“No, thank you,” she said and shook her head in
dismay.
Once Bob passed out of view of Maria, he dropped
the act. The grin slipped into a frown. He trotted across the shopping center parking lot to where Josh stood by the pay phones.
“Bob, two people are dead,” Josh said.
Bob swallowed the shock instantly. It isn’t healthy being Josh Michaels’s friend, he thought. “Not here.”
He guided Josh to a coffee shop on the corner of
the mini mall next to the fitness center. He sat Josh down on the plastic garden furniture in the farthest corner of the terrace, away from prying ears. Only a middle-aged woman in sunglasses reading a newspaper sat outside, but she was on the other corner of the terrace. Bob went into the coffee shop and returned with two coffees.
Bob hunched over his coffee and the small table.
“Who’s dead? What’s happened?”
“I went to see Margaret Macey and I killed her,”
Josh said.
The news slammed into Bob, leaving him bewildered.
He couldn’t quite comprehend what he was
hearing.
Josh brought a hand to his forehead and rubbed it.
He stared wide-eyed through the table as he rambled.
“She wouldn’t answer her damned door so I called to her through the window and she had a heart attack or something. I broke into the house to give her CPR, but it didn’t work. She died.”
“Josh, listen to me. You didn’t kill her. She had a heart attack. You’re being stupid.”
“She was so scared someone was going to kill her.
Those phone calls must have been a nightmare.”
“Look at me, Josh.”
He looked up.
“You didn’t kill her. She had a heart attack.” Josh attempted to interrupt him, but Bob raised a hand. “She
had a heart attack. She would have had it with or without you.”
“Yeah, but it was me who caused it.”
“Yeah, it could have been the mailman, telephone repairman or the Jehovah’s witnesses. You were the unlucky SOB who triggered it.” Bob placed a supportive
hand on Josh’s shoulder. “Okay?”
Slowly, Josh nodded.
“Did you call for an ambulance?”
“No.”
“Christ, Josh, you can’t leave her there.”
“But I can’t be seen at her home.”
Bob hated to admit it, but Josh was right. The cops would be suspicious if he was found at the scene of her death. He understood Josh’s logic. “All right, I’ll drop by. If she’s still there then I’ll make a nine-one-one call.”
“Thanks.”
“You said two people were dead.”
Bob surprised himself. A month ago he wouldn’t
have been so causal about dead people with whom he was personally involved. Now, it was almost a way of life and he treated it as such. He didn’t like that.
“I came home yesterday afternoon and I was picked up by this cop. But he wasn’t a cop. He was about to kill me when James Mitchell ran him down and shot him.”
From Josh’s brief description, Bob found it hard to take in the information. He got Josh to expand on his account.
“James Mitchell. I don’t get it.” After a moment it dawned on him. “Are you talking about this guy they found with his face shot off?”
Josh nodded.
“Jesus, I really don’t get it. Why did Mitchell save you after trying to kill you?” This mystified Bob. It didn’t make sense.
“I don’t understand it myself, but I think if I hadn’t got my ass out of there, there would have been two bodies found.”
“Go home, Josh, and stay there. I need time to
think.” Bob paused. “I’ll pick you up and take you to breakfast. I’ve found some things out about Pinnacle Investments. I think I can make some sense of this mess and you might be able to fill in some of the blanks.”
“Kate said she’d leave me if I went to Margaret
Macey’s.”
“Go home,” Bob said sternly. “Put on a good show
and don’t tell Kate. You’re not going to lose that woman. She’s the best thing to ever happen to you. I won’t let you screw it up.”
“He’ll be coming for me next and there’s nothing to stop him.”
“I know.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The diner was busy for a Saturday morning, but not so busy that Josh and Bob couldn’t select their table. Bob picked the corner booth and a hostess showed them to it. They slid into the booth and she gave them each a large laminated menu. Bob put down the manila envelope he’d brought with him.
“Your server will be with you in a minute,” the hostess said and left.
Josh waited until she was out of earshot. “Did you go to her house?”
“Yeah, when I got there they were loading her into the ambulance,” Bob said.
Josh sighed with relief.
“Don’t relax too much. That means someone either
found her or saw something that made them call it in.”
Josh frowned; Bob was right. Who had called the
ambulance? He hoped no one could identify him or his car. He started to speak, but saw the approaching waitress.
She was a plain-looking woman in her late forties, tall, but her dyed brown hair scooped up into a pineapple sprout made her look even taller. She seemed like a seasoned waitress—sharp and straight talking with asbestos hands for easy handling of hot plates and jugs of coffee without the aid of mitts.
“My name’s Laura and I’ll be your server today. What can I get you gents this morning?” A Southern twang scrubbed thin by years of living in California’s melting pot tinged her speech. “Coffee to start, maybe?”
Bob and Josh agreed and she filled the mugs already present on the table. Both men quickly scanned their menus. Bob went for a sausage skillet with home fries and eggs sunny side up. Josh ordered the scrambled eggs, hash browns and toast. The waitress thanked them with a smile and relieved them of the cumbersome menus.
They sat in silence drinking coffee and pondering Josh’s problems. Neither knew what to say or where to start. Laura returned with their breakfasts. After several moments of eating, Bob spoke.
“How’s Kate? Does she suspect anything?” Bob
asked.
“No,” Josh replied.
The waitress returned with a steaming pot of coffee and overheard a snippet of the two men’s conversation.
“Refill?” she asked sternly.
“Yes, please.” Bob saw the hate smoldering in her eyes. “Wedding anniversaries. We men can never plan surprises. It’s a very fine line we walk, as husbands.”
