3 Swift Run (30 page)

“Not that I think they’ll be doing any homework,” Kendall said, tossing her hair.
“They’ll just play that stupid Grand Theft Auto.”

She was probably right, but I didn’t say so.

“Do you think Dexter will really go to jail?” she asked. She was fixing herself a
peanut butter and banana sandwich and kept her eyes on the knife as she swiped Jif
on the bread. Her blond head was bent so her ponytail almost swished in the peanut
butter.

“Of course not!” I said, crossing my fingers. “He didn’t do anything wrong.” I thought
about that for a moment and hastily added, “You know your brother would never kill
anyone.”

“I suppose not.” She sounded unconvinced.

I crossed to the counter and gave her shoulders a squeeze. “You don’t need to worry
about him, Kendall. He’s got a good lawyer, and Charlie’s working hard to figure out
who really killed Heather-Anne.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about him,” Kendall said, clunking the knife into the sink. “I
was just wondering if I could have his room if, you know, if he’s not going to be
living here. We need to leave now or I’m going to be late.”

I noticed she was wearing her skating gear of pink sweatshirt over black leggings.
Her skate bag sat near the garage door. “Oh, right. Let me grab the keys.” While I
had Kendall trapped in the Hummer, we were going to have a talk about her selfishness,
I resolved. I was fed up with her me-me-me attitude. How could she even joke about
taking Dexter’s room if he ended up in jail? I decided against trying to sneak back
into the basement to let Les know that we were leaving; if he wanted the Hummer before
I got back, that was just too bad.

As I backed out of the garage, I said, “Kendall, honey, Dexter’s the only brother
you’re ever going to have, so—”

“Thank God.”

Our talk was not off to a good start.

*   *   *

By the time I got home, it was almost dark. I wished daylight savings time weren’t
still six weeks away. I was ready for warmth and sunshine. Lots of sunshine. Neiman
Marcus and Spiegel spring catalogs had come in the mail today. They got me thinking
about capris and wedge sandals, sundresses—Why don’t they make sundresses with sleeves
that cover the upper arm area?—and all the colorful spring clothes I hadn’t worn in
nine months. I could sort through them tonight after Les left … that would make me
feel cheerier. Maybe it was also time to switch my nail polish color to my spring
collection. I held my hands out, fingers fanned, and studied my garnet red nails,
including the one Dreiser had broken. Coral would be more springy, or that mint-colored
polish Kendall had bought. I’d never used green nail polish before, but I was in the
mood to change things up, go out on a style limb.

I didn’t know whether the thought of Les leaving, possibly forever, cheered me up
or made me gloomier. Kendall had left the peanut butter and bread out, so I made myself
a sandwich, using marshmallow fluff instead of banana, and wondered if I should take
one to Les and Patrick. Before I could decide, the doorbell rang. Hastily swallowing
the sticky lump of peanut butter and bread, I hurried to the front door. I peered
through the side window, wondering who was out on a night like this. Probably not
a high school band member selling candy or a Girl Scout with cookies. Maybe a neighbor
needing to borrow a snow shovel or a couple of eggs.

A man stood there, backed a few feet away from the door like he didn’t want to make
the homeowner nervous. I appreciated that. I didn’t know him, but he looked respectable
in a Fair Isle sweater over dark blue slacks. He had longish dark hair slicked back
from his face and a charming smile. “Mrs. Goldman?” he said when I opened the door.
“My name’s Andrew Brett. I’m an associate of your husband’s. May I speak to him?”

“Um…” I crinkled my brow, not sure what to make of Andrew Brett. I’d never heard Les
talk about him. “He’s my ex-husband. He doesn’t live here anymore.” I didn’t see any
need to mention that he was camped out in the basement waiting for dark to fall so
he could skulk out and meet some criminal.

“Oh.” Andrew Brett raised his dark brows and looked puzzled. “I was sure he told me
to meet him here. We have a business matter to discuss.”

The light dawned, and I smiled with relief. This must be the man who was going to
supply Les with whatever documents he needed to get out of the country. He looked
much more respectable than I’d anticipated—not scuzzy at all. Les had undoubtedly
come up to get the Hummer while I was taking Kendall to the Ice Hall. When he found
us and the car gone, he’d called Andrew Brett and changed their plans. “Of course,”
I said, opening the door wider. “He mentioned you.”

“He did?” A frown twitched the man’s brows but then smoothed away. He stamped his
feet outside, eased himself into the foyer, and wiped his feet on the rug again. I
liked him.

“Let me just get Les for you,” I said. “Please sit down.” I gestured toward the living
room and went to the basement door. “Les,” I called. “Mr. Brett is here to talk to
you.”

Les yelled back something I didn’t understand and then appeared at the foot of the
stairs. “Why don’t you tell the whole world I’m here, Gigi,” he complained, clomping
upward. “You’re the one who didn’t want the kids to know.”

“They’re gone,” I said. “Mr. Brett is here. I suppose he’s the one who’s going to
make you a new passport or something.” A thought popped into my head. “Have you picked
out a new name?”

“It doesn’t work like that, Gigi,” Les said irritably. He paused, halfway up the stairs.
“I don’t know any Brett, and I already told you: I’m meeting my contact later. I wouldn’t
let somebody like that come to the house. Jesus! What kind of lowlife do you think
I am?”

My brow wrinkled. “Then who—?” Ooh, I got a bad feeling. Maybe it was from what felt
like a gun barrel poking into the base of my spine. I slowly turned my head to see
Andrew Brett standing behind me, grim smile on his lips, big gun in his hand.

He beckoned with his other hand. “Get up here.” When Les hesitated, Brett’s voice
got harsher. “
Now,
Goldman. I’ve had this house staked out for days now, waiting for you to turn up,
and I’m about out of patience. I almost caught up with you when you came by here in
the Beemer with your kid—I followed you for twelve fucking hours. I wanted to get
at you at the truck stop, but those damn truckers never went to sleep. There was always
someone coming or going.”

“You slept in the car?” I asked.
Brrrr
. No wonder he’d broken into the basement.

The men ignored her as Brett continued, “I thought I had you at the movie theater,
but you got away. You’re a slippery bastard.”

Les climbed the stairs heavily, confusion twisting his face. “That was you? I don’t
know you, do I? What do you want with me and Gigi?”

“I don’t want her,” Brett said, herding us into the living room with the gun. “I want
you. More precisely, I want my money, my three-point-eight million dollars that you
stole.”

Les breathed out heavily. “Look, Brett, or whatever your name is, I’ve never done
business with you. I don’t have any of your money.”

I’d been studying Andrew Brett while he threatened Les, and now it came to me. It
was in the shape of his brow and jaw, the way his ears lay close to his head, the
identical nose. “You’re related to Heather-Anne, aren’t you?” I blurted.

He swiveled his head and stared at me. “You’re not half as stupid as Annie made out.
You’re probably a lot smarter than this guy.” He waved the gun casually at Les.

“She called me stupid?” I was incensed. That was the outside of enough! “Well, she
was a home-wrecking, husband-stealing, trashy tramp who had less style than a Barbie
doll, and—”

“Gigi, you don’t want to annoy the man with the gun,” Les said, putting a calming
hand on my arm and giving Brett a nervous look. Indeed, the other man’s face had darkened.

“She was my sister,” he bit out.

“Ooh, I’m sorry for your loss.”

I couldn’t read the look Brett gave me. “Sit down,” he said finally.

“I’ve got to be somewhere—” Les started.

Brett stiff-armed him with a hand to his chest, and Les plopped down into the recliner
behind him. “You’re not going anywhere until I get my money. You, too.” He pointed
to me. “Sit.”

I perched on the edge of the blue leather sofa. “This must all be a big mistake,”
I said. “If Les had your money, he’d give it back. Right, Les?” I tried not to think
about Dreiser in the basement, still trying to get his money back from my ex-husband.

Sweat beaded Les’s forehead and ran down his temples, even though it wasn’t that hot.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. I could tell he was lying.

Apparently, so could Brett. “You’re lying.” He pressed the gun barrel against Les’s
knee. Les tried to squirm away, but Brett leaned into him. “Maybe a bullet in your
knee will help your memory. Do you know what a .38 slug would do to your knee? Let’s
just say I don’t think you’d be playing racquetball at the Y anymore. And from the
look on your wife’s—”

“Ex-wife!” I said.

“—face, I don’t think she’ll be lining up to push your wheelchair. So tell me where
the money is, and I’ll disappear as soon as we’ve transferred it from whatever offshore
account you’ve got it in to my account. You’ll never see me again.” He dug his free
hand in his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper, smoothing it onto the end table.
“Here’s the account number.”

“I don’t understand … How did Les get your money if you’ve never met?” I looked from
Andrew Brett to Les. His eyes shifted away from mine.

“He stole it from my sister.”

“From Heather-Anne? She had almost four million dollars?” Here I’d always thought
she hooked up with Les for his money; now I wasn’t sure. This was too confusing.

“Let me tell you a story,” Brett said. He looked relaxed, like an invited dinner guest,
not at all sweaty and nervous like Les. Maybe being the one with the gun made it easier
to relax. I always felt keyed up when I held my gun, even at the shooting range, but
it might be different for men.

“Once upon a time there was a brother and a sister. She was beautiful, and he was
very, very smart, and not unhandsome himself.” His lips twisted. “They had a shitty
upbringing with a shitty mother, but we won’t go into that. Suffice it to say that
one day, the mother took off, leaving them to fend for themselves. Which they were
perfectly capable of doing.”

“Where did they live?”

“Oklahoma.”

“Tornadoes.” I’d never been to Oklahoma, but I knew about the tornadoes.

“Not in this story. Anyway”—Brett spoke more forcefully, as if to keep me from interrupting
again—“a man came along who wanted to marry the sister even though she was only eighteen
and he was in his fifties. Perv. We agreed that it was the smart thing to do because
the man had money and we didn’t. After they’d been married a couple of years, though,
Annie started feeling her oats. She was twenty by then and drop-dead gorgeous in an
innocent sort of way that made men want to protect her, take care of her. Right, Goldman?”
He prodded Les’s knee with the gun, and Les jerked, refusing to answer.

I thought Heather-Anne needed about as much protection as a scorpion, but I kept my
mouth zipped.

“We decided that it was time to move on.”

“So she left her husband?”

“He had an accident.” Brett’s lashes shadowed his eyes, but I didn’t like what I saw
there. “It was fortuitous because it made it possible for Annie to withdraw everything
from his bank accounts, cash in some investments, and disappear.”

“Was the husband okay?”

Brett shrugged. “Who knows? The point is, we were able to start over someplace where
people didn’t know us or our mom, didn’t look down on us. We went to Atlanta. But
then the money started running out. I discovered I had quite a flair for computers
and research, and we turned that to good account. We’d identify a possible mark, and
I’d learn everything about him, down to the kind of underwear he preferred and what
he ate for breakfast, what was important to him and the kind of women that appealed
to him. Annie was quite the actress, and she’d remake herself in the image of what
the mark preferred. It worked more often than not. Sometimes she married the mark,
sometimes we turned a profit another way. If the mark started getting suspicious,
or if someone in his family started looking into Annie’s background too hard, we cut
our losses and moved on.”

“How many?” Les asked. “How many husbands?”

He looked like the answer mattered to him, and I felt sorry for him.

Brett shrugged. “Six? Seven?”

Les sagged back against the recliner cushions. “She lied to me.”

“Well, you stole her money, so I’d say you were even,” Brett said nastily.

“Only after she lied to me. I got that clipping in the mail … Why’d you send it? It
was you, right?”

Brett nodded. “Things started going wrong as soon as we got to Colorado Springs. Annie
started talking about how she was getting older, about wanting to settle down. She
got her own apartment for a while but then moved into the house with me. She even
mentioned children once.” He barked a harsh laugh. “Can you imagine her as a mother?”

“We talked about it,” Les said.

My mouth fell open, and I stared at him. “You did? About having more children? With
Heather-Anne?”

Les’s chin sank down. He didn’t meet my eyes.

“When Annie ran off with you to Costa Rica, I was as surprised as the business partners
you embezzled from,” Brett said. “She didn’t tell me that she was leaving. If she’d
left me my share of the money, I might have let her go. But no. She took it all. Cleaned
out our account and transferred it somewhere. Must have been your influence.” He glared
at Les. “I tried calling her, sending e-mails. She wouldn’t reply. I didn’t understand.
Not after all that we’d been through together!”