Lottery (5 page)

When Caleb and Ling said their good-byes to Weber and other guests, Caleb forced himself to shake hands with faceless people.

Walking her bike beside him, Caleb turned to Ling and noticed a confused expression on her face. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

“I asked if you’d ever been to the open market.”

“You mean like fresh vegetable and fruit stands?”

“Yes.”

Caleb shook his head. “Once Katherine and …” He stopped himself, embarrassed he’d brought up another woman’s name.

Ling patted his arm. “Not to worry. Everyone has someone in their past.” She smiled. “Maybe you and I could go to the market sometime soon. I go every Sunday.”

Picking up on her cue that she wanted to see him again, he said, “Tomorrow’s Sunday. How ‘bout it?”

She stopped in front of the door to her apartment. “I’d like that.”

He looked up. “Is this where you live?”

“Surprised?”

“Pleasantly so.”

“You want to come up for coffee?”

“You know,” Caleb lied, “all the fresh air has made me a tired and I’m afraid I’d conk out on your couch. Not cool on a first date.”

“Okay.” After she’d locked her bike into place, she turned toward Caleb. Standing on her tiptoes, Ling pecked his cheek lightly. “Thanks for today. I’ll see you tomorrow, like around ten?”

“Perfect.” Caleb put his hands on her shoulders, leaned over and brushed his lips over hers. “Thank you for a wonderful day.” God, he wanted to kiss her passionately, but reminded himself that he didn’t want to scare her off.

After she closed the door, he knew that he wouldn’t be able sleep. Aimlessly walking the streets, Caleb thought back on what Weber had said. That smug look on his face when he’d told Caleb they weren’t splitting the lottery ticket; his condescending bullshit comments.
No.
Caleb wasn’t going to let him get away with it. Weber had given his word. For once in his miserable life, Caleb needed a fucking break. Caleb had clawed his way through college, and then up the ladder to become creative director of one of the largest ad agencies in the world. And what did he have to show for it? Nothing. Nothing but his father’s angry
words burned into his memory:
“You’ll never amount to a tinker’s damn
.”

Hell, yes, it was Caleb’s fault he’d gotten into this mess. However, he’d caught the break he needed with Weber winning the lottery. And he’d be damned if Jack trust-fund baby Weber was going to go back on his word. He picked up a pint of gin at an all-night liquor store, took a swig, and stuffed the bottle into his back pocket.

The liquor was down to the last few ounces when Caleb found himself back at the yacht, hoping Weber was still there.

“Weber,” he called out when he stepped on deck. The boat was pitch black, but the moon offered enough light to allow him to make his way up the two flights of stairs. “Weber?” Caleb found him passed out on the top deck, sprawled out on one of the many plush chaises that surrounded the pool.

Caleb shook his shoulder. “Weber.”

“What the fuck?” Weber growled in a low, gravelly voice.

“We need to talk.”

Weber rubbed his blood-shot eyes. “What the hell, man?”

“A deal is a deal.” Caleb pulled up a chair beside him. The gin had given him the liquid guts he needed to confront Weber.

“Get the hell off my boat.” Weber rolled over on his side, his back to Caleb.

“Not going to happen.” Caleb stood, and walked to the bar. “You
are
going to split that money.” He poured gin into a glass, and ambled back to Weber. Caleb pushed Weber’s shoulder again. “I’m not leaving until we settle this.”

“Get the fuck away from me,” Weber said enraged.

Caleb slammed the glass down on the floorboard and, using both hands, pushed Weber off the chaise. A loud thud resounded when his body hit the deck. “I told you to get up, dumb ass,” Caleb said angrily.

Weber shot up, his eyes crazed, and his fists clenched. “Get the fuck away from me, man.”

“Not a chance.” Caleb casually bent over and picked up the glass of liquor. “You’re not going to fuck with me. Not this time.”

“Screw you.” Weber pushed an arm out. “Get the hell off my boat.”

Caleb strolled to the railing, turned, and leaned back against it, trying hard to keep his cool. On top of being a drunk, Weber was an asshole and, one way or another, Caleb was going to get half of what he’d been promised.

Wearing only swim trunks, Weber weaved to the bar, and rummaged through the open bottles. He poured clear liquid into a used glass. “I told you to get the hell off my boat or I’ll call the fucking cops.”

Caleb’s eyes raked the deck, finding Weber’s khaki shorts draped over a chair; the shorts he’d patted when he’d told Caleb he won. “A deal is a deal,” Caleb said sternly.

Although it was dark, the lights on the pier captured Weber’s evil smile. Weber staggered to within a few feet away from Caleb. “It’s already settled, you pathetic nobody.”

Caleb saw red. “Listen, you piece of shit. You think people hang around you because they like you? No one cares about your sorry ass. In fact, people laugh at you behind your back.” He tossed an arm in the air. “You’re fucking useless without your money.”

When Weber charged him, Caleb quickly moved to the right. When Weber tripped, he went down hard.

Caleb crossed his arms across his chest and looked down at Weber. “Jesus, what a fucking idiot.”

Weber’s head sandwiched against the side of the boat, his arms were sprawled out on either side of him.

Caleb pulled back his sandal and pushed it into Weber’s side. “Get up, you SOB. I said we’re going to settle this.” Even with
the dim lighting, he noticed something on the end of his sandal. He bent over, rubbed his hand over it, and brought his fingers to eye level.
Blood
?

Caleb knelt next to Weber, his heart racing. “Jack?” He paused. “Weber?”
Jesus
. He scrambled to the bar and found a flashlight.

Moving the beam around Weber, when he spotted the anchor embedded in Weber’s right temple, he saw stars.

“Oh, god no,” he stumbled backwards, tasting his own bile. Caleb placed a hand on the side of his head, trying to grasp the situation.

Trembling, he knelt and set the large flashlight upright beside Weber. Placing two fingers on the side of Weber’s neck, he held his breath and waited to feel a pulse. Oh, God, please … please don’t let him be … moving his fingers to the other side of Weber’s neck, he couldn’t feel a beat …
nothing
. Scared shitless, he noticed Weber’s complexion was chalky, his eyes open and fixed.

“Weber?” Caleb said again. But there was no response.

Jesus, he needed to call for help. Shaking, Caleb pulled out his phone to dial 911 and then stopped. The police would question Caleb. The last thing he wanted was to be a suspect in a wealthy man’s death.

He slowly turned in every direction. “Hello? Anyone here? Hello?” Caleb asked a little louder than a whisper. If his heart beat any faster, it would explode.

He had to get out of here. The boats parked on either side of Weber’s yacht were dark. Hopefully, no one had seen anything. Racing toward the stairs, Weber’s khaki shorts caught Caleb’s eye. He’d almost forgotten what he’d come here for.

Frantically pushing his hands into the pockets, Caleb found the ticket. He stumbled down the stairs, and forced himself to walk slowly down the pier so as not to cause attention. His mind
raced. Had anyone seen what happened? If they had, would they be able to identify Caleb? What if Weber was still alive?

Fuck
. He stopped abruptly.
Fingerprints.
He’d checked for a pulse and had to go back and wipe them off.

Sprinting, he clamored back up the steps to the top deck. A pool of blood now outlined Weber’s body. Why the hell had Weber charged him? Why had Caleb moved when he’d come at him? If he would have stood still, Weber would still be alive. All the why’s in the world couldn’t change the fact that Weber was dead.

Caleb rummaged through the bar, found a rag and turned on the spigot. After the cloth was saturated with water, he wrung it out, and then wrapped it around his hand. Kneeling next to Weber, Caleb quickly swiped the dead man’s neck a few times, and then wiped his prints off the flashlight and put it back on a shelf in the bar.

If Weber had told anyone about the lottery ticket and they came forward, the video from the market would show Caleb purchasing the tickets. It would be Caleb’s word against a dead man’s, he thought, keeping his head down when he stepped off the boat.

The sun was just starting to come up. Hopefully the few people who were still out at this time of day would be too drunk or too preoccupied to remember seeing him.

What the hell? Why was he feeling guilty? If the lump in his throat grew any larger, Caleb wouldn’t be able to breathe. Jesus Christ, he hadn’t killed Weber. Weber had been drunk and tripped.

However, if anyone could place him on the yacht around the time of Weber’s death, Caleb was fucked.

McKenzie Price didn’t move. Sitting on the closed toilet lid in the john, her thin legs were pulled up and her arms were wrapped tightly around them. She’d heard everything. She had no idea what time she’d passed out, but when she woke up, she’d stumbled into the bathroom to relieve herself.

When she heard angry voices, she peeked through the crack in the door. Although she didn’t know Caleb O’Toole, she’d seen him at a couple of Weber’s parties.

When Weber fell, she didn’t think much about it. He was drunk like he usually was.

She held her breath until she heard Caleb’s footsteps go down the stairs. She had just started to creep out of the bathroom and heard footsteps. Panicked, McKenzie quietly closed the door and waited.

She’d waited twenty minutes after she heard Caleb leave before she slowly crept out.

Cautiously, she tiptoed to where Weber lay. Leaning over his body, she whispered, “Jack?” Leaning closer, she saw the blood. “Oh, God.” Trembling, she stood up straight and covered her mouth, forcing herself to swallow her scream. The last thing she needed to be involved in Jack Weber’s death.

She wrapped her arms around herself, not able to take her eyes away from the blood that continued to pour out of his head. Turning away, she needed a hit. Christ. Was Weber really fucking dead?

Shaking, she pulled out a few pills from her pocket and stuffed them into her mouth. She weaved toward the bar, found a glass half-full of clear liquid, and chased the pills down with gin.

She had to get out of here. Already having a police record for theft and possession of paraphernalia, McKenzie didn’t need this shit. Tears streaming down her face, she turned on her
heels, fell, and scrambled to get up. Not only was she shit-faced, but her bouts with anorexia had left her frail.

There was no way she would tell anyone what had happened. She’d learned the hard way to keep her mouth shut.

She stared down at her worn tennis shoes hurrying down the pier. Pushing her unkempt, strawberry-blonde hair back over her ears, she felt the Valium start to kick in. When O’Toole had said something about a ticket is when Weber had become enraged. She’d also seen Caleb going through Weber’s pockets.
Ticket?
What kind of a ticket would make both of them so angry?

Paranoid Caleb might be watching, McKenzie jogged down the street, glancing back over her shoulder every few seconds. She needed to get back to her safe place.

A cold chill ran through her veins when she thought of Weber lying in his own thick pool of blood. Whatever the hell they’d fought about had to be important, as O’Toole hadn’t even tried calling for help, and Jack Weber was dead.

know what you did
, Caleb read the note again
. Meet me at two p.m. tomorrow in front of The Crab House. I’ll find you
.