Jennifer Crusie Bundle

  Especially if he had to beat them out of Carlo. And Gio. And Claud. And Dalton. He didn’t think Dalton was guilty, but he wanted to hit him, anyway.

  There was no one at the ATM, so Mitch slid his card in without looking around and punched in his password.

  The machine beeped. “Access denied. Your account has been closed. Your card has been confiscated.”

  “What?” Mitch yelled at the machine. “It can’t be…” His card had worked fine the day before. Who could have…?

  Mitch pounded the ATM machine because he couldn’t get to the murderers. He’d had enough with the Big Three and their hobbies. Poisoning old men, beating up cars, shooting at Mae, destroying credit ratings…

  Mitch’s internal rant died on that last thought. Who the hell would try to kill him, and then get really mad and go after his credit card? What kind of master plan was that?

  And then it dawned on him.

  It wasn’t a master plan.

  It was three master plans.

  “I’ll be damned,” Mitch said, and turned to go back to Mae, only to see Carlo standing behind him.

  “No, you’ll be dead,” Carlo said, and hit him.

  Ten

  An hour later, Mitch still wasn’t back, and Mae faced facts: she was on her own. She’d spent most of the hour trying to decide how Armand’s vasectomy fit with the holes in the condoms, only belatedly realizing that Mitch wasn’t going to show up.

  The possibilities of what had happened were limited.

  One was that Mitch had gotten tired of the whole mess and had washed his hands of her. It was what a prudent man would do, but Mitch wasn’t prudent and he loved her. Not in a million years would he desert her.

  Another was that Carlo had given up beating up on Mitch’s car and had decided to beat directly on Mitch. This had the beauty of plausibility and previous attempts to recommend it, but even Carlo would have gotten tired of hitting him in an hour. If it had been just Carlo, Mitch would have been back by now. That theory was out, too.

  A third theory was that the police had picked him up for questioning. If that was true, Mitch would stay away for a while to keep them away from her, but sooner or later, he’d have to come home. If they followed him and found her here, he’d be in trouble as an accomplice. That would be bad.

  And then there was always the possibility that Armand really had been murdered, and the murderer had jumped Mitch and killed him.

  Mae really hated that one, so she opted for number three, which meant that the smartest thing she could do was get out of the apartment in spite of Mitch’s instructions. Waiting around for the police to follow Mitch home had no appeal whatsoever.

  She picked up her purse and set out for the only place in Riverbend where she might possibly be safe.

  She had a phone call to make.

  WHEN MITCH CAME TO, he found himself looking up at the severed head of Holofernes in Gio’s office. It didn’t seem like a good omen. Then he turned his head and saw his three least favorite people in the world.

  “Ah, Mr. Peatwick, with us at last,” Claud said from his vantage point in a nearby chair.

  “Where’s Mae Belle?” Gio demanded from behind his desk.

  “I’m gonna kill you next time,” Carlo promised, looming over him.

  Mitch reached up and touched his temple, and his hand came away bloody. He groaned and eased himself slowly to his feet, tottering as he stood, and then, as Carlo smirked at him for being such a wimp, Mitch sucker-punched him to the floor.

  “That’s for hitting Harold,” Mitch told him as he did the looming this time. “I still owe you for shooting my car, clubbing me on the head and almost killing Mae.”

  Carlo surged to his feet, and Mitch drew back his fist, and Gio yelled, “Wait.”

  Carlo and Mitch both froze.

  “He almost killed Mae?” Gio turned his little obsidian eyes on Carlo. “What did you do?”

  “Nothin’.” Carlo stuck out his jaw. “He’s lying. I wouldn’t hurt Mae. Ever.”

  “You couldn’t see her,” Mitch said. “That night at the storage shed, you were shooting at her not me. You came within an inch of killing her, you moron.”

  “Is this true?” Gio’s eyes impaled his grandson. “Did you do this thing?”

  “I shot at him.” Carlo’s face was mulish. “I never shot at Mae.”

  “He missed her by a couple of inches,” Mitch told Gio. “He thought he was shooting at me because she was wearing my jacket, but he almost killed her.” He shook his head. “You know, giving him a gun is not a good idea.”

  “No more guns,” Gio said to Carlo who glared at Mitch. “I want them all.”

  “You might want to take the knives away from him, too,” Mitch suggested. “There was that incident with the finger….”

  “You stay out of this,” Gio snapped, and Mitch said, “No.”

  Gio surged up out of his desk chair. “Nobody says no to me—”

  “Well, they do now,” Mitch told him. “I’ve had it with all three of you. Who do you think you are, anyway? All of you, yapping away about how you want to protect Mae, and then you do everything you can to get her arrested or, God knows, killed. The police are after her, a murderer is on the loose and you take out the only guy who’s protecting her.” He jerked his thumb at his chest. “Me.”

  Claud stirred in his chair. “There is no murderer, and we know about the police. We’ve retained a lawyer. Now, if you’ll—”

  “She doesn’t need your lawyer,” Mitch said, exasperated. “I got her a lawyer. She’s got everything she needs except me, and the only reason I’m not with her is because you guys think you’re in a Godfather movie.”

  “She doesn’t need your cheap shyster,” Gio began.

  Mitch turned on him. “He’s not cheap. He’s going to cost you a friggin’ fortune. I was going to cover it, but after this last trick you pulled, he’s going to bill you.”

  Claud narrowed his eyes, which made them essentially disappear. “And why would we pay for this lawyer?”

  “Because I finally figured out what the hell was going on here,” Mitch said. “And you are in deep trouble, all of you.”

  “Where is Mae Belle?” Gio demanded.

  Mitch felt his temper hit boiling and tried hard to keep the lid on it. “Well, she was at my place, but knowing Mabel, she’s hit the road by now, so I have no idea where she is, and that’s your fault, too, Grandpa, so don’t hassle me about it. You know, I could have figured out this whole thing a lot sooner if you hadn’t been playing your dumb Master of the Universe games.”

  “Aside from Carlo’s assaults, there is nothing—”

  Mitch swung around to glare down at him. “Oh, no you don’t, Claud. You’re in this as deep as he is. You should never have messed with my credit, Claud. Bad move.”

  “What credit?” Gio scowled. “Who gives a damn about your credit? I want—”

  “Forget it.” Mitch leaned over the edge of the desk and stared him down. “What you want doesn’t matter anymore. Mae’s been arrested for murder, which means somebody actually did kill Armand.”

  “Nonsense.” Claud dismissed him without a flicker of emotion. “You’re just protecting your job.”

  Mitch took a deep breath. “Claud, pay attention here. The police arrested Mae. They don’t do that because they’re bored. They do that because they think they can get a conviction. If there was any doubt at all that Armand had been murdered, they wouldn’t be arresting Mae. Trust me on this.”

  Claud stared at him as if Mitch had crawled out from under a rock, but he didn’t say anything.

  “I was pulling for you three as the killers because I could spare all of you without too much trouble. But I couldn’t make it work.” Mitch glared down at Carlo. “Carlo was stupid enough to slash my tires—” Carlo growled and Mitch braced himself for another punch “—but he wasn’t smart enough or rich enough or connected enough to get me evicted from my office.” Carlo stayed put, and Mitch t
urned to Claud. “Claud could get me evicted, but he wouldn’t threaten my clients with physical danger.” Mitch then faced the apoplectic little man behind the desk. “And Gio would threaten his own mother, but he wouldn’t bother with shooting my car. I liked the idea that the three of you were in this together, but Mae said no, and eventually even I couldn’t see any of you trusting the others with cab fare, let alone a murder plot.”

  “I don’t get this, and I don’t care,” Gio said. “I want—”

  “Then Mae was arrested and somebody killed my credit. And right there at the ATM, the solution hit me. And then fifteen seconds later, Carlo hit me.” Suddenly overcome by disappointment, Mitch stared at Carlo. “You will never know how much I wanted you to be the bad guy in this. Ohio has the death penalty, you know.”

  “Mr. Peatwick, we’re really uninterested in your credit rating,” Claud said. “We want—”

  “Then why did you kill it, Claud? I should be grateful because that’s what made me finally catch on. I mean, two nights ago, somebody tries to shoot us, and that doesn’t work, so somebody gets Mae arrested for murder, and that doesn’t work, so then this guy escalates the battle and goes after my credit card?” Mitch shook his head. “I know your Dun and Brad-street is more important to you than your prostate, but even you must have figured out that losing my credit card would run a poor second to getting shot. That’s when I knew I was dealing with more than one loon.”

  “Do you realize to whom you are speaking?” Claud asked him coldly.

  “Yeah.” Mitch stared him down, just as coldly. “I’m talking to the guy who ruined my credit rating. That would be you, and that’s illegal. Financial harassment. I discussed this with my attorney when you had me evicted, and he says it should be an interesting lawsuit.”

  Claud dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “No attorney would touch a lawsuit like that.”

  “Mine would. He likes Bolivian tin mines and redheaded radicals. He lives for risk.”

  “Some ambulance chaser.” Claud chuckled derisively. It sounded like a death rattle. “Some nobody.”

  “Nick Jamieson.” Mitch watched the smile fade from Claud’s face. “Yeah, he’s good, isn’t he? Well, look on the bright side, he’s defending Mabel, too.”

  “How do you know Nick Jamieson?” Claud demanded.

  “I’m his stockbroker.” Mitch watched Claud blink as he absorbed the information and then Mitch turned to Gio. “Then there’s you. Threatening my clients, harassing my landlord, making nasty phone calls. You ought to be ashamed. Especially since the cops would love to get something on you. You really screwed up this time, Gio.

  “And then there’s my personal favorite, the bottom feeder in your gene pool.” He turned to glare at Carlo. “You owe me twelve new tires, new seats, all new windshields and lights, and a hell of a lot of bodywork. I can’t believe you beat up my car like that.”

  Gio pounded on his desk. “Will you forget that damn car? I don’t care about the car. I will pay for the car, and this lawyer, and anything else. Just tell me, where the hell is Mae Belle?”

  “I don’t know, Gio.” Mitch stood up straight again. “My guess is, she’s gone to see the murderer. I’m a little concerned about that. And that’s why I’m leaving now.”

  Carlo blocked his way. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  Mitch faced him. “I will go around you, over you, or through you, whatever it takes. But I am going to Mae.”

  And then he walked toward Carlo and the door.

  MAE LET HERSELF in the front door of the town house at the same time that Stormy came down the stairs carrying a suitcase.

  They both stopped, surprised.

  “I was just going to call you.” Mae eyed the suitcase. “Going somewhere?”

  “South America. I just came by for my passport.” Stormy put the suitcase down, frowning as if she’d had a sudden thought. “I thought you’d been arrested.”

  “Now, why would you think that?” Mae tossed her purse on the table.

  Stormy blinked. “I heard it on the radio.”

  “No, you didn’t. We’ve had the radio on all morning. No escaped socialites.” Mae sat on the edge of the table and looked at her sadly. “You framed me, didn’t you, Stormy?”

  Stormy bit her lip. “It wouldn’t have stuck. Your uncles would have gotten every lawyer in Riverbend.”

  “Why did you do it?”

  Stormy shrugged. “You were the one who started the murder rumor. I figured it made sense that you’d be guilty.”

  “No. I mean why did you kill Armand?”

  Stormy opened her eyes wide. “I didn’t.”

  Mae shook her head. “You’re good, sweetheart, but that wide-eyed bit went out with Brigid.”

  “Who’s Brigid?” Stormy asked with genuine confusion this time.

  “You killed him because you loved him, didn’t you?” Mae tried to keep the sympathy out of her voice. After all, this woman was a killer.

  Just not a cold-blooded one.

  Stormy snorted. “Why would I love him? He was a mean old man. And I’d have been stupid to kill him. He’d already given me all the money I was going to get. I wasn’t in his will. I—”

  “You loved him, and he was going to leave you. You tried to keep him by getting pregnant. That’s why you poked holes in all of his condoms.” She looked at Stormy sadly. “That wouldn’t have worked, you know. He never gave a damn about kids. Not about Ronnie and not about me.”

  “If somebody put a hole in a condom, it was Armand.” Stormy stuck her chin out. “He wanted me to stay with him after he got married. Maybe he thought if I got pregnant, I’d have to stay.”

  “He had a vasectomy in 1952.” Mae watched Stormy’s face go white.

  “He couldn’t have.” She sounded as if she was out of breath. “He promised me—”

  “He promised a lot of people a lot of things he had no intention of delivering.” Mae saw Stormy lift her chin in defense, and she felt an ache of pity for her. “I’m sorry, Stormy. It’s in his diary. Right after June told him she was pregnant, he had it done. He was never going to give you a baby.”

  “Then why did we always use condoms?” Stormy flared. “If—”

  “To convince you he might give you a baby someday. He lied to you, Stormy. He lied to you to keep you, and then he dumped you for Barbara’s money.” Mae watched the younger woman totter to a chair. “He told you Monday night that he was married, didn’t he? Is that when he told you it was all over?”

  “No.” Stormy straightened her shoulders. “No. I read it in his diary. It was just like always. He poured himself a big brandy and put it on the night table, and then he took a shower, and I read his diary to find out what was going on.”

  “You read his private journal?”

  “Not all the time,” Stormy said defensively. “Just when I wanted to know what was going on. Armand didn’t tell me much. And I read in it that he’d married her. I couldn’t believe it. It was awful. And I knew if I said anything, he’d leave.” She sniffed. “Armand didn’t like it when I asked him stuff.”

  Mae sank into the nearest chair. “You were with him seven years, and he wouldn’t let you ask him stuff?”

  Stormy nodded. “After a while, it got on my nerves, you know? And Armand said I was high-strung and got his doctor to prescribe some pills for me. And he was right. After I took a pill, I really wasn’t interested in asking him stuff or having things my way.”

  Mae closed her eyes. He’d kept her stoned on tranquilizers. “Good old Armand, always looking out for other people.”

  “So I decided that I’d put one of my pills in his brandy so he’d stay calm and talk to me,” Stormy said matter-of-factly. “I put one on the night table and smacked it with my high heel, and then I brushed the pieces into his brandy, but it didn’t look like very much, so I smacked another one. And then I thought about him leaving me, and I smacked another one, and then I sort of lost count.”

  “You lace
d his brandy with tranquilizers?” Mae swallowed.

  Stormy nodded. “And when he came out of the shower, he drank it, and then I told him I knew he was married, and that he was going to have to divorce her. And he told me not to be stupid, that he was never going to leave me. He was just going to be married to her and keep me on the side. It was like Medea.”

  “Medea?” Mae said, startled. “Medea who?”

  “You know, Medea.” Stormy frowned at her. “The Greek woman who was married to Jason. Armand and I saw Diana Rigg play her in New York two years ago. It was really something.”

  “How does Medea—”

  “Jason dumped her for another woman, and then told her that he was doing it for her and the kids.” Stormy laughed, a short, lonely sound in the stillness of the room. “Armand said he was doing it for us, for him and me.”

  Mae sighed. “He was doing it for him. He was broke and wanted her money.”

  Stormy waved away the idea. “Armand wasn’t broke. Armand was rich.”

  “Armand was tapped out, stone broke,” Mae said firmly. “It’s all gone. The house, the furniture, the car…he sold everything and gave it to you and me, and then married Barbara for a new start on a fortune.”

  “That’s why he married her?” Stormy’s voice cracked with stunned disbelief. “That’s why?”

  “That’s why.” Mae hesitated. “I’m really sorry, Stormy. You deserved better.”

  After a moment, Stormy nodded. “Yeah. I did.”

  They sat silent for a moment, and then Mae asked, “How did he die?”

  Stormy swallowed back the tears that were brightening her eyes. “I told him I had the diary. I told him he couldn’t have it back unless he divorced her. And he got really mad and yelled at me and drank all the brandy at once, and then pretty soon he got really sleepy, and I thought he was just going to sleep, so I lay down next to him and…” She stopped, her lower lip quivering.

  “And he fell asleep and died.” Mae closed her eyes. “It must have been a shock when he stopped breathing.”