FORTY-SEVEN
“You friggin shot me in the head!” Earl yelled.
“No, I didn't,” she said, dabbing Earl's forehead with a cold and blood- smeared washcloth. “I only shot my penny jar. What the bullet did after that was just physics.”
“What?”
“A body in motion-like a bullet-remains in motion until acted on by an outside force, like gravity, friction, or a jar of pennies. Either the bullet hit you after its energy was about used up, or more probably a piece of glass or a penny did. It's a prick. Stop whining and I'll put a Band- Aid on the boo- boo.”
“Any fool know she can't shoot a gun inside a house. Know ah'm sayin’?”
“It was an accident. My ears are still ringing so bad I can hardly hear you.”
“Damn, I'm lucky it didn't split my danged head open and get me in my brains.”
Alice laughed. “You didn't even feel it, and it barely cut you. It was probably a piece of glass.”
“See, maybe I should go to an emergency room and get a real doctor that knows medical stuff to look at it,” he said angrily.
“Duh! They have to report gunshot wounds to the cops, you know. How you going to explain that? It's a ganked gun, right?”
“I said it was my dad's.”
“I know what you said, Earl. But you never tell the truth. Where'd you really get it?”
He went into a sulk, which meant he'd been caught in a lie he couldn't think his way out of.
She opened the medicine cabinet, found a Band- Aid, and put it over the cut. “We better pick up all those pennies and the glass before my mama gets home and has a flying shit fit.”
“I don't do no housework,” Earl said. “She don't even come in here.”
“Well, there's always a first time. So, can you show me where the safety is on that gun?”
“I'm a’ be the one holding the piece,” Earl said.
“Why?”
“'cause like, I know how to work the safety. And you couldn't shoot the dude anyway.”
“I shot you, didn't I?”
“But he won't be holding no jar a’ pennies.”
FORTY-EIGHT
Ward was seated at the dining room table when Gene called him.
“You sitting down?” Gene asked.
“As a matter of fact I'm eating a late lunch. We're going to get Todd to take us to the cemetery in a little while.”
“Trey Dibble is dead,” Gene said.
“What is it?” Natasha asked.
“Trey Dibble is dead,” Ward told her. “No, that doesn't make sense, Gene,” he said into the phone.
“What happened?” Natasha asked.
Ward hit the speaker button and held the phone in front of him.
“You're on speaker so Natasha can hear. What happened?”
“A secretary in our office has a sister who works for EMS. It appears to have been an accident. Trey slipped and hit his head on a counter-top and died, probably almost instantly. His girlfriend found him an hour ago in his kitchen. The weird thing is, homicide detectives arrived there before EMS or the police.”
“But it was an accident?”
“I know. It can't be right. That would mean Tami called homicide before she called EMS. In case you don't know how these things work: You call nine one one and dispatch sends an ambulance, and the fire department, and the cops. Cops take a look, and if EMS or the officers suspect foul play then they call in detectives. That takes time, even if it's somebody famous. The detectives arrived before the others. This is beyond weird, and the secretary might have gotten it totally wrong, but I'm trying to find out more, and as soon as I can, I'll call you.”
Ward hit the speaker button again and turned to Natasha.
“He's right. Unless they were in the building anyway, they'd be an hour or better getting their act together and going to the scene.”
Ward's phone rang again and Ward flipped it open, said hello, and listened.
“Sure, Nolan. Let him through.”
A minute later, Ward opened the door to find his uncle standing on the stoop smiling like a used- car salesman who'd come to tell them their credit had failed muster so he was repossessing their new car.
“Unk,” Ward said. “I didn't expect you. Come in. I've got a lot to catch you up on.”
“I wish I didn't have to bother you, Ward, but I came to tell you something that's, well, it's somewhat delicate and I thought we ought to talk about it face- to-f ace. You got a minute?”
“Sure,” Ward said, opening the door and stepping back to let his uncle in. “Natasha is inside.”
“It concerns both of you.”
The two men walked into the living room.
“Natasha, Unk has something to tell us,” Ward said.
Natasha crossed to hug Ward's uncle. “Hello, Unk. Want something to drink?”
“No, thank you, Natasha,” Mark said. “This is difficult for me. I don't know how to begin.”
“Sit down,” Ward said.
When Mark sat, his tenuous smile vanished altogether.
“I just… deposited six hundred and thirty-five thousand dollars back into the account it came from. I stole it from the company.”
Neither Ward nor Natasha said anything.
Mark put his head in his hands and cried.
After a few awkward seconds, Ward walked over and put a hand on his uncle's shoulder. “I don't understand.”
Natasha went to the kitchen and returned with a tissue. “What are you talking about, Unk?” she asked.
“I embezzled money from our own damn company to cover gambling debts. I've been taking money for the past eleven months. I tried to stop, but…” He sobbed. “I put it all back an hour ago.”
Mark wiped his tears.
“My gambling. It just somehow got out of control. I was way down and I tried to double up and catch up. It was crazy, but I was desperate to pay these people. The more I tried to catch up, the deeper I went into the hole. Then, to get even with these men, I borrowed from a loan shark and bad got worse. I always intended to put the money back. I took cash as I had to have it.”
“Why didn't you tell me early on?” Ward asked him. “We could have fixed it before it got serious.”
“Ward's right,” Natasha said, firmly.
“It's my stupid pride. You had so much on your plate without my trouble. I'm so sorry.”
“It's all back,” Ward said.
“To the penny. It was wrong, but I did make it right.”
“Right,” Natasha said thoughtfully. “I'm not so sure. Unk, where did you get the money to put back?” Natasha asked.
Mark looked up at her, tears in his eyes. “It's all over,” he said.
“That might depend on where you got the six hundred thousand to pay back,” she said.
“A loan,” Mark said.
“From whom?” she asked him.
Mark said, “It was a personal loan. What does that matter?”
