Heads You Lose - Lisa Lutz [66]
“I’m sorry,” Lacey said.
In the glow of the fire, Lacey could see Paul’s eyes watering.
“Forgive me for saying this,” she said, “but you seem more broken up about the loss of your plants than the loss of your best friend.”
“People grieve in different ways.”
“Do you know who did this?” Lacey asked.
“If I did, do you think I’d be sitting here doing nothing?”
“Probably.” She regretted the response the moment it escaped her lips. But it was the truth. Even as children, Paul’s response to a crisis was inertia. For some reason, Lacey remembered what she would later refer to as The Pop-Tart Incident. Paul’s breakfast caught fire in the toaster when he was ten. Lacey came into the kitchen and saw Paul staring at the flames as they ignited a dishrag. There was a fire extinguisher under the sink. Lacey put out the flames as Paul watched.
And here he was again. Just staring at the fire.
“What now?” Lacey asked.
“I don’t know.”
“I have some things to tell you,” Lacey said.
“Can they wait?”
“You’re just watching a fire burn.”
“It’s peaceful, Lace. Just let me have this.”
Tiny bursts of glowing embers breathed their last breath. All that was left was spent lumber and ash. Lacey broke the silence just as the final flicker of light died.
“Terry was murdered,” she said.
“I figured as much,” Paul replied.
“Whoever murdered him probably wanted the land.”
“Maybe.”
“Probably.”
“That’s debatable,” Paul said. He was already thinking about his meeting with Jay Babalato the next day. If he believed Jay was a murderer, he’d feel like an accomplice.
“What else do you need to tell me, Lacey?”
The news about Brandy was on the tip of her tongue, but she decided there was a better way to handle it.
“Nothing,” she replied.
“You said you had things to tell me,” said Paul. “That implies there was at least one more thing.”
“Oh right. Uh, I think the porch light needs changing.”
“I’ll get to it tomorrow,” Paul replied.
That light had been out for six months. He knew Lacey was holding out on him. That night he went to bed wondering how well he really knew his own sister.
The next morning, Lacey slipped out of the house while Paul was still in bed. She drove past the police station, spotting Sheriff Ed’s cruiser in the parking lot. Then she moved on to her real destination: the Wickfield residence on the Emery city line. Lacey rang the doorbell, which chimed a few bars of the William Tell Overture. She thought it was the height of tackiness. Then she noticed that the doormat had a photo of Charlton Heston—in the spirit of honor, not debasement—and next to that was a gnome lawn jockey.32
Lila answered the door in a floral silk bathrobe. She had on full eye makeup, but her lips were bare, which meant Lacey had woken her. She cut to the chase.
“How long were you seeing Hart?” Lacey asked.
“Who?”
“Hart, my ex-fiancé, the headless guy who showed up on my driveway. Your memory coming back yet?”
“Lacey, I don’t want any trouble.”
“Too late for that. Listen, Lila, be straight with me and I’ll keep the sheriff out of it, but if you keep telling lies, I might have to pay him another visit. How long were you seeing Hart?”
“Only a few months.”
“When?”
“After you broke up with him.”
“The truth, Lila.”
“Okay, there was some overlap.”
“Did the sheriff know?”
“He was suspicious, but he didn’t know who. And he had no hard evidence.”
“You sure?”
“We were careful.”
“Who else was he seeing?” Lacey asked.
“What’s the point in dredging all this up?”
“Because it might have something to do with his murder. Who else?”
“I think he was spending time with that gimpy stripper from Tulac. You know which one?”
“There’s only one,” Lacey replied.
“That’s what I thought,” said Lila. “But there are, in fact, two strippers who got bum legs from freak pole-dancing accidents.”
“What are the odds of that?” Lacey replied.
“Just don’t go confronting the wrong stripper. You’re looking for the blond one, Brandy, not her friend Candi, who’s a brunette.”
“I guess that’s all,” Lacey