Dig Two Graves by James Harper (important books to read .txt) 📗

clerk made his opening gambit.

‘Hmm.’

Evan didn’t say anything.

‘That sounds like there’s definitely gonna be somebody asking.’

Evan glanced quickly behind at the car idling outside, flicked his head at it.

‘Maybe her husband. But he’s only a little guy.’

The clerk’s face scrunched, a well-practiced gesture that Evan guessed was followed by a sharp intake of breath through his teeth if he had a harder sell on his hands.

‘I don’t know. It sounds dangerous to me. Her husband might have a gun.’

Evan laid another two fifties on the counter.

‘And we just had the doors painted. If somebody kicks it in . . .’

Evan didn’t mention that the doors hadn’t been painted since the place was built, same as the rest of the dump. He put another fifty on the counter. The clerk went to scoop the pile up. Evan put his hand on top of his to stop him.

‘And you call the room we’re in if anybody asks.’

‘No problem.’

He lifted his hand and the cash disappeared under the counter. The clerk pushed an old-fashioned register across it towards him.

‘If you could sign in, please, Mr . . .?’

‘O’Brien. Liam O’Brien.’

They parked on the far side of the lot in the shade of some trees—it wasn’t as if they’d be making a fast escape in the Taurus—then got settled into a room that would have benefitted from a thorough clean, or better still, an all-consuming fire. They ate their lunch in silence, Bella on the bed with her shoes kicked off and feet up, Evan in the single easy chair. It wasn’t only the sandwich that was too reminiscent of the one the clerk had sprayed him with that was giving him indigestion. They needed to talk about Merritt. It promised to be an uncomfortable conversation at best, her earlier statement that he couldn’t be involved leaving little room for doubt in her mind.

‘Tell me about Merritt.’

‘What do you mean?’

Already there was a hint of defensiveness in her voice. He held up his hands.

‘I’m not suggesting he’s behind the attack the other night. But maybe someone he knows is. Somebody with a hold over him they could use if he inherits all your father’s money.’

‘You mean blackmailing him?’

He shrugged, just throwing out ideas.

‘Maybe. We’ve got to start somewhere. What does he do for a living?’

Her mouth turned down, a dismissive snort punching out of it.

‘He works’—she made quotes in the air with her fingers—‘for his grandfather.’

‘Your father?’

‘No. The other one.’

Delivered in a don’t you know anything tone of voice. If he’d been asked, he’d have to have said it appeared not. It was getting more complex by the minute.

‘Who, Gerald Bloodwell?’

‘Uh-huh. The man that I’m supposed to be stalking.’

‘What does he do for him?’

That got him a full-bodied laugh. She swung her feet off the bed, sat on the edge.

‘He sits around on his lazy ass playing with his toys. The latest one is a helicopter, for Christ’s sake. He’s waiting for his grandfather to die, basically.’

It appeared Leon was doing a lot more than feeding her information about her father’s health. He was keeping her abreast of what was going on with the whole family. That included the fact that Merritt stood to inherit Gerald Bloodwell’s fortune.

It wasn’t only her words that grabbed his attention—there was a strange note in her voice as well. The way she said his grandfather had an odd ring to it.

But, more than that, unless Merritt was exceptionally greedy and grasping, he was unlikely to be behind a plot to kill Bella in order to inherit her father’s wealth—not when he was due to inherit from his other filthy rich grandfather. He wouldn’t jeopardize that, risk taking out a hit on Bella. He said as much to her.

She did her best to keep the I told you so out of her voice and off her face.

‘At least you believe me now. Even if it is for monetary reasons and not because he wouldn’t try to kill his own aunt. You should try not thinking the worst—’

Her mouth clamped shut. It was obvious what she’d been about to say and decided against—the worst about people.

Maybe she realized what a stupid thing it was to say to a person in his job. She might as well say it to a homicide detective. Except it didn’t feel like that to him. It was more a case of people in glass houses . . .

It was time to move on.

So far all he’d done was go backwards in a big way. He’d unearthed a compelling reason why it was unlikely to be Merritt behind the attack. He didn’t want to talk about her sister, Blair, an even more contentious topic. That only left people who were already dead.

‘How did your sister’s husband die?’

Too late he realized that if he believed the fake Detective O’Brien that Bella was involved, they were back to Blair being the suspect—but for revenge rather than money.

The questions threw her for a moment.

‘Vance, you mean?’

‘Uh-huh. Has she had any others?’

She shook her head.

‘No. I wasn’t expecting the question, that’s all. It can’t be anything to do with him. He’s been dead for more than twenty years.’

And you haven’t answered the question.

He waited. She found something interesting to look at on the floor. He stood up, stretched his back. Went to look out of the window.

‘I think it might rain.’

‘What?’

‘I thought we’d talk about the weather seeing as you don’t want to answer my question.’

She pushed herself off the bed, joined him at the window. Peered out at the sky.

‘You’re wrong. I think we’ll be lucky.’

They shared a smile, then she came clean, surprised the hell out of him.

‘He committed suicide.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. People do it all the time. Even rich people with everything to live for. On the face of it, at least.’

He knew her well enough by now to know that asking her to explain what she meant by on the face of it was likely to get them back onto talking about the weather. He