“Good plan,” I said as the two moved to the door. Kendal paused before opening it and turned back to me. Thinking of something, he said, “Oh! I almost forgot! I read in the paper today that the father of the bride at the wedding we did—you know, the Mafia boss? Well, he died last night in a shoot-out with police! Can you believe it?”
“You’re kidding,” I said, a sly look on my face.
“Yes! It’s true! So you really were right. I guess now I don’t have to mail back that check, huh?”
The check! “Uh, actually Kendal, I already took care of that, so you owe me for a change,” I said smugly.
“Oh,” Kendal said looking disappointed. “You mean you already paid for it?”
“In spades, my friend, in spades.”
An hour later both Dutch and Milo came trotting into my room, another huge bouquet of flowers held firmly in Dutch’s hand. “Hey, boys,” I said happily. I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of here.
“Ready to go?” Dutch asked.
“Been ready,” I said. I was already dressed, and hastily got out of bed. I was still a little woozy, but managed to cross to the wheelchair an orderly was holding for me. We took the elevator down as Milo plagued me with questions.
“So how did you find Andros’s wife?”
“It’s a long story,” I said, not wanting to go through the whole thing all over again.
“Well, I gotta tell you, Abby, you really came through for us . . . again. Demetrius Kapordelis is under police watch downstairs, until he’s well enough to face a judge.”
“I saw him get shot. I can’t believe he’s still alive,” I said.
“Yeah, he took one in the shoulder and another in the leg, but he should pull through without too much effort. Too bad the same can’t be said for his victims.”
“So what happened to everyone else?” I asked, meaning all the other men Andros had brought to the party.
“The only two who made it through were Demetrius and some guy named Augustus Ferolinus.”
Odd as that name was to me, it still clicked a trigger in my brain. “Holy cow!” I said.
“What?” Dutch and Milo said together.
“Augustus Ferolinus is the guy who rammed into me! Now I can prove that he hit me, and I won’t have to pay my deductible to get my car fixed!” I said happily.
Dutch and Joe both shuffled their feet uncomfortably, not making eye contact. “What?” I asked, swiveling in the chair to look at one, then the other.
Just then the elevator doors opened and we all swung out into the hallway. Neither man spoke until we reached the front lobby, where I put both feet on the ground, stopping the forward momentum of the wheelchair and refusing to go any farther until one of them told me what was wrong with my being happy about not having to pay my deductible.
Biting the bullet, Dutch leaned down and said, “You don’t have to worry about a deductible, Abby. Your car didn’t make it.”
“What?” I asked, not understanding.
“The fire at your house . . . it spread to the garage . . . and your car.”
I looked at him with my mouth open. I’d had that car for seven years! I loved that car!
Finally I pulled my feet up off the floor, allowing the orderly to continue, and as we exited out the automatic doors I slammed my fist on the arm of the wheelchair and sputtered, “Son of a bitch!”
Two weeks later I was cleaning up the breakfast dishes in the small kitchenette hotel room I was boarding in when I heard a knock on the door. It was Monday, and I had the whole day off and wasn’t expecting visitors, so I went to the door suspiciously. After calming Eggy, who was back guarding me day and night, I peeked through the peephole and smiled as I recognized my visitor. I opened the door and shouted, “Dave!” as I jumped forward and hugged him.
“Morning,” he said, giving me a quick squeeze and ruffling my hair. Eggy jumped up and down by Dave’s feet until he bent over and picked him up, letting my puppy shower him with kisses.
“We’ve missed you.” I giggled as Eggy went to town.
“I can see that.” Dave laughed back.
“So,” I said, waving him inside out of the cold, “what brings you by?”
“I wanted to see if you were willing to go for a drive with me?” Dave asked.
“What?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow at him. “A drive? To where?”
“Just come with me and I’ll show you,” Dave said, a small smile tugging at his mustache.
I shrugged my shoulders and reached for my coat. I had nothing better to do. “Can Eggy come?” I asked.
“Most definitely,” Dave said, leading the way back out of the motel.
We headed down the outside stairwell to the parking lot. “So which one is yours?” he asked me, looking around at the parked cars.
“That one,” I said, indicating the brand-new silver Mazda SUV parked nearby.
“Cool,” Dave said enviously.
“That it is,” I said, lifting Eggy into Dave’s truck. We both got in, and Dave headed off, being conspicuously quiet about our destination.
My motel was just three blocks from my office, and I’d chosen it because it was cheap and convenient. It’d taken almost ten days to straighten out the insurance on my car, and it was going to take at least another ten to figure out the insurance on my house. I’d been by my old home only once; since the structure had burned almost completely to the ground, and it cut me to the quick that absolutely nothing had been spared.
I’d been told that arson investigators had determined that the fire had been made to look like it had been caused by my space heater, when in fact they’d been able to trace several small fires begun all over my bedroom, staircase and living room. Either Gargoyle or Goblin had made sure the fire would spread quickly and do the maximum amount of damage.
It had taken a while, but I’d come to terms with my recent ordeal with Kapordelis and his henchmen, and with the decisions I’d made as a result. As an intuitive, I’d like to believe that I hold myself to a higher moral code—and it was startling to me to discover that I was human after all.
As for the Kapordelis family . . . Well, my prediction that the estate would be run by the fourth son actually came true. After his father’s death and his brother’s arrest, Dorian Kapordelis shot himself up with enough heroin to put himself in a coma, and was currently in the same hospital as his brother. As a result his brain was mush, and he was never expected to fully recover.
Andros’s second son, Darius, moved to California almost immediately following his father’s funeral. He took only his trust fund and wanted nothing more to do with the family ever again. That left everything else to Ophelia, who was less than capable, but her new husband—Andros’s fourth son by marriage—was more than able to handle the responsibility. I had little doubt that Jimmy was going to do away with his former father-in-law’s unscrupulous businesses, and keep only those that made money legally. The Kapordelis legacy would be rejuvenated under his careful, moral care.
Madame Jarosolov had also been correct about my attending a funeral that was very sad, although she’d been off about the gender. Dutch and I had attended Josephine La Bond’s funeral just two days after Kapordelis’s death. It was a heart-wrenching affair, as her mother, father and brother all gathered around the closed casket, holding hands and leaning on each other. My heart went out to them, and I held on to Dutch a little tighter that afternoon.
These thoughts swirled in my head as Dave and I drove in companionable silence, the sound of classic rock wafting from the truck’s speakers, and I watched the scenery pass with a detached sort of perspective. I’d been feeling homeless and sad of late, wanting the familiarity of my belongings, and no longer able to have that luxury. Dutch had offered to have me stay at his place until I made a decision on where I’d be living, but I didn’t want our relationship, so fragile of late, to have that kind of pressure.
Besides, he was busy wrapping up all the loose ends from the Kapordelis case
, and currently he was back in Florida, meeting with Nico again. He’d asked me to tell him where Dora was, but I’d declined. If she wanted to come forward, then that was her responsibility. For now, I figured she just needed some time to make that first move to reach out to a family who hadn’t seen her in twenty years. It was better if she didn’t have the pressure of answering a lot of questions from law enforcement while she worked up the courage.
Since my release from the hospital, Dutch and I had spent very little time together, as we’d both gone our separate ways the week before for Thanksgiving, which I’d spent at my sister’s house, and Dutch at his parents’ home in New York.
Thinking back on that week, I had to admit that it had been wonderful to see Cat, rested, tanned, and the gash on her forehead healing nicely. She seemed good as new as she bustled around playing hostess, and happy that she’d talked her staff into coming back, albeit the crew still seemed a little resentful of her short career as a psychic, as I caught a few of them making faces at her when her back was turned.
As far as catching Cat up to speed . . . well, I’d been very selective in doling out the details of my ordeal. She’d been in Aruba throughout most of the exciting parts, and when she came home it had all been over—with her none the wiser, which was exactly how I planned to keep it.
She knew, of course, that the rapist had been caught, and couldn’t wait to testify against him when the trial came around. She also knew that my house had burned to the ground, but I’d managed to persuade her that it was the result of a space heater left unattended, and not at the hands of the local Mafia.
She’d also asked me about Goon, and I’d told her only that he’d left the country headed to parts unknown. She seemed appropriately sad at that news, and for some odd reason, I was too.
Dave’s truck hit a pothole suddenly, jolting the cab on its springs, and me out of the moody thoughts swirling around in my brain. I looked curiously out the window at the passing scenery as Dave pulled down a quaint side street just ten minutes from downtown. My brow furrowed as he drove; where was he taking me?
When the truck pulled into a driveway and stopped, Dave turned to me and said, “Now, I just want you to keep an open mind, okay?”
“About what?” I asked. “Dave, where are we?” I said, looking at the home we were in front of. There were no other cars in the driveway and I wondered whom I was here to meet. The house was a ranch, with white brick and black shutters. A long deck-style porch with huge flowerpots decorated the front, and a giant oak tree, still holding on to a few of its leaves, hovered overhead like a protective mother.
“Come with me,” he said tauntingly, and got out of the car.
I carried Eggy and followed Dave as he took me up a walkway and onto the front porch of the ranch-style home. He opened up the storm door and inserted a key into the keyhole, opening the door wide and motioning me inside. I stepped through the entrance and into a large, spacious room, in the middle of reconstruction.
I looked a question mark at Dave, and he finally explained: “I took a job from a guy who had to relocate to Colorado. He’d been in the middle of gutting the place when he learned he had to move, so he hired me to finish the job. When he’s finished with it he needs to sell it—quickly.”
“Uh-huh,” I said doubtfully, setting Eggy down and looking around. As my gaze took it in, I had to admit I really liked the room. It was large, open and airy with beautiful brand-new beech-wood floors. I took a few tentative steps and crossed into the kitchen.
Gorgeous new cherry-wood cabinets and granite countertops greeted my hungry eyes. All the appliances appeared to be brand-new too, and there was even an island between the sink and the dining area that was perfect for cutting and chopping.
I opened one of the cabinets and peered inside, then went through the kitchen inspecting the plumbing and fixtures. There was a separate entrance at the far end of the kitchen, and I followed it to a short hallway, which led to three bedrooms.
The master suite was at the end of the hallway and poking my head in I could see it was large and comfortable. Two more bedrooms flanked the master bedroom on each side. I checked out the master bathroom and the shower, which had new fixtures and a gigantic showerhead. Back down the hall was a small dining room, and this led into the living room, where Dave crouched, playing with Eggy while I continued to check things out.
I passed by him without a word, my mounting excitement building as I continued my tour. I headed out to the attached garage. Pressing a button I watched as the garage door swung up. I pressed the button again and the door came back down.
Next I went back to the kitchen and opened up the sliding glass door along one wall of the dining area, stepping out into the backyard. The space was large and fenced in. A birdbath was nestled in the middle of the yard, with shapely bushes and a bed perfect for flowers flanking one side of the house. Toward the back of the yard were two trees growing close together that still held a hammock between their trunks. Just then Dave came out with Eggy and set him loose to sniff around.
“So what do you think?” he asked, coming to stand next to me.
“You’re sure this is within my price range?” I asked.
“Yep, I’m sure,” he answered, rocking confidently back and forth on his heels.
I took my time answering, torturing him for not fessing up sooner in the truck. Finally, I turned to face him and said, “Sold,” while I beamed him the full grille.
Victoria Laurie, Better Read Than Dead
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