A Bad Day for Pretty (25 page)

“A lady doesn’t tell,” Brandy said primly. “How old are
you
?”

“None of your fucking business.” Though there was more Stella would have liked to know—like how much work Brandy had done, how much it cost, if it hurt—she certainly hoped it had—and whether Goat had encouraged the whole thing.

If it took this kind of gussying up to snag a man, then Stella was pretty sure she wasn’t the woman for the job. And not because she wasn’t willing to exert her fair share of effort either.

Even good relationships took hard work, she knew that—all those
Redbook
articles made that clear. But if she made herself over into a dish like Brandy, she wouldn’t be herself anymore. And while not so long ago that might have struck her as a not-terrible trade, back when being Stella Hardesty felt like a ticket to the Victim Olympics and her self-esteem had been stretched to its breaking point, in the last couple of years she had grown comfortable with the person she’d come to be, warts and all.

“You didn’t ask
me
—I’m twenty-nine,” Chrissy said. “But I’m kind of a genius, see, so I doubt you’re going to be able to put anything over on me, Brandy Truax, even if you do got twenty-five years on me.”

“Twenty-
five
?” Brandy sat up, features suddenly rigid. “You better get you some glasses, girl, ’cause I’m closer to bein’ your
sister
than your mama’s age.”

“Dang, Stella,” Chrissy said, “I know you were sayin’ you thought she was rehabilitatable and all, but I gotta say I think you were mistaken this time. I say we go ahead and let Wil know where she’s stayin’ and let them work it out.”

“You found him?” Brandy, cool as a tarted-up cucumber who’d been dipped in green goddess dressing, suddenly went shrill. A gob of facial mask dripped down off her cheek onto the white robe, but she didn’t seem to notice. “You talked to Wil?”

Stella exchanged a glance with Chrissy. “Look here, cupcake, why do you think we bothered to hunt down your skanky ass in the first place? First off, I want you to tell me all about this ex of yours and why you’re so dang sure he’s tryin’ to kill you. And if you can convince me of that, then I’ll want everything else you got on this guy. Cell numbers, car, where he’s likely to be hiding, all that.”

“Listen, Stella—I told you what happened. He was
there
that night, at the track. He was the one put that woman in the ground and poured concrete over her.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe there was two of them. Like he was working with a partner or something. Maybe he accidentally stumbled on someone else doing the job, and—”

“It was him, Stella—I know, ’cause of the
shoes
.”

“Huh?”

“The shoes. Wil called me just as soon as the tornado went through, ’cause he heard on the radio that the snack shack got pulled right out of the ground. He figured it was just a matter of time until they found the body. He told me I had to get the shoes off of it. Said she had on black patent shoes—skimmers, you know, like them little ballerina flats everybody was wearin’ a few years back?—and his prints was all over them.”

“What—how the hell was he thinkin’ you’d get the shoes? I mean, that’s like
evidence
, ” Stella said.

Brandy sighed theatrically. “Stella,” she said, enunciating slowly and clearly, “you got to remember I got a little extra that most females don’t. And Wil knows that, he knows exactly what kind of effect I have on men. I mean, I can’t even help it.”

Stella caught Chrissy rolling her eyes heavenward, but the girl kept her mouth shut.

“Do tell,” Stella said dryly.

“So Wil says to me, go on back to that ex-husband of yours—he never could stand it that I used to be married to the law—why, I think that’s half the reason he got so dang intent on breakin’ it all the time—anyway he says go and do whatever it takes to get them shoes.”

“You’re saying this man of yours was willing to let you get in another man’s pants?” Stella said dubiously.

“Of course not, Stella—Wil knows I got all kinds a different techniques and whatnot. Why, I could have a man turned to putty in my hands without even lifting my skirt. I got
ethics
, you know.”

Stella snorted. “Right. This hardened criminal boyfriend of yours figured the sheriff would hand over evidence if you just batted them fake eyelashes at him a few times—”

“It don’t matter what he
thought
, anyway, Stella, ’cause he said if I
didn’t
get the shoes and keep my mouth shut about it, he was going to kill me.”

“He said he’d kill you. In those exact words.”

“Yes, Stella, that’s what he said. Well, he said he’d make me very, very sorry. What do you think that means? I mean, how much sorrier could I get than dead?”

“Mmm.” Stella wasn’t convinced. “Why would Wil of left the shoes on that body in the first place, if he knew his fingerprints were on them?”

“Well, ’cause he didn’t think the body would ever get dug up. I mean, who could of foresaw a act of God like that twister?”

Chrissy sniffed. “Sloppy, if you ask me.”

“And this whole time he’s ordering you around, telling you to dig through the evidence locker for him, did he ever bother to explain why he killed that woman in the first place?”

At this, Brandy’s composure threatened to give way for the first time. She bit her lip and glanced away. “He just said he didn’t do it.”

“Huh. Did he say, maybe, who
did
do it? Seein’ as he didn’t and all?”

“Well, now, Stella,—I didn’t ask a whole bunch of questions. I was scared out of my mind. But what Wil said was he hadn’t ever met her before and he was just burying her for a friend.”

Stella snorted. “I’ve heard of watering plants for a friend when they go on vacation,” she said. “I’ve heard of picking friends up at the airport and driving them to the doctor and loaning them yard tools. I ain’t much heard of burying bodies they accidentally killed, though. That seems to go above and beyond, you ask me.”

“Well, fuck you, Stella,” Brandy said. “I’d like to seen you do any better, with some crazy man threatening to kill you. I don’t guess you would have got him to confess much either!”

“She ain’t afraid of crazy men,” Chrissy offered. “I mean, look at her face. She got herself all cut to pieces by a crazy man and didn’t never back down.”

Stella touched her face automatically, fingertips going to the fading ridges and lines of scars. Nice as it was for Chrissy to defend her, it was a painful reminder of her ongoing beauty challenges.

“Look, no matter what Wil was telling you, letting him order you around was about the dumbest thing you could have done,” she said crossly. “Seems like if you’d had any sense, you would of just told Goat what was going on and asked to be put in protective custody or whatever.”

Or witness protection—that might not have been a bad idea; Stella didn’t imagine Sawyer County would be much worse off if Brandy had been shipped off to, say, Wyoming to start a new life.

Brandy blinked as some green slime dripped into her eye. “Well, that was my plan B.”

“Plan B? So when you showed up that night, when Goat and I were having a perfectly good dinner—”

“I saw he made you his mama’s chicken,” Brandy said. “He made that for me, too—first time he cooked for me. Guess I better let you know, he ain’t got much of a repertoire.”

“Maybe for
you
he didn’t. Could be he’s learned a few new tricks,” Stella shot back, and then regretted it—she’d been bluffing, and Brandy arched her thin brows skeptically.

“Mmm-hmm. Yeah, I guess, seein’ as what you two got is so
special
and all. Anyway, I knew if I could just, ah … look, I don’t want to hurt your feelings here, Stella, but if I could just get Goat where I wanted him, why, he’d just be ready to do anything for me, like always. He never could refuse me anything once he quit thinkin’ with his head and got to thinkin’ with—”

“I get the picture,” Stella snapped. Though it wasn’t a picture she much fancied lingering over. “But if you’re so damn irresistible in the sack, how is it that I had to come spring you from a bedroom he locked you into?”

Brandy’s scowl was evident even under all that goo. “All’s I needed was a little time. I was wearin’ Goat down, but then Wil got tired of waiting and blew up my car and that’s when I knew the jig was up.”

“The
jig
?” Chrissy interrupted. “What the hell kind of talk is that? You been watching too many old movies. Like the one you based your whole stupid come-get-me act on. Anyway, way I hear it, you were so trashed, you didn’t even know it was your car got blown up. I heard you was tryin’ to roast weenies out there.”

Brandy glared hard first at Chrissy and then at Stella.

“Hey, don’t look at me, sister,” Stella said. “I only told it like it was. And you ain’t exactly done a whole lot to get on my good side.”

“I told you you can have Goat, okay? All I want now is for you to get rid of Wil.”

“You still haven’t explained exactly how you’re gonna convince me you’re telling the truth.”

“What? I laid it all out for you. I ain’t got no reason to lie—”

“You mean, other than all the lies you’ve already told, that’s got the entire sheriff’s department out searchin’ for you? What if there was some kind of
real
emergency and you got Goat and all them off beatin’ the bushes all over the county?”

“What, this ain’t a real emergency? You want to wait until I truly am dead?” Brandy’s voice had gone shrill. “You want a big old knife poking out of my chest? Maybe a couple of bullets in my forehead?”

At the moment, Stella thought those options didn’t sound too bad. But the truth was that she really couldn’t come up with much of a reason for Brandy to be lying. “Okay,” she said, sighing heavily. “Give me what you got, and Chrissy and I’ll go find him.”

“And then you’ll kill him.”

“And then we’ll turn him in. Let me explain how this works. I got a client who’s gonna pay me to make sure her husband, who just happens to be innocent, doesn’t fry for sticking a gal into a concrete grave. All I got to do is get the proof that somebody else did it, and then I collect my nice big fat paycheck and let the law take it from there.”

“When you say ‘the law,’ what you really mean is Goat, right? Goat’s gonna hunt him down like the mongrel dog he is?”

Stella drew a breath, giving herself a second to steady her nerves. “There’s a team,” she said. “A law enforcement team with support from up in Fayette. They’ll book Wil in there, but I bet we’re talking all kinds of federal laws here, so I imagine he’ll end up doing time in Springfield. Though I don’t know why it matters to you. Gone is gone. I know you want him dead and all, but he won’t be getting out of prison any time soon, not after he makes a full confession.”

“Well, he ain’t gonna do
that
, Stella. What do you take him for, some kind a idiot?”

Stella was getting a little tired of arguing with this woman. Her sassy mouth was bad enough, but the fact that she looked better covered with green mud than Stella did after a full-tilt beauty assault—and she’d shared carnal knowledge, and plenty of it, with the man Stella had in her sights—was just about too much.

“What do you take
me
for, Brandy, some kind of
amateur
? Believe me, I’ve made plenty of men do things they didn’t plan on doing. The ones come in with the most confidence—why, after we go a few rounds, they’re generally the ones that end up whimpering like kicked puppies. Trust me, when I’m done with your boyfriend, he’ll be begging to confess to selling swampland and rigging elections on top of doing that gal at the track.”

“I gotta tell you, Brandy, it’s just
painful
to look at you,” Chrissy cut in, rubbing circles on Tucker’s back as she held him. “With all that nasty shit on your face. How about you go wash it off and put on something decent? ’Fore I lose my breakfast.”

Brandy gave Chrissy a withering glance as she slid her way off the bed. She walked carefully past Stella, clutching the robe tight around her, and pulled a small, slinky pink garment out of a drawer, along with a few matching silky underpinnings. She minced to the bathroom with her chin in the air and slammed the door behind her.

“Man, she just don’t give up anything, huh?” Chrissy asked. “Acts like her farts don’t stink.”

“Just a cover-up. She’s nervous. And she oughtta be. I’m not leaving until I get everything she knows about Wil Vines, right down to the birthmarks on his hairy ass.”

“You know, Stella,” Chrissy said thoughtfully. “I’m not sure she’s really all that
afraid
of him. I mean she’s kinda nervous right now, yeah, seein’ as he blew up her car and all, but I think what she really is is
mad
at him. And hurt.”

“Huh? Chrissy, they been broke up for six months. And she’s trying to get back with Goat.”

“No, see, you ain’t thinkin’ it through. She came here to Prosper ’cause she
wanted
something from the sheriff. That’s different from hopin’ to get down his drawers. I mean, I guess a gal can go after both, kinda like with me and Larry, but just think how quick she was to give him up. What was it she said to you on the phone?”

I guess you can have him now
. The words came back with a delicious little thrill. “Well, but that’s ’cause she thought she’d be dead.”

“She wasn’t in no hole. She was in the Holiday Fucking Inn here, eatin’ bonbons.”

“Only ’cause she was afraid Wil would find her.”

“Maybe, a little.”

The door to the bathroom opened and Brandy came out. With the towel unturbaned from the woman’s head, Stella was startled to see that her hair, unsprayed and unteased and unpouffed, was as flat and dull as a mutt’s fur after a dip in the lake, plastered over her ears in a style that didn’t do a whole lot for her face, which on careful examination was a trifle too round with a bit too much room between her small eyes and her hairline.

There were purple smudges under her eyes, and her lips were nearly colorless. Even her hoochie little body looked a bit forlorn stuffed hurriedly into the pink top and shorts, unaccessorized, as it was, without the benefit of bangles and platform shoes to draw the eye away from a poochy midsection and a set of round hips that had seen just about as much middle age as Stella’s own.