The Big Dirt Nap

crowded lobby.

Sam passed. He'd been sober for four hours and said he was shooting for five. Then six. One hour at a time, then one day at a time. He wouldn't take any money. 'I bought a few Powerball tickets with that twenty you left for me. I never got a chance to thank you.'

'It's been a pleasure meeting you, Sam. Take care of yourself.' I didn't know what else to say. 'If you ever want any part-time landscaping work, give me a call, okay?' I wished him luck and leaned in for the double back pat—friendlier than a handshake but not as intimate as a kiss.

'You look good, baby,' Sam whispered.

I said a quick prayer that the night wouldn't get any weirder than it had already been. Granted, Sam had cleaned up pretty good and I didn't like to think of myself as a snob, but was this an appropriate time for a pass? I froze and said nothing. I hoped I wasn't wincing at what I thought was an untimely suggestion.

'Billy brought me a jacket that night. We met on the loading dock.' That might be why Billy's hair was found at the scene. 'We heard someone coming. Billy wasn't supposed to be there, so we hid behind the Dumpster. I couldn't really see; Billy was closer. But I heard them. You look good, baby. That's what Nick said to the woman right before she shot him.' Then Sam disappeared again behind the hedges.

I walked through the party, into the bar, stunned. If Sam was right and the killer was a woman, there was a short list of suspects. And the one at the top of the list used to work for Sergei and was last seen wearing my black quilted jacket.

'What's the matter?' Lucy said. 'You look pale. Oh, wait, we all look pale.' There were already two rings on the bar in front of her and she called the bartender over to order a drink for me.

I didn't recognize the girl behind the bar but she stared as if she knew us. 'Is one of you Paula?' she asked, with a faint accent. I toyed with the idea of saying no; after all, one of us wasn't.

'That would be me,' I said, exhausted, holding up my hand.

'I have something for you.' My whole body tensed. I hoped it wasn't a shot to the face. Being half-Italian, my family was big on open caskets.

She pulled a plastic drugstore shopping bag out from under the bar. 'Oksana left this for you.' It was my quilted jacket.

I let out a nervous laugh. 'Hey, old friend, I never thought I'd see you again.' I put the jacket on, turned up the collar, and dug my hands in the pockets, modeling it, QVC style. In one of the pockets I found a note. I unfolded the slip of paper and read it out loud.

Dear Paula,

If you are reading this I hope it means that you and your friend are okay. Billy and I are going away to someplace where Sergei cannot find us. Where we can start fresh. It wasn't Sergei's fault. It was that woman. He never would have needed so much money if she hadn't talked him into buying that damn Zamboni. Wish us luck.

Oksana

Lucy nearly coughed up an olive. 'Holy shit. Well, she finally found someone to look after her. But what the hell is a Zamboni? It sounds like an Italian pastry—leave the gun, take the Zamboni.'

'It's a very expensive machine used to clean and smooth the ice at a skating rink,' I said, putting two and two together.

'Are there many skaters around here?' she asked.

I knew of two, Viktor Petrenko, the former Olympic gold medalist, and Jackie Connelly, who blew a double axel at a high school competition twenty-four years ago and was comforted by an athlete from a school two thousand miles away. Something told me Petrenko wasn't involved.

Forty-nine

It made sense. Sergei and Jackie were both looking to hit the jackpot, and they had something in common: ice.

'The waitress at the coffee shop told me that as a single mom Jackie frequently held two or three jobs just to keep a roof over their heads. She even worked as a maid. Shaftsbury's a small town in a small county—how many cleaning services can there be around here? Jackie probably met Sergei at work. The skating rink must have seemed like a way to get back to the life she thought she'd have when she was a kid.' I downed my drink.

'Until the cannoli broke down,' Lucy said, she was more than a little tipsy.

'Zamboni. No more drinks for you. When that didn't work out Jackie jettisoned Sergei and aimed higher,' I said. 'What if Jackie tried to involve her son-in-law in some scheme and he said no?'

'The guy who died in the fire?'

I nodded. 'Bobby Crawford. He and Nick were friends. Maybe Nick found out about the scam and that's what he was going to tell you the night he got killed. Maybe Bobby's death wasn't an accident.'

'So what do we do now?'

'We call the cops, like normal people. But only when we get the hell out of this hotel,' I said. 'I don't know who to trust anymore except for you.' I looked around as suspiciously as Oksana had that night in the casino.

Back on the Merritt, we stopped for diet Red Bulls. They didn't really go with martinis, but Lucy had had three drinks and I'd had one, and I wanted to stay awake and not drive us into a ditch. At the service station's minimart, I'd call Winters and tell her what we'd learned.

Lucy entered the market and I was just about to dial Stacy's number when I saw what looked like my own Jeep, blue tarp flapping in the wind, speeding in the opposite direction. I tried to flag it down. It didn't take me long to figure out what was happening. So I ran into the market to tell Lucy.

'I never called Babe; I think I saw her driving back to Titans.'

The clerk's eyes were wide and his mouth hung open. Two agitated women in Goth makeup were loading up on highly caffeinated drinks and appeared to be on the lam. Were we dangerous? Were we the ghosts of Thelma and Louise ready to knock over his Plexiglas cubicle? I tried to reassure him.

'It's okay, Ravi. We just need a couple of drinks,' I said.

'How do you know my name?' he shrieked. 'Take whatever you want!'

'Chill. Your name's on your shirt.' I peeled off a few dollars, then hurried Lucy out of the store, but not before sticking my head back in and telling the frightened clerk to have a nice day.

'What did Stacy say?' Lucy asked, straightening up and popping open a can.

Damn. I still hadn't called. I tried her number but it was busy. Then I speed-dialed Babe's other number from the phone she'd given me.

'Where the hell are you?' she said.

'On the Merritt. Did you just pass the Mobil station?'

She had. I told her to turn around and meet us back there.

'All right, but it may take a while, the next exit isn't for miles.'

We still hadn't called Winters so I told her we'd wait. And we would have if a blue Isuzu hadn't pulled into the service station's lot inches away from Lucy's rental car, effectively blocking the driver's-side door.

Jackie Connelly wasn't as afraid to use the gun as I'd been to use the Taser. Of course, she'd had more practice. She forced us into the wooded area past the place where families on long car trips stopped to picnic or walk their dogs. But not at this hour of the night.

'I wouldn't let Nick screw this up,' she said, 'and I'm certainly not going to let you two. Keep walking.'

Between the martinis and the uneven surface, Lucy stumbled and I held on to her to keep her on her feet. Every once in a while, Jackie prodded me in the back to make me speed up. I tried blaming the shoes again, but she was smarter than Marat and made me kick them off.

'I've been waiting a long time for a break like this. I wasted five years with Sergei. Helping him start those