down and her limbs were more relaxed at the prospect of hurling herself on a loaded gun. That probably said something terrible about her priorities and fitness for the priesthood, but she couldn’t figure out what at the moment.
“Holy shit. Is that what I think it is?”
“What, you never tried any when you were at school?”
“That’s got to be worth thousands. What are you doing with a stash like that?”
“I’m an independent businessman now. It’s funny. My cousin Diana thinks I’m a hopeless slacker. But really, I’m just as much old Eustace Landry’s descendant as she is. There must be some sort of entrepreneur gene, don’t you think? Unfortunately, I can’t open my books and let the family admire how well I’m doing.”
“Does your aunt know?”
“Leave my aunt out if it.” Malcolm’s voice was cool. “In fact, if I were you, I’d avoid my aunt at all times.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Take it as a warning.” There was a rustling, then a dull thud. Inside the shower stall, Clare tensed. “Here.” Malcolm’s voice was decidedly warmer. “Take this, as well. It’s yours.”
“Are you kidding? What am I supposed to do with this? Throw a party?”
“Sell it. That neatly sealed bag is worth about ten thousand dollars on the open market. You could use ten thousand, couldn’t you?”
“No way. If I got caught with this, I’d be looking at ten years playing girlfriend to some guy in Attica. Look, I really didn’t get into this for the money.”
Malcolm laughed.
“Well, not like that. Not for this. I didn’t think anyone was going to get hurt. I was assured—”
“I know what you were told. And I know what you want. You think I didn’t know?” His voice became caressing, persuasive. “Tell you what. You take this, as a surety. I’ll set up a sale. You return it to me, I get the cash, and the cash goes to you. Then you can go off to Texas or Alaska or something and lie low until this business about Bill blows over.”
“What’s to keep you from calling the cops as soon as I leave this house and having me picked up? With this much, I’d be charged with felony dealing for sure.”
Malcolm sighed. “Oh, for Chrissakes, use your head. If you were to get arrested, the first thing you’d do would be to roll on me. I’m not in any hurry to try to flush my entire stock down the toilet. It’s not going to do me any good to dick you over. It’s profitable for me to keep you happy. Just like it’s profitable for you to keep your head down and your mouth shut. If you don’t panic, we’ll all get out of this with what we want.”
“Except for Bill Ingraham.”
Malcolm’s voice was sharp. “Bill had a lifetime of getting what he wanted. Eventually, you have to roll off the bed and give someone else a turn. Here. Take it.”
Clare strained to hear what was happening, but the horn and floating guitar line of “Lie in Our Graves” masked any sound quieter than a voice.
Eventually, the other man spoke again. “All right.”
“Good. You going back to the party?”
“Are you kidding? I’m going to hide this thing under the seat of my car and drive slowly and carefully home. You?”
“I’m going to work the phones a bit and see if I can set up a sale. Ciao-ciao, man. You don’t have to worry. I’m going to take care of you.”
Clare thought that sounded like reason enough to worry right there. Then the realization struck her: Malcolm wasn’t going back downstairs.
There wasn’t any answering farewell, just a silence filled with quiet music. She pictured Malcolm tossing his jacket on the bed—on top of a suitcase stuffed with a gun and fat bags of heroin. Or maybe it wasn’t heroin. She wasn’t up on current trends in the drug market. She could feel a hysterical laugh waiting to bubble up from her chest, and she pressed both hands on her diaphragm and willed herself to stop.
“Hey, Joe. It’s Mal. Look, man, I’m calling because you had suggested I get in touch with you when I was ready to move a little more product than previously.”
He was getting on the phone and calling people who would be willing to spend ten thousand dollars for illegal drugs. She rubbed her lips hard, taking off what was left of her lipstick. Any guesses as to how he might deal with a woman who overheard his sales pitch? Any guesses as to what his customers might do?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Time to bail out of this plane, Clare told herself. And with Malcolm settling in for an evening of telephone conversation and music, there was only one exit still open to her. She picked up her shoes and, holding them tightly against her stomach, slipped between the edge of the shower curtain and the cool tile wall, all the while thinking to herself, flat, flat, flat.
Several hooks slid along the curtain rod with a scrape that sounded to Clare like a Klaxon. Her breath hitched up in her throat and she forced herself to keep on moving, until she was standing next to the toilet in her stocking feet. She couldn’t see out the crack in the door without getting right in front of it, but there was enough light spilling in from the bedroom to pick out all the details in the bath. The detail she was interested in was the window.
It was larger than the usual bathroom window, the same size as the two in the bedroom. Two stories up, looking out onto mountains, one wouldn’t require much privacy, she guessed. Like one of the bedroom windows, its lower pane had been pulled up almost to the level of the middle sash. She pressed her fingers against the screen’s releasing locks and slid it up as far as she could. It clicked into place on its runner with a noise that sounded as loud as a rifle shot.
Behind her, Malcolm was still chatting away and the Dave Matthews CD had looped around to the beginning and was jazzing along with “So Much to Say.” She loved the
