Murder in Store (22 page)

Grace stood motionless, gun still pointed at me. I began to unzip the jacket, hoping I would have an opening before revealing the fact that I wasn’t even wired with suspenders let alone a recording device.

“I know why you killed him, Grace, and I know why you tried to pin it on Diana. I believe you thought you were doing the right thing. But where does it stop?”

It seemed like a long time before anything happened. Finally Grace lowered her gaze and the weapon at the same time. She laid the gun on the desk and sank into the big leather chair. I picked up the gun. Grace massaged her forehead with her fingertips. She continued to rub as she spoke.

“I never meant for it to get out of hand. It was so simple. Eliminate Preston and I could get the store back in shape before the Hausers lost their connection with it.” Her voice drifted off. “I guess that won’t happen now.”

I heard raised voices in the outer office a moment before

Fred Morison erupted into the room with his gun drawn. Christ! He was just what the scene needed. Irna was right behind him.

“What’s going on here?” Fred demanded. He saw the gun in my hand and took it from me. I didn’t put up a fight. Morison might very well be the kind to shoot first and ask questions later.

He looked at Grace. “Are you all right, Mrs. Hunnicutt?”

“I’m fine, Fred,” she said but didn’t tell him to take the gun off me. “Irna, would you get my purse?”

All of a sudden she seemed to age before my eyes. The proud, tall woman shrank in front of me, dwarfed by the leather chair. She took the purse from Irna, removed a small pill box, opened it and took out two capsules. Then Grace leaned across the desk and poured herself a glass of water. There was something about this that was disturbingly familiar. I moved toward her, shouting, “Wait a minute.”

Fred, convinced that I was going to throttle Grace, lunged between us, gun pointed at my chest.
“You
wait a minute.”

I didn’t have time for another move before Grace popped the pills into her mouth and knocked them back with two swallows of water, just as her brother had done. She set the glass down, dabbed her mouth with her handkerchief, and smiled at me.

26

 

It was Wednesday. Two days after Grace Hunnicutt had finished off the last of the Hauser bloodline—herself. I hadn’t expected that. I don’t know what I expected when I walked into her office intent on having her confess to her brother’s murder, but it wasn’t that

I drank some more Guinness and watched Elaine befriend a small shaggy dog wearing a plaid doggy coat. The dog lay on the carpeted floor of the White Hart, several feet from its owner, who stood at the bar. Patrons were stepping over the little animal, acknowledging its presence with a smile and a backward glance. The dog, oblivious to the fact that he was in the way, accepted the greetings of patrons without any fuss and was now concentrating on Elaine’s attentions. Smart dog.

I contemplated the glass of stout as I recalled my brief visit with Diana Hauser earlier in the day. She had stopped by Elaine’s to thank me. Elaine had been out shopping. Diana appeared fully recovered from her stint in the slammer, and she was flirting, incredible behavior, I thought, from a woman who’d come damned close to spending so long in prison that flirting wouldn’t have done her a whole lot of good by the time she got out. But then, maybe I was expecting too much from Diana Hauser to think she’d seize the opportunity to reevaluate her life. And—maybe I’d have been disappointed if she hadn’t asked me to take her to lunch.

“Is this how I get thanked?” I said. “I buy lunch?”

She answered, smiling, “There are those who would think that enough.”

I shrugged and removed a can of beer from the refrigerator. We watched each other as I opened the can and took a drink. She nodded, still smiling, and walked to the door, brushing my cheek with a kiss as she passed me. “If you change your mind,” she said, “I’ll be at the store.”

She left before I could tell her that maybe she should try feeling just a little bit guilty about this whole affair, which had cost a lot of lives. If she hadn’t sent the letters to Preston, he wouldn’t have hired a detective to dig up dirt on Hauser employees. The detective wouldn’t have been killed. Griffin’s thugs, Art, Griffin—they’d all be alive. I had a hunch Grace saw the letters as a nice lead-in to a murder. Unfortunately, Diana was probably on the elevator by the time I put together what I wanted to say. Must have been the after-effects of that concussion still …

A familiar voice dragged me back from my reverie. “Doesn’t anyone pick up their dogs around here?”

I looked up and saw Elaine laughing at O’Henry, who had come very close to tripping over the little dog, who was watching the stocky man with mild interest. O’Henry sat across from me in the booth and Elaine slid in beside me. He ordered a Guinness and Elaine took a sip of mine.

“I was going to bring your ticket,” he said to Elaine, “but I looked at the date and figured it wouldn’t do you much good since it was for two nights ago.”

“That’s okay,” Elaine said, sounding a lot more cheerful than the situation called for. “Quint is taking me to see it this weekend.”

“We’re going to
Death of a Salesman
and follow it up with dinner at a rowdy Greek restaurant. That way we can see how many mood swings we can pull off in one night,” I said.

Elaine gave my leg a playful slap, and I grabbed and held onto her hand before she could pull it away. Then she smiled and winked at me and said to O’Henry, “By the way, I asked Quint why he wasn’t wired when he went to see Grace. He told me to ask you.” She stole another sip from my glass. “So, I’m asking.”

O’Henry cast his eyes heavenward and shook his head. “They never remember the times you call it right.” Then he nodded toward me and said to Elaine, “I thought he was full of it. Grace Hunnicutt? No way. Not a shred of hard evidence. Just a bunch of suppositions. I wasn’t put on this planet to respond to this guy’s whims.”

Elaine started to give him some grief and I interrupted. “Yeah, but you did get that envelope postmarked for me.”

“I was just humoring you.”

I tipped my glass to him. He shrugged off the gesture and changed the subject. “Guess who’s heir to the department store dynasty?”

“Don’t tell me,” I said.

“Diana Hauser,” O’Henry said.

“I asked you not to tell me.”

O’Henry ignored my remark. “I talked to the Hauser family attorney. It’s official now, and guess who she wants to hire back as head of security?”

“Don’t tell me,” I said. “And this time I mean it.”

“Her lawyer’s going to call and make you an offer.” He took a drink, reflecting on his statement. Then he added, “Bet she pays good.”

O’Henry looked serious. Elaine looked like she was trying not to laugh.

“Can you imagine,” I said, “trying to be head of security where the store’s most notorious shoplifter is also its owner?” I shook my head at the concept.

“Well,” O’Henry said, “I just thought I’d pass it along.” He paused and drank a couple of swallows of the stout.

“What are you going to do, anyway? Get another security job?”

I shrugged. “Who knows.”

We finished our drinks and left after Elaine said good-bye to the dog and we both said good-bye to O’Henry.

“You’re awfully quiet,” I said to Elaine as we walked to the car.

She didn’t answer for a while, then she said, “I guess I’m just wondering what happens now.” “We go home,” I said.

“You know what I mean.” She squeezed my hand. “We’re about to run into reality. We both have to earn a living.”

“That’s not always bad,” I said, but I knew what she meant.

This past week we’d been thrown together in alien territory, with the rules of day-to-day existence temporarily suspended. Something good had happened between us, but here we were, as Elaine said, running into reality. Neither of us knew if that good thing that had happened would work as well in the real world.

We drove to the condo, each preoccupied by our own thoughts. As I turned off Addison, she said, “Are you going to look for your own place?”

“Not tonight.” I sounded more flip than I had intended.

I pulled the car up to Elaine’s door, leaned over, and kissed her. There must have been something final about that gesture, because when we finished she said, “You are coming up, aren’t you?”

“Sure. Where else would I go?”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She got out of the car, and I watched her walk into the building. Then I began my nightly ritual, wondering as I drove up and down car-lined side streets what beast one had to slay to appease the parking-space god.

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Copyright © 1993 by D.C. Brod

 

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This is a work of fiction.

 

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eISBN 10: 1-4405-3318-0

 

eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-3318-1

 

This work has been previously published in print format by:
Walker Publishing Company, Inc.
Print ISBN: 1-55773-630-8