36
Vivian
Chucky
Vivian’s pulse pounded as she hung up the phone. She hadn’t even gotten to say I love you back. What if the last thing she ever said to Rowan was that she would see him Monday?
“Charles, what are you doing here? What is going on?”
She needed to stall until Rowan came to rescue her. Damn it, that was embarrassing. And so fucking reassuring. Rowan would come for her. She could make it out of this. She wasn’t alone.
“Like you don’t know,” he sneered.
“I don’t, actually. Howard’s in the hospital. I’m collecting things for work. What are you doing here? Nadine didn’t say anything about giving anyone else keys.”
She didn’t know why, but she wanted him to admit it. She wanted hear him say with his lying mouth that he’d put Howard in the hospital.
“Not dead?” he demanded.
“No,” said Vivian. She fought to keep the anger off her face, but then wasn’t sure she should bother.
“Joel!” Chucky yelled. “The old man isn’t dead!”
“It doesn’t matter,” said a quiet voice.
Behind Chucky, another man appeared. He wore jeans, Asics, and a fleece and looked like any other white guy around Seattle, but Vivian knew she would have avoided him on the street.
He had an odd air of menace that she couldn’t account for.
Then she saw the gun tucked in the front of his waist band.
Unlike Chucky’s gun, which was a grimy revolver that she doubted had ever been cleaned, Joel’s gun was a serviceable black Ruger.
She could see the angry phoenix logo on the handle.
“It does matter,” said Chucky. “He can testify that Dad signed the will.”
Joel looked like Chucky was working his last nerve.
“What’s his condition?” Joel asked looking past Chucky to Vivian.
“He’s in the ICU,” said Vivian. “He’s in critical condition.”
Joel shrugged. “See? Plus, he’s old. Odds are he won’t make it.”
Chucky grunted and looked annoyed.
“You’re the secretary chick, right?” asked Joel.
“I’m a paralegal,” said Vivian. Joel shrugged again.
“Yeah. You’re the girl in the red dress that the other guy picked up.” A chill ran down Vivian’s spine as she realized Joel meant Mark. Joel had been in the car. “Do you know where Hoskins put the will?”
“I just came to pick up stuff for work,” said Vivian.
“She knows,” said Chucky, impatiently. “She and Howard worked together. He always said she did all the hard work. So, she knows.”
“Just shoot her and we’ll keep looking,” said Joel. He said it casually. Like he was telling Chucky to take out the trash.
“We have been looking and it isn’t upstairs. It wasn’t at the office. He’s put it somewhere. She’ll be able to find it.”
Joel took a deep breath.
“Joel?” said another, more hesitant voice from out in the hall. “I think Dave’s… I think he’s dead.”
“OK, paralegal,” said Joel, gesturing to her. “Come on.”
“I’m calling the shots,” said Chucky, still glaring at Vivian. The look Joel gave the back of Chucky’s head said that he wouldn’t be calling anything for very much longer.
“Call them back in the kitchen,” said Joel. “Come on.”
Chucky came forward and grabbed her arm, pulling her out into the hall.
The second man wore work-out pants and a University of Washington sweatshirt.
He looked too skinny, his face was pocked mark, and he twitched nervously when he saw her.
Vivian didn’t know what his problem was, but she was going to go out on a limb and guess drugs.
They trooped down the hall and went into the kitchen. Vivian tried to walk slowly. How much time did Rowan need? How long until Joel got annoyed enough to shoot her?
The kitchen was French Provencial to go with the exterior of the house.
The white cabinetry was off-set with touches of oil-rubbed bronze and now splashes of blood.
There was a half-mopped trail of blood leading across the travertine tile floor toward the pantry.
Through the door way she could see someone’s feet.
The sight brought her up short and Joel reached back and pulled her all the way into the room.
“Keep an eye on her,” Joel ordered and went into the pantry. Kneeling down, by the man’s side, he put a hand out. Vivian held her breath as Joel checked for a pulse.
“I checked,” said the skinny guy, crossing his arms over chest. Vivian couldn’t tell if the gesture was defensive or an attempt to comfort himself.
“You know,” said Joel, standing up and looking down at the body, “when you told us about this job, you said there would be minimal security. You didn’t say anything about guys with guns.”
“It was a charity event,” snapped Chucky. “Howard goes every year. He always convinces my dad to write a check. I even went like two years ago or something. There wasn’t any security or cops or anything. I keep telling you—I don’t know who those guys were.”
“Do you know, paralegal?” asked Joel looking up.
“They were guests.”
“Do your guests always pack that much heat?” asked Joel, scrutinizing her.
“I think those ones always do, yes. They work for a private security firm.”
“So they just happened to be there? Well, aren’t we lucky,” said Joel. His voice still hadn’t risen. He looked as if all of this were a mild inconvenience.
“Dave’s not lucky,” said the skinny man quietly.
“Shut up, Eddie,” said Joel. “Your talking gives me a headache.”
Eddie’s mouth pinched shut in a flat line, but he didn’t speak again.
“See?” demanded Chucky. “I couldn’t have known they were going to be there. Now we just need to make her tell us where the will is.”
“She says she doesn’t know.”
“She knows something.”
“Maybe she does and maybe she doesn’t and maybe I’m tired of listening to you. So far all you’ve managed to do is get Dave killed. We aren’t any closer to getting that will.”
“You haven’t come through with anything and I already gave you ten grand,” said Chucky, impatiently.
“Which bought you this much of my time, but the meter is running again.”
“I paid you for a job,” snapped Chucky. “A job that you haven’t completed. Hoskins and the girl are still alive and I don’t have the will. So as far as I’m concerned, you’re not getting another penny until I see results.”
Vivian looked around the kitchen, hoping for some inspiration or a weapon.
There was a gun on the table but Chucky and Eddie were between it and her.
Eddie looked miserable and if she could get him alone, Vivian was pretty sure she could talk him out of whatever this was.
But the way Eddie kept his eyes fixed on Joel convinced her that Eddie wasn’t the threat in the room.
Joel and Chucky continued to argue and Vivian wondered how long it would be until Joel got tired of listening to the whining.
“We don’t have to finish searching the upstairs! Make her do it.” He pointed at Vivian.
Vivian might have a better shot of finding the will than these idiots, but she didn’t plan to help them. On the other hand, maybe she could hide it if she found it.
“Fine,” said Joel. “Eddie, take the paralegal upstairs. Make her finish the family room.”
“OK,” said Eddie, picking up the gun off the table. He gestured to Vivian with it and Vivian didn’t argue. Instead, she went out to the hall and began to climb the stairs.
“You know, Eddie, you could just walk out the front door,” she said quietly.
“What?”
“Chucky already paid you, right? You’re already in enough trouble. You don’t need any more of his stupidity. Just leave.”
“Joel has all my money,” said Eddie. “He said I wouldn’t show up if he paid me up.”
They turned at the landing, and Vivian grabbed the handrail for support.
The Motrin was wearing off. She turned right and went into the family room.
It was an expansive room with tall windows overlooking the street.
As she watched, a dark gray pickup truck drove slowly by, but nothing else moved on the road.
The cupboards had all been emptied and papers dumped everywhere, but Vivian didn’t think there was that much more to do.
She picked up one of the paper piles and began to sift through it.
Eddie went to stand nervously by the door, where he seemed to be listening for Joel.
“Eddie,” she said after a minute, “the will isn’t up here.
Howard wouldn’t ever leave it in some random place in the house.
And the fact is that the longer you’re here, the more danger you’re in.
The cops know that wasn’t a random drive-by and eventually it will occur to them to come here.
Money or no money, you ought to leave. We can just go downstairs and go out the front door. ”
“Joel would kill me,” said Eddie, shaking his head.
“OK, let’s just go back downstairs,” said Vivian. “If we’re lucky Joel will have shot Chucky and we can all move on with our lives.”
Eddie half-chuckled. “Chucky? Do people call him that?”
“It’s what I call him,” said Vivian. “He’s a douchebag.”
“Yeah, that’s for sure.”
“I’ll look at the rest of these piles,” said Vivian. “But it’s not here. Then we go back downstairs.”
“Yeah, OK,” said Eddie, plucking nervously at the cuff of his sweatshirt.
Vivian flipped through the other piles. They looked like the usual conglomeration of random notes, instructions, receipts, and other detritus of modern living, but none of them were legal documents.
It had been nearly ten minutes, so Vivian finally stood up and walked toward the door. Eddie shrugged and went with her.
She wondered what he’d do if she turned right instead of left at the bottom of the stairs and just went out the front door. But she wasn’t ballsy enough to try it so they walked back to the kitchen.
Joel had run a dish towel over the trail of blood on the floor and thrown it on top of Dave’s body.
Chucky sat at the kitchen table, checking his phone and talking as if his mouth was on autopilot.
As she watched, Joel pulled a jug of orange juice from the fridge and tipped it straight into his mouth.
“And that’s another thing,” continued Chucky.
“Not there,” said Vivian, not bothering to wait for Chucky to stop talking.