Chapter 8 #2
“Who they are,” Bonnie said. “The client or his reps, it said, and all those voices sounded different. Even altered, you could tell they were different men.”
“How many were on there?” Rosa asked as Christine scrolled the audio files.
“Ten,” Diane said.
Bonnie lowered her head into her hands. “I think we should turn everything over to the police and let them handle it.”
“We can’t do that,” Christine said. “Cause if he was recording, he was recording. Play the video from that day, Diane.”
Diane frowned, then tapped the screen as everyone gathered around.
The small viewfinder showed an empty sofa.
Eventually Mr. Terrence walked into view, carrying the frying pan that would later kill him.
Minutes later, Bonnie entered the camera frame.
It kept recording while she used Terrence’s phone, when he took it back, and when she headed for the door and out of frame with him right behind her.
And then Terrence came flying back into the scene, smashing his head into the mantel.
Every one of the women sucked in a breath when that happened.
Seconds ticked, then Bonnie came back into the frame, knelt to check his pulse, picked up the phone, and then left.
“If Camera Guy was recording that, Bonnie…” Christine trailed off.
“Besides,” Rosa added, “the kind of money these guys were throwing around could buy police.”
“Not my Sam!” Bonnie said. “Not ever.”
“I know that,” Rosa returned.
Christine nodded. “We all know that. But this assclown can send you to prison for the rest of your life, Bonnie. No, babe, no. Cops are the last people we want involved in this. Some cop starts snooping around, we’ll all go down.”
“Maybe the police wouldn’t believe a man like him,” Bonnie said, but she lowered her head as she said it. “Still, if he has it on video…”
It looked bad for her. They all knew it.
Christine moved the keyring and the envelopes off the towel and onto her white she was a lawyer. She had to be like that.
Ready, she started up the sidewalk to her white, Queen Anne style gingerbread house.
It had decorative gables and intricate woodwork trim in deep green and burgundy, with a wraparound porch that followed the hexagonal shape of its small second-story turret.
The tiny patio off the master bedroom was her favorite feature.
She loved sitting out there with her first cup of coffee, early in the morning when the birds were singing their little heads off.
She and Mark always used to have their morning coffee out there if it was warm enough. She felt closer to him there.
Her front door opened, and for a moment Mark stood there smiling at her, and then reality shimmered and he became their son, Sam, with that same thick shock of hair, and a smile that always looked slightly guilty.
“Hey, Mom,” he said. “Still not driving, I see.”
“The girls and I carpool when we can. Gotta save the planet for the—”
“Grams!” Sally and Sadie crowded their father right out of the doorway and came running. The fifteen-year-old twins hugged her thoroughly, and then Sally said, “I can carry that for you,” and reached for her beach bag.
Bonnie pirouetted to avoid the grab, glancing down into her bag as she did.
“Don’t you treat me like an old lady, granddaughter,” she said.
Those envelopes addressed to the man she’d recently killed were standing upright in the bag, plainly visible.
The keys had fallen down deeper. “When I need help, I’ll let you know.
” She looked up and smiled. “But it’s sweet of you to offer,” she said, then leaned up and kissed Sally’s cheek, slung an arm around Sadie, and started up the sidewalk.
“And how are the two most amazing young women in the universe?”