Picture Me Dead

It was a good maneuver, a back kick with centered force. And she caught him just where she meant to.

 

David Wharton released her immediately, howling in sudden pain, falling to the floor in the fetal position.

 

“What on earth did you do that for?”

 

Ashley stared down at him. His reaction stunned her. “You attacked me.”

 

“I didn’t attack you. I was trying to stop you from leaving. I need you to listen to me.”

 

“Talk, then.”

 

“I can’t talk. I’m dying.”

 

“You’re not dying. You’re just hurting a little.”

 

“A little? I’m in agony.”

 

“All right, so you’re in agony. It will fade.”

 

“The hell it will. I’ll never have children.”

 

“I’m sure you’ll still have children—if you live long enough. If you have something to say to me, you’d better say it fast. I’m going to call the police.”

 

“You are the police.”

 

“I can’t haul you off to jail. When I call 9-1-1, they’ll send someone who can.”

 

“Ashley, please!”

 

“Talk.”

 

“I’m trying. Do you have any idea what this feels like? You’ve never been kicked in the balls.” He eyed her with pained reproach. “And I’m starting to think you have them, too.”

 

“Talk.”

 

“Yes, Ashley, I own the property next to the commune. I bought it with Stuart.”

 

“What?”

 

“He was on to something. He didn’t want to use his name. There were reasons why it was better to use mine. But hell, I didn’t have the money. Stuart did.”

 

“Why did Stuart want that property?”

 

“He was investigating the commune.”

 

“That’s not what you said before.”

 

“Not exactly.”

 

“If you have something on those people, why not tell the police.”

 

He managed to edge himself up against the foot of the bed, gritting his teeth and wincing. “Because if the police go in, they won’t find anything.”

 

“Perhaps because nothing is going on.”

 

David Wharton closed his eyes and shook his head. “It only happens on certain nights.”

 

“What only happens?”

 

“I don’t know. But I think Stuart does, and that’s why he was drugged to the gills and pushed out on the highway.”

 

Ashley had been leaning against the door, arms crossed over her chest. There was enough sincerity in his words that she found herself believing him.

 

She shook her head. “David, this is ridiculous. You’ve got to go to the police. They don’t have to run in like gangbusters—”

 

“I can’t go to the police, Ashley.”

 

“Why?”

 

He stared at her for a long time, then let out a soft sigh.

 

“Because there’s at least one cop out there who’s dirty.”

 

 

 

It was closing in on one-thirty, when the crowd generally started thinning out. Nick usually gave last call at two on a Friday night, and the place cleared out by two-thirty, three at the latest.

 

Tonight, one-thirty was still a happening time.

 

He knew for a fact that Ashley had come home. He’d heard her going through the house. Soon after the phone call from Nick, Sharon had gone in, too, saying she was exhausted. She’d been exhausted an awful lot lately.

 

He should have felt secure. There was crime in the area, sure, but the marina itself tended to be safe. Boaters looked after boaters. Most of his clientele had been coming in for years. The place was practically a historical monument.

 

Jake’s phone call, though, had unnerved him. He pulled his keys from his pocket and opened the safe behind the bar that held a .45. It was right where it belonged. The gun was always under lock and key, because he would rather be robbed a thousand times over than have one of his employees shot in an attempt to defend the place.

 

Curtis was with Sandy at the bar. Nick had let Katie go early that night; she’d been serving as manager often enough lately that she deserved an early night.

 

“Hey, guys, keep an eye on the place for a minute, huh?” Nick was certain they were three sheets to the wind already, but they could manage the bar for a few minutes.

 

He slipped into the house. He checked his own room first. Sharon was in bed, apparently asleep. He walked through the house to Ashley’s door. He knocked tentatively.

 

“Ashley?”

 

The door swung open. Ashley stood before him, smiling. “Hey, Nick, what is it?”

 

He felt a little foolish. “Just making sure you’re all right.”

 

“I’m fine. Just a little…tired.” She yawned, and he noticed that her eyes were slightly unfocused.

 

“Had a few drinks, huh?”

 

“Three.” She showed him with her fingers. She smiled. “I’m going to get some sleep.”

 

“Talk to me in the morning, okay?”

 

“Sure.”

 

He kissed her on the forehead. She caught his shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. “Good night, Uncle Nick,” she told him.

 

“Good night. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

 

He hadn’t said that in years. She grinned. “I won’t.”

 

She closed the door. He heard it lock.

 

Strange…Ashley had never locked her door before.