get it. I’m a lousy mom and you don’t want to be bothered. We’ll leave, but I can tell that you’re Donald and don’t try to tell me differently.”
Miranda pointed at their car. “You’re nuts, woman. Now get out of here and don’t come back.”
* * *
“Weird that they would show up now,” Miranda said, as she and Don watched his mom and her partner drive away. Up a little further a FedEx truck was coming from the opposite direction. “I hope that’s the last we see of them.”
Don waved his hand in the air. “I doubt she’ll be in any hurry to come back.”
“Well, I don’t want to see her again,” Miranda said as the FedEx truck reached their house and pulled over. ”Now what?” she said, maddened. “I’ll see what this guy wants.”
Don nodded and turned his attention back toward the downed motorcycle. “I want to see if I can figure out that damn kickstand.”
A moment later Miranda had signed for an envelope and was checking the label when Don looked her way from behind the bike. “What is it?”
“It’s from that bowling alley your brother used to go to. A letter.” She tore open the envelope and reviewed the single sheet of paper inside. She gasped. “Oh, my God. Listen to this.” Don looked over her shoulder as she began to read out loud.
My beautiful Miranda,
I asked a friend to send this to you if I didn’t show up for a weekly meeting that we’ve been having, which would mean that somehow you and my brother have killed me. Yes, I know all about the two of you.
I figured it out after I opened that toolbox in your garage and saw an old pocketknife in there. It looked like one we had as kids, so I looked closer and saw his initials carved in it.
I followed you that night and saw you together. From that time on, I knew whenever you weren’t with me, you were with him. I thought I might be able to win you over anyway, but I guess I wasn’t man enough. Too bad, because I genuinely loved you.
Bottom line is, I don’t want to be on this earth without you, so I’ll be waiting for you in hell.
Love, Sweets
p.s. Tell my brother that since you are such a special treasure, he won’t be needing my money. I guess that means you won’t get it either. My apologies to Mickey.
Stunned, Miranda lifted her head and looked at New Mac. He threw the motorcycle onto its side and they dashed into the house and to the computer.
Within an instant, Don was hovering over Miranda’s shoulder as she pulled up the home page of their Vanguard Mutual Fund account. She hyperventilated as she typed in the password. “At least that still works.”
“Check the account balance.”
One click and Miranda’s brow jumped. She gasped as a horrible chill danced across her neck. “One dollar?”
Don’s arms thrashed wildly in the air. “That asshole.”
Miranda shook her head, murmuring, “There was almost three million dollars in there.”
“That son-of-a-bitch.” Don yanked the toaster from the wall and threw it at the refrigerator. “Asshole, cocksucker, mother fucker.”
Miranda quickly pecked at the keyboard. “I’ll try T. Rowe Price.” Her heart sank further. A lone dollar was all that was in the account. Likewise Janus, Strong, Barclays and the savings account. Somehow, Mac had gotten to every one of them from beyond the grave. “Oh, my God,” she said as she slouched down into her chair. “He must have set the accounts up to transfer funds on a specific time and day. As long as he was alive he could get back into the account and extend the date as many times as he wanted, but if he never changed the instructions the transfer would go through.”
An endless string of Don’s profanities pierced the air as Miranda lifted her hands and covered her face. “Twelve million. Gone. All of it.”
“Well, I’m not giving up that easy,” Don snapped. “What’s the eight-hundred number for that first one?”
While Don made the call, Miranda sat there, gawking at the astonishing information on the computer screen. Then she shook her head and smiled. “You were right, Donnie. Sooner or later he was going to turn on us. Face it. He beat both of us. Just like you said he would.”
Chapter Eighty-Eight
After giving it some thought, everybody agreed to Myles’s adoption idea. In addition to getting the paperwork going, they had to move some furniture around and get Stump some clothes along with other necessities. The days were long but Stump and Myles enjoyed the diversion.
Neither of them was a great cook so they ate a combination of delivery food, drive-through, frozen dinners and restaurant meals. This particular evening Myles gave his name to the hostess at a sit-down place and went to the restroom—leaving Stump behind in the lobby.
While standing there, Stump rubbed his head, realized he needed a haircut. “They’re twins,” one of the ladies standing in line said to another customer. “I haven’t heard from either one in nearly twenty years but I found one on Google, so we flew out to surprise him.”
“He must have been shocked,” the other woman replied.
“It was strange. It turns out we found the other one. I was confused at first because he was trying to get his brother’s motorcycle to stand up. But when I got a good look I knew right away which one he was. He and his girlfriend, or wife—we never did find out—kept pretending he was his brother, but how dumb do they think I am? A mother can tell her kids apart, even after all these years. When I told him he wasn’t fooling me, he chased me away.”
“That’ll be eighteen-eighty,” the cashier said to the petite woman. “Anyway,” she said, going through her purse, “They were totally rude to me. I decided it was their loss and we left. Now we’ve got a plane to catch.”
“Cooper. Party of two?” the hostess asked Stump.
“Yes. My dad will be here in a minute,” he said. He followed the hostess and planned to order a
cheeseburger and fries.
After being seated, Stump grabbed his napkin and thought about the petite woman and how kids of all ages constantly disappoint their parents—even full-grown adult-aged kids with motorcycles. Motorcycles. He knew a guy with a motorcycle that had trouble standing up. Could that woman have been talking about the same guy? His mind flipped into puzzle-solving mode.
When he was at the 7-11 he had assumed he saw that same biker again, only the guy was strange and didn’t even recognize him at first. Then there was that crate. He clicked his fingers and glanced toward the lobby. The petite woman had left, but couldn’t be far. He stood and raced outside. She and her husband were in their car at the exit and ready to enter traffic. He ran after them, but they made their turn and got away. Frustrated, he hurried back to the restaurant where Myles had found their table.
“Where were you?” Myles asked.
“You know something, Myles?” Stump said, half out of breath. “I think there was a murder.”
“A murder? On TV? A movie? What?”
“No. In real life. Right here in Palmdale. I think I know the guy who got killed.”
Myles drew back. “Who?”
“A biker guy. He married Ms. Johnson from my school. The one who passed away about the same time as Mom did.”
Myles set down his coffee spoon. “That’s a pretty wild accusation. What makes you think so?”
“While you were in the restroom I overheard a lady in the lobby say she had twin sons and came out here to see one of them, but instead she saw the other one.”
“So?”
“The second one had the first one’s motorcycle.”
“You’re not making much sense, Stump.”
“I think I met them both. Mac was the first one. I met him a few times including the night Richard got pushed out of the football stadium.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Don’t you see? The second one was pretending to be the bike rider. I met him too, only I didn’t know it at the time.” Stump sucked in a deep breath. He was excited for the first time in quite a while. “Remember that night we went to get gas, and I helped a guy throw a big wooden appliance box into the trash container?”
“Yeah, I remember that.”