Fully Loaded - Blake Crouch [76]
When it finally opened and Daphne Rochefort stood in the threshold in a lavender terrycloth robe, Letty realized she had given no prior consideration to exactly what she might say to this woman, had thought through and executed getting here, but nothing after.
“Yes?”
“Daphne?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “What can I do for you?” Though at face value the words were all southern hospitality, the delivery carried a distinct northern draft.
Letty rubbed her bare arms, figured she probably still reeked of alcohol and vomit.
“There’s a man coming here to kill you.”
“Pardon?”
“I know this must sound—”
“You smell like booze.”
“You have to listen to me.”
“I want you off my porch.”
“Please, just—”
“I’m calling the police.”
“Good, call the police.”
Daphne retreated to slam the door, but Letty darted forward, planting her right heel across the doorframe. “I’m trying to help you. Just give me two minutes.”
Letty followed Daphne past the staircase, down a hallway into an enormous kitchen full of marble and stainless steel and redolent of chopped onions and cooking eggs. Daphne went to the stove, flipped an omelet, and began to peel a banana. “What’s your name?”
“It’s not important.”
“So talk,” she said.
Letty stood across the island from her, light flooding in through the large windows behind the sink, the coffeemaker at the end of its brewing cycle, gurgling like it’d had its throat cut.
“Here’s the Clif Notes,” Letty said, “ because we don’t have much time. I went to the Grove Park Inn yesterday. Someone hooked me up with a master keycard, tipped me off to which rooms might be worth hitting.”
“You’re a thief.”
“I was in the last room of the day when the guest came back unexpectedly. I had to hide in the closet.”
“I’m failing to see—”
“Chase was with him.” Daphne stopped slicing the banana. “Your husband gave this man, Arnold, a key to your house. A photo of you. A floor plan. And twenty-five thousand dollars to murder you.”
Daphne looked up from the cutting board, her bright, black eyes leveled upon Letty like a double-barreled shotgun. Her smile exposed a row of exquisite teeth.
“I want you to leave right now.”
“You think I’m lying? I didn’t want to come here. I had a chance to steal the twenty-five thousand this morning. Could’ve gone home, had nothing more to do with any of this. You don’t know me, but this isn’t like me, this…selflessness. I’ve been to prison too many times. I can’t take another felony charge. Getting involved in this was a great risk for me.”
Daphne took up the knife again, continued cutting the banana.
Letty spotted the clock on the microwave. “I can prove it to you. It’s 10:11. In exactly four minutes, your husband will call you. He’ll tell you he can’t find his wallet. He’ll ask you to go upstairs to your bedroom and check in his bedside table. If he calls, will you believe me?”
Daphne glanced at the microwave clock, then back at Letty. Honest to God fear in her eyes for the first time. A solemn, crushing focus. She nodded. The eggs burning.
“How will he reach you?” Letty asked. “Landline? Cell?”
“My iPhone.”
“Can we take the Beamer in the driveway?”
“I’m not leaving with you.”
“You don’t understand. By the time your husband calls you, it’ll be too late. The point of the phone call is to get you upstairs so Arnold can break in.”
“You want to leave right now?”
“This second.”
Daphne moved the pan to a cold burner and turned off the gas. They walked back down the hall, past a wall adorned with family and individual portraits and a collage of photographs—grinning babies and toddlers.
In the foyer, Daphne plucked a set of keys from a ceramic bowl beside a coat rack and opened the front door. The yard brilliant with strands of light that passed through the trees and struck the lawn in splashes of green.
Ten steps from the silver Beamer, Letty grabbed Daphne’s arm and spun her around with a hard jerk.
“Ouch.”
“Back inside.”
“Why?”
“There’s a car parked halfway up your driveway behind the rhododendron.”
They went back up the steps.