But Louisa hadn’t seen it that way when Erasma showed her the video.
Now Louisa had Erasma’s fucking flash drive. Of course, she’d run to her cop friend, Willis. Gil had to move fast to shut that down. He tried to shut down Louisa, too, but the bitch had surprised him. She’d evaded the professional he’d sent. She’d gotten away with the flash drive. The only thing that had saved his ass was a surprise visit from his brother-in-law, Josh. Perfectly timed. Destiny’s kiss.
Holding her precious brother over Louisa’s head had kept her in line so far, but this death grip was exhausting. And Shel was getting restless. Something had to give.
He’d played his role masterfully. The heartbroken husband. The dedicated and driven DA. Nothing, not even personal tragedy, would stop Gil Clemens’ crusade for justice, law and order. He would follow that crusade all the way to the top. From DA to governor. Then senator. Maybe attorney general. And then, eventually…president.
Strange how his instincts had failed him in regards to Louisa. He’d thought she was docile. Easy to mold, once he cured her of her childish fits about her art hobby.
She’d tricked him. Tried to destroy him. She deserved to be punished. His games with Shel’s whore had taught him how much fun sharp discipline could be.
He could develop a taste for that. Making them whimper and squeal.
But Sheldon was devolving. Two hundred billion dollars was a superpower, but not if the man fried his own brain.
“…waited long enough to get this mess cleaned up!” Shel was complaining. “Nail that bitch to the wall, Gil! Do you need more personnel to get the job done?”
“I’m good,” Gil said. “Everything’s under control.”
“I have a whole army on retainer, you know. I’ll give you one more week, Gil. Get it handled. And send me pictures, to show me that it’s done.”
“The next time we talk, I will have news,” Gil promised.
“You’d better.” Gil heard Shel’s ice cubes rattle as he glugged his drink. “It’s expensive, owning a pet DA.” His voice was smug and oily. “Earn your fucking keep.”
“I will.” Gil waited for Shel to hang up. He was in no position to hang up first.
One of his most urgent life goals was to be able to hang up on that prick. Better yet, to choke the life out of him. Shel was a worthless playboy, already on track to die young, but it would be fun to hurry the process along. He could get drunk and fall off his yacht. Or auto-asphyxiate himself in a sex game with his whores. The possibilities were endless.
Josh’s game soundtrack was annoying the shit out of him. Josh had no access to a phone or a router, and was allowed only single-player games, but the music drove Gil nuts. “Enough gaming,” he told Josh. “Go to bed. I’m sick of listening to it.”
Josh didn’t turn. “One minute.” His voice was flat and dead. “Let me level up.
Mouthy little shithead. Gil had nothing left to gain from pretending to be friendly with his brother-in-law. But Josh still hadn’t gotten the memo.
“Belker,” he said to the guard who sat near the couch. “Explain to Josh the importance of doing what the fuck he’s told.”
Belker stood. He was a barrel-shaped guy with a squashed looking face. He pulled a black club off his weapons belt and sauntered toward Josh, smacking the club against his big, leathery palm, smiling widely. Belker liked his job.
Josh looked at Belker, then at Gil. The younger man’s face was mottled with bruises, some fresh, some older and yellowed. Nineteen-year-old Josh had finally grasped the depth of the trouble he was in, which made it too dangerous for Gil to display him in public.
No more interviews for Joshie. No reason to hold back on the punishment. Sometimes it was refreshing, to just let people know exactly who was in control.
“Go to bed, you fucking freak,” Gil said icily. “Or I’ll have him beat you again.”
Josh’s hollow eyes lingered on the club in Belker’s hand. Smack. Smack. Smack.
Belker’s eyes were bright with anticipation. Gil found himself hoping Josh would rebel. In his current mood, the spectacle would be a pleasure to watch.
But Josh got up, moving as stiffly as an old man. He turned toward the stairs.
“Take a goddamn shower before you come down here again,” Gil ordered. “And change that shirt, for fuck’s sake. I’m sick of smelling it.”
Josh shuffled toward the stairwell. Gil listened to his slow, heavy footsteps on the stairs going up. Belker followed him up. A guard was always stationed outside Josh’s bedroom, and the windows on his bedroom had been barred and alarmed.
Gil leaned back with a sigh and picked up his tablet, resuming the paused video about that crazy town up in the mountains.
There she was, that cute brunette with the big, tilted green eyes. She flapped her hand expressively while she talked. Gil tuned out her yapping, focusing on her full lips and luscious figure. She was sitting at a lunch counter. The camera panned back, showing colorful chalkboard menus.
He paused the video and ran it back. Played it again. What was it about that…?
It was tickling the back of his mind. Those chalkboards. Bright chalk drawings of fruits, breads, cakes, veggies. They were familiar.
Gil dug around in the videos about Shaw’s Crossing until he found another one featuring the green-eyed woman. Her name was Demi Vaughan. She was a local restauranteur. The story involved some strange cult up in the mountains, all of whom had burned to death in a fire over a decade ago. He vaguely remembered hearing about that, back when he was a first-year law student. It had gotten a lot of press.
Now they were saying that the fire was actually a mass murder. That the perp was on the loose. Hah. The world was full of perps on the loose. That was humankind for you. Rolling in their own filth whenever they thought no one was looking.
He set the clip to play, and watched the restaurant owner talk. She was easy on the eyes. Clear green eyes, a full pink mouth. Curly brown hair, twisted into a bun.
“…strange, how many things in this town were taken as deaths by coincidence, or natural causes, like my own father’s death,” she said. “We all felt like we were cursed. Now we know that there’s more to all those unexplained deaths. There’s an explanation, and we have to get to the bottom of this, for everyone’s sake.”
He did a search of restaurants in Shaw’s Crossing. One was called “Demi’s Corner Café.” He looked up the restaurant’s Facebook page to find the address.
Lo and behold. The masthead across the top was a collage of chalkboard menus. Feathery carrot fronds, artfully drawn garlic and leeks, tufts of parsley and basil, baskets overflowing with colorful fruits.
It floated back to him quite slowly. Louisa had done drawings like that. He hadn’t paid much attention to them, since he’d considered it a poor use of her time, but it had amused her to draw decorative chalkboard menus for dinner parties. She’d once done a chalk drawing for the bar mitzvah of a friend’s son. She’d done chalkboard menus for the wedding of a friend of hers, too. One of her own bridesmaids. Taryn was the woman’s name.
He looked up Taryn on Facebook, and scrolled back to the date of the woman’s wedding a little over a year ago. Sure enough, Taryn had posted pictures of the chalkboards. There were over three hundred likes, and a scroll of fawning comments below about how adorable they were, peppered with smiley faces, heart emojis.