‘Come on,’ Marta said. Looking back, he saw her stand up and pull at Vince’s arm. ‘Let’s go. Time to cool off. It’ll be great. No time like the present.’
Vince, laughing, allowed himself to be dragged from his chair.
When they were nearly to the pool, Neal eased the door shut.
In!
Forty-Nine
Neal stood just inside the glass door, staring out.
Marta didn’t release Vince’s arm until they reached the edge of the pool. Then she turned away from him and dived.
A lovely dive. She soared out low over the water and knifed in with barely a splash.
Vince dived in after her.
Neal muttered, ‘Shit.’
All three of them were in the pool, and Vince would no doubt go after the gals, hoping to grope them.
They’re earning their take, that’s for damn sure.
Neal had known, before now, that he loved them both. But he’d never felt quite so aware of how fabulous they really were. Where did they come up with such guts and ingenuity and wit?
They’re both nuts.
Fabulous nuts!
As impressed as Neal was with them, he hated to see them splashing around in the pool with Vince.
The quicker I find the money, the quicker we’ll be out of here.
He turned away from the glass door and walked through the living room.
No sign of a grocery bag.
It isn’t going to be lying around in plain sight.
Why not?
Vince let two strangers into his house, that’s why.
It’s hidden somewhere. Try the bedroom. Try under the bed.
But the kitchen was just ahead, and Neal realized that a kitchen might be just the place for a grocery bag full of loot.
Hide it in plain sight. ‘The Purloined Letter.’
So he hurried into the kitchen and looked around.
He found several brown paper sacks like the one he’d seen in Vince’s mind, but they were all neatly folded and tucked into a space between the side of the refrigerator and a cupboard.
He wondered if Elise had done that.
He pictured her in the kitchen, surrounded by unloaded groceries, head down, a frown of concentration on her face as she carefully folded an empty sack.
She wore a white blouse and tan shorts. The legs of the shorts were turned up so she had cuffs high against her thighs. On her feet were white sneakers.
The image stuffed Neal’s throat and made his eyes burn.
She’d be alive today except for Vince.
Neal hurried out of the kitchen.
Then, halting, he gazed across the living room and out through the glass.
Vince was standing in waist-deep water, Marta swimming toward the deep end, and Sue climbing out near one of the diving boards. Vince seemed to be admiring Sue’s backside.
I could kill him right now, Neal thought. It’d be easy.
He imagined himself striding through the house, shoving open the door, marching straight to the edge of the pool – Vince tearing his eyes away from Sue’s sleek wet ass and turning to face the intruder, angry until he sees the pistol. Then puzzled and terrified. Raising his arms. Shaking his head. Neal saying, ‘This is for Elise,’ and firing. Blam blam blam blam fast as he can pull the trigger, the slugs pounding Vince backward through the water.
YES! Blow the bastard to hell right now and be done with it.
Neal’s hand ached from its hard grip on the Sig Sauer.
But his fantasy continued. He saw Vince dead in the pool, all right, floating on his back with his arms out, bloody craters in his face and chest, the water pink around him – and the cry of sirens in the air. Marta and Sue look at him, panic in their eyes.
Oh, God, no. I can’t. Not with them here . . . they’d be busted as my accomplices . . .
Out in the sunlight, Sue climbed onto the low board.
Vince gaped at her.
Marta, in the water below the boards, hooked an arm over the side to hold her up. At first, Neal thought she intended to watch Sue’s dive. Then he realized she was gazing straight at him.
Could she see him?
He doubted it. But she seemed to have a frowning, anxious look on her face as if she wondered what could be taking him so long.
Why am I just standing here?
He turned away. He didn’t bother searching the den, simply scanned it for a grocery sack as he walked by. Then he glanced into the guest bathroom, a couple of closets, and the laundry nook where Elise had washed his filthy clothes on Sunday night.
He remembered standing behind her while she’d removed his clothes from the drier, the way she’d looked squatting down in her glossy blue pajamas. And how he’d accidentally touched her when she handed over his clothes. He’d apologized, but she’d told him, ‘I’m all yours, remember? You’re free to touch or look to your heart’s content.’
He felt like crying again.
Elise’s presence was everywhere.
So was her absence.
The settings of her life remained, but she was gone. She’d been torn out, demolished in a fury of screaming pain and humiliation and terror, removed forever.
How can she be gone from all this?
It seemed impossible to Neal, and horrible. But he also felt that he might come upon her. As he stepped into her bedroom, he half expected to find her standing in front of her closet. He imagined her whirling around, slightly alarmed for a moment, then pleased. ‘Oh, Neal. It’s you. Where’d you come from?’
But it didn’t happen.
It never would happen, because she was dead.
He saw nobody in the room but himself – his reflection clear in a mirror above the dresser.
He scanned the sunlit room. The bed was a mess, its covers on the floor, a white terry-cloth robe hanging off a corner of the mattress.
It looked like the same robe that Elise had given him to wear after his shower.
Vince’s?
Articles of Vince’s clothing were scattered about: socks and a pair of briefs on the carpet near the bed, shoes here and there, trousers and a sport shirt thrown across the chair, a castoff necktie crooked and twisted on the dresser top surrounded by a litter of coins.
Neal saw no grocery bag.
He stepped past the end of the bed and looked out the glass door. Marta, shiny and dripping, sat on the edge of the pool, her legs hanging into the water. Sue, apparently on her feet, glided sideways through chest-high water.
Both of them were facing the house. They had worried looks on their faces.
Neal couldn’t see Vince.
He suddenly heard the far-off squeak and rumble of a door sliding open.
His stomach sank. He stood motionless, listening.
The door slid shut. Probably the den door.
Neal waited.
It’s Vince.
Probably just came in to make some drinks, that’s all. He’ll make them and go back outside.
Neal glanced at the bracelet on his wrist.
No. One ride in the mind and body of Vince had been enough for him.
A movement outside caught Neal’s eye. Turning his head, he saw Marta, on her feet, reach behind her back with both hands. A moment later, the top of her swimsuit went loose. She removed it. Tossing it to the concrete, she called out, ‘Hey Vince, come on back here. You . . .’
Neal missed her next words; they were somewhere beneath the noise of the den door being jerked open.
‘ . . . miss my high dive, do you?’
Vince hurried into view. Halting at the edge of the pool, he put his hands on his hips. He seemed to say something to Marta, but Neal couldn’t make it out. Marta, striding along the far side on her way toward the diving boards at the deep end, smiled and flapped a hand at him.
My God, Marta.
Look at her, look at her.
Doing this for me.
God, she shouldn’t be letting Vince see her this way.
Look
at her!
As Neal watched, she began to climb the ladder of the high dive. He could see her through the spaces between the rungs: her fine legs lifting, one at a time; the flap of pale leather angling down from her hips; her bare belly and ribcage and breasts glossy in the sunlight; her shadowed throat, her solemn face, her matted hair the color of wet straw.
Each time one of her arms reached up, the breast beneath it seemed to rise slightly on her chest.
DON’T JUST STAND HERE AND STARE AT HER!
Groaning, Neal forced his gaze away from Marta. He glimpsed Sue standing in the water and Vince motionless by the edge of the pool with his head turned toward Marta.
Neal put his back to them.
He dropped to his knees and glanced under the bed.
Nothing but carpet.
Scurrying up, he rushed around the end of the bed. Something as large as the grocery sack wouldn’t fit into a dresser drawer. Not unless Vince mashed it flat . . .
What if it’s already in the car?
Of course!
Neal was tempted to quit his search of the house and go straight for the garage.
If I’m wrong . . .
I’d better look while I’m here.
But he dreaded entering the main bathroom.
He didn’t know if he could stand to go in there – to walk on the tiles that had been splattered and puddled with Elise’s blood, to step over the place where he’d found her pajamas, to look into the bathtub . . .
There’s no point, he told himself. Vince wouldn’t hide the bag of money in his bathroom. Nobody would hide a bag of money in a bathroom.
It’s in his car. In the trunk of his car. Makes all the sense in the world.
Not in his bathtub, for godsake.
I’m not going in there.
No way.
But if nobody would ever think to hide a bag of money in a bathroom, then maybe that would be a very good place for hiding it.
I’ll have to look. Have to. Just run in very quickly and try not to think about Elise or what Glitt did to her . . .
Did Vince pay him to do that?
Probably just paid him to kill her and make it look like the work of a sadist.
Left the details to Glitt.
Neal doubted that Vince was even capable of imagining such atrocities as Glitt had committed on Elise.
I can’t go in there.
Have to.
Not just yet. Pretty soon, but not yet. If the money’s in there, it won’t go anyplace in the next minute or two. I just need a little time . . .
Neal opened the doors of the bedroom closet and scanned the shelf above the hanger bar. No grocery bag. He tried to ignore the clothes suspended on hangers, not wanting to see the array of outfits that Elise used to wear when she was alive. There were so many. Neal knew without looking that he had never seen her in any of them.
Never would.
Vince’s clothes filled the other half of the closet. Neal had no interest in them.
Crouching, he checked the closet floor. He saw rows of shoes and boots and not much else.
Except for something that appeared to be a brown paper grocery sack at the far end, nearly hidden behind a pair of cowboy boots.
Can’t be!
Neal rushed to Vince’s end of the closet, squatted, shoved the boots aside, reached out and grabbed the crumpled top of the bag. He pulled the bag toward him. It seemed to be nearly full. It felt heavy.
Half a million bucks in here?
Fat chance.
The bag of money was almost certainly in the garage, locked in the trunk of Vince’s car. And Neal would almost certainly be unable to break into the trunk. He would have to give up, somehow signal Marta and Sue that it was time to leave . . .
A big fat waste of time.
He pulled open the sack and peered down into murky shadows and saw bundles of money.
YES YES YES! This is it! We’re rich!
He crumpled the top shut, picked up the sack and rushed across the bedroom.
Gazing through the glass door, he saw Marta on the high dive. Vince still stood by the side of the pool and Sue was still in the water, both with their heads toward her.
Marta stood at the very end of the board. Hands on her hips, she bent over slightly at the waist and looked down. She shook her head. Then she straightened up and spoke to Vince.
Neal couldn’t make out her words.
Sue, smiling up at her, said something. Vince spoke, too. Neal saw their mouths move, but heard only strange murmurs through the closed glass door.
Marta nodded. She took a few steps backward. Then she halted and stood as if at attention, eyes forward, shoulders back, stomach in, arms straight down against her sides, legs together. She took a deep breath. Then she marched to the end of the board, hopped, and came down with both feet – onto the board. It bent and flung her up. She came down onto it again, and again it tossed her upward – but higher than before.
Neal gaped at her.
High above the water, naked except for the jungle-woman flap of hide below her waist, she bounced on the springboard as if it were a trampoline. Her tawny skin gleamed. Her arms, out away from her sides, moved up and down in ways that seemed intended to control her balance. Her knees bent slightly with every landing. Her breasts leaped as if being punched about by an invisible boxer.
Vince and Sue stared up at her. Their mouths hung open.
Neal wondered if others could see her, as well; so high up, she was above the fences and shrubs enclosing the property. Neighbors might be watching her from their pools, from the windows of their houses, from the street.
Look! Up in the sky!
Why doesn’t she dive? Neal wondered.
She’ll end up falling!
Maybe not, Neal thought. Her bouncing looked a little less reckless than earlier. She was no longer being flung higher and higher with each hop. Now, she seemed to be keeping a steady rhythm and height.
Almost as if she planned to continue for a long time.
Till she knows I’m safe?
She’d stripped off her top to grab Vince’s attention, to pull him out of the house. She’d climbed the diving board to keep his eyes glued to her. And now she was holding him at poolside with the spectacle of her leaps, the promise of her dive.
A moment after her splashdown, Vince would return to the house.
Gotta get my ass outa here!
Neal hated to miss the dive.
He watched one more bounce. Then, clutching the sack of money to his chest, he whirled around and rushed for the bedroom door.
Fifty
Before crossing to the foyer, Neal stopped and peered into the den. Nobody there. Beyond the glass, Vince stood by the pool.
Clapping!
Neal raced to the front door, jerked it open, stepped outside and eased the door shut. He ran up the walkway and through the open gate. The street was empty, shrouded by shadows. He ran to Marta’s Jeep and stuffed the paper sack into the narrow storage compartment behind the rear seat.
Now all I’ve gotta do is get the gals out of there.
Can’t signal with the horn.
What should I do, ring Vince’s doorbell?
Why not?
Feeling squirmy in his stomach, Neal listened to the chimes ringing inside Vince’s house.
What if he doesn’t open up?
He’ll open. He’ll be worried it’s the cops. Might even hope it’s a couple more luscious babes arriving.
As Neal reached forward to ring the bell again, Vince asked from the other side of the door, ‘Who is it?’
‘I’m here to pick up Tracy and Katt.’
Moments later, the door opened. But not all the way. It only opened the width of Vince’s shoulders. He stood in the shadowy gap and frowned out at Neal. A towel, draped over one wrist, hung like a rumpled curtain from his belly almost to his knees.
‘Are they expecting you?’ he asked. He spoke slowly, as if being careful not to slur his words or
stumble on them.
‘Well,’ Neal said, ‘I dropped them off a while ago. They said I should come back in an hour.’
‘I see. And you are?’
‘Ken. Tracy’s my kid sister.’
Vince tried to smile, but he suddenly looked uneasy. ‘Ah. I see. You’re her brother.’
‘Yeah. She and Katt came on over to swim with Elise. Are you Mister Waters, Elise’s husband?’
‘I’m Elise’s husband,’ he said. But he didn’t say his name or stick out his hand. ‘Unfortunately, she and the others – Tracy and what?’
‘Katt.’
‘Ah. Yes. You just missed them. They all went off to dinner just a short while ago.’
‘They did?’
‘I’m afraid you just missed them. But you might be able to join them at the restaurant. They were on their way tooooo . . .’ Vince frowned and shook his head. ‘Some Italian place. Let me think.’ Still shaking his head, he nibbled on his lower lip. ‘No, I’m frankly not sure. They just decided to take off on the spur of the moment. I’m sorry you missed them.’
Neal scowled at Vince. ‘But they knew I’d be coming over in an hour. I can’t believe . . .’
‘Elise gets these whims. She’ll run off at the drop of a hat – usually dragging along a few unsuspecting friends. There’s simply no stopping her. But anyhow – be not alarmed. They’ll be turning up back here . . . oh, by midnight at the latest.’
‘Midnight?’
‘The moment they return, I’ll have Elise take them home. Or I’ll return them myself. How’s that?’
‘Not good. We have plans for tonight. Are you sure they aren’t here?’
‘I’m absolutely, one hundred per cent sure they’re not here. They’ve gone out to dinner. At Andre’s? You might try Andre’s.’
‘Just tell them I’m here, all right?’
‘I can hardly do that. And I resent the implication that I’m being less than truthful. Good-bye, now.’ He started to shut the door.
Neal rammed the door open. Vince yelped and stumbled backward. As he fell, he flung out his arms. The towel flew. For a moment, he looked like a dancer trying to squeeze himself under the limbo stick. Then his bare back smacked the marble floor. He grunted.
Neal flung the door shut. Pulling the pistol out of his pocket, he rushed to Vince’s side. He crouched and jammed the muzzle down hard midway between Vince’s nipples.