The Cruel Ever After (21 page)

“Pepito’s. Do you have a credit card receipt?”

“Paid cash. I didn’t think I’d need an alibi,” he added, salting the statement with just the right amount of disgust. “Are you suggesting I murdered both Dial and Beck? You think I’m some sort of serial killer?” He glanced over at Ray for support.

Ray’s eyes bored into his.

Taylor straightened the file in front of him and then folded his hands on top of it. “So, you had nothing to do with Melvin Dial’s death. No part in dumping his body in Minnehaha Park.”

“None.”

“He was fine when you left him Tuesday night.”

“He walked me to the door, shook my hand, slapped me on the back.”

“You were both feeling no pain.”

“True.”

“Was Dial feeling so little pain that he let you take his billfold with him when you left? All his credit cards? His driver’s license?”

Oh God,
thought Chess, slamming against a truth he couldn’t talk his way out of. He’d been in such a hurry to leave Jane’s house that he’d forgotten.

“I think we’d better stop there,” said Ray.

“You told Dial’s neighbor that you’d taken him to the airport and that you were watering his plants for him while he was gone.”

“No, I—”

“Why did you say that?” demanded Taylor. He didn’t wait for a response. “I’ll tell you why. You knew he was dead because you killed him. The neighbor noticed that his mail was piling up, and you had to tell him something to make him think everything was okay.”

“No, no—”

“But you made a couple of big mistakes. First, you dropped your passport in the grass when you dumped his body, a passport that had Dial’s blood on it. Second, you removed Dial’s wallet after you knifed him. We found the wallet taped to the back of a mirror in Ms. Lawless’s third-floor apartment, the apartment you’ve been staying in for the past couple of days.”

Chess felt all the blood drain from his face. He’d been hiding it from Jane, just in case she came up to snoop through his stuff. In all the chaos of packing so quickly, he’d never given it another thought.

“I had no reason to kill Dial. None. What was my reason? Tell me.”

Ray placed a hand on Chess’s shoulder. “Unless you’re arresting Mr. Garrity, this conversation is over.”

Taylor closed the folder. A uniformed officer entered the room.

“Stand up,” ordered Taylor.

“What’s happening? Ray?”

The uniformed officer handcuffed Chess’s hands behind his back.

“Chess Garrity,” said Taylor, his voice flat, “I am arresting you on a probable cause warrant in the murder of Melvin Dial.”

“You mean I’m going to jail? I can’t. Ray, tell him.”

Instead of coming to his defense, Ray removed his hand.

*   *   *

While Irina was giving the appraisal, Majid had been sitting on the basement steps watching a spider build a web at the edge of the doorway. He didn’t want her to know he was there. He hadn’t expected her to show up on a Sunday morning, so thought it was safe to spend some more time cleaning. As soon as she’d left and locked up, he stood, removed a dust rag from his back pocket, and squashed the spider, sweeping the web away.

Crossing into the showroom, he sat down behind the desk. The papers were still spread across the top, so out of curiosity, he switched on the halogen light to examine the Polaroids. The image of the palm tree caught his eye.

Turning to the bookshelf next to him, he examined a series of reference volumes until he found what he was looking for. He paged through an exhaustive index and finally located the words “Kings of Sumer,” then drew his finger down until “Adab, Dynasty of” appeared.

“What are you up to now?” he whispered, absorbed immediately by his search.

24

Unable to concentrate at work, Jane came home early on Sunday evening to cut the grass. She was relaxing on the back steps, cooling off with a cold beer, when her father walked in through the backyard gate. By the solemn look on his face, she knew he hadn’t come with good news.

“Hi,” she said, easing off the steps, brushing grass off her jeans.

“Don’t get up.”

“Want a beer?”

He leaned an arm against the iron railing. “No thanks. How’s the nose feel?”

“I think it will live.” She sat back down.

Mouse, who’d been rolling on the grass under the oak, tore himself away long enough to trot over and bury his muzzle in her father’s hands, demanding a scratch.

“Hey there, big guy.” He rubbed him energetically, from fore to aft.

“He’s putty in your hands,” said Jane, tipping back the beer bottle. She hadn’t had much to eat today, so one beer had given her a nice buzz.

Her father took off his sport coat and folded it over his arm, then sat down next to her. “Chess is being held on a probable cause warrant in Melvin Dial’s murder.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Taylor believes he’s guilty, but he wants more time to make his case. He may also be afraid that Chess was about to bolt. My guess is that Taylor is doing his best to link Dial’s murder to the murder of Morgana Beck, an antiquities dealer in St. Paul. Have you heard about her?”

“I saw something on the news the other night. She owned a gallery.”

“I don’t understand what’s going on, but Chess is definitely in the thick of it.” He pulled his tie away from his collar and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. “Seems Chess hid Dial’s wallet upstairs in your third-floor apartment. The cops found it. If that isn’t the final nail in his coffin, I don’t know what would be.”

“How did he explain it?”

“He didn’t.”

“Did you tell him you’re pulling out, that you’re not going to represent him?”

His gaze moved to the top of the oak tree. “As it turns out, it’s not that simple. The police can keep him for seventy-two hours on a probable cause warrant. After that, he will either be charged or released. If he’s charged, bail will be set at an arraignment. Chess wants out. That’s all he’s interested in. Doesn’t matter how much it costs.”

Jane heard the note of wariness in her dad’s voice. “But he doesn’t have any money.”

“He has a check for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

“Where’d he get that?”

“He sold something. He said that once he’s out, it would take a day or two to clear his bank, and then he could pay me back.”

“You? He wants you to put up the bail money?”

“Me or you. Doesn’t matter to him.”

“Why on earth would we do that?”

“Because—” His jaw tightened. “He’s your husband.”

“You mean
was
my husband.”

“No, honey. He still is. Did you ever really look at the divorce decree he sent you?”

She stared at him, her mouth open. “Are you telling me it was no good?” She erupted off the steps. “That the divorce was a sham?”

He reached for her hand.

“I don’t believe you.” She backed up. “I don’t believe
him
. Why would he want to stay married to me?”

“You’ll have to ask him that. Do you have a copy of the decree? I need to see it.”

She felt a nauseating heat rise in her throat. “It’s in my study.” Rushing into the house, she found the folder marked
MARRIAGE/DIVORCE
in the filing cabinet and brought it back to him. She crouched in the grass, biting a nail, waiting.

“The marriage was legal,” said her father, removing his reading glasses after examining all the papers, “but the divorce documents are worthless. I’m sure he bought them.”

“So what does that mean? Does he own half of my restaurants? My house? My investments?”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure about that. It’s not my area of law. I’ll have to check with a family law attorney.”

“Are you kidding me? There’s even a possibility of that? How do I get rid of him?”

“Jane, listen. This could get messy. That’s why I agreed to help him. We need to keep him happy until I can figure the best way out for you.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I am still
married
to that bastard? Do you know how much he’s screwed up my life? I’ve got people following me around, people staking out my restaurant. Someone attacked me last night. Now I find out he might be able to grab half of everything I’ve worked for my entire life? I’m supposed to just stand here and take that?”

“For now, yes.”

“But why send me fake divorce papers? Was he planning this all along?”

Her father’s usual confidence seemed to have vanished. “I don’t have the answer to that, but I’ll do everything in my power to protect you. I’ll call as soon as I learn anything. For the time being, why don’t you stick around the house. The restaurants can get along without you for a few days.”

“Sure.”

“Call Cordelia. Have her bring Hattie and Mel over. You can watch a movie together, order a pizza. I don’t want you to worry or be frightened. We’ll figure this out.”

She wasn’t frightened. Not anymore. She was furious.

*   *   *

Irina had called Chess several times on Sunday afternoon and left messages, only to be sitting on the braided rug at the foot of her son’s crib in their commandeered bedroom hours later, with no response. She wasn’t sure how worried she should be. His cell phone could be out of juice, or he could have misplaced it. There was always the possibility, she supposed, that he’d pocketed the check from Julia Martinsen and taken off for greener pastures. Yet she resisted the idea. He said he loved her. She had to trust that love.

Dusty wiggled on his back under an infant activity gym, his pudgy arms grasping at colorful rattles and soft squeeze toys. Since he was so happily occupied, she tried calling Chess again. After six rings, his voice mail picked up. She leaned her back against the bed frame, closed the phone, and considered what to do next.

Misty had left the house with one of her disgusting male friends around four. Because Irina didn’t have a babysitter, she was trapped at home. She hated herself for feeling that way. Dustin was a gift, and it was her responsibility to care for him and make sure he thrived.

The doorbell rang.

Thinking it was okay to leave him on the floor under the gym, Irina got up and dashed into the living room, finding the usual mess. Picking up empty beer cans on her way to the door, she spotted Steve’s truck through the front window. He looked oddly subdued when she drew back the door and found him standing on the front steps.

“I thought maybe you’d let me take you out for dinner.”

Food sounded good, but without Misty to babysit, it was impossible. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t leave Dusty here by himself. You know that.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, thought it over. “Let’s take him with us.”

“It’s not safe.”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “He’s got to go out sometime. Why not tonight?”

“But the germs.”

“Listen to me, honey. I read something yesterday that said kids need to get used to germs. Being exposed to them actually makes their immune systems stronger.”

She wasn’t sure she believed him. It might be just another one of his ploys to get her to do something she knew was wrong.

“Come on. We need to talk, and by the looks of you, you need to eat.”

“What’s wrong with the way I look?”

“Nothing,” he said, wrapping his arms around her.

The familiar aftershave pulled her in. The strength in his arms eased the tension inside her. She hated herself for being so weak, for needing a man to lean on.

“Can’t you, just for a couple hours, bend a few of your rules? I miss you. I want to help you, if you’ll let me.” He gave her his best lopsided grin.

She did have that new car seat, but she still wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do. Turning toward the doorway into the kitchen, she saw that the counter was covered in plates with half-eaten sandwiches, boxes of cereal, open jars of food, empty Campbell’s soup cans, coffee mugs, banana peels, and more beer cans. The sink was mounded high with dirty dishes. Misty was using the place as a crash pad and nothing more. This was no place for her and Dusty.

“I’ll change my clothes.”

“Great,” said Steve, rubbing his hands together. “Anywhere you want to go is fine with me—as long as it serves steak.”

As she walked past the couch, she noticed that her purse was sticking out from behind one of the pillows.

“Something wrong?” asked Steve.

Misty must have been going through it. Irina picked it up, flipped the top back, and drew out her pocketbook.

“You lose something?” asked Steve.

“Everything seems to be here.”

“Misty wouldn’t steal from you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

As if he knew Misty as well as she did. She wasn’t sure why he was coming to her sister’s defense, because, if history served, he didn’t even like her. She stuffed her pocketbook back into her purse, next to the sunglasses she’d found at the gallery. Pulling them out, she held them up. “These yours?”

“Hey, I thought I’d lost them. Where’d you find them?”

She stepped into the hallway, glancing into the bedroom to make sure Dusty was still okay on the floor. “At the gallery.”

A guilty look passed over his face.

“You went there?” she asked.

“Your mom called me last Monday, asked me to stop by.”

“Mom called
you
? About what?”

He sat down on the edge of a chair and folded his arms across his chest. “Just stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“Why do you always push so hard?”

“Because I like to know what the people in my life are saying about me behind my back.”

“Why do you assume she wanted to talk about you?”

“Did she?”

He looked down, shrugged. “She was concerned about our marriage.”

“Why would she talk to you and not me?”

“She tried talking to you, Irina, tons of times, but every time she did, you blew her off.”

This was the last straw. “I don’t need people in my life who can’t support me.”

“Since your mother’s dead, I assume that means me.”

“I think you’d better leave.”

He stood, the muscles along his jawline tightening. “If that’s what you want. But first, answer one question. If a person doesn’t agree with you completely, with all your choices, all your opinions and every other little goddamn thing you do, does that mean he doesn’t support
you
? Or love you?”