After this post, there are six more chapters plus the featurette left. Stick around! Big thanks to my faithful reviewers!
This is an unusually long chapter, but I'm sure y'all will manage!
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"You should write the bar fight," Rainey said on a gray January afternoon while they were sitting around his loft brainstorming.
"Me? Why me?"
"You did a great job on the mob scene in 'Adele's Promise'. 'Bernard, unable to withdraw from the tumult, was borne into the fray, at first striking out only to defend himself, but in the end, flailing as indiscriminantly as the rest.' "
"Pretty good for a guy who never read the book. Nope, you're going to write the bar fight. I'd only be imitating myself after that. I'm going to work on the part with Ruby and the gals at the diner."
"Deal," said Rainey cheerfully. The diner scene was going to be one of those chick-flick sections, he could tell. "I got into a couple fights at college keggers, at least there I can fake it. You're welcome to the hen party."
"Why do I have the feeling I just got took?" Nadine asked, a good-natured grin on her face. She was lounging back in her favorite armchair, the one Amy had placed by the secret window.
"Hey, whose point of view do you think I should do it from?"
"Not my problem," she shrugged. "I'm gonna be busy enough gettin' those gals to open up about carryin' on with Walter."
Rainey bared his teeth at her. Since New Year's Eve, he'd felt a lot less self-conscious around Nadine. That...word...the one he didn't want to dwell on, had paradoxically made him less afraid. Mort knew he wasn't going to do anything to provoke her that much, and now he believed that maybe she'd be able to hold her own against Shooter.
That was good. He was continuing to lose time -- sometimes hours in the middle of a work day -- but Nadine never indicated she'd noticed anything odd in his behavior. At the same time, the few communications Shooter aimed toward Mort these days were disturbingly...pleased. Somehow, the thought of Shooter coming onto Nadine scared him more than anything else. She was a shameless flirt, no doubt about that -- but while he had enough self-control to pass on her banter, Shooter might not see the need. God, there were times when he was tempted to tell her everything, just so she'd keep her guard up.
After Sheriff Newsome's visit, she'd been happier than he had. Mort couldn't muster much joy; okay, he hadn't killed Tom. Which only left the deaths of three other people and Chico on his conscience, plus an act of arson. Not that he'd told her that.
"Shoot!" muttered Nadine a few minutes later, climbing out of the chair. "Dropped my pen right down between the arm and the cushion...hey, looky what I found!" Mort turned as she sashayed over to the desk and set his long-missing thesaurus down next to his laptop.
"Oh my God! How in the world did it get there?" Rainey wondered aloud. "I hardly ever sit in that chair." (It's haunted.)
"Really? And how long has this been missing?" Mort froze at the sight of the gold watch she was dangling. He plucked it from her hand and turned it over to look at the engraving on the back: "To Mort With Love, Amy".
"Rainey? What's wrong?"
"That watch should be at the bottom of Tashmore Lake," he said, staring at it.
"What are you talking about?"
Mort took a deep breath and told her almost everything. He didn't mention Shooter by name, but he admitted that he'd had a breakdown after his separation from Amy, had been hallucinating wildly for parts of it, and that he'd killed -- or thought he'd killed -- four people. "Now, I'm not sure of anything. They found Tom Greenleaf, and it wasn't in the lake with Karsch -- unless Newsome's baiting some kind of trap for me."
"Hah!" Nadine was scornful. "Man's not that bright. Okay, try this scenario on for size. You subconsciously felt so guilty about wanting to kill your wife and that bozo she was running around with that you tried to frame yourself for murder, complete with an anonymous call to the police."
"It's possible," Rainey said finally. "I tried to talk myself into turning myself in. Maybe I did call the cops." That horrible day was jagged glass in his memory. The frantic trip to the post office, Newsome hovering suspiciously, pacing the cabin wildly, literally talking to himself, Shooter, Amy, the shovel....
"So, I can see why you'd want to kill him and her, but why did you pick the others?"
Rainey thought back to the previous spring. "Somebody at the diner said they hadn't seen Tom in a couple days. I knew he had a heart condition." (I was buying smokes, and that guy from the hardware store mentioned Tom. WAIT. I wasn't smoking; Shooter was buying Pall Malls. I remember that! I have a memory of being Shooter!) He sat there, stunned.
Nadine was thinking hard about something else, not noticing the shock on his face; when she left his side and went clattering down the stairs, Mort rose slowly and followed her. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as she consulted his phone list and picked up the receiver. "What are you doing?" he asked in a panic.
"Listen and learn," Nadine grinned, punching buttons. She tilted the handset away from her ear so he could listen in. The number she'd dialed rang twice, then a brisk female voice answered.
"Karsch Investigations, may I help you?"
"Hello, my name is Nadine Cooper," she purred. "I need to speak to Mr. Karsch, please."
"Is this in reference to an ongoing investigation?"
"No."
"Do you have a file with us?"
"No. I have a credit card," Nadine said distinctly, "and I'm willing to be billed $150 for fifteen minutes of Mr. Karsch's time." She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. "If he charges five hundred per diem, that ought to get his attention."
"One moment, please."
During the pause, she and Rainey exchanged glances. "Let's see how long it takes her to pull out the ouija board," murmured Nadine. "Hello? Yes, Visa." She rattled off the information without reaching for her wallet, which earned her a wide-eyed look from the already flustered Mort.
"Ms. Cooper, how can I help you?" Rainey could hear Ken Karsch's rumbling voice clearly two feet away from the receiver. He closed his eyes and began deep breathing exercises. (In through the nose, out through the mouth....)
"Good afternoon, Mr. Karsch. I was given your name by my colleague, Mr. Mort Rainey -- "
"Mort? How is that old son of a gun?"
Nadine shook her head and continued. "I'm also a writer, and Mr. Rainey suggested you as someone I might consult for technical details as to how an investigator might proceed to locate someone who's gone missing."
"For a book? Would I get a 'thank you' in the dedications?" The private detective sounded pleased by the idea.
Nadine rolled her eyes. "Why, of course!" Rainey grinned weakly at the hand gesture she used along with her response.
"Who's missing? What are the circumstances?"
"My hero's...mother. First, her house burned down. She then moved in with a gentleman she'd been seeing, and her son hasn't heard from her since."
"First, I'd try to locate the boyfriend. Does your guy know where he lives?"
Rainey mouthed "Riverdale." "Let's say he knows what city, not the specific address."
"Shouldn't be too difficult to find. Reverse search on the guy's phone number, if you've got one. Tax records for property in his name, that kind of thing. Does the son have any legal status, power of attorney, anything like that?"
"They co-owned the house that burned."
"Insurance records. Find out if she got a settlement check, when and where it was cashed. Finding out the bank might narrow down her location. If your hero knows any of her friends, he might check with them. She and Mr. Wonderful could be out playing bingo every night and he's the only one who doesn't know it. How long has she been missing?"
"Several months."
"You know, I've seen what you're describing -- young lady eloped, her mother on the Island thought she'd been killed, abducted, shit like that -- the kid finally called home for Christmas Day and it turned out she'd eloped with a used car salesman over the Fourth of July weekend and gone off to Ohio with him. Took her six months to get around to calling Momma."
"I don't know how helpful that is," said Nadine. "But I hope I have a few minutes left on my nickel and can call you again if I think of any more complications." She exuded southern charm, and the investigator chuckled.
"I'll make sure you're put through," promised Karsch. "Don't forget that dedication!"
"Fella sounded pretty lively to me," Nadine remarked, hanging up the phone.
"I didn't kill him," Rainey said blankly.
"Glad to hear it." She patted his shoulder. "Never really thought you did."
"I guess I owe you a hundred and fifty bucks."
"Like hell! Who knows, I might be able to do something with it, like write it off as research."
Mort listened, fascinated, as Nadine made several more calls, posing diversely as a legal secretary, an insurance clerk, and a bank representative. Two useful pieces of information emerged from Nadine's chicanary. First, that a settlement check had been awarded to Amy Rainey and deposited in her bank account several weeks after the time Mort believed he'd killed her. Secondly, a call to the Riverdale Fire Marshall's office showed that the fire had been listed as cleared, having been attributed to a burgle-and-burn ring that had been busted recently in that part of the state.
"Has anyone ever told you you're a pathological liar?" Rainey asked her with admiration as she put the phone down.
Nadine smiled. "Shoot. They'd have to catch me at it first."
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God, that girl lies like a rug! So, it looks like Mort didn't kill Greenleaf or Karsch and didn't commit arson...of course, there's still the little matter of Amy and Ted...and Chico, of course.