Split Second (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 1)

LORETTA BALDWIN LAY in the bath and let the hot water take the chill off her bones. The bathroom was dark; she liked it that way, like a mother’s womb, comforting. She chuckled; she had to, every time she thought of it. About that girl that had come by asking all those questions pretending to be making a film about Clyde Ritter, as if anyone would bother. The girl was probably some sort of police officer or private investigator, though why anyone would be digging up the Clyde Ritter mess was beyond her. Yet Loretta would take the money, every cent of it. Just like she had all these years. She’d told the truth, at least to the questions the girl had asked; she just hadn’t asked the right ones. Like what Loretta had seen when she was hiding in the supply closet. What a nervous wreck she’d been getting it out of the hotel, yet no one really noticed her in the chaos. She was just one of the maids, invisible really. And she knew ways out of the hotel that not even the Secret Service had been aware of.

At first she thought to go to the police with what she’d found and seen, but then decided not to. Why get messed up in something like that? And she’d tired of spending her life cleaning up other people’s messes. And what did she care about Clyde Ritter? A man like that was far better off in the grave, where he couldn’t spread his poison.

So she had done it. Sent the note and photo to the person telling what she’d seen and what she now possessed, and arranging for money to come to her. And it had come and she hadn’t broken her silence and the person she was blackmailing never knew her identity, right up to the end. She’d been real tricky, using a series of P.O. boxes, fake names and one close friend, now dead, to help her cover her tracks. She hadn’t been greedy. It wasn’t a whole lot of money, but with no steady work all these years the cash had come in real handy, let her keep her home, pay her bills, buy some nice things, help her family. Yes, it was all right.

And that girl had never thought to ask; yet how could she have known? And even if she had, Loretta would have lied, just like the girl had lied to her, because if she was a documentary filmmaker, Loretta was Lena Horne. That thought made her laugh so hard she started to choke.

After she settled back down, her thoughts grew more somber. The money was no longer coming, but there was nothing she could do about that now. All things had to end. But she hadn’t been a spendthrift. She’d put some of the money away, knowing that her golden goose would not last forever. She could get by a while longer, and maybe by then another goose would present itself. That girl had given her money. That was a start. Loretta Baldwin was nothing if not optimistic.

The phone rang, startling her. Her bones thoroughly warmed, she opened her eyes and started to climb out of the bathtub. Maybe this was another golden goose calling right now.

She never made it to the phone.

“Remember me, Loretta?”

The man stood over her, a metal pole with a flattened end in his hands.

She would have screamed, but he pushed her under the water with the pole and held her there. For an elderly woman Loretta was fairly strong, but not nearly strong enough. Her eyes kept widening, her body jerking. She grabbed the pole, and water splashed all over the floor. Finally she had to take a breath and her lungs filled with water and it was over quickly after that.

He lifted the pole off and studied her features. Her shriveled body stayed at the bottom of the tub, her dead eyes staring at him. The phone had stopped ringing; the house was silent. He left the room for a minute, located Loretta’s pocketbook and returned to the bathroom. He pulled out the money Michelle had given the woman, five twenties neatly tucked away in an inside compartment.

He hooked Loretta’s body with the pole and lifted her out of the water. He opened her mouth with his gloved hand and then crammed the money inside. He clamped her jaw shut and let go. She settled back to the bottom, the ends of the twenty-dollar bills sticking out of her mouth. It wasn’t a very attractive look, but it was so very fitting an end for a blackmailer, he thought.

He spent time going through her possessions, searching for the item of his she’d taken all those years ago, but it wasn’t here. To still be denied after all this time? Perhaps Loretta had had the last laugh. And yet she was lying quite dead in the bottom of a tub of water with money stuffed in her mouth. So who was really laughing?

He took his pole and left the way he’d come.

The Buick started up and rattled off. That chapter of his life, that loose end, was finally over. He’d have to drop Michelle Maxwell a thank-you note, perhaps among other things. He would never have known the woman’s identity if the Secret Service agent hadn’t come around asking questions. Loretta Baldwin had not been part of the original plan, only an opportunity that had fallen into his hands and was far too good to pass up.

He was finished with the little province of Bowlington for now. He wished Loretta Baldwin a nice eternity in hell for her crimes. He’d doubtlessly be joining her

at some point, and who knew, maybe he’d kill her all over again.

Now, there was a thought!

CHAPTER

22

KING LISTLESSLY CAST his line into the water and slowly reeled it back in. He was standing on his dock, the sun up barely an hour. The fish weren’t biting, yet he didn’t care. The spread of mountains seemed to be watching his uninspired efforts with a brooding focus.

Joan undoubtedly had several complex motives in making her offer.

Which ones favored him to any degree other than the financial compensation? Probably none. Joan’s schemes tended to only advance her interests. At least he knew where he stood with the woman.

With Jefferson Parks, King was less certain. The marshal seemed sincere, but that could simply be a facade; it often was with lawmen, King knew. He’d played that game in his investigative career at the Service. King didn’t doubt that whoever had killed Howard Jennings would feel the full wrath of the big man. King just wanted to make certain that he didn’t become that target.

The ripple of water gently touched one of the pilings on his dock, and he looked up to see its source. The scull slid across the lake’s surface, the woman pulling hard on her paddles. She was close enough that King could see the muscled definition of her shoulders and arms revealed by her tank top. As she slowed and coasted toward him, something about her looked very familiar.

She glanced around in surprise, as though unaware she was close to shore.

“Hello,” she said, and waved.

He didn’t wave back, only nodded. He cast his line again, purposely close to her.

“I hope I’m not interfering with your fishing,” she said.

“That depends on how long you’re going to stay.”