“You mean get the body out of here, dispose of it, and help you cover your tracks? Make sure there’s no connection to this room or to you?”
Ryan’s voice rose with expectation. “Can you do that?”
“Shouldn’t be that difficult, seeing as how I run the department.”
“How much?”
“Exactly what you paid for that script—a million dollars.”
“A million dollars?”
“There’s that echo again.” The uniformed cop stuck his balding head through the bathroom doorway.
“Jack and I were just discussing a possible business deal,” Felicia said.
“I guess he’s used to making deals, being a famous Hollywood actor and all.”
“A million dollars is serious money,” Ryan said.
She glanced at the dead girl in the shower. Her voice was grim, her eyes unforgiving. “Homicide is a serious matter, Jack.”
He spread his hands plaintively. “Still, a million bucks—”
“Your beach house in Malibu is worth ten times that.”
“How would you know?”
“Entertainment Tonight. We may be out in the sticks, but we still get satellite.” She smiled at his discomfort before pressing on. “To make a movie, you must have millions at your disposal. I’m sure you can find a way to cover it as a production expense. Don’t the studios do that kind of creative accounting all the time?”
“You always were smart about money, Felicia. I’ll give you that.”
Her voice was flat, all business. “Do we have a deal, or not?”
He laughed bitterly. “That’s what you meant when you asked me how much a life was worth, wasn’t it? You weren’t talking about the girl. You were talking about me.”
“You taught me a few things, Jack. Most of all, how to take care of Number One.”
“I didn’t realize I’d hurt you so badly, making you so hard like this.” He glanced regretfully at her left hand, looking for a ring. “I see you never married.”
“I’m tired of the chitchat, Jack. We need to close the deal. Or else I read you your rights, and take you in.”
He sighed deeply, like a broken man who realized he’d destroyed not one life but two, and had some atoning to do. “I’ll get on the phone while you’re getting rid of the body. I should have the bank transfer taken care of before noon.”
Felicia nodded toward the uniformed cop. “Jack, meet Charlie. He’s been on the force longer than I have. He’s got a daughter the same age as Rebecca.”
“The wife and I would like to set up a college fund for her,” Charlie said affably. “College costs an awful lot these days.”
“I can take care of that,” Ryan said.
“She needs braces, too.”
Ryan stared at him with exasperation. “Fine, braces. Let me know how much, I’ll write a check.”
“I was thinking an even million,” Charlie said. “In addition to the million the chief's getting.”
Ryan looked at him like he was crazy.
“And another million to spread around if we need to,” Felicia said. “In case the witness or anyone else threatens to raise troublesome questions. That would be three million altogether. You can put it all in one check. We’ll handle it from there.”
Ryan grimaced incredulously. “Three million!”
“There’s that darned echo again,” Charlie said.
Two days later, with local shooting completed, the cast and crew of Passing Through packed up its cameras and other gear and moved on to the next location.
At that point, Felicia informed Ryan, the mayor’s daughter was officially listed as a runaway. The locals were concerned but not that surprised, Felicia added, since the girl wouldn’t be the first teenager to flee Pine Haven for a more exciting life elsewhere. Charlie reassured Ryan that he’d dug a sufficiently deep hole for the body, twenty miles out of town on private land he owned that wouldn’t be disturbed for decades, if ever. The months would pass, Felicia said, and then the years, and eventually the girl named Rebecca would be forgotten by everyone except her family. By then, Charlie and Felicia would have retired and moved far away, and the missing-person case would be filed deep in a drawer somewhere, unlikely to ever be reactivated.
“I won’t forget her,” Ryan said, his eyes troubled.
He looked drawn and haggard. His concentration was shot and his performance the past two days had been second-rate. He couldn’t remember his lines, and his delivery was inconsistent, off the mark. Rumors were circulating among the cast and crew that he must be on drugs. Only this morning, his director had warned him that if he didn’t shape up fast, Passing Through would go straight to cable and DVD, without a theatrical release. Simply put, his life had become hell.
“Her face haunts me,” he added pitifully. “Especially when I try to sleep.”
“I’d suggest you count your blessings,” Felicia said curtly, as they completed their business transaction in his room at the Pine Haven Motel. “At least you won’t be facing justice. I’d also advise you to stay away from drugs, as well as young women. It’s time to grow up, Jack. Let this be a wake-up call.”
He nodded morosely and handed over the cashier’s check he’d promised them. Awkwardly, without quite meeting their eyes, he thanked them for their help and grabbed his bags. Then he scurried down the stairs to a private helicopter waiting for him in the empty motel parking lot, like a rat running for its life.
As the chopper disappeared into a cloudless sky, Felicia and Charlie drove back to their motel cabin a few miles up the road, where they paid their bill and checked out. They climbed into the white Crown Victoria they’d rented in Boston and took off for the long trek back to Provincetown. Charlie took the wheel for the first leg of the trip, remarking on what a fine day it was for a drive. Rebecca, his eighteen-year-old daughter from his first marriage, was asleep in the backseat, and they were careful not to wake her. As they left the little town behind, Felicia unfastened the bun at the back of her head and shook her hair loose, the way Charlie liked it. Then she slipped on her wedding ring. It felt good having it back where it belonged; she’d missed it the last few days.
“Drive safely,” she said. “We wouldn’t want to get pulled over by a member of the Pine Haven Police Department.”
Charlie chuckled. “I don’t imagine Pine Haven is big enough to have its own police force, dear.”
“Or even a mayor,” Felicia added, giving him a wink.
“Three million,” Charlie said, whistling softly. “That’s a lot of money.”
“Certainly enough to build our playhouse,” Felicia said, “and fund our theater group for many years to come. With enough left over to put Beck through just about any drama school she wants to attend. I guess all those years I spent with Jack Gluck weren’t wasted after all.”
Charlie glanced lovingly at his wife. “You were very good as the police chief, sweetie. Wonderful improvisation when it was needed. Not that I expected anything less.” He imitated her voice and look, getting the hardness and cynicism just right. “'Homicide is a serious matter, Jack.'” Charlie grinned. “All in all, I’d say it was the performance of a lifetime.”
“You weren’t exactly chopped liver as the cop.” Felicia glanced back at her sleeping stepdaughter. “And Beck had her part down cold.”
“So to speak,” Charlie said, and they both laughed. “Still, it was your excellent planning that made it all possible. You mapped out every twist and turn beautifully, and wrote some great lines.”
She leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. “It’s like Jack said, honey.”
“What’s that, baby?”