Fatal Debt Page 19

  “You do good work. I was at the house. I saw what you’d done.” I said. “I guess the contracting business doesn’t pay as well as drug dealing, though.”

  We passed under a street lamp and the yellow light illuminated us for a few seconds. I watched the houses we passed hoping to see someone at a window or in their yard. Nothing.

  “I guess Belinda needed your drug money,” I said. “That gambling habit of hers must be a killer.”

  I’d seen the glazed over look in Belinda’s eyes the day I’d run into her at the Indian casino. She wasn’t there for the fun of it, as Leona and the other ladies were. Belinda was in deep—which explained why she had all those credit cards, why they were all maxed out, why Sean had found their savings account empty, their bills past due, and their home teetering on foreclosure.

  “Belinda met Leonard at the casino,” I said. “She’s the one who put him in touch with you, right?”

  Redmond still didn’t answer.

  “Nice of you to burn down her house for her. I guess it took care of a lot of her problems. She’s all yours now, with Sean out of the way.” I looked up at Redmond. “Did you really have to kill him?”

  He finally spoke. I guess he saw no reason not to, considering he planned to kill me shortly.

  “If he’d butted out, that wouldn’t have happened,” Redmond said. “He threatened to take her kids.”

  “I guess he was a complication you didn’t need,” I said.

  “So are you.” Redmond uttered a gruff laugh. “Leonard said he had you under control. But then Belinda saw you at the casino with Leonard’s aunt. You made the connection. You got greedy. You tried to blackmail me.”

  “Blackmail?”

  “Leonard didn’t know you as well as he thought,” Redmond said.

  “I wasn’t trying to blackmail you. I just wanted you to paint the Sullivan house.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  We stopped beside a black BMW parked at the curb and Redmond opened the passenger side door.

  No way was I getting into that car.

  “Do you really think killing me is going to solve another problem?” I asked, just for something to say, just to give myself a few more seconds to think.

  Redmond crowded me against the car. “Get in.”

  My heart pounded in my chest. I had to do something. Anything. I wasn’t going willingly to my death.

  I feigned a move toward the car, raised my knee and drove my four-inch stiletto heel into Redmond’s ankle. It went in deep, thanks to my firm thigh muscles made possible by my diligent jogging.

  He howled. I jerked away, ducked under his arm and took off down the sidewalk.

  I wanted to head back to the party, to the crowd, to security, but that direction was a straight line down the street, an easy shot for Redmond to make with that pistol of his. I ran the other way.

  I cut across the lawn at the corner house, onto another street. Surely someone would be outside. Someone leaving their house, or arriving home. Somebody walking their dog. Somebody doing something.

  I saw no one.

  My initial surge of adrenaline kept me going, but running in thigh-high boots and a strapless bra wasn’t the best way to go. Should I bang on a door? Hide in shrubbery? Try to climb a fence into someone’s backyard?

  I got tackled from behind. A full body blow. I fell face down onto the grass, Redmond on top of me.

  He scrambled to his feet pulling me up with him, as he fumbled with his pocket, going for his gun.

  Strapless bra or not, I went wild. I kicked, punched, clawed, screamed. I wasn’t going down without a fight, without some of Redmond’s DNA under my fingernails.

  Apparently, he was used to a little tamer type of woman because I got away from him. Headlights beamed down the street. I ran toward them waving my arms and screaming.

  Redmond caught me again as I reached the sidewalk. I elbowed his ribs. He caught a fistful of my hair and pulled his pistol from his pocket.

  I’d be dead in seconds. My life flashed before my eyes.

  A white light covered me. It drew nearer growing more intense, blinding me.

  Were the angels coming for me?

  If so, they’d arrived in a Chevy Camaro.

  The car jumped the curb, high-beams glaring, and skidded to a stop a few feet from us. Nick jumped out, pistol drawn.

  “Freeze! Police!”

  Redmond hung there for another second or two, holding my hair, holding the pistol. Nick stood behind his open car door, arm extended, aiming his weapon directly at Redmond.

  “Put the gun down,” Nick shouted. “Put it down!”

  Redmond let me go. He tossed the pistol away.

  “Get down on the ground,” Nick told him.

  Redmond cursed, but stretched out on the grass, arms and legs spread.

  I started to shake. I touched my hair. It was in a million tangles. My cute little red polka dot pirate scarf was gone. I was missing an earring. I had grass stains on my blouse and big runs in my fishnets.

  “You bastard!” I shouted.

  I kicked Kirk Redmond in the ribs.

  Chapter 24

  I don’t usually jog on Sundays but today I made an exception. The afternoon was great—perfect Southern California weather. Three Days Grace blasted in my ears soothing me in a strange way. And I needed to be soothed.

  Aside from a few scrapes and bruises, I had no outward signs of my ordeal at Felderman’s party last night. The other injuries I’d sustained were on the inside. Thankfully, they were all on the mend. It was just a matter of time.

  I circled my complex a final time and returned to the stairs leading to my apartment. Nick appeared on the step beside me. I was glad to see him.

  I pulled out my ear buds and smiled. He smiled back.

  “I was waiting for you,” he said, and nodded toward my apartment.

  “Did you bring chocolate?” I asked, peering around him.

  “No. Just me.”

  For some reason, that sounded better than chocolate.

  “Want to come upstairs?” I asked.

  We got up, but a honking horn drew our attention. A black Coupe de Ville cruised to a stop in front of us. The top was down. Inside were Leona Wiley, Ruby, Helen and Dora. On the passenger side of the front seat sat Gladys Sullivan. All of them were dressed in their finest, clutching handbags on their laps.

  Slade was behind the wheel.

  “Hi, ladies,” I greeted as Nick and I walked over. “What are you up to?”

  “Road trip!” Ruby declared.

  “We’re hitting the highway,” Helen said.

  “Going to Vegas!” Dora shouted.

  I looked at Slade. He just shrugged and said, “It’s cool, babe.”

  Then I remembered something. I tore up the stairs, got the money Leonard had given me yesterday, and went back to the car. I passed it to Mrs. Sullivan.

  “From Leonard,” I said.

  “Is he all right?” she asked. “I’ve been so worried.”

  I glanced at Nick, then said, “Leonard’s in a little trouble, but he wanted you to have this money. I’m sure he’ll call you as soon as he can.”

  “Thank you, honey,” Mrs. Sullivan said.

  “Looks like Glady’s mojo is working already,” Dora declared, and the other ladies laughed.

  Mrs. Sullivan peeled off several of the bills and passed them back to me. “Put this on our account, will you?”

  “Sure,” I said, slipping the money into my pocket.

  I heaved a mental sigh, glad that Mrs. Sullivan could keep her Sony television and watch her stories to her heart’s content.

  Slade leaned toward me. “Gladys isn’t going to need mojo in Vegas. She’s got this car and it’s worth a nice chunk of change.”

  My eyebrows did a this-thing? bob.

  “I know a classic car collector who wants to see it. He’s willing to lay down about hundred grand for it,” Slade said.

  All I could do was smile.


  “Well, you kids have fun,” I said.

  The ladies waved as Slade drove away.

  Nick and I stood there watching until they disappeared, then we went upstairs and into my apartment.

  Seven Eleven rubbed against Nick’s legs, then trotted into the kitchen and hung out by her bowl. He poured dry food for her, then got two beers from the fridge and passed one to me.

  “I heard your folks were the hit of the party,” Nick said.

  “They’re really cool parents,” I said. But if Mom and Dad intended to be part of the party scene from now on, I was definitely taking both of them shopping.

  Nick leaned against the counter. “Leonard Sullivan was picked up.”

  “Did he tell you anything?” I asked.

  “He confessed to being a drug dealer in Redmond’s organization,” he said.

  “Please tell me Leonard didn’t mean for Mr. Sullivan to get killed,” I said.

  “His story is that his grandfather suspected what he was doing, threatened to go to the police and expose Redmond, thinking it would keep Leonard out of trouble,” Nick said. “When Leonard told Redmond, the two of them went to Sullivan’s house. Leonard thought Redmond was just going put some fear in him. He didn’t know he intended to kill him.”

  “Do you believe him?” I asked.

  “I believe him,” Nick said, which made me feel a little better.

  “How about Belinda?” I asked.

  “Picked her up, too. She cracked, confessed to her affair with Redmond and to conspiring with him to torch her own house,” Nick said. “She claimed it was because of her addiction to gambling and the bills she’d piled up.”

  “Did she know Redmond intended to kill Sean?” I asked.

  Nick paused. “She says she didn’t, but I’m not so sure.”

  I was sure.

  “What about their children?” I asked.

  “Sean’s mom has them,” he said.

  I shook my head. “I knew there was something weird about Belinda but I never figured she’d do something like this. Sure, having an affair, getting into debt, spending all of Sean’s money is something I can understand—not agree with, of course, but understand,” I said. “But having her boyfriend burn down her house? Having Sean killed?”

  “She wanted him out of her life. He threatened to take her kids away,” Nick said. “Gambling. It takes over, like drugs or booze.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “but what about love?”

  “Are you talking about us?” Nick asked.

  I almost choked on my beer. “Us?”

  “Yes, Dana,” he said, and set his beer on the counter. “Us.”

  “There is no us,” I said.

  “Because of what happened with Katie Jo and me back in high school?” he asked.

  “Exactly,” I told him.

  Nick looked at me for a few seconds, and said, “Maybe there was more to the story than you knew.”

  “Like what?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t me who got her pregnant,” Nick said. “Maybe I was covering for someone else.”

  “Are you saying that’s what happened?” I asked.

  Nick shook his head. “I’m simply asking if you’d ever considered either of those things.”

  “Well, no,” I admitted.

  Nick took the beer bottle from my hand and set it on the counter.

  “Doesn’t it reassure you to know that I’m good at keeping secrets?” he asked.

  “Why should it?” I asked.

  Nick put his hands on my shoulders and gave me one of his infamous grins.

  “Because if I get you pregnant,” he said. “you won’t have to worry about me telling anyone.”

  My insides fluttered. “That won’t happen.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Nick lowered his head until his lips fanned my cheek. “I’m willing to prove it to you.”

  My knees nearly gave out. He slid his arm around me. All I could focus on was Nick and how close he was, how good he smelled.

  “Are you going to forget about Katie Jo and me?” Nick murmured against my neck.

  “No,” I said, though I was having trouble focusing. “Are you going to tell me the truth about you two?”

  “No,” Nick said.

  I put my hand on his chest and leaned back a little.

  “I’m telling you, Nick, nothing will ever go on between us until I know what happened with you and Katie Jo,” I said.

  “We’ll see about that,” he whispered.

  Nick smiled and I started to melt. I couldn’t help it. He’d had that effect on me since high school.

  He pulled me close. It felt good, really good. Then he kissed me.

  Ahh … so this is what it’s like to own the world.

  THE END

  Dear Reader,

  Thanks for giving Fatal Debt a try!

  If you enjoyed this book, you’ll probably also like my Haley Randolph mystery series available from Kensington Books in hardcover, paperback, and ebook formats. Haley is an amateur sleuth whose passion for designer handbags leads to murder.

  More information is available at www.DorothyHowellNovels.com and at my Dorothy Howell Novels fan page on Facebook. You can follow me on Twitter @DHowellNovels.

  If you’re a romance reader, I also write historical fiction under the pen name Judith Stacy. You’re invited to check out www.JudithStacy.com.

  I’m eternally grateful to everyone who generously gave their time, effort, and support to the creation of this book. Some of them are: David Howell, Judith Branstetter, Stacy Howell, William F. Wu, Ph.D., Evie Cook, Kristina Minutella, and the talented team at Web Crafters Design.

  I hope you’ll watch for upcoming books in the Haley Randolph series.

  Happy reading!

  Dorothy

  Turn the page for a sneak peek at the upcoming Haley Randolph mystery.

  Coming June, 2013, in hardcover from Kensington Books

  Evening Bags and Executions

  A Haley Randolph Mystery

  Chapter 1

  The girl who had this job before me was murdered.

  That should have been my first clue.

  But, honestly, that little chunk of info hadn’t seemed like a big deal when I’d applied for the position. And the fact that I’d been hired pretty much over the phone didn’t seem significant, either.

  So I, Haley Randolph, with my worthy-of-a-romance-novel-cover dark hair, my I’m-enviably-tall five-foot-nine-inch height, and my too-bad-they’re-mostly-recessive beauty-queen genes, had accepted a position as an assistant planner at L.A. Affairs, the biggest, coolest event-planning company in Los Angeles.

  I mean, jeez, what else could I do? I needed a job—or, really, a paycheck—plus I owned eight fully accessorized business suits left from a job I’d had a few weeks ago—long story—that I absolutely had to wear somewhere.

  Everybody has their priorities.

  My life had taken a lot of hits in the last month or so, but I’m proud to say I’d rolled with all of them. Some other person might have been knocked for a loop at losing the best job in the entire world, as I had, or been devastated beyond belief at breaking up with their totally hot boyfriend, as I had. But not me. Oh no. In fact, I was doing way better now than before those things happened. Really.

  My whole future had suddenly crystallized—like when you see a to-die-for Louis Vuitton satchel in the display window and know that, no matter what, you’re going to buy it—and I knew exactly where my life was headed and how I was going to get there.

  So here I was facing down birthday number twenty-five pretty soon—the dreaded hump year on the downhill slide to the my-life-is-over-I’ll-never-have-fun-again big three-oh—and I was perfectly okay with it. I swear.

  That’s probably because, at long last, I’d settled on the career I wanted. It didn’t even bother me that it required that I finally get my bachelor’s degree.

  The decision had come to me in a flash at three o’clock one morning when I was s
itting alone on my couch, eating Oreos stuffed with M&M’s, dipped in fudge, and topped with chocolate chips—my own personal recipe—and watching television. I’d discovered the History Channel—do they have interesting shows, or what?—and believe me, a lot of fantastic ideas can spring up during those all-night documentary marathons.

  I’d decided I wanted a career as a corporate buyer. I mean, jeez, it seemed like a natural fit for me—I loved to shop, I had great taste in absolutely everything, and I wasn’t intimidated by crowds, even on Black Friday.

  I’d actually been hired to work as a buyer, sort of, a few weeks ago at a fabulous company downtown. I ended up working as their corporate event planner instead—long story—but everything had turned out okay. Kind of.

  That life-altering, future-defining decision made, I’d registered for four classes at College of the Canyons—most of them were online, but they still counted—and was loving every one of them. Really.

  My life was rolling along great now. I had my totally cool apartment in Santa Clarita that was about thirty minutes north of downtown Los Angeles. It needed a little fixing up but was still fabulous. My best friend Marcie Hanover and I were giving killer purse parties, though, really, I hadn’t had much time lately to plan a party. I had tons of really great friends, even though I hadn’t seen any of them in a while. I still had my part-time sales clerk job at Holt’s Department Store and, yeah, I only made about eight bucks an hour, but it was okay. And the best part of my life was that my mom and I were getting along great.

  I left my Honda in a parking garage off Sepulveda Boulevard in Sherman Oaks and headed for the building that would be my new home away from home. It was a gorgeous Southern California morning in September. Nearby were lots of office building, banks, apartment complexes, and the Sherman Oaks Galleria with terrific shops and restaurants.

  Showing up for the first day on the job could be intimidating for some people, but not me. Let’s just say that I’d done this quite often in the last few years. I’d worked as a lifeguard, receptionist, file clerk, and two weeks at a pet store before moving on to a fantastic job in the accounting department of the Pike Warner law firm last fall. Things hadn’t turned out as well as I’d hoped—there was that whole administrative-leave-investigating-pending thing—but I’d moved on.