Part 17 (2/2)

”Who?”

”This guy and the dead guy. You said they were arguing ...”

Britnee scowled at me. ”No I didn't. I said that the dead guy was trying to get away from the other guy.”

”Do you know why?”

”This guy-” she tapped Quentin's face with her fingertip, ”-kept telling the other guy to back off.”

”What did the dead guy say?”

”He laughed. Like it was some kind of joke.”

”Do you know what this guy wanted him to back off from?”

”No.” Britnee stopped working again and c.o.c.ked an eyebrow, waiting for me to toss a few more purchases onto the belt.

I decided I'd spent enough on worthless junk and held up both hands. ”You didn't hear anything else?”

”I didn't hear anything except that,” Britnee said. ”The guy in the picture told the dead guy to back off, and the dead guy laughed.” She hit the total b.u.t.ton and rattled off a new amount, sliding a glance past me to something behind me. ”You'd better go anyway,” she said softly. ”Sissy's back there watching.”

Chase, in a self-protective measure, had already moved away. I wrote out the check and tossed it onto the conveyer belt along with two business cards. ”Do me a favor, okay? If either of you think of anything else, will you let me know? You can find me at the candy shop on Prospector Street.”

Chapter 29.

I left Divinity earlier than usual that afternoon for basketball practice. I hadn't seen Kerry since our run-in at the convenience store, and now that Wyatt and Elizabeth had taken Brody and Caleb off the team, I had no idea what his mood would be. If he was going to cop an att.i.tude with me, I wanted him to do it before the boys arrived.

I'd called Elizabeth earlier to see how Brody and Caleb were feeling about being sidelined. Neither of the boys wanted to speak to me, but Elizabeth a.s.sured me they'd get over their disappointment soon. Kids were resilient, she a.s.sured me. I hoped she was right.

The parking lot was nearly empty when I pulled in, so it wasn't hard to make sure there were no dark-colored SUVs lurking in the shadows. Even though lights spilled out of the windows and illuminated the sidewalks, I didn't see another soul until I let myself through the front door and into the reception area.

There, a young woman with curly dark hair sat at the front desk, the phone wedged between ear and shoulder. She smiled vaguely in my direction as I walked past her, but she was so deep in conversation, I wasn't sure she actually saw me. The windows of the administrative offices were already dark, indicating that the office staff had already gone home, but the faint sound of exercise equipment floated up the stairs from the work-out room in the bas.e.m.e.nt. At least one hearty soul was in the center that evening.

I checked the gym to make sure Kerry wasn't already there, then stepped into the ladies' room. I had a few minutes to kill and nothing to do, so I spent a little while pretending to make myself presentable: a quick sweep of a brush through my hair, a swipe at the lips with the remnants dug out of an old pot of Carmex I found in the bottom of my bag, a quick adjustment to the shoulders of my sweater, and a tug at the hem. I'm not sure I made any real difference to my appearance, but at least I'd tried.

After was.h.i.+ng my hands, I reached for the door handle, but the sound of raised voices somewhere nearby made me stop with the door only partway open. Two men, from the sound of it. Two very angry men speaking in hushed, heated tones.

Deciding that discretion was the better part of . . . something, I let the door inch shut again. Almost. Curiosity trumps discretion any day. Maybe I was eavesdropping, but how else would I know when I could leave the bathroom without interrupting?

I couldn't make out what the men were saying at first, but it didn't take long before my ears adjusted to the ebb and flow of background noise and I began to pick up snippets of their argument.

”. . . if anybody finds out, I'm through. You know that don't you?”

”Quit being so d.a.m.n melodramatic. Who's going to . . . ?”

Intrigued, I leaned a bit closer to the narrow opening I'd left myself. The men couldn't be far from where I stood. I could make out shadows moving on the wall across from me as they talked.

”. . . proof somewhere. You know she's got it.”

”And she'll be taken care of. Don't worry about that.”

That sent a chill through me, and suddenly eavesdropping on their argument stopped being only a mildly entertaining diversion. Who was ”she”? And what did he mean by ”taken care of”?

”That's good,” the first man said, his voice suddenly crystal clear and so close I caught my breath, ”because if you screw this up, I'll lose everything. I'm already d.a.m.n close to losing it now. This is not what we agreed on.”

”Relax, would you?” His companion must have moved closer, too, and I suddenly recognized one of the speakers. ”You know why she's come back,” Quentin Ingersol said. ”You know what we need from her. Once we have that, it'll be over.”

My breath caught, and my heart thudded in my chest. Two women had recently returned to Paradise: Liberty and Ginger. Which one were they talking about?

”It had better be,” the second man growled. ”Because if it's not . . .” His voice sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place it. It didn't sound like Kerry, but I was pretty sure that whoever it was, I'd talked to him recently.

The voices faded away, and the shadows on the wall moved toward the front of the building, too far for me to hear what the men were saying. I leaned my head against the cool tile wall and concentrated on breathing while I replayed the bits of conversation I'd heard in my mind. Who were they talking about? What did they need? And who was the second man?

I stood there shaking, running through the list of men I'd spoken with in the past week or so. Dwayne, Marshall. Kerry. Who else? Richie, Dylan. Gavin. I racked my brain, not daring to step out of the ladies' room until I knew I wasn't alone in the hallway with a couple of killers.

When I heard the first of the boys arrive for practice, I sucked it up and let myself out of my tile-walled sanctuary.

Kerry was already in the gym with the kids, and his posture stiffened noticeably when he saw me. ”About time you joined us, Shaw. I need you to gather up the permission slips for the away game the boys took home last time. And the equipment's in my truck.” He lobbed his keys across the court toward me. ”Go get it.”

It took a lot of nerve to treat a fellow volunteer with such scorn, and I was in no mood for Kerry's att.i.tude. I caught the keys and lobbed them back at him. ”I don't think so. Considering the accusations you've made against me, I think it would be better if I kept my distance from your truck.”

Color rushed into his face, and his eyes grew cold. A muscle in his jaw twitched repeatedly. Very slowly, he dragged his gaze away from mine and tossed the keys to Jason Pacheco, one of the older boys on the team. ”Take someone with you, Jason.”

Jason bobbed his head once, jerked his head at Ryan G.o.ddard, and jogged toward the rear doors. Coach and I stood for a long moment staring each other down until a bored voice sounded in the doorway behind me. ”Coach Hendrix? Phone call for you on line one,” and broke the tension. At least for the moment.

I had enough time after practice that evening to run home, change into clean black slacks and a sweater, and run a brush through my hair before meeting Jawarski for dinner. Brody and Caleb might not be on the team at the moment, but I'd made a promise to all the members of the team, and I felt an obligation to their parents to make sure they were safe.

On a whim, I replaced the old Carmex with a layer of the strawberry-kiwi lip gloss I'd picked up at Walgreens and brushed a hint of blush on my cheeks. A couple of minutes after eight, I pushed through the gla.s.s door to the restaurant and stepped into a crowd of people waiting to be seated. I knew Jawarski was already there, because I'd seen his truck in the parking lot when I cruised through.

Inside, soft Asian music played on a PA system, and the host, a young man of about twenty, spoke rapid Thai into the house phone. The door shut behind me, setting off the oddly discordant yet soothing sounds of bamboo wind chimes. I glanced into the dining room, peering between bamboo plants strategically placed to give the illusion of privacy.

Jawarski had already been seated, and he waved me over to our table. I was starving and more than ready for dinner, but seeing Jawarski sitting there in a crisp white s.h.i.+rt under his good black jacket wiped all thoughts of food out of my head for a full thirty seconds.

He stood as I approached the table, a gentleman of the old school, and his eyes lit with an appreciative gleam. I thought that was only fair, since I'm sure mine were pretty well lit also. He pulled out a chair for me, held it the way boys used to be taught in school, and then resumed his seat across from mine.

”You're looking terrific tonight,” he said. ”Basketball must agree with you.”

I laughed, so relieved that we were going to start off on a pleasant note I probably sounded giddy. ”I'm not so sure about that. It may just be the death of me.”

Jawarski signaled the waiter, and a moment later a gla.s.s of Thai tea appeared on the table. I'm a pushover for touches like that, and he knows it. I took that as a sign that he'd calmed down enough to realize that I hadn't exactly tripped Marshall and then beat him to the floor to get that kiss.

”Trouble on the team?” he asked.

<script>