Watch Them Die

“I really don’t know,” she murmured. She stepped up to the register to wait on a customer.

Scott took a couple of videos from the return bin and checked them in. He waited until Hannah’s customer left; then he leaned against the back counter again. “I was tossing and turning all night,” he said. “I think I figured it out. You’re in your own kind of witness protection program, aren’t you? You’re running away from something.”

She sighed. “Scott, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Does it have something to do with your husband’s death? You never talk about him. Please tell me you didn’t bump him off.”

“That’s a pretty tactless statement,” Hannah muttered. She turned away and noticed some movies in the return bin. Without even a glance at Scott, she started checking them in. She felt herself trembling inside.

“He’s alive,” Scott said. “Isn’t he?”

Hannah tried to appear interested in her work.

“Did your husband—smack you around?” Scott asked with concern. “I’ve often wondered why you’re so tight- lipped about him. I once asked how you got that scar on your chin, and you quickly changed the subject. Did he give it to you?”

Hannah finished keying in the video codes. She still couldn’t look at him. She swallowed hard. “You’re the one who should have been a detective,” she finally said. “He’s from a very rich and powerful family in a small Midwestern town. There was no way I could have divorced him and kept my son. And there was no way I could have stayed.”

“What makes you so sure the police are looking for you?”

“Since I ran away, I’ve talked to a couple of old friends. They’ve been hounded from time to time by a private detective.”

“You mean, this ‘Craig’ fella’?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure. When I left town with Guy, I also took some money from the joint checking account. Anyway, this detective told my friends that I’m wanted for grand larceny and kidnapping.”

“Did any cops actually talk to your pals?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, how do you know the police are really looking for you?” Scott asked. “I mean, maybe this private dick —if you’ll excuse the expression—maybe he was just jerking your friends around. If your husband’s family is so rich and powerful, wouldn’t they want to keep the whole runaway thing under wraps—especially if he was beating you up? That’s probably the reason for the private detective—to avoid involving the cops. Hell, the police might not even know anything about you, Hannah.”

“Maybe,” she granted. Scott’s theory gave her a little bit of hope. Perhaps the authorities weren’t really after her. Still, her name was bound to come up when the police asked the detective agency what Ronald Craig had been investigating in Seattle.

“God,” Hannah whispered. “They’ll think I had something to do with it.”

“Something to do with what?”

“Ronald Craig was here investigating me,” she said, glancing around to make sure no customers were nearby. “He was murdered. All evidence of his investigation was stolen. They’ll blame me.”

“No, no, they can’t,” he said, patting her shoulder. “Hannah, I was with you when it happened. You have a witness—me. Craig came over uninvited. You asked him to leave. We saw him get killed together. They can’t pin his death on you—not as long as I’m around—”

Scott seemed to choke on the last word. The reassuring smile faded away from his face. “Oh, shit,” he muttered. “I’m toast. I’m a fucking dead man.”

“What do you mean?” Hannah asked.

“I know too much,” Scott said, running a hand through his moussed hair. “And I’m the only one who can testify you had nothing to do with killing that guy. This weirdo who’s been following you around, he’ll go after me next. I know it.”

Wincing, Hannah shook her head. “Don’t say that.”

He let out an exasperated laugh. “But it’s true! Hell, who’s always one of the first to go in slasher movies? The funny gay best friend, that’s who! It’s a wonder I’m not dead already.”

Despite everything, Hannah rolled her eyes. “Oh, Scott, I wouldn’t worry. You’re not really that funny.”

“Yeah, but I make up for it by being super-gay.”

She actually laughed, then hugged him. “Thanks for making me smile—at least for a second or two.”

“I’m semi-serious, you know,” he said, patting her back. “What are you going to do?”

“I haven’t a damn clue,” she replied, her head on his shoulder. “I’d planned on leaving town this morning. Then Guy got sick. I can’t move him. Chicken pox is serious stuff. We’re stuck. I’m going crazy, just sitting here.”

She clung to a shred of hope that what Scott said was true. Perhaps the police weren’t looking for her. And maybe, just maybe, Ronald Craig hadn’t yet reported anything about Hannah Doyle to the Woodleys.

It was a good scenario, but not very likely. She was second-guessing everything. In the meantime, all she could do was maintain this awful, idle holding pattern for the next ten days until Guy recovered.

She held Scott at arm’s length. “Listen, please don’t tell anyone else about Guy’s father or any of this.”

He smiled. “Hannah, I didn’t come out to a soul until I was twenty-three. And as long as can I remember, I knew I was a great, big homo. So I know how to keep things under my hat. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Hannah hugged him again. She held him tightly—until she heard someone on the other side of the counter, chuckling “Hey, you two, either cut it out or get a room!”

“Oh, Ted, you’re such a pain in the ass,” Scott groaned. “I was just about to get to second base with her, too. Hold on, I’ll take care of you.” Scott went to his register to wait on one of their regulars. He glanced over his shoulder at Hannah. “Don’t forget Britt’s toy for Guy.”

Nodding, Hannah grabbed the cereal toy off the counter, then opened the drawer below the register and reached for her purse. She started to put the toy in her bag, but suddenly froze up. “Oh, no,” she murmured. “No, no, no…”

For a moment, she just stared at the video stashed in her purse. She wondered how and when it had gotten in there. Had someone been following Joyce around at the supermarket this morning when she’d had Hannah’s purse?

After a minute, Hannah felt Scott hovering behind her. “What is that?”

“It’s another ‘special delivery,’” she heard herself say. She took the video out of her bag.

“It’s one of ours,” Scott pointed out. “The store sensor tag is still on it. That’s why you set off the alarm when you walked in here.”

Hannah straightened up, then closed the drawer with her foot. She looked at the label on the cassette. It was Tape B of Casino.

“He didn’t give you the box,” Scott muttered. “And only one tape. Just a sec…” Scott hurried around the counter and started toward the back of the store.

Hannah could see that the tape was wound to a certain spot near the end of the spool.

Scott came back with the box for Casino. “It was on the shelf like this,” he said, showing her the double-cassette box with only one tape. “I don’t understand how he got the video out of here undetected. You’d think he would have ripped off the sensor tape and made it easier to steal. But he left it on. I wonder why.”

“To show me how clever he is,” Hannah replied numbly. She studied the videocassette. “I haven’t seen Casino. What happens near the end?”

Frowning, Scott shrugged uneasily. “It’s really violent, Hannah,” he said. “A lot of people die.”

“Everything’s fine here,” Joyce told her over the phone. “I just put some calamine lotion on Guy’s rash, and he’s playing with the puzzle book we got him this morning. Do you want to talk to him?”

“Yes, put him on, please,” Hannah said. She stood behind the counter at the store. Scott was helping a customer; otherwise they weren’t too busy. Hannah waited for to Guy come on the line.