“Eighty thousand,” Jessie Lee corrected. “After the wedding.”
“Of course. I’m sure it will make the wedding even more spectacular.”
Indeed it would. Sometimes it seemed to Jessie Lee that she’d been dreaming of her wedding day since her birth. Though Erwin wasn’t rich, he’d been working tirelessly to give her all that she wanted, which was one of the reasons she loved him. She had diamond earrings, and a thick gold Omega necklace with matching anklet, and was the only woman in Safe Haven with a Gucci handbag. Erwin treated her like a princess.
Even so, budgetary constraints had forced her to cut back on some of the more extravagant expenditures. But with this money the whole storybook fairy tale could come true. There would be ice sculptures, and a full orchestra, and a gourmet seven-course banquet, and a designer dress rather than one she found at the outlet mall. Her ceremony would be the talk of Safe Haven for years to come.
“Will the next person please come up for their check,” the lottery commissioner announced into the gymnasium’s PA system. He was a tall, roguishly handsome man who wore a strange black uniform. Mayor Durlock sat next to him, looking oddly depressed considering all of the excitement. Jessie Lee could guess that he was annoyed, having to share the money with the whole town. She certainly would be.
“Melody Montague.”
Mrs. Montague squealed and clapped her hands together. As with everyone else, the late hour and long line hadn’t depressed her in the least. She scurried up to the podium, shook the lottery commissioner’s hand, and he escorted her out of the gym, into the boys’ locker room.
A few seconds passed, and another, louder, squeal came from Mrs. Montague. The crowd on the bleachers chuckled, then resumed their conversations.
Jessie Lee looked at her watch, then surveyed the gym. Most of Safe Haven had shown up for this impromptu town meeting. In small towns, bad news traveled fast, but good news spread like lightning. The mayor’s initial phone call to his staff had ballooned into everyone calling everyone within fifteen minutes. And people still kept coming. As they entered the gym, the town treasurer, a wisp of a man named Rick Hortach, explained that they’d be cut a check and then added their name to the list. No one seemed bothered by the fact that it was almost one in the morning. Everywhere she looked, Jessie Lee saw big smiles and laughter.
So where the heck is Erwin?
Jessie Lee located her boss, Merv Johnson, in the crowd, spotting the glare of his bald head in the overhead lights. The entire town—Jessie’s apartment included—had been without electricity for the past hour, but the junior high boasted two huge gas-powered generators. Jessie Lee stood up and bleacher-walked down two flights, putting her hand on his large shoulder.
“Merv, you came in just before me, right?”
Merv shrugged, all three of his chins jiggling. “I dunno. Wasn’t paying attention. You think Corvettes are sexy?”
“Very sexy. Look, I saw the list, and you were one ahead of me. I need to run outside, have a smoke. If you get called next, tell them I’ll be right back.”
“Sure. What’s sexier, black or red?”
“Red, Merv. You’ll tell the commissioner?”
“No problem, Jessie Lee. Automatic or manual?”
“Automatic. That leaves your hand free for other things.”
Merv slapped his massive thigh and laughed. “Good call, Jessie Lee. I’ll make sure you don’t get skipped.”
Jessie Lee gave him a decidedly unsexy pat on the head, then made her way down the bleachers to the gym floor. A few people waved at her, giddy as children on Christmas morning. She waved back, grinning. Free money brought out the best in people.
Jessie Lee headed for the side door to access the parking lot. Locked. She sighed and walked to the next door down. Also locked. Odd. These were emergency doors, with the long bar across the middle that you pushed on. They weren’t supposed to be locked. She had to walk back the way she came in. Rick Hortach eyed her as she walked to the entrance and pushed at the door lever. It didn’t budge.
“Rick, what’s up with the doors?”
His voice matched his appearance, thin and reedy. “The mayor wants them locked. If anyone leaves, there won’t be an accurate head count.”
“Next up is John Kramer,” the PA system boomed. John gave a hoot, then made his way down the bleachers.
“It’s a fire hazard, Rick.”
“The mayor said—”
“Does the mayor want me to smoke inside?”
“There’s no smoking in—”
“Look, Rick.” Jessie Lee leaned in close. “If I don’t get my nicotine fix I’m going to bite someone’s head off. Now open the door before I start screaming that you touched me inappropriately.”
Rick blinked with sad basset hound eyes and then fished around for his keychain and opened the door. Jessie Lee smiled sweetly before leaving the gym and stepping out into the cool, dark night. It took a lot of fumbling through her purse to locate her cigarettes and lighter. She lit up, and the hot smoke saturating her lungs was a gift from God.
After a few puffs she began to get chilly—it was much cooler outside than in the gym. The sleeveless top she wore didn’t provide much in the way of coverage. Neither did the denim mini. But the outfit showed off her figure, and it was damn cute.
She rubbed her arms and took a brisk walk across the parking lot to kick-start her circulation. When she reached the end, she spotted the distinct shape of a Ford Fairlane. Seamus Dailey’s car. A 1955 Skyliner Crown Victoria, completely restored. Seamus had taken just about everyone in town for a ride at one time or another. Jessie Lee didn’t understand why the car was still here, because Seamus had been one of the first people on the list and must have gotten his check a while ago.
Jessie Lee sucked in more smoke and continued to walk. An aisle over was another car she recognized, Mary Porter’s beat-up Pontiac. Mary had been driving on the undersized temporary spare for over two years. This also seemed strange. Jessie Lee could have sworn she heard Mary’s name called by the lottery commissioner a half an hour ago at least.
Maybe they’re together, Jessie Lee thought. She smirked, imagining Mrs. Porter and Mr. Dailey, both well into their sixties, having a quickie somewhere. Jessie Lee leaned closer to the Pontiac, checking to see if the windows were foggy or the chassis was rocking. The car looked empty.
She finished the smoke, ground it out under the toe of her pumps, and tried Erwin again on the cell. No signal. When she turned to head back in she bumped into a man.
Jessie Lee let out a cry of surprise and stepped backward. It was the lottery commissioner.
“Why aren’t you inside?” he asked.
“I stepped out for a smoke. One of my many bad habits.”
Jessie Lee smiled brightly. He didn’t smile back. Up close, he didn’t look as handsome as she originally thought. And something about him struck a chord.
“If you want to get what’s coming to you, you need to get back inside.”
He flashed a humorless grin, and Jessie Lee realized why he looked familiar. She was a Court TV junkie, and this guy was the spitting image of Marshal Otis Taylor. Taylor was a serial killer and murdered more than twenty women back in the 1990s. He did some really twisted things to them, too, like bite off their fingers and toes.
Jessie Lee didn’t like biters. She had a terrible experience with one once.
This guy certainly had the Taylor cold stare down pat. If memory served, Taylor had died by lethal injection about five years ago, so there was no way he could be the real deal. Still, it was kind of creepy. Jessie Lee wondered if she should tell him who he resembled. She decided there wasn’t any point—who would like knowing they looked like one of the world’s most notorious psychos? Besides, it wasn’t a wise idea to annoy the guy cutting forty-grand checks.