Thick as Thieves(103)

“Hi, Lisa.”

Arden’s synapses were operating sluggishly. From where she lay on her side on the floor, she looked up and blinked Rusty into focus. He was wearing disposable gloves. Her nine-millimeter looked very dark and menacing against the bright blue latex on his right hand.

Her own gun was aimed at her? How and when had Rusty gotten it?

Lisa said, “Don’t, Rusty. Please don’t.”

“Don’t pull the trigger, you mean?”

“Please.”

“Look at that, Arden.” He nudged her hip with the metal toe of his boot. “Did you think you would live to see the day that this bitch would beg?”

He bent down and hooked his free hand in Arden’s elbow, then yanked her to her feet with a suddenness that made her nauseated. He shoved her down onto the side of the bed. She sat, swaying, but raised her chin and gave him the fiercest look she could muster.

“Ledge is on his way here. If you hurt us, he will kill you.”

“Ledge is speeding in the opposite direction to rescue his poor ol’ senile uncle Henry.” He poked the barrel of the pistol between her breasts. “If you move, you’re dead.”

Lisa raised her fingers to her mouth and whimpered. “Arden hasn’t done anything to you.”

“Not yet, but she and Burnet are cooking up a bad batch of hassle for me. The only reason I haven’t killed her yet is because, first, I want to expose her to the devious bitch you are.”

As he said that, he reached into his shirt pocket, then opened his hand so they could see what it held. “These little buggers are the best invention ever. You stick them someplace like underneath a kitchen table, and you can hear conversations clear as a bell. Well, not quite that clear, especially with this damn weather. But clear enough.

“Unfortunately, I didn’t get this one planted soon enough to be privy to everything Arden and Burnet have been discussing over the last few days, but I’m guessing they’ve been plotting my never-gonna-happen downfall.

“However, I did get it in here last night after taking care of some other, rather urgent business.” He winked down at Arden as though they shared an inside joke. Dwayne Hawkins. “While I was here, I helped myself to this.” He brandished the pistol. “So when I kill her,” he said, indicating Lisa, “it’ll look like you did it before shooting yourself.”

“What a foolish plan,” Arden said. “Nobody will believe that I killed my sister. I have no reason to.”

“Yeah, you do. You just don’t know it yet.” He gave her a wide grin. Then going back to Lisa, he said, “Where was I? Oh, the bug.” He bounced it in his palm, then returned it to his pocket. “Luckily, I successfully planted it last night. Because, today, I caught you lying through your pretty porcelains.”

“I confessed that I was in on the burglary, not our dad.”

“Oh, I know. I heard. And it was touching. Truly. But, no, see, what I’m referring to came later in the conversation, when you were telling her and Burnet about me coming here, ranting and raving like a man possessed. Et cetera.”

“Do you deny it?”

“No. Not at all. If I’d’ve found Joe and the money that night, I probably would have killed him, and you with him, taken the money, and been a happy camper.”

He pursed his lips and frowned down at Arden. “Wouldn’t have made a very good Easter morning for little Arden, though, would it?” Then his features became taut with malevolence as he turned back to Lisa. “Did baby sister’s welfare cross your mind when you were murdering her daddy?”

Arden’s stomach heaved. She had to swallow quickly to keep from spewing bile.

Lisa fell back a step, her spine landing hard enough against the door frame to make a knocking sound. “You’re demented.”

“I’m crazy like a fox is what I am. I pick up on things. Like when you told your appreciative audience that I went into the kitchen there, looking for Joe, and all that was left of him were muddy footprints just inside the back door and a wet patch where the bag of money had been.”

“So?”

“There were no footprints. No wet spot.”

Arden looked over at Lisa, whose lips had gone as white as her fingers still gripping the doorknob.

“When I heard that,” Rusty continued, “it got me to thinking that the rigmarole about you hearing him come in, finding him in the kitchen with the money, and telling you the jig was up, yada yada, was bunk. He never made it back to the house that night, did he?”

Lisa’s throat worked. “I told Arden the truth. Dad—”

“Okay,” he said, cutting her off. “Have it your way. One thing you did tell the truth about, I did warn you that, if you betrayed me, I would kill her with you watching.”

“No!” Lisa cried as she thrust her arm out toward him.

Arden surged to her feet and raised her knee, trying to knock the pistol out of Rusty’s hand, but dizziness made her uncoordinated. She did no harm to Rusty. He secured her around the waist with his free arm, pulled her back against his chest, and jammed the pistol up under her chin.

He yelled at Lisa, “Now, I don’t care that you killed the old drunkard, I just want the money!”

“It’s gone, you idiot! I spent it!”