The Devil Makes Three (25 page)

“I worry it's too much. How to quantify it into words is a little difficult though.”

“Then why don't you come over here and show me?”

Chapter 21

In which Gretchen sees way too many people for her liking.

The next morning my father and I decided the furniture in my childhood bedroom would suffice for now, and were in the process of backing out of the funeral home in a company van, when a moving truck pulled in, blocking us.

“What’s this?” my father asked, looking from the truck to me.

“I don’t know. I’ll go talk to them.”

Approaching the driver’s door, I found a rather large, hairy man staring back out at me. “You Gretchen?” he asked.

“Yeah. Who are you?”

“Your financial advisor sent us. We’ve got a delivery for you.”

Corbin.

“What is it?” I asked, eyeing the truck.

“Some furniture. Just need you to sign here, and we can take it inside. He said it was the apartment above the garage. Should we park here, or pull around?”

I signed on the dotted line, feeling like I’d just sold my soul. Still, furniture was furniture. Who cares how I got it? And knowing Corbin, it wouldn’t be some plywood, assembly required stuff. It was bound to be extremely decent.

“Here’s fine. It’s that staircase through there.” I pointed. “I’ll go ahead and unlock the door.”

I left them to do their moving thing and went back to my father, wracking my brain for anything I could tell him. Finally, I decided on the truth.

“It would seem we’re off the hook.”

“What? Why?”

“A friend of mine arranged for some spare furniture he had to get delivered.”

“Friend, huh? Is it that grad student?”

“No. This is someone else.”

“Another one? How many you got on the line?”

“It’s not like that, Dad. We’re just friends.”

He shook his head, eyeing the truck and movers. The polished furniture they carried out gleamed in the early morning sun. “Friends don’t give friends antique furniture.”

Knowing Corbin, it was probably stolen anyway and he needed a place to park it. Of course, my father didn’t need to know this. “His grandmother just died and he got a lot of the furniture. He’s got more stuff than he knows what to do with.”

“Why are you telling me this now? Two minutes ago you wanted the furniture from your old room.”

“I didn’t know he was sending it!” My exasperation grew with every question and I started to walk away, pulling the keys from my pocket. “Just let it go, okay?”

The furniture Corbin sent was beyond reproach. It was all dark woods, tasteful, elegant and expensive. I didn't want to know how he came by it, and I didn't want to know how much it cost. Or was going to cost.

After a quick trip to the nearest department store, I came back with new linen, towels, and some dishes, then spent the day arranging my new place.

Hawkeye seemed wary at first when I set him on the floor by his food and water. He sniffed around and cowered under the footed couch, then discovered the cat-box in a bathroom corner. After that, he felt quite at home, making his new bed on the edge of mine.

My mother showed up around 3:00 in the afternoon to inspect what I had done and pass moral judgment on the furniture. No doubt my father told her its origin. If only they knew the extent of it.

“I hope you haven't gotten yourself into any trouble,” she said.

“If I did, I'd be the last to admit it, so what's the point of asking?”

She left soon after.

Finding little else to do in the apartment, I settled down on the couch to make a list of things I still needed to get. M*A*S*H and a new TV/DVD player were at the top of my list, although I wasn't sure if I could justify them to my parents. Other than that, a toaster and a microwave seemed fairly important as well. Those I knew I could justify.

Katie called around 4:00 and I couldn't ignore the ringing anymore. Answering, I found myself suckered into a trip to the local thrift shop.

“I go all the time,” Katie said, strong-arming me into it. “They have all kinds of stuff for cheap. And all the money is given to some charity for the needy.”

“What charity?” I asked skeptically.

“I don't know.” I could almost hear her shrug. “The needy kids of drug dealers or something like that. Anyway, it's a good cause.”

“Fine. Pick me up.”

Strolling into Katie’s favorite thrift shop was like a trip through time, starting with the really bad clothes of decades past. The kinds everyone wore, but no one would ever admit to now.

Behind the clothes sat the household trinkets that most people didn’t need and no one would ever buy like a hand crafted cow, complete with udders that served as a drink dispenser. Mixed in with these were a few things my kitchen could use. I picked up a fruit bowl, a colander, a cheese grater and a blender.

A large section of the back of the store was dedicated to old furniture. Behind that was an office with an open door, occupied by two people. As Katie and I roamed through the furniture, eyeing pieces with no intention to buy, I couldn’t help but overhear their conversation.

“Father wouldn’t help me, so I did it myself. Or at least I tried to.”

“And?” A gruff voice asked as if it already knew the answer.

“And he got away. But I left him a little reminder of what happens when I’m crossed. He won’t dare show his face around me again. And then I burnt down her apartment. It was so great. I’m pretty certain his and Daddy’s business relationship is done.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” the gruff voice answered. “Last I heard, your father considered your personal problems with him just that: personal. He does good business and I don’t think your father’s going to let that slip by. Few men can do what he does, so well.”

“Bull. I could do that job just as well if not better. Father just won’t give me a chance.”

“I’ll let you take that up with him.”

“Perhaps I will. And in the meantime, perhaps I’ll finish what I started so he won’t have a choice but to let me get more involved.”

Unable to help myself and dreading the worst, I darted next to the door and peered in. Candy sat on a desk. Her purse lay open, spread across the desktop with her feet on the arms of the man’s chair. He lewdly caressed her bare shins, obviously enjoying her attention.

“What are you doing?” Katie came up beside me and peered in the door. Unfortunately, this got the attention of both the man and Candy.

“You!” Candy exclaimed, jumping down off the desk. She reached into her purse and pulled out a gun, brandishing it at me before I even had a chance to tell her off. 

“We have to go now.” I grabbed Katie’s arm and darted through the store, causing both of us to drop our intended purchases. As we ran, I couldn’t help but notice the exploding trinkets and the whistle of air that unmistakably comes with gunshots. I also couldn’t miss the slew of curses following us.

“What’s going on?” Katie screamed, wrenching her arm from my grasp, but continuing forward under the propulsion of her own fear.

“Remember the chick who broke my laptop?”

“Yeah?”

“Well she remembers me too. And she burned down my apartment.”

We dove into Katie’s Cherokee and she threw it into reverse as Candy and the man came rushing out the door. Luckily, the thrift shop was located in a busy strip mall, giving us a chance to get away. Apparently Candy drew the line at getting her father’s cover business blown by opening fire in the parking lot.

Once down the street a ways, Katie and I settled back in our seats in a normal position, rather than ducking for cover.

“Put your seat belt on,” she said tersely.

“You know how you suggested earlier that the proceeds of that place go to someplace shady? Well you probably aren’t far off.”

“I was joking.” She eyed me as if for the first time she considered me unbalanced. “That was the chick that broke your laptop?”

“Yeah. And she shot Corbin too.”

It was the first time either of us had said his name aloud to each other, but it was taken in stride. Katie shook her head and grimaced. “I hate that. I hate not knowing what happens to him. I haven’t heard from him in a week. For all I know he could be dead.”

“Nonsense. You know I talked to him during the poker game. So he was alive as of then.”

“One of us should call him. He should know what happened. Did you tell him about your place?”

I scrunched up my nose at the idea. “I haven’t had a chance to tell him about Candy’s involvement. But I know he knows the fire happened. I don’t want to call him. I hate talking to him. I never know how to act.” Like should I rip his shirt off, or slap his face.

“Fine. Then I’ll call him.” She pulled out her phone as she drove, keeping one eye and hand concentrated on the car while the others concentrated on the phone. Like me, she had him in her contacts list, though I couldn’t see what he was listed as; it took every bit of restraint I had not to reach over and find out.  Instead, I glanced out the window at the side-view mirror.

“Uh oh.”

“What?” she asked, glancing up from her phone.

“Call later. Trouble’s back in the shape of a big, black SUV.”

It barreled down on us like we weren’t even on the road. Slamming on the gas Katie floored it to avoid getting rear-ended. This seemed to tick off a passenger, because the side window rolled down and a gun poked out at us. Before I could scream for Katie to swerve, gunshots riddled the back window, causing the glass to blow out.

Katie and I screamed in unison and she lost control of the car, sending it barreling over the curb and into a light pole. As the hood of the car crumpled towards me I closed my eyes and thought of my parents.

#

I opened my eyes to find myself staring at Collin. Or was it Corbin? I closed my eyes again and shook my head.

“Gretchen? Are you okay? Gretchen?”

Hands seized me and pulled me from the car. Forcing my eyes open once more I tried to focus on the face. Others swam around and behind it, making it difficult to concentrate.

“Sir, please step back so we can help her.”

“I’m FBI.”

“That’s great, Sir, but she needs medical attention right now, not a subpoena. Why don’t you make yourself useful and go find the SUV?”

I groaned and shifted, trying to remove myself from his grasp. The last person I wanted to talk to right now was Cohen.

“How’s the other one?” A voice yelled somewhere to my left.

“Unconscious but breathing. She’s got multiple lacerations to the face and some head wounds. What about the people in the other car?”

“Katie?” I moaned, trying to shift so I could see her. She lay on the ground not far away, with another EMT working on her. Slowly, I became aware of the sound of sirens in the near distance, approaching quickly. “There was another car?” I muttered, looking around for it.

“It’s pretty serious,” someone said. I didn’t know if they were talking about me or the others.

“Dead on impact, I would say. Cement barriers are rarely forgiving, especially if you don’t have air bags.”

My gut tightened, and I knew it was all my fault. Shifting to my side, I puked violently.

“Oh gross!”

At least I probably ruined Cohen’s shoes.

I opened my eyes again to find myself lying on a frozen February sidewalk, an EMT on one side and Cohen on the other. Interestingly, the intense cold of the cement did nothing to dull the fear blazing strong inside me.

The EMT checked me over for wounds and Cohen wiped his shoes and pant cuffs with a tissue.

“Can’t you do anything for them?”

The EMT shook his head after a quick glance at another car, crunched up against a road divider. “We looked at them first. Neither of them made it.”

Tears began to trudge out from the corners of my eyes. “How long have I been out?” If it had been long enough to pronounce the people in the other car dead, it was longer than I had thought.

“As far as I can tell, maybe ten minutes. You were lucky we were right across the street and saw the whole thing. What the hell happened?” the EMT said.

I rolled my head back so I stared at the sky. What kind of an answer could I possibly give?

“Leave the questions to me,” Cohen said, tossing his tissue into the EMT’s biohazard bag.

“I don’t have to talk to you,” I muttered, turning my head to face him. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Then why was someone in that SUV trying to add a few more holes to your head?”

“What are you doing here?” I asked Cohen, refusing to answer his question.

He grimaced and smoothed over a bandage the EMT placed on my shoulder. Shying away from his touch I rolled towards the EMT who pushed me back, flat on the cement. “Lie still, please. I’m not finished with this cut on your elbow.” With that, he pulled a gauze bandage from his supply kit, letting a capped syringe fall to the ground. I turned away, absolutely hating needles and dreading what he would use it for.

“I was looking for someone,” he answered.

“Me?” I asked, glancing up at him. At least he was good for distracting me from the deaths that surrounded me.

“No. You were just a bonus. But I’ve got some questions for you when you’re up to them.”

“Like what?”

“Now?”

“Why not?” I gestured to the EMT and the crowd surrounding us.

“Why don’t we wait until a more appropriate time?”

“You may not get a second chance. You better take it while you got it.”

“I assume Collin told you about Richard the Shark.”

“And Agent Rogers. Which means I also know you’re not the investigating agent on this case. So what the hell are you really doing?”

“Just trying to solve a murder. I can’t help what cases they put me on.”

“Does the term ‘conflict of interest’ mean anything to you?”

He licked his lips and glanced around, then lowered his voice. “Yeah, well… that doesn’t change the fact that Richard the Shark got released on bail Friday.”

“Out on bail? Where’d he get that kind of cash?”

“That’s what I’d like to know. I was going to ask your friend Katie, but she’s in no condition to answer questions.”