Heads You Lose (33 page)

“You here to tell me you’ve cracked the case?” he asked, trying for a gentle joke.

“Look, Ed. I know you don’t want me poking around anymore. If you can just help me out with one little detail, I promise I’m done.”

Ed didn’t answer, so she continued. “What have you found out about the Babalato brothers?”

Ed took some time, apparently deciding whether to answer. “I don’t know what the Babalatos were doing during Egan’s murder. But they alibied up for Harry Lakes.”

“Can I trouble you for the details? It’d help put my head to rest.”

“Jay was at a class in Japanese tree trimming—icky somesuch.”

“Ikebana?”

“That’s it. And Marv was at bread-making class. He brought me a loaf of pumpernickel the next day. Not bad at all.”

“Doesn’t that sound a little suspicious to you?”

“Next time I hear something that
doesn’t
sound suspicious, I’ll let you know. Fact is, the alibis check out. Both brothers got sent to anger management a few months ago after they started a fight at a basketball game. The classes are part of their therapy. I talked to both of their course instructors personally. So there’s no way either brother could have committed the Harry Lakes murder. And the night Hart’s body turned up on your doorstep, the whole We Care staff was trying to track down a patient who was trying to break into Mapleshade. One of these days I’m going to have to look into that place.”

“Yeah, well, I guess you’ve got a few other things on your plate right now.”

“You could say that. We’re starting to run low on suspects. Way it looks now, the killer might just end up being the last man standing.”

Lacey had no answer for that.

The Holland–Egan revelations were having the opposite effect on Paul, reviving his belief that the murders could be solved—as well as his desire to find out who’d killed Terry. After Lacey had left, he’d told Brandy he had an important errand. The least he could do was check out his friend’s house again, newly armed with the knowledge of the doctors’ true identities.

Outside Terry’s, a sagging X of police tape across the front door was the only sign of trouble. Paul slipped in through a back window. The room where Harry had been killed had been entirely cleared out. All the papers and journals and recordings were gone from the rest of the house, too. No more mysterious scribblings to puzzle over or clippings to decode. Still, Paul was glad he’d come. The Puma hadn’t been forgotten. On his way back to his truck, Paul checked the mailbox in the driveway, just in case delivery to the address hadn’t been canceled.

There were two envelopes inside, a big FedEx one curled around a standard-sized one. He opened the smaller one first. It was another “final” notice for Harry from the parole department, this one forwarded from his Jirsa address, up near the Oregon border. Establishing a forwarding address with the post office was a very strange move for a wanted man, Paul thought. He’d never been to Jirsa, but he was starting to feel like a road trip was in order.

The FedEx envelope was addressed to Terry and postmarked Los Angeles. Paul opened it and started reading.

Dear Mr. Jakes,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected as a contestant on the upcoming
Survivor: Tokelau.
We have been unable to reach you at the phone number you provided. Please call us at your earliest opportunity to discuss . . .

Paul laughed and then started crying a little. He stuffed the letters into his jacket pocket and walked back to his truck. He had a killer to find.

NOTES:

Lisa,

While you’ve been occupying yourself with petty killings and misdirections, I’ve been laying out a precisely calibrated—yet surprisingly sturdy—solution just underneath the surface. Unfortunately, I’ve been prohibited from executing it to completion. I can’t say I’m optimistic about
your
chances of doing so, now that I’ve removed all the obvious possibilities. Good luck writing your way out of this one.

I can’t say it’s a peace offering, but I do have a parting gift for you, too. The perfect title occurred to me back when I lost the coin toss:
Heads You Lose
.

Dave

Dave,

Heads You Lose
sounds like the perfect title to me, too. Finally, you’ve made a substantive contribution to the book.

That was quite a chapter—maybe one of the most convoluted wrap-ups in the history of tertiary plot points. I know you think you’ve painted me into a corner by giving alibis to all the prime suspects, but I’ve been at this longer than you.

You’ve won a few battles, but I’m going to win the war.

Lisa

CHAPTER 31

The next day, Lacey returned to the sheriff’s office with Paul and Brandy and they delivered all the evidence they had on the plane crash and the Holland–Egan connection. Sheriff Ed jotted down all the details and reluctantly complimented Brandy on her investigative acumen.

“What a bizarre series of far-fetched events,” Sheriff Ed said. “Nothing in my career to date could have prepared me for anything more ridiculous. But at least we’ve got those minor matters sorted out.”

“I don’t mean to diminish the importance of uncovering a twenty-year-old conspiracy or identifying someone who died in a plane crash, but we do still have a murderer roaming free. I think it would be wise if we didn’t forget that little detail,” Lacey said, looking Brandy directly in the eye.

Brandy didn’t seem to notice or didn’t care. On the way out of the station, Lacey pulled Paul aside and said, “We need to talk. In private, please?”

“I’ll meet you at Diner in an hour,” Paul replied.

“So, what’s your news?” Paul asked, over a Diner hamburger and fries.

“I’m pretty sure I know who our killer is, and you’re not going to like it.”

“Who?”

“Your fiancée.”

Paul had quite a chuckle at his sister’s expense when he informed her that she herself was Brandy’s alibi for Harry Lake’s murder. However, since Lacey was single-handedly solving these crimes, she could hardly be blamed for one tiny investigative slip. That certainly didn’t clear Brandy of the other crimes. No, a computer alibi did that. How convenient.

As much as Lacey questioned Brandy’s motives, taste, and general decency, she had to admit that it seemed less and less likely that she was the killer. With her limp, Brandy would have had a hard time moving a full-grown man over and over again. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t masterminded the whole plan.

“Just remember something, Paul: If you marry Brandy and you die, she gets all your money. And if she is such a genius, I sure bet she could make it look like an accident.”

“You keep talking like that, Lace, and we won’t invite you to the wedding.”

The siblings parted in the Diner parking lot.

“I’ll see you around,” Paul said.

“Watch your back, okay?” Lacey replied.

Lacey decided to drop by Mapleshade on her way home. Sook was in his room reading a pink-covered tome about a woman who shops herself to death.

“You got to stop reading that crap,” Lacey said.

“Is this good-bye?” Sook asked.

“No,” Lacey replied. Although she wasn’t sure. She knew it was time to leave, but she didn’t know if she could get out of Mercer with the weight of unfinished business on her mind.

“Take some advice from an old man who knows a thing or two. You need to leave and never come back.”

“Then I’ll never see you again,” Lacey said.

“Good,” Sook replied. “I want you to remember me young and pretty. Listen, I was going for a stroll the other day over at We Care . . .”

“Why does that sound suspicious?”

“Pay attention. Big Marv has hired a geologist to do some studies on Shady Acres. He arrives in three days. You want to be long gone by then.”

“It’s funny,” Lacey said. “There’s a murderer loose in Mercer. Killed Hart, Terry, Harry, the new doc, and probably the old fake doc. And you’re telling me I should be worried about Big Marv?”

“Lacey, you got your whole life ahead of you. If you stopped worrying yourself about the dead, you might just get to live.”

Sook had a good point there. Lacey didn’t like leaving unfinished business, but maybe that was the only way to do what she had meant to do for the last ten years: Get out of this nowhere town.

“Say good-bye, Lacey,” Sook said.

“Good-bye, Lacey,” she replied, giving Sook a warm kiss on the cheek.

Lacey phoned Paul on her way home.

“Big Marv hired a geologist. He’ll be here in a few days. Time to leave,” she said.

“Shit. I didn’t think it would be so fast. What do we do about the house?” The idea of a vengeful Marv had been acceptable as a future possibility—something he could make an outline for. As a present reality, it terrified him.

“I think Betty has a real estate license,” Lacey replied.

“I’ll call her.”

“What are you up to today?” Lacey asked.

“Nothing,” Paul replied.

“When you find the time to break away from nothing, you might want to start packing,” Lacey said, and then ended the call.

Paul’s answer was true. While he previously had plans to investigate the highly suspicious yet deceased Harry Lakes, Brandy convinced him otherwise. She explained that while Lakes was probably up to no good, he was certainly not the link that explained the series of killings in Mercer. Paul was glad for a reason not to take a drive. In fact, he was glad for a reason not to do anything at all. He parked himself in front of the TV and watched a marathon of
Mythmatch
. After he asked Brandy to fetch him his third beer, she tried to get him out of the house. She even suggested a hike, an unusual proposal from someone with a compromised gait, but Paul couldn’t be budged from the comfort of the sofa.

Brandy prayed that her betrothed’s lethargy was simply a response to all the recent stress, but in the back of her mind it occurred to her that she might have hitched her wagon to a dull, aimless man with a little bit of cash tucked away.

Lacey packed well into the evening until complete exhaustion set in. Surrounded by a sea of boxes, she climbed into her bed and thought she’d take a quick nap before she continued.

Something stirred her awake a few hours later. She first checked the clock and noticed it was just past midnight.

She had a feeling she was not alone.

A familiar shape was perched on top of a big box by the window. While some people experience the phenomenon of being unable to distinguish between waking and dream life, Lacey was not one of them. She was wide awake.

“You’re alive,” she said.

“Surprised?” he replied.

“Yes.”

“What happened?” she heard herself asking.

Hart sat down on the edge of Lacey’s bed. She could see his face through the light in the window. He had a few days’ stubble and his hair was growing out from an amateurish bleach job. Despite herself, she was almost happy to see him.

“I’m not dead,” he said.

“I figured out that part,” Lacey replied. “But I
saw
you.”

“Did you?”

“You had your mother’s ring. The tattoo on your wrist . . .” she trailed off, trying to think of something else that proved what she’d once believed. But there was nothing.

“It wasn’t me,” Hart said.

“Obviously. Who was it?” Lacey asked.

“Some kid,” Hart replied.

“Did he have a name?”

“Everybody has a name.”

“What was it, Hart?”

“Brice.”

“He’s been missing.”

“Not exactly,” Hart casually replied.

“How did he die?”

“Peacefully.”

“The tattoo? Was that a coincidence?”

“His choice.”

“How many shots of whiskey did it take to be his choice?”

“About a dozen. The drinks cost more than the tattoo, I’ll tell you that.”

“I don’t understand,” Lacey said. She tried to keep her voice even. If Hart sensed fear, she would be next. “Why did the body keep coming back?”

“Because without a head, I needed someone to identify me. I needed
you
to identify me. I thought you’d find the tattoo the first time around and recognize the shirt.”

“The shirt?” Lacey repeated.

“You gave it to me, remember? Two years ago for my birthday.”

“Oh yeah,” Lacey replied. “But couldn’t they identify the body through the fingerprints?”

“The fingerprint database is only for convicted criminals. Believe it or not, I’ve never been charged with a crime.”

“I still don’t understand why you did it, Hart.”

“I did it for you. And me. We have money now. We can go anywhere we want.”

Hart removed a quartered envelope from his back pocket and passed it to Lacey.

“This arrived for you today.”

Lacey peeked inside and saw that it was the check from Hart’s life insurance policy. Lacey tried to hand it back to him, but he told her to keep it.

“Did you kill Terry?” she asked.

“Technically a pulmonary embolism did.”

“Why?”

“Because I knew he’d give the land back to you.”

“What about Harry?”

“He was going to ruin everything,” Hart replied. “He knew Shady Acres was worth nothing. He found details in Terry’s files. He would have made you pay him off. I know his kind.”

“Right. What about Doc Egan?”

“Sorry that was so brutal,” Hart said. “I had to make it fast.”

“But why’d you kill him?”

“I thought I’d get rid of him before you got too attached.”

“I wasn’t getting attached.”

“Then let’s just say it was his time.”

“Anyone else?” Lacey asked.

Hart casually searched his memory bank, as if it were possible he killed someone and did not recall.

“I think that’s it.”