Vapor Trail

died?”

Drew tensed forward in his chair. Instinctively, he measured distances: the distance between himself and Annie, the distance to the bathroom, the distance to the telephone on his drawing table.

“Someone shot him,” Drew said slowly.

Annie nodded. “With a thirty-eight-caliber Colt Detective Special revolver with a two-inch barrel. Would you like to see it?”

Drew’s chair banged on the floor as he startled and planted his feet, pushing away from the table when Annie smoothly pulled the revolver from her purse.

“Oh my God,” Drew muttered. His eyes fixed on the bathroom door. “Laurie,” he said.

“Laurie has nothing to fear. She’s going to be safe. Now she is, I mean,” Annie said. “You sit very still. I’m not through talking.” She thumbed back the hammer and steadied the barrel at Drew’s chest. “You don’t know much about guns, do you?”

Drew shook his head. His eyes were riveted to the bullet tips he could see inside the pistol’s cylinder.

“Well, I do. Harry taught me. This is a double-action revolver. Cocking the hammer makes the trigger pull smoother,” Annie said.

It was silent in the room for a few beats. Just the faint sound of Laurie singing in her bath.

“Please, take it easy with that,” Drew said.

“Settle down, drink your ginger ale,” Annie said. “See, my sister had just died, and I was going through her things. She had this wig-well, that’s a long story-but the thing was, I was going out with Harry, and he’d go off all weekend with that Gloria Russell. We used to do a lot of things together until. . he bought her a gun and taught her to shoot.” Annie brandished the pistol. “This gun.”

Drew squirmed against the back of his chair, seeing the hate come to Annie’s face.

“He’d have me over and get his kicks; then he’d stick me in front of the TV and go down in the basement and load bullets for her to practice with. So I started watching her, when she left her apartment, when she came back. It was last summer, so she left her windows open. There was a perfect tree under the window. I climbed up, slit the screen, went in her bedroom, and took the gun.”

Annie drew herself up. “Then Gloria let Dolman get away. Harry came over drunk and said how she was raving about wanting to kill the guy. I even drove him over to her place so he could take the gun off her.” Annie smiled. “But the gun wasn’t there.” She moved the pistol out of line long enough to give it an admiring look.

“Maybe Gloria failed, but her gun didn’t. And the bullet casings left with the body could be traced back to her. All I had to do was return the gun to her apartment, hide it, and tip the cops.” Annie’s smile jerked on her lips. “But I kept. . putting it off. .”

The gun barrel wavered off his chest, and Drew started to rise in his chair. The gun snapped back. “Sit,” Annie commanded. Drew sat.

“It was you, last night,” Drew said. “The woman up the hill, the teacher. You-”

“Oh, she was easy. Now Gloria, that was hard,” Annie said.

But as Harry always says, if you never take the long shots, you never win big.

So she bets it all that Gloria will be home. And it’s just like she has Harry’s lucky arm with the three 7s hugging her. Gloria opens the door and sees bedraggled Annie all beat up from ducking through the bushes.

“Help. This guy jumped me.”

Barge past her, going into the apartment. Track dirt, shed bits of shrubs. Feigning shock, mumbling after the phone, compassionate Gloria tags along, does not notice the latex gloves. Wrong turn into the bedroom, return with the pillow. One hand stays in the pack on the Ruger, but the silencer is back at the storm sewer.

More shock, stumbling into the bathroom-then the one moment of cruelty. Face-to- face.

Harry sends his love, bitch!

One beat, two. Let it sink in. Then the gun comes out. Shove the pillow in her face to muffle the scream of protest, the sound of the shot. Make sure the angle of the barrel is credible for a suicide, jam it in, and. .Gloria’s dead, open eyes watch her enjoy a cool shower on a hot night.

Take the time now to be careful. Arrange the pistol just so in the lifeless hand. Scuff her up with the dirty clothes and shoes, leave them strewn on the bathroom floor. Even thought to bring a small branch to gouge her shin and knee. Then a moment of quiet celebration in the bedroom, slow tour of Gloria’s closet to find a fresh change of clothes. Leave the pack in the closet; Angel’s cheap wig, the bodysuit, medals, the Saints jacket.

One last touch. Send the world’s first wireless suicide note. To her weightlifting buddy. The cop. His address is right in her queue. Message him on Gloria’s Palm Pilot. A trained detective, and he comes running because he sees a dead woman’s name printed on his gadget.

No one sees her go in or out. Perfect. Gloria Russell is the Saint. Harry’s theory comes true. All she has to do is leave the.38 along with the Ruger.

But here it is, in her hand.

Annie stared at Drew, almost fondly. “Like I told you, I can’t stop. Just like I couldn’t resist coming over this morning because you were the last name on my list.”

Drew balled his fists, desperate and angry, getting ready to fight. “You’re crazy, really fucking crazy.”

“DON’T SAY THAT!” Annie yelled. Her hand began to shake now, and Drew half rose, gathering himself.

“Crazy. .” he said again, but he looked past Annie. She extended her arm, pointing the gun at his face, but she turned slightly and saw Laurie standing naked and dripping in the bathroom doorway.

“Daddy, I’m scared,” Laurie sobbed.

Annie looked back and forth between them. She couldn’t stop the shaking.

“Go back in the bathroom, honey,” Drew said, finally finding his voice. He steadied, gathering himself. “Listen to Daddy.”

“DON’T SAY THAT!” Annie shouted.

Laurie screamed and ran to the bathroom. When Laurie slammed the door, Annie jerked around at the sound. Drew made his move, coming over the table. Annie swung back and yanked the trigger. Drew’s momentum carried him forward into her as the gun went off.

The loudness of the explosion shocked her. She was used to the silenced Ruger. She watched Drew’s eyes go wide, then he toppled against her, and they both rolled to the floor. Annie was up quick. Drew lay facedown, leaking blood.

Annie staggered to get her balance. She blinked her eyes and swallowed to clear her hearing. Now what? She pushed through the door and entered the bathroom with the pistol hanging in her hand.

“I’m trying to help you,” she explained. She reached out to grab Laurie by the shoulders, to reassure her. Laurie twisted away like a wet fifty-pound wildcat and screamed, “I WANT MY DADDY!”

“DON’T SAY THAT, GODDAMMIT!” Annie screamed back and grabbed at the girl to restrain her.

Chapter Forty-two

Broker and Janey sat on the deck sipping coffee and watching the clouds roll in. A grumble in the distance prompted Janey to turn her head. “Was that thunder?” she said.

“I think it was,” Broker said. He could feel a cool shadow insinuate into the air, compressing the humidity like a spring.

Their eyes met, and they laughed, just as they’d laughed last night when they couldn’t get past mild petting. Janey had slept in the guest room.

After a few beats, Janey said, “Well, look at us; so much for weak moments.”

Broker shrugged and said, “Maybe weak moments are like straight-leg jeans; you gotta be young to be comfortable in them. We’re pretty much padded with baggage, you and me.” He briefly revisited his “weak moment” last year with Jolene Sommer, which had been pretty awful.