Callie sighs, removes a tiny disk from her back pack, peels off the backing, and attaches it to the inside of the dog’s collar. The disk contains a miniature blasting cap and plastic explosive that can be detonated remotely from Callie’s cell phone. Press a button and Fido’s head comes clean off.
She pats his head again and says, “I hope it doesn’t come to this.”
Then she goes into the kitchen and makes herself a sandwich.
17.
THE DE LUCAS’ FRIDGE yields thin-sliced smoked turkey fresh enough to pass her smell test. That, plus mayo and oat nut bread makes a meal. She’d prefer some lettuce and tomato, but beggars can’t be choosers. She grabs a bottled water, sits on a barstool by the island in the kitchen, and nibbles her sandwich while deciding what to do about the De Lucas and their dog. That done, her mind drifts to the conference call she received last night from Annie Lorber and Emerson Watkins, whose fathers co-founded Sensory Resources.
“Lou Kelly’s dead,” Annie said.
After expressing shock, Callie asked what happened.
“You know Rachel Case?”
“Creed’s former girlfriend.”
“Former?” Annie said.
“Forget I said that. What about her?”
“You’re aware Lou was dating Rachel Case’s mother?”
“Sherry, right? What happened?”
“Apparently Lou and Sherry were infected by the same mercury poisoning Miles Gundy created for his terrorist attack in Memphis.”
“How’s that possible?”
“We believe Gundy combined dimethylmercury poison with a live HSV-1 virus and placed it on the barre of a dance studio. The dancers were infected on contact.”
“Lou was locked away at Sensory Resources, in Virginia.”
“He and Sherry went to Roanoke, on a date.”
“Still. Roanoke’s a long way from Memphis.”
“The contagion life cycle was four to five hours. A client took the class in Memphis, flew to Roanoke to visit her sister, and wiped out the whole family. Apparently Lou Kelly or Sherry came into contact with her at some point.”
“Wrong place, wrong time?”
“Exactly. But the reason we’re calling-”
“Lou’s job?”
“Exactly.”
“Have you spoken to Donovan Creed?”
“Not yet.”
“Why are you calling me? To vouch for his character?”
“No,” Emerson said. “We’re offering you the position.”
Callie laughed. “Creed’s the one you need.”
“He killed our fathers!” Annie said.
“What?”
“We don’t know that for certain, Annie,” Emerson said.
“Yes we do.”
“Please dismiss that,” Emerson said. “We’re offering you complete control, Miss Carpenter. You’ll run the agency, Creed will work for you, should you care to keep him.”
Callie laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Why wouldn’t I keep Creed?”
“Keep him, kill him, your choice,” Annie says. “I hate the bastard.”
“Let me put an end to your anger,” Callie said. “Creed didn’t kill your father, Annie. Nor yours, Emerson.”
“You know that for a fact?” Annie said.
“I do.”
“Then who killed him?”
Callie paused. “Tara Siegel.”
“Who?”
“She used to work for Sensory.”
“Where is she now?”
“Dead.”
“What happened to her?”
“I killed her.”
“That’s awfully convenient.”
“Tara might disagree with that comment.”
“Still, we have only your word on it.”
“And I’m the one you asked. Look, do you think I care if you hate Creed? If you’re determined to hate him, there are plenty of legitimate reasons. It’s just that killing your father’s not one of them.”
Emerson says, “Will you accept the position? It’s yours for the asking.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“We need to know by ten a.m. tomorrow.”
“What happens at ten?”
“We call Creed, to offer him the job.”
“Does Creed know Lou’s dead?”
“No,” Emerson said. “So if he tells you, act surprised.”
“Okay.”
“That’s it?” Annie said. “No thank you?”
“For what?”
“For giving you this opportunity.”
Callie laughed. “What do you want me to say? It’s a shit job.”
18.
IT ISN’T MUCH of a sandwich, but Callie gets it down, tosses the empty bottle of water in the trash, goes back to the laundry room. She removes the explosive disk from the dog’s collar, tosses it in her backpack, takes out a prepared syringe and injects the dog to deepen the dosage. Walks to the nightstand in the master bedroom, where she’d seen Angie’s sleeping pills on a People magazine earlier. She bites the top off the plastic medicine bottle and tosses it to the floor, scattering the tiny pills across the carpet. Then she tosses the magazine on the floor and rips several pages from it, puts two pills in her pocket, and two more on the hallway floor by the laundry room. She scatters the magazine pages, inspects her work, and decides it’s not quite right, so she wets a paper towel and dabs the pages and pills till they’re soggy.
The idea being the De Lucas will come home, find the dog passed out, see the sleeping pills on the floor, think the dog got into the pills and fell asleep. Angie will count the pills she can find and determine two are missing. She’ll want to take the dog to the vet, but Frankie will say, “Are you kidding me? Who’s gonna carry a hundred and thirty pound dog after drinking all day and half the night? Two pills is nothing! Let him sleep it off.”
With any luck, that’s what will happen. Callie will hide in the hall closet and wait for the De Lucas to come home. When they fall asleep, she’ll make her move. If they freak out over the dog, she’ll jump out of the closet, kill them, and manufacture the evidence she needs to convince Sal that Frankie was skimming money.
Since either development requires her to wait in the hall closet for what could be many hours, she goes to the powder room and pees, then enters the closet, removes some coats from their hangers, and positions them on the floor for maximum comfort.
She takes her position among the coats, covers herself with two of them, and runs through her mental checklist. Did I turn on any lights? If so, did I turn them back off? Check. Did I wipe down all the surfaces I touched in the kitchen and elsewhere? Check. What about the toilet seat? Yup, did that. What about the handle when I flushed? Yup, got that.
She reminds herself to wipe down both sides of the closet door knob after killing Frankie.
It’s pitch black in the closet. She closes her eyes. May as well catch a few minutes of sleep till the De Lucas arrive. When they do, they’ll certainly make enough noise to wake her up.
19.
TIME SLOWS TO a crawl when you’re lying on the floor of a coat closet in a strange house waiting to torture and kill the residents.
Callie’s trying to drift asleep, but something’s tugging at the edge of her awareness. Something that won’t go away, drowsy as she is. Something about…Something she’s forgotten.
The closet is pitch black, and has a musty odor from winter clothes that haven’t been worn for at least five months. She wonders about silverfish. Centipedes. Spiders crawling around her, possibly on her.
She doesn’t like spiders.
If she had her way, there wouldn’t be any spiders in the world. If she could somehow lock them all in a giant closet, and blow it up before they have a chance to…
And there it was.
The thing she forgot to do.