N9ne: The Tale of Kevin Clearwater (King, #9)(15)

I rush over to Bear, who is cursing under his breath. “I’m fine,” he grates through his teeth. “Get me the fucker’s tie.”

I pull the tie from around Jared’s fresh corpse and hand it to Bear, who ties it around his wound as tight as he can. His face reddens with pain.

He stands, holding himself up by using one of the bed posts as an anchor. I know better than to try and help him. Bear isn’t one to accept help from anyone. I walk back over to the safe and pull out Jared’s laptop. “I’ll take it with us. What do you want to do here?” I ask.

“I’ll call for cleanup. Let them handle it while I get patched up.”

I notice the other closet on the other side of the hall. This one is filled with women’s clothes. Bear notices it, too. “Jared doesn’t live alone. He said the girlfriend was involved. Should we wait for her to get home?”

“Her shit’s still here,” I say. “You heard him. He wasn’t just leaving. He was leaving her. If we bring her in, she might not tell us shit. I’ll keep an eye on her. Check her files. If she’s got shit to do with this, she’ll lead me right to the money.”

Bear grimaces as we head for the stairs. “Just get to her before Tico does.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “And there’s nothing left of her to question.”





Chapter Six





LENNY





When I was younger, I used to call for my mom in the middle of the night. She’d race up my room, and I’d complain to her that my stomach hurt. She knew that it was my way of telling her I was worrying about something, even if I didn’t understand it yet myself.

Mom would make me soup or hot chocolate no matter what time or day or night it was. She’d hold me close and tell me everything was going to be okay. She never brushed me off. She never told me that it was pointless to worry, just that the feeling would pass, and that everything was going to be okay, even if it didn’t feel like it would be.

Until they both died, and it wasn’t okay anymore.

It never would be.

“I can’t believe it’s been almost four years,” I say. “And I can’t believe I’m talking to you as if you guys are still here.” I wipe the tear from my eye and sniffle. I crouch down and lay a bouquet of tulips in front of the simply marked headstone with my parent’s names, Michelle and Michael Leary, and the date that their plane went down over the Gulf of Mexico.

I brush my fingers over the soft grass, and stand. I look down at the headstone once more and find myself smiling. Even in death, my parents were romantic. Their will insisted that if they died together that they be buried together in a single coffin in one shared grave.

Together for eternity.

A love like theirs was the stuff of fairytales when happy marriages like theirs didn’t exist anymore. Growing up, I didn’t have a single friend whose parents weren’t divorced or whose step-parent wasn’t the first one to be awarded that title. Nope, my parents were the odd ones. Neighbors since the day they were born, elementary school best friends, high school sweethearts, married in college and stayed that way for over twenty-years while running a successful business together.

A business I tried and tried to save after they died. But when their single-engine plane crashed, so did the South Florida real estate market. I did everything I could, including using every penny from their life insurance payout, but it wasn’t enough. I was young and naive and wasted a truck-full of money on something that couldn’t be saved. I take some small comfort that, at least, they weren’t around to see it go down in flames.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save the business,” I tell them. I know that my apologies aren’t necessary. My parents were understanding people, especially when it came to me, and if they were watching me over the past few years, then, they know I sacrificed finishing high school, going to college, and generally everything else a teenage girl normally does to keep Leary Real Estate afloat. Hopefully, the little bit of money I have left will float me until I can find a job. One where the company is willing to hire someone with no high school diploma and only ‘worked for my dead parents’ company’ on their resume.

I kiss my fingertips and press them to the top of the headstone. “I love you both. So much. I miss you. Every day. I wish you were here. I could really use one of your hugs, Mom. And Dad, I could go for a cheesy dad joke right about now, and I promise I wouldn’t make fun of you for it.” I sniffle. “Okay, you and I both know that’s a lie.” I set down the bouquet of purple tulips on the base of the headstone. “Until next time.”

The air in the cemetery is muggy and warm. Too warm for the black pencil skirt with matching blazer I’m wearing, but I’m dressed this way for a reason. Because today, I have one more official stop to make as a representative of Leary Real Estate. My heels sink into the soft earth as I make my way back to my waiting Uber because I’m a responsible day drinker.

Bring the vodka. Leave the car.

The driver starts the car. Our next stop is the now empty Leary Real Estate office so I can drop off the keys and the final payment to the landlord.

I press my forehead to the window, looking out over the cemetery as we pass through the sea of headstones on the way back to the main gate.