Page 60 of His Beautiful Revenge
She called Orlando now and told him, and he immediately offered to be there with her. She was grateful. Ever since Norah’s abduction, they had seemed to grow closer—not as lovers, but as …she hesitated to use the word …partners. As if the horror of the kidnapping had reminded them both that life was short and to spend it with the people whom you loved.
She hoped her step-father would find that kind of peace too.
Hollister Bean felt every day of his fifty-eight years. He steered the car into the motel parking lot and parked. He remembered coming to this island with Deana for a day out the year before she had died. She’d loved all the farm shops and the small town feel of the place. He didn’t blame his old buddy, Doug, for moving here and getting away from the city, but he could never do it. Hollister was a ‘Frisco man—a city man. He lived for the heady, frenetic pace of the homicide department, the growl of the city’s underbelly, and the fact no day was the same as the another. Doug was now the police chief on this island on the Columbia River. When he’d called Hollister this morning and told him they had a body that matched Lucian Hargity’s description, Hollister hadn’t hesitated. He had gotten in his car immediately.
As he got out, he noticed Doug across the road in a coffeehouse. Hollister looked at theOld Movie House’simpressive façade, the old marquee offering up promises of fine coffee amongst friends. He smiled slightly at the mock film titles:To Kill a Mocha-Bird; The Sheltering Chai; Americano Psycho. He locked the car and walked over, pushing open the door and smiling at the pretty dark-haired girl who called out a greeting to him. She was talking to Doug, who turned and smiled at his old boss. Hollister wasn’t one for hugs, but seeing the strain on his friend’s face, he made an exception. Doug clapped him on the back and introduced him to his pretty friend, Noor. Hollister refused her offer of coffee.
‘Thanks, but I’d sooner get to the scene if it’s okay with my young friend here.’
Doug walked him back to the motel, leading him to a room at the far end of the lot. Already, the place was teeming with crime scene specialists. Doug made an annoyed sound in his throat.
‘I asked them not to disturb the body. Let’s hope they haven’t. The word of a small-town chief doesn’t carry as much weight as a homicide cop.”
Hollister looked sideways at him, a small smile playing around his mouth. ‘Missing the power, Doug?’
Doug grinned ruefully. ”Some.” A bored-looking medical examiner was leaning against the outside, making notes. Doug nodded at him and turned to Hollister. ‘I’d like you to go in alone for a sec, take a quick look, then come out. First impressions.’
Hollister nodded and walked into the motel room. Flies rose and a miasma of scavenging automatons swarmed around Hollister as he approached the corpse. He vainly batted a few away, the sheer number of them making his action redundant. The man’s body was at the end of the room, spread-eagled on the floor. A huge hole in the man’s forehead was already seething with maggots. The smell was overwhelming, the scent of decay and putrefaction hitting the back of Hollister’s throat, making him gag. He covered his mouth with a handkerchief and got closer. A bullet straight to the T-zone. Instant death. Lucian Hargity’s eyes were open, staring, his face contorted in agony, and his mouth stretched out in a silent scream.
Vomit rose in Hollister’s throat. He stepped back, trying to avoid the blood that covered the cheap linoleum. He reached the door of the room and stepped into the mercifully fresh air. After a minute or two, he sucked in great lungfuls of oxygen. Doug stood watching, a tired, knowing expression on his face. The M.E. looked between the men curiously. Hollister nodded at him. ‘You can go in now.’ He waited until the doctor had gone in, then pulled Doug away from the motel room and the stench and horror. Hollister looked at his friend, his gaze resigned.
‘Yeah,’ he said. “It’s him.”
Zulika crept into the room to grab a blanket. Giacomo, lying next to Norah, lifted his head.
‘Hey,’ he whispered. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind us taking over your apartment? I feel badly that you’re sleeping on your own couch.’
After Norah was released from the hospital after ten days, Giacomo had wanted them to go to a hotel—anywhere that Tara wouldn’t know—but Norah wanted somewhere familiar. His place was out, as was Orlando’s (if Norah’s suspicions about Tara’s involvement with Carmel’s murder were correct). Zulika had offered them her apartment without hesitation. Tonight she had intended on staying at Orlando’s, but she and Norah had been chatting so much that it had gotten way too late. Now Giacomo apologized again for invading her space.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Please.’ She smiled and went out into the living room. Giacomo, having made sure Norah was fast asleep, followed her out.
”She okay?”
He nodded, but looked strained.
Zulika touched his arm. ‘Hey, she’s safe. She’s alive. She’s mending. Stop beating yourself up. This was not your fault.’
Giacomo slumped into the armchair and shook his head. Zulika sat opposite her friend, concern on her face.
“It’shim. He did this. He’s the only one at fault here. Well, him and that …God I can’t think of a name bad enough for that bitch of an ex-girlfriend of yours. Crusty skank womble.” She looked pleased with her invention.
Giacomo grinned. ‘See, there you go. I knew you had it in you.’
Zulika smiled, but then was silent. “The thought of Tara wanting to kill Norah …I can’t bear it, Giacomo.” Her eyes filled with tears and he got up and hugged her.
‘I know. It defies explanation. But that’s the difference between her and us. There’s a part of me that believes, really believes, that she isn’t human. How the hell did I ever get involved with her?’ Giacomo sat on the arm of her chair, his expression confused. For a moment he was silent. He looked up when he heard a noise from the bedroom. Zulika squeezed his arm.
“Get back in there, soldier.”
He nodded. “Thanks, Zul.”
When he’d gone, closing the door quietly behind him, Zulika pulled the blanket over her and rested her head on the arm of the couch.
Today, although she hadn’t told anyone, her oncologist had confirmed her fears. The cancer had spread. She had been calm, nodded, and asked him about treatment options. More surgery. More chemo.
She hadn’t had time to process it yet and now she found she didn’t want to.Don’t wallow. Just deal with it step-by-step, and it’ll be okay.
Her cellphone bleeped with a text message.How you doing, kiddo?
