Simply Lies

Chapter 65

The next morning Clarisse watched from across the street as Sullivan left the police building in Virginia Beach and got into his state-issued sedan. It was drizzling and the skies were darkening, promising still more precipitation after the previous night’s steady rainfall.

She put her rental car in gear and moved into traffic two vehicles behind him.

They drove a familiar route, and ended up back at Stormfield. She had turned off before they arrived there because traffic had thinned and she didn’t want to be spotted. But she was certain that could be the only place out here that he would be going to.

She parked and approached the house on foot, drawing her hoodie closer around her as the air chilled and the rain picked up.

Clarisse moved past the mailbox and flitted through the trees until she reached the edge of the lawn opposite the front entrance. His sedan was parked there.

She ran across the grass and reached the east wing of the home, where she peered into one of the windows. It was dark inside, so she could really see nothing. The man must be using a flashlight. And then to confirm this theory she saw a stab of light cut through the interior. He was moving along the hall to the main staircase. And then he took it down.

Well, if he made it to the wine cellar he would find it bereft of messages. She licked her lips and remembered how the paper had tasted in her mouth.

“Hey, babycakes.”

Clarisse turned at the sound of the voice, right as a cloth covered her face.

Clarisse awoke slowly at first, and then in a panicked rush of cortisol plowing into her bloodstream, she sat up, or would have if she hadn’t been restrained.

She looked around at the decrepit room: paint peeling, floors wooden and filthy, one window, the single light bulb overhead feeble and pulsing. She was on a bed with her arms and legs tied to the bedposts. The smell here was not pleasant.

She could hear the rain tapping on the roof, in the distance a growl of thunder.

“Welcome back, babycakes. It was only a short ride down slumber lane for you. I know just how much to use. Helps me sleep at night.”

Clarisse looked directly in front of her to see the woman sitting there in a hardbacked chair, one leg draped over the other. She could see her far better in this light than in her own apartment, when the woman had previously gotten the drop on her. She was heavier in the face and butt and hips, Clarisse noted. The hair had changed color, going from soft brown to stark red. It was not a wig, she could tell. It was the work of a colorist. A good job, but the shade did not flatter her complexion.

Clarisse managed to settle her head at a better angle on the pillow.

“And you thought this was a good idea, why? I was watching someone who is looking for the treasure, too.”

“I know that,” she said casually. “I know lots of things. Some more than you, some less. Which is why it was a good idea to bring you in for a chat. A debriefing, the law guys call it.”

“What did you use on me?”

“Can’t spell the name or pronounce it, but it works real good.” She rose and drew closer. She was dressed in jeans and boots and a long sweater that covered her butt.

“You’ve really lost weight,” said the woman.

Clarisse said, “I lost my appetite about twenty years ago. You, on the other hand, went the other way.”

“I survived, so I ate what I wanted. You should try it sometime. You’re too skinny.”

She pulled her chair next to the bed and sat down.

“And my mother?”

“She’s around here. You probably smell her pee and other stuff. We moved her to another room so we could use this one for you.”

“ ‘We’?”

“Don’t get curious. It’s not a good look, and I’m not in the mood. Wilson Sullivan is the cop you were watching. Tell me why.”

“Like I said, he’s looking for the treasure. He may be a cop but he’s not acting like one.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, one compelling theory is that he, like us, is not who he once was.”

The woman looked thoughtful. “And who might that be? The person he might have been, I mean.”

“One of the gang from the old days who changed his appearance? That’s one possibility.”

“I don’t think so. I recognized Bruce. I recognized you, even with all the shit you’ve done to yourself. I’d recognize anybody from the old days. I have a gift for it. And I work at it. For obvious reasons, survival being the top one. You know what they did to us. They’re not getting a second shot. And I saw Sullivan before and my meter did not buzz once.”

“Okay, where is the other half of ‘we’?”

“Off doing things as ‘other halves’ often do. Busy, busy, busy.”

“So you lied about him not being around anymore?”

“Let’s get back to the mystery man. If not the old days, what else?”

“First, I need to see my mother,” said Clarisse.

“Why?”

“Chiefly to make sure she’s not dead.”

“Again, why? You never loved her. You always wanted to kill the bitch. Don’t try to lie and say that wasn’t true. Or that your feelings have changed. Feelings don’t change after that shit. No, I’m wrong, they do. They get stronger. So you just want to kill her more now, right?”

Clarisse shook her head. “It’s not that simple. Maybe it was back then, not now. And I’m her caretaker. But just so you know I haven’t totally turned into a wimp, I spent good money keeping her alive and if anyone’s going to kill her, it’s going to be me. Not you. So bring her to me. Now.”

“Feisty today, huh? All tied up as you are? Sure, you can see her. I’ll just wheel her right in. It’s about time for her bathroom run, anyway.”

“Has she been getting her meds?”

“Stop worrying. You were always a worrier.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. She’s on a ton of meds and she requires oxygen, and she has special dietary needs and she’s diabetic. And I hope you have her in a cleaner place than this. She has no immune system left.”

“You always had a tight ass for rules. Do this, do that. But see, you’re tied up and I’m not. So relax your shrimpy ass while I wheel her in.” She smiled and held up a warning finger. “But don’t you go anywhere.” From the rear of her waistband she slid out a pistol. “Or bang-bang and Mommy is dead. By my hand, not yours. Because I don’t follow rules anymore, I make them.”

As soon as she left, Clarisse struggled against her restraints, but to no avail. She didn’t have long to wait, as the door opened and there was her mother in a wheelchair, with an oxygen line in her nose and a canister of the stuff riding on the back of the chair.

She looked clean, well-groomed, and actually clear-eyed, even with the cataract in the one. She smiled at her daughter and waved like a little girl encountering a friend.

“Lovey, Lovey,” she said. “See my new friend?”

Clarisse looked at the other woman, who said, “We got her med list and other requirements before we snatched her. What, you think we’re monsters?”

“They snatched me, they snatched me!” exclaimed her mother happily. “Broke me out of my prison, way I see it. And they let me smoke, too, a little. But only with the oxygen off. Nobody wants to go boom.”

Behind her the woman placed the pistol against Mommy’s head. “And if smoking doesn’t kill her, guess what will, babycakes?”

“Oh, don’t say that word,” screamed Mommy, putting her hands over her ears. “It’s god-awful.”

“Yes, it is,” said Clarisse. “Only you didn’t seem to care back then, did you? If you can even remember.”

Her mother slowly removed her hands and looked directly at her daughter. “I remember. And I had to pick my battles.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry anymore.”

“Really?” said Mommy with widened, hopeful eyes.

“Really,” answered Clarisse.

“Did you do it?”

“I wish.”

Mommy looked at the other woman. “Was it you?”

She shook her head. “Somebody beat me to it.”

Clarisse said, “Bullshit. If not you, who then?”

“Don’t know, do I?”

“They wrote on the wall. Same thing you wrote on Bruce’s wall.”

“Bruce I’ll ’fess to. But that’s all.”

Clarisse focused on her mother and snapped, “And exactly what battles did you pick to fight? Because I don’t remember a single one.”

Her mother took a moment to eye both women. “You have no idea what all they wanted to do. Not even your mother,” she added, turning to look directly at the other woman. She saw the gun but didn’t react to it. “I put my foot down there. I would have told.”

“Like those assholes gave a shit,” said the woman. “Fox guarding the henhouse. Well, not my issue anymore. And I don’t live in the past.” She shivered comically. “It’s too s-s-scary.”

“You were scared,” said Clarisse. “We all were.”

The woman stopped her fake shivers. “Well, you should be scared. Now. There are lots of bad people around and you’re looking at one of them. So take it all in. For the memory books.”

“You didn’t use to be this way,” said Clarisse while her mother worried at the cannula in her nose and eyed her lap.

“We didn’t use to be lots of things. Now we are. All of them. Least I am.”

“How is he?” asked Clarisse. “I mean really?”

“Who?” asked her mother, now looking a bit dazed, as though she had just expended all of her clarity in the last couple of minutes. “Who is she talking about?”

“Just sit there and suck on air, okay? This doesn’t concern you.” Clarisse looked at her captor. “Tell me how he is. Please.”

The other woman’s expression became less sure. “We’ve had a good ride. Bonded for life because of those years together and what happened.”

“But you didn’t have to kill Bruce. That was unnecessary.”

“I didn’t have to do lots of things. That’s why we make choices. And there were things about Bruce you never knew.”

“And Harry? Come on, you can tell me the truth. It’s not like I’m going to the cops.”

The other woman shook her head, a sad smile playing over her lips. “We just wanted the money. He was no good to us dead. So there you go. No motive. You have to check that. The cops do.”

“I know you two went to see him. How did you find him?”

“Not something you need to know. But he was alive and kicking when we left.”

“Then who did it?” asked Clarisse. “Who killed him?”

“If you find out, tell me. And I’ll kill them because they screwed us over real good. Cost us the easy path to the money.”

“He would never have told you where it was. He never made anything easy.”

The woman brandished her weapon. “Now, what have you found out?”

“We apparently have to move into the twenty-first century if we want to find the treasure. At least that’s what the note I found said.”

“And what does that mean exactly?”

“That the treasure is not in some wooden crate somewhere. Or buried at Stormfield. It might be digital.”

“Digital? Have you figured that out?” asked the woman.

“Not yet. But I will.”

She placed the gun against Mommy’s temple, and this time the old woman did flinch. “Then pick up your pace. I’m not getting any younger. None of us are, especially this hag. Right, babycakes?”

When Mommy cried out at this term once more, the woman placed a wad of moist cloth over the woman’s face and she immediately slumped sideways in her wheelchair, unconscious.

“She has COPD, that stuff could kill her,” cried out Clarisse.

“I guess we’ll find out. And now it’s your turn to go lights out. Babycakes.”