The Little Death

Chapter Forty-five

When Louis came back in from the beach, Mel was finished with the pigpen. He handed Louis the black Social Register.

“You want this?”

“Toss it.”

Mel put it in the plastic garbage bag at his feet. He put the lid on the file box that held all of the case information they had accumulated in the last eleven days.

Mel picked up the box and set it by his suitcase at the front door. Louis’s own duffel was there, his rumpled blue blazer draped across.

“You okay?”

Louis nodded. “Is there any beer left?”

“Might be one still in there.”

Louis went into the kitchen. It was spotless, burnished to a gleam by the invisible Eppie. Louis yanked open the refrigerator and peered in. Someone had stocked it with Perrier, two bottles of Veuve Clicquot, and a fifth of Rodnik vodka. There were fresh eggs, orange juice, and two tins of osetra caviar.

But no beer.

Louis went back to the living room. “Where’d the groceries come from?”

“I figured Reg could use some goodies when he got home. So Yuba and I hit the Publix this morning. And yes, I kept the damn receipt so you can write it in your little notebook.”

Louis smiled.

“Are you smiling?”

Louis dug in his jeans and pulled out Margery’s check. He gave it to Mel.

“What’s this?”

“Our payment.”

Mel brought the check up to his eyes and squinted. “Twenty-five hundred bucks? Not too shabby.”

“Add some zeroes.”

“Twenty-five thousand?”

“Add another zero.”

Mel stared at Louis.

“We have to split it. And if it’s okay with you, I’d like to give Andrew fifty grand.”

“Hell, he earned it.” Mel smiled. “And maybe now you could break down and buy a decent blazer.”

Yuba came out of the back bedroom carrying a suitcase. “All packed,” she said. “You sure you’re okay with this, Louis?”

Louis had been surprised when Mel said he wanted to bring Yuba back to Fort Myers. She had quit her job at Ta-boo and still had plans to go back and get her degree. But for now, she was going to move into Mel’s little apartment. No promises, she had told Mel. None expected, he had told her.

“At least I’ll have someone to talk to on the drive home,” Louis said with a smile.

He watched as Yuba linked her arm through Mel’s and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He started toward the bedroom.

“Where you going?” Mel asked.

“Final walk through,” Louis said.

He went through each of the rooms, but they were spotless. In Mark Durand’s bedroom, he paused. All of the items were still there on the étagère, and the pastel shirts were lined up in the closet like mints in a box.

The spot of red and green on the wall above the bed caught Louis’s eye. It was David’s painting.

He went over and took it off its hook. He was certain Reggie didn’t want it. He was certain, too, that Burke Aubry wouldn’t mind if he took it.

When he went back out to the living room, Yuba and the suitcases were gone. Through the open front door, he could see her putting them in the trunk of the Mustang.

Mel was gathering up the pile of Shiny Sheets and stuffing them into the garbage bag. He paused, peering down at a page.

“What’s that?”

Mel held it out.

Louis took it. It was the page with the photograph of Sam and the lawyer. Flowing blue dress, milk-white skin, and carrot-red hair.

“You okay?” Mel asked.

“Yeah.”

“You hit her in the heart.”

“That’s what we’re trained to do.”

“But it was a woman this time.”

“I’m fine, Mel. Let’s just get out of here.”

Louis crumpled the paper, stuffed it into the garbage bag, and hoisted the bag. He followed Mel outside, making sure he stopped to lock the door. Then he slipped the key into a flowerpot as Reggie had requested, put the garbage bag in the trash can, and got into the Mustang.

They headed south, passing the velvet greens of the country club and the geranium-bedecked entrance to the Breakers hotel. At the old stone Bethesda-by-the-Sea Church, Louis had to stop to allow the long line of cars to exit. He had no choice but to pull the Mustang behind the funeral cortege that was taking Tink Lyons to the cemetery.

At the Palm Beach police station, Mel and Yuba waited in the car while Louis went in and paid his “ugly car” fine. When he got back, Mel had put the Mustang’s top down and was slumped in the passenger seat. Yuba was in the back, face turned up to the sun.

“Let’s go home, Rocky,” Mel said.

They drove west on Royal Poinciana Way and across the bridge. After a quick stop to drop off the file box with Major Cryer at the Palm Beach County Sheriff’s Office, they headed due west on US-80.

Louis’s mind was racing ahead. And there was a lightness in his chest, like he could breathe for the first time in a week. No, for the first time in years.

Maybe it was Andrew’s questioning. Maybe it was the firmness of Major Cryer’s handshake and the respect in his eyes. Maybe it had been there, buried inside him for a long time now, and had only taken Joe’s words to bring it out.

I want you to want something for yourself.

Whatever it was, he had made a decision. It had come to him suddenly as they left the sheriff’s office parking lot, hitting him like a sharp stab to his heart.

He wanted to get back in. He wanted to feel the weight of a badge on his chest. Even if it meant going to Lance Mobley and begging, he was going to try once more.

He couldn’t wait to get home. The first call would be to Mobley. But he knew he had to make a second call to Joe. He needed to try once more with her, too.

The strip malls and gas stations disappeared, and they were out in the scrublands. Soon they reached the swaying green curtains of the cane fields.

Mel was slumped in the seat, asleep. Louis glimpsed Yuba in the rearview mirror. Her head was back, her eyes closed, her lips tipped in a secret smile, long black hair fanned out behind her.

Louis looked back to the road, squinting hard into the sun.

He had made love to her

He had killed her.

And now he had to forget her.