Day of the Dead - J. A. Jance [129]
“I handed Denise a written statement to give to the press. If you want to read it…”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about that,” Larry interrupted impatiently. “What are we going to do about Brandon Walker?”
“Come on, Larry.” Gayle kept her demeanor calm. Larry was upset, and she didn’t want to make things worse. “What do you mean, Walker knows about Roseanne? What did he say?”
“He came right out and asked me if I was the father of her child. How could he possibly know to ask me that? Nobody else ever figured it out. Why would he?”
“You’re right,” Gayle said. “This does sound serious.”
“What should we do?”
“I think it’s time we headed south,” she said quietly.
“Permanently?” he asked.
She nodded. “I was just on the phone checking the money situation. We’ll be fine. If we leave now—today—by the time anyone figures it out, it’ll be too late. Once we’re across the border, we’re home free. There are no legal problems in Mexico that can’t be fixed with the right amount of money put into the right hands.”
“But what about the house? What if someone goes through it and comes across the room in the basement? I’ve cleaned it as well as possible, but there’s always a chance…”
“I’ll take care of the house, Larry,” she assured him. “You know very well that it’s always been my intention to take care of the house. Is there anything you want from there, anything you want to take along with us?”
He paused and seemed to consider. “No,” he answered at last. “There’s nothing I want.”
“Good,” she said. “I’ll call for a jet to take us to Cabo. By contract we have to give them eight hours’ advance notice, but they may well have a plane available to pick us up sooner than that. I have some errands to run, then I’ll head out to the ranch and take care of things there. You hold down the fort here, but keep a low profile. Don’t talk to the media. Don’t grant any interviews.”
For several long seconds, Larry appeared to be seized with indecision. Gayle was afraid he hadn’t heard a word she’d said.
Finally he nodded. “All right.” Then, making what seemed to be a supreme effort to pull himself together, he added, “You’re sure you won’t need my help out at the ranch?”
She smiled at him then. Things always worked more smoothly when she was the one who came up with the plan and all Larry had to do was follow orders.
“I can handle it,” she said.
“But you will be careful,” he cautioned. “That stuff can be very dangerous.”
“You know me,” she said. “I’m always careful.”
Twenty-Seven
Feeling all his sixty-plus years, Larry left Gayle’s office and went to his own. He shut the door and locked it. Then he called out to reception and said he was not to be disturbed.
He hadn’t exactly told Gayle the truth. He did want something from the house. If he had known he was leaving today, he would have brought his notebooks to work. They would have fit in his briefcase. Now, because he hadn’t wanted to admit to Gayle that the notebooks even existed, he was faced with the prospect of leaving them behind. If Gayle destroyed them along with the rest of the house, fine, but if anyone happened to stumble across them…
In terms of treasure, Larry’s prize didn’t amount to much—a series of cheap photo albums he’d picked up from Walgreens over the years. What he valued was the collection of photos he kept inside—dated Polaroid shots of each of his girls, pictures that graphically chronicled each of their individual journeys. When he was between girls—as he was now—he often consoled himself by revisiting his past exploits. Browsing through the pictures was a balm to him, but in someone else’s hands…Regardless of what he had told Gayle, he had to go get them. If she caught him there, he’d make up some excuse, but the notebooks had to be in his personal possession when he stepped onto the jet.
Unable to sit still, Larry paced back and forth in his office. The incident with Brandon Walker had unnerved him. Eventually he would feel the rush of relief,