“Oh, no problem,” Jane said.
“Not about the photo, Jane.”
Not a good sign.
“That was Tay Reidy on the phone. I told him about the call you got, and he and I called the cops. Superintendent Rivera. He is not happy. No one is happy.”
“Alex, it’s-Listen, all we have to do is look at the glass as half full.” She could tell from Alex’s frown he wasn’t buying her pitch. But she had to try. “Tomorrow, I’ll go downstairs again and find Hec, and we can-”
“Yeah. About tomorrow. Mr. Reidy is of the mind that your situation has potentially put you, and all of us, in danger. I disagree, I admit, but nevertheless. If you come into the building tomorrow, he fears, the caller may, well, who knows. So Mr. Reidy has ‘suggested’-you’re not going to like this, Jane, but remember I’m only the messenger-that you stay away from the Register for a few days. Get out of town, even. Back off. Until the police can investigate.”
“Get out of town?” She stood up, then sat down again. “Back off?”
“Tonight the cops are going to keep an eye on your apartment. Anyone suspicious shows up, anything looks off, call nine-one-one. No sleuthy stuff.”
“Are you kidding me?” Maybe he was kidding. He didn’t look like it, but she’d give it one more try. “We’re about to break some pretty big news, and he says back off?”
“Jane.” Alex raked a hand though his hair. “What the publisher says is what we do. End of story.”
Got that right, Jane didn’t say.
Niall Brannigan leaned against Lillian’s front door, half-hearing it click shut behind him. Warm in here. What was wrong with his shirt? Tight. Take off the tie, loosen it. He clutched his set of keys. His nerves were getting to him. Take a deep breath, he instructed himself. He tried, then had to try again. Why is it so difficult? He wanted to smile, but that wasn’t working, either.
He put a hand to his chest, feeling… tight, like a wrenching, as if an elephant were sitting on his chest. If he could only make it to the couch. A few steps across the room.
“Who the hell are you? Keefer! Get in here! Lookit this!”
Who was shouting? Was someone in the room? Brannigan narrowed his eyes, trying to make them work. Someone in a white coat and a mask. A doctor? But not a doctor. Only one step to Lillian’s soft couch. He needed to get-in the other room-the photo of-
“Holy shit, Kev, who the hell is this?”
Now someone else was talking, another man in white.
“Hey. Buster. Who the freaking hell are you?”
“He’s like a million years old. How’d he get in here? Hey, Grampa. What the hell are you doing here? Who the frick are you?”
He knew this. He knew his name. He just couldn’t think of it at the moment. “It’s-I’m-”
“Call the cops,” one man said. “Call nine-one-one.”
“Yes, call-” Brannigan tried to make the words come out, but he knew somehow, it didn’t sound like yes. The room grew darker, then lighter, and the elephant still sat there, and he needed-
“No. No freaking way. We’re not supposed to be in here till like tomorrow, you know that. How would we explain-”
The white suits kept talking, arguing, ignoring him. He needed to interrupt.
“In the bedroom drawer, there’s a-,” he said. Ah. Better. Better. He dropped onto the soft welcoming cushions of Lillian’s couch, her faint scent of muguet and roses lingering on one silky pillow. The lights were bright now, exactly as they should be, and the elephant was gone. His fear was gone. The ceiling was white, so white, so fascinatingly white, why hadn’t he noticed that before? He needed a moment to-But now the voices were yelling at each other, arguing, incessant but somehow hazy around the edges.
“I said, get him outta here!”
“But how are we supposed to do that? He’s a-”
Someone-screamed? But not one of the white suits, it sounded like a girl, someone who worked for him at the Brannigan? But why was she screaming? So silly. It would all be fine.
33
She was going to die.
Right here, right now, and it wouldn’t matter because her stupid brothers would be arrested for her murder, and she wouldn’t care. It might even be worth it to be dead to have those two idiots in handcuffs and behind bars.
How can someone this old weigh this much? A million pounds, Kellianne calculated, seething. He weighs a million freaking pounds.
Kevin had draped one of the old man’s arms over her shoulders and the other over Keefer’s. Kev walked in front of them, ‘scouting,’ he said, as the two stumbled along the front walkway toward the street, holding the guy up between them.
After the man collapsed inside, Kev had made her take off her white suit, right when she had everything in place. Demanding privacy, she’d stashed her loot in the dead woman’s bathroom. They’d never come in the bathroom when she was in there. So that was okay.
But now, if any of the neighbors looked out their windows, wouldn’t they see them? Her and Keefer lugging some sick old man down the front walkway of the dead woman’s house? I mean, how is that gonna work?
She took a deep breath, her nose wrinkling at the scent of mothballs and old man smell. Her white nylon parka was gonna smell like-Shit. Now she had to grab one of his hands and give it a yank to keep him from slipping off her shoulder. She hoisted the stupid guy and took another step or two, then stumbled, barely catching herself.
“Shit.” She should drop the guy, right on the wet brown grass. The brother brain trust could just deal with it. Without her.
She wasn’t going another step.
“Pssst, Kevin,” she whispered, needing to get his attention without making noise. No lights were on in the nearby houses, but someone could be calling the cops right now. “This is the dumbest, beyond dumb-ass thing you’ve ever-”
“Move it, princess,” Keefer hissed at her. He was holding up the guy’s other side. But Keefer was so much taller than her, the guy was all tilty. Which made him even heavier. He was still breathing. She knew that, at least.
“But-”
“It is what it is, right? Keep walking.”
No way. “Kevin!” she whispered, loud as she could, the sound tensing in her throat. “Stop, you asshole!”
Kevin stopped, pivoted, and strode two steps toward them, glaring at her, his face all lines and shadows. His silver down vest was hanging open, unsnapped, and he wore his stupid baseball cap, strap in the front, and precious sunglasses balanced on top.
“Listen to me, sister. You don’t have any say in this, right?”
She didn’t like the sound of his voice.
“You keep walking,” he said. “That’s gotta be his car across the street, the Lexus. Where’d he come from, otherwise, right? You keep your freaking arm around him, like I told you. And this will all be copacetic.”
“But what if-”
“There is no ‘what if.’” Kevin leaned forward, his eyes drilling into hers.
She hated that. What an idiot.
“Besides, he looks like some kind of drunk, ya know? If anyone’s looking?” Kevin waved a hand at the neighborhood. “So let’s all look sad for the neighbors, oh, no, Grampa had a little too much booze, must have been so upset over poor what’s her name. We’re helping him to his car. O-frigging-kay? Keep. Going.”
Lucky it was dark. Lucky the neighborhood streetlights were kinda dim. Dim. Like Kev, who kept acting like he was the boss of her.
Headlights.
Coming around the corner.