Heads You Lose - Lisa Lutz [53]
“Making deliveries, getting stoned, and watching a full day’s shift of television?”
“And what are your plans, Lace?”
“You know. The usual.”
“Would that be going to work or fighting crime?”
“Don’t see why I can’t do both.”
Lacey left her dirty mug and cereal bowl in the sink. Paul could clean up after her for once.
It was business as usual at the Tarpit. Until Betty arrived, that is.
“We need to talk,” Betty said.
The morning rush was over, so Lacey made her friend a hot chocolate with extra marshmallows and poured a cup of straight coffee for herself.
“What’s up?”
“This came for you yesterday,” Betty said, sliding the note across the table.
Lacey read the terse message.
“You have any idea who sent this?” Lacey asked, her heart beating out of her chest.
“No. I found it in my mailbox, just that one sheet of paper. When I opened it up a bunch of mini-marshmallows fell out.”
“Marshmallows?”
“Strange, huh?”
“Did you eat them?”
“Of course not.”
“You know what this means?” Lacey asked.
“It means whoever left the note is a dimwit. The phrase is ‘let sleeping dogs lie,’” Betty replied. “How could you confuse dogs with ducks?”
Lacey opted against enlightening Betty on the note’s subject matter. This was her investigation and she’d deal with it.
“Should I be scared?” Betty asked. “The note writer knows some things, like where I live and that I like marshmallows.”
“Don’t worry about it. Whoever sent this is after me,” Lacey replied, pocketing the piece of paper.
After Betty departed, Lacey continued to wonder who’d sent the warning. The question kept sticking in her head like a lousy old record. Big Marv was an obvious candidate, but hadn’t he already made himself abundantly clear, both physically and verbally? It couldn’t be Doc Holland, for too many reasons to list. For one, how would he know she was on to him? Secondly, if he was trying to keep a low profile, this was hardly the way to do it. Also, he knew where the Hansens lived—there was no reason to leave the note with Betty. Could somebody else besides the old non-doc have a stake in this matter? Lacey had no idea where to go with this lead, but she had to go somewhere.
After closing up the Tarpit, Lacey drove to her newly minted mailbox depot and opened the tiny door. She’d mailed the letter to Holland only two days earlier and hardly expected such a timely response. But there it was, an envelope addressed to “The Mallard” from “HH” with a San Francisco postmark. She returned to her car before cracking the seal. The script was pure Doc Holland.
From the Desk of HERMAN HOLLAND, M.D.
Sook,
I thought we said our good-byes.
You’ve been shaking me down for five years. We’re done now.
I’m retired and so are you.
It’s time you and your “silent partner” find some other sheep to fleece.
HH
Lacey swung onto the road and broke every speed limit sign she passed. In ten minutes flat, she was inside Mapleshade and knocking on Sook’s door.
“Lacey,” Sook said as he invited her into his walk-in-closet-sized room. “What a pleasant surprise.”
Lacey smacked the note into Sook’s chest.
“Old man, you’ve got some explaining to do.”
Sook took a few steps back under the pressure of Lacey’s light shove. He unfolded the note, but couldn’t read a thing without his glasses.
“Who are you?” Lacey asked.
Sook appeared confused and feeble, hardly the crafty extortionist she’d discovered him to be.
“I need my glasses,” he replied.
Lacey scoured the room and found them atop the dresser.
“Read,” she intoned as she passed him his spectacles.
Sook read the note, took a deep breath, and sat down on his bed, a sudden exhaustion setting in.
“Where did this come from?” Sook asked.
“I found it in your old mailbox. The Mallard Corp. headquarters. You remember that, don’t you?”
“But I closed that box. I haven’t written to Holland in weeks. I didn’t even know how to track him down.”
“I wrote to him,” Lacey replied. “I wanted to find out what happened to the old doc and maybe flush out his blackmailer. Did not expect my plan to work so smoothly. You know what