Heads You Lose - Lisa Lutz [42]
When she was halfway down, her cell phone rang. She put her headset on with one hand and answered it.
“Lacey, it’s Marybeth. I thought of that name. It was Merganser, Inc.”
“Mer-what? I missed that,” said Lacey.
“Merganser. Like the duck.”
NOTES:
Lisa,
I thought it was time to bring a couple of my characters back to reality, and to introduce a little more danger and intrigue. I figure you didn’t collaborate with me just to hear echoes of your own voice.
Dave
Dave,
I’m speechless. Wait, no I’m not. I just don’t know where to begin. Your whole chapter was like a headbutt. Did you just watch Deliverance? Might I remind you that we’re collaborating on a novel together, not playing a high-stakes poker game. What has gotten into you? What has gotten into Sook? Why in God’s name would you use the words “subfusc,” “asperous,” and “caliginous” in a freaking crime novel? Here’s a rule worth following: If the spell-check doesn’t recognize the word, don’t use it!
I brought you into this endeavor to improve it, not sabotage it. I just know James Patterson doesn’t have to put up with this shit. In the next chapter, I’m getting this book back on the rails. I hope we can keep it there.
Lisa
P.S. No, I wouldn’t remove my own appendix. But I wouldn’t let you do it either.
CHAPTER 13
Another idiotic duck reference was all Lacey had to show for her visit with Marybeth Monroe. Lacey thought for sure Hart’s mom would have a little more information. In fact, on the drive home she had to wonder why she’d even bothered with the visit, which was an utter waste of time. It was as if some outside element were at work, temporarily putting the brakes on her investigation.
There were questions that needed asking. For instance: Who were Hart’s known associates? Where had he been living these past six months? Were there any conflicts she knew of? Was he dealing meth again, or even using his product? Was he having money troubles? Marybeth, from what Lacey recalled, was always good for a few grand. These questions would have to linger for a while. Lacey couldn’t bring herself to return to the Monroe household just yet. Instead, she dropped by Mapleshade for a debriefing.
Once again, Lacey had enlisted the cuddly badass Sook in her investigation. Against her better judgment, she’d asked the old man to invite himself on an early-morning hunting trip with Tate—a reconnaissance mission, of sorts (though not the wisest activity for a man who had his driver’s license revoked due to poor eyesight). After Lacey’s dead-end visit with Marybeth Monroe, she hoped that Sook might offer some new revelation.
“My, it was cold out there. I’m afraid I don’t have much to report,” Sook said, looking a bit haggard. “You might want to steer clear of the Timberline for a while. You’ve really gotten under Tate’s skin.”
“Could he be the killer?”
“Lacey, he’s not your killer. He was talking too much. Your murderer would keep his trap shut. Besides, Tate’s basically harmless. Everybody knows that. Hell, he can’t even get his wife to give him his clothes back. He’s been wearing the same pair of pants for a week now. When he wears pants.”
“He should just buy another pair,” Lacey said.
“Agreed.”
“I still think he’s hiding something.”
“We’re all hiding something, Lace. But sometimes when you’re foraging for mushrooms, you find wild nettle instead.”
“I used to do that with my mom,” Lacey said, recalling afternoons spent on their property while her mother showed her the difference between the King bolete, an edible fungus, and its close relative, Satan’s bolete, poisonous until cooked. But still, who wants to tempt fate?
“Do what?” Sook asked, as Lacey’s mind wandered.
“Do you remember