Heads You Lose - Lisa Lutz [103]
Lacey phoned Paul on her way home.
“Big Marv hired a geologist. He’ll be here in a few days. Time to leave,” she said.
“Shit. I didn’t think it would be so fast. What do we do about the house?” The idea of a vengeful Marv had been acceptable as a future possibility—something he could make an outline for. As a present reality, it terrified him.
“I think Betty has a real estate license,” Lacey replied.
“I’ll call her.”
“What are you up to today?” Lacey asked.
“Nothing,” Paul replied.
“When you find the time to break away from nothing, you might want to start packing,” Lacey said, and then ended the call.
Paul’s answer was true. While he previously had plans to investigate the highly suspicious yet deceased Harry Lakes, Brandy convinced him otherwise. She explained that while Lakes was probably up to no good, he was certainly not the link that explained the series of killings in Mercer. Paul was glad for a reason not to take a drive. In fact, he was glad for a reason not to do anything at all. He parked himself in front of the TV and watched a marathon of Mythmatch. After he asked Brandy to fetch him his third beer, she tried to get him out of the house. She even suggested a hike, an unusual proposal from someone with a compromised gait, but Paul couldn’t be budged from the comfort of the sofa.
Brandy prayed that her betrothed’s lethargy was simply a response to all the recent stress, but in the back of her mind it occurred to her that she might have hitched her wagon to a dull, aimless man with a little bit of cash tucked away.
Lacey packed well into the evening until complete exhaustion set in. Surrounded by a sea of boxes, she climbed into her bed and thought she’d take a quick nap before she continued.
Something stirred her awake a few hours later. She first checked the clock and noticed it was just past midnight.
She had a feeling she was not alone.
A familiar shape was perched on top of a big box by the window. While some people experience the phenomenon of being unable to distinguish between waking and dream life, Lacey was not one of them. She was wide awake.
“You’re alive,” she said.
“Surprised?” he replied.
“Yes.”
“What happened?” she heard herself asking.
Hart sat down on the edge of Lacey’s bed. She could see his face through the light in the window. He had a few days’ stubble and his hair was growing out from an amateurish bleach job. Despite herself, she was almost happy to see him.
“I’m not dead,” he said.
“I figured out that part,” Lacey replied. “But I saw you.”
“Did you?”
“You had your mother’s ring. The tattoo on your wrist . . .” she trailed off, trying to think of something else that proved what she’d once believed. But there was nothing.
“It wasn’t me,” Hart said.
“Obviously. Who was it?” Lacey asked.
“Some kid,” Hart replied.
“Did he have a name?”
“Everybody has a name.”
“What was it, Hart?”
“Brice.”
“He’s been missing.”
“Not exactly,” Hart casually replied.
“How did he die?”
“Peacefully.”
“The tattoo? Was that a coincidence?”
“His choice.”
“How many shots of whiskey did it take to be his choice?”
“About a dozen. The drinks cost more than the tattoo, I’ll tell you that.”
“I don’t understand,” Lacey said. She tried to keep her voice even. If Hart sensed fear, she would be next. “Why did the body keep coming back?”
“Because without a head, I needed someone to identify me. I needed you to identify me. I thought you’d find the tattoo the first time around and recognize the shirt.”
“The shirt?” Lacey repeated.
“You gave it to me, remember? Two years ago for my birthday.”
“Oh yeah,” Lacey replied. “But couldn’t they identify the body through the fingerprints?”
“The fingerprint database is only for convicted criminals. Believe it or not, I’ve never been charged with a crime.”
“I still don’t understand why you did it, Hart.”
“I did it for you. And me. We have money now. We can go anywhere we want.”
Hart removed a quartered envelope from his back pocket and passed it to Lacey.
“This arrived for you today.”
Lacey peeked inside and saw that it was