Claire, sitting back down, said, “Miranda.”
“It’s true,” Trixie said. “If I were a good mother, a responsible mother, I wouldn’t have had to ask my sister, and her husband here, to raise her.” She gave Don a warm smile and he gave a tired shrug.
“Why are Claire and Don raising Katie?” I asked. “It’s not just because of, you know, your choice of occupation.”
“No,” Trixie said. “That’s not it.”
Everyone was suddenly very quiet. No one stirred coffee or cut cake. The only sound came from the TV in the other room.
“I could never guarantee that Katie would be safe, living with me,” Trixie said. “I’ve spent the last four years looking over my shoulder. The men, that man, coming after me, he wouldn’t hesitate to hurt Katie to get at me.”
“Are we talking about Gary Merker?” I asked.
“He murdered Katie’s father,” she said. “And he’d like nothing more than to find me, kill me too. And Katie.”
“Why?”
Trixie opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out right away.
“Is it because of that massacre at the Kickstart?” I asked. “I’ve talked to the police in Canborough. I know about that night, when the three bikers were shot and killed. And how Merker, and his friend Leo Edgars, somehow managed not to get killed, saying they weren’t there at the time. How, after that, Merker bailed on his share of the drugs and prostitution, how he let the Comets run things, take over his share of the market. What happened, Trixie? Did Merker cut some sort of deal with the competition? Wipe out his buddies? Was that easier than trying to get them in on the deal, too? Did you see something? Are you a witness?”
Trixie listened in quiet amazement. She was taken aback at how much I knew, I could tell that by the look on her face.
“Is that why Merker’s after you? Because of what you know? And something you took from him?”
Trixie got up, walked over to the row of hangers by the back door, fished something out of a jacket, and came back to the table. It was a piece of paper, folded over. She unfolded it.
“This was the note that was left for me, in the basement, when we found Martin Benson.”
I remembered her finding it, how she wouldn’t let me see it.
“It’s not all as simple as it seems,” she said, pushing the note across the table to me.
It read:
Dearest Candy or should I say Trixie?
So sorry we missed you bitch. Ran into Mr. Benson instead, looking threw your house. He didn’t know where you are. He’d of told us if he’d know. Leo’s all freaked, and hungry, so we have to go. But we know where you live, right? We’ll be coming back. When we do you better have what you took from me or we’ll do you to bitch. I want all of it plus interest. Hows your little mini bitch? I bet shes a cutie. You’ll here from us soon.
It wasn’t signed, but given that its author had mentioned “Leo” in the letter, it might as well have been. And just because someone wasn’t a master criminal didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous.
Reading from the letter, I said, “‘I want all of it plus interest.’” I looked at Trixie. “What’s that all about?”
She took a long breath. “I ripped him off,” she said quietly. “To the tune of about half a million bucks.”
“Are you kidding me?” I said. “You took five hundred thousand dollars off this guy?”
“Not all at once. A little bit at a time, so he wouldn’t notice. It was my going-away money.”
“Is that the only reason he’s after you?” I asked. “Just for the money? It doesn’t have anything to do with those three bikers getting shot?”
The Bennets exchanged glances.
“Oh, I think he’d like to talk to me about that too,” Trixie said.
27
“SOMETIMES ,” Claire said, “I blame myself.”
“Oh, stop,” said Trixie. “This has nothing to do with you.”
Claire shook her head, dismissing her sister. “You taking off with five hundred thousand dollars? Okay, I’m not saying I specifically blame myself for that. But your life. How it’s turned out for you. I blame myself for that.”
“Claire, we’ve been over this before,” Trixie said. Claire sniffed and looked away, and I thought maybe she was going to cry. “Aww, come on.”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Don told his wife. “You did what you had to do. You had to protect yourself. You had to get out of that situation.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked. Looking across the table at Claire, I said, “What do you mean you blame yourself?”
Claire sniffed again, took a deep breath. “Miranda’s my baby sister,” she said, and smiled. “When you’re the big sister, you’re supposed to be there, you’re supposed to be looking out for the younger one. But I left. Our father was a—he was a monster. And our mother was a drunk. He beat her, he took the belt to us, and…that wasn’t all.”