Lottery (17 page)

“Sir,” the young woman behind the counter asked, “what can I get you?”

“Black coffee and lemonade.” Caleb took out his money clip.

“Would you like a shot of vanilla in your coffee, or maybe butterscotch—”

“Please.” Caleb rubbed his eyebrow, trying to stop the twitch in his eye. “I just want a cup of coffee.”

What the hell had Sam overheard? Had he been talking to Weber? He put the glass of lemonade in front of Sam and sat down next to him.

“So, when I was talking to myself”—Caleb forced a chuckle—“what’d I say?”

Samuel looked down. “I don’t know for sure.”

Sam was lying. “Guess I’m getting old.”

After he took a sip of the cold drink, Sam eyed Caleb over the top of the glass. “I was taking a walk, wanted to get some pictures of the moon. Just noticed you were alone on the deck.”

God, he had to have been talking to Weber. “You fish?” Caleb changed the subject.

Samuel shook his head. “Always wanted to.”

“How ‘bout I teach you? Only thing I learned from my dad.”

“I’d like that.”

“I’ve got some business I need to take care of in the next few days, but we’ll make it happen soon.” He hoped Sam would forget about the incident. Caleb had to stop drinking, or at least cut down when he was at home. He trusted Sam, and God knew he needed to talk to someone. If anyone could understand what a man would do for the love of a woman, Sam would.

hen his phone rang, Caleb opened it. “Hello?”Caleb answered.

“Mr. O’Toole,” a man stated.

Sitting alone on the patio table, Caleb tried to place the voice. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I know who this is.”

“Name’s Ron,” the deep voice said.

“Okay.” Caleb took a sip of his scotch and gazed at the sun that was just starting to slide into the bay.

“You alone?”

“Yes, why?” His muscles tightened. “Who is this?”

“Name McKenzie Price ring a bell?”

Jesus. Was she alive? “Who?”

“Let me refresh your memory,” the man said sarcastically. “You strangled her.”

Caleb shot out of his chair and turned toward the patio door to see if Ling and her mother were home from the market yet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” When he didn’t see anyone inside, he grabbed his drink and marched to the three-foot stucco barrier that surrounded the deck.

“Lottery ticket. Does that refresh your memory?”

The SOB was grasping at straws. “No, I’m afraid not.”

“First of all, let me put your mind at ease,” Ron said. “I’m in a business that … well, let’s just say, that requires use a disposable phone. My name’s not associated with it. No records. No traces. I demolish the cell every two to three days. Run over the God damn thing, in fact.”

Caleb’s left eye twitched. “How’d you get my number?”

Ron’s boisterous laugh was followed by a hacking smoker’s cough. “Got friends in high places.”

Caleb leaned forward. “Listen, asshole, you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“I know my sister met you a week before she was killed.”

Sister
? Fuck. Caleb swallowed the rest of the scotch.

“No games. We have some business to take care of. Unless,” Price paused, “you want to do business with the cops.”

He looked down at his empty glass. God, he could use another drink. “Look, I have no fucking clue what—”

“How much do you think my sister was worth?”

It was useless to play games. The guy knew what had happened. He glanced through the glass doors and saw Mei and Ling walk through the front door. “Listen, I don’t want you to call this number again. I’ll get back to you—”

“Get back to me?” Ron scoffed. “I’m not calling to become friends. This isn’t a warm and fuzzy call, prick.”

“I understand,” Caleb said. “I don’t want your number on my phone,” he whispered. Ling waved at him and he waved back.

Caleb turned away from the windows. “What do you want?”

“What do you think?”

If Caleb admitted to killing McKenzie, he was done. Maybe the guy was an undercover cop and wasn’t McKenzie’s brother.

“Look, I’ve never killed anyone.”

“Great,” Price said. “Tell that to the cops.”

“Wait.” Caleb was going to have to believe him.

“Ready to play ball?”

“How much?” His stomach was so sour Caleb felt like he was going to throw up.

“Let’s start at a million and see how that goes?”

“A million?” Caleb said, louder than he wanted, and then lowered his voice. “Are you fucking kidding me?” His eye started to twitch.

“Dead serious, if you know what I mean.”

“I can’t get my hands on that kind of money.” Caleb looked back over his shoulder, paranoid Ling would come out on the deck at any time. “Funds are all tied up.”

“Figure it out.”

“Hold on.” Caleb searched his pocket for a piece of paper, and found a receipt from a liquor store. His pulled out a pen. “Give me your number.” He hurried back to the table and put the receipt down so he could write down the number. “I’ll call you tomorrow from another phone.

“408-double 0–7–2961,” Ron said slowly. “If I don’t get a call tomorrow, I’m turning your ass in. It’s been nice talking to you.”

Caleb closed his phone and shoved the receipt into his pocket. When he didn’t see Ling or Mei in the great room, he dug out the bottle of scotch he’d hidden in one of the large pots on the deck and filled his glass.

Now there was another God damned asshole he was going to have to deal with. What the hell was he going to do this time?

“We’ll work through it,” Weber intervened. “The first thing you need to do is get another phone. And, by the way, the dude doesn’t have proof you were with McKenzie.”

Weber was right. For all Price knew the meeting never happened. Then again, if the cops dug deeper, they might connect the dots. McKenzie knew Weber and, just like Caleb,
she’d been questioned by the police because she was also on the yacht the night Weber died. He clenched his hand into a fist. There was no fucking way out. He had to meet with this joker.

“Pandora’s Box,” Weber chimed in “That bitch McKenzie opened it and now it’s up to us to seal it shut.”

After dinner, Caleb pushed his chair back and stood. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Want me to come?” Ling asked.

“Naw thanks,” he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “I just need to clear out the cobwebs.” When Caleb caught Sam staring at him, Sam looked away. Caleb had promised he’d cut down on the drinking, but Sam knew he was drunk. How the hell could he stop drinking when everyone kept blackmailing him?

A half-a-mile away from the house, Caleb picked up a pint of gin at a neighborhood liquor store.

The streets were quiet. Neighbors were probably enjoying a beer, or a gin and tonic while they watched
Game of Thrones
or
True Blood
or whatever the hell was on television on a Wednesday night—everyone except Caleb. “Why doesn’t everyone leave me the fuck alone?” Caleb whispered to himself, took the pint of liquor out of his back pocket and screwed off the lid.

“Feeling sorry for yourself?” Weber asked.

He looked up and saw Weber walking out from behind a tree. Dressed in the same shorts and shirt he always wore, he sauntered toward Caleb.

“You’re not here.”

“When are you going to understand that wherever you are, I am?” Weber was beside him now, keeping pace.

“Get the hell away from me,” Caleb snarled, turning the corner.

“We have some major things to discuss.”

Caleb took a gulp of the gin. “You’re not real.”

Weber slapped him on the back. “I’m as real as you are, buddy.”

Caleb stopped walking, shirked Weber’s hand off, and turned toward him. “Listen, you sick son-of-a-bitch,” he said between clenched teeth, “you’re fucking dead.”

“Technically, yes.” Weber flashed a perfect smile.

Caleb started to walk faster. “You are not here. You are not here,” he repeated, starting to sprint.

“Don’t be so immature. It is what it is.” Weber jogged beside Caleb. “Remember when you were a kid and you had those imaginary friends?”

Caleb felt his blood pressure rising. “What the hell are you talking about?” Weber had his attention and Caleb slowed to a walk.

“Come on. Remember? Your mother thought it was cute when she overheard you talking to them.” Weber shook his head. “Your father thought you were downright pathetic. And if I recall correctly,” Weber paused, “he wanted to send you to a nuthouse.”

“Shut up!”

“The voice told you to kill your dad, but you chickened out,” Weber said.

If Weber weren’t already dead, Caleb would kill him right now. “Oh, for Christ’s sakes, you whacko,” Caleb said, picking up his pace again.

“You need me.”

Caleb broke into a run, the pint of gin slapping against his thigh.

“I’m the one who makes the difficult decisions.” Weber’s words echoed down the street.

“Fuck you.” Caleb dropped the bottle, raced down the driveway, up the front steps and into his house. He closed the door and pressed his back against it. His shirt saturated with sweat, he was panting. Was he was losing his mind? He draped his hand over his forehead and looked down. No … it was McKenzie … the asshole who’d just called him … Weber … the stress … trying to protect Ling from finding out what was going on.

But how the hell did Weber know about the voices he’d heard growing up? Caleb had never told anyone about his childhood.

He tiptoed to the kitchen door, and glanced at the clock on the stove. One a.m.? Had he been gone for three hours?

Unable to catch his breath, he bent over and put his hands over his knees, breathing in and out slowly.

When he caught his breath, he quietly started through the great room, his eyes moving to the bar. He’d promised himself he’d cut down, and he would just not tonight.

After he snatched a crystal tumbler off a shelf, Caleb grabbed an unopened bottle of scotch and went out to the deck. Not one damn thing made sense anymore.

He’d heard voices all of his life. In fact, the gambling issues had been brought on by a voice that told him to “go for it.” But that hadn’t been Weber’s voice. Not until now had Caleb been able to put a face to a voice. His head was throbbing. Why was this happening?

He stared down at the glass in his trembling hand. He was dependent on this shit; just like his old man.

“Oh, come on,” Weber said. “It’s not the booze.”

Caleb’s heartbeat quickened as he took a fleeting look around, but couldn’t find Weber. “What else could it be, asshole?” Caleb asked.

“Think about it. You know whose voice it is—who all the voices are.”

What the hell was Weber talking about? Caleb was too exhausted to ask. Ling was leaving tomorrow for Kansas to meet a couple who’d applied to adopt a child. Once she left, Caleb would have some time to figure out how to handle this mess.

He downed the drink and stared out into the star-filled night, lost in thoughts about how he was going to solve yet another problem.