Pretty Girl Gone (Mac McKenzie #3)

Pretty Girl Gone (Mac McKenzie #3) Page 80

“Personally, I prefer lace. A pretty girl in lace can sell me anything she wants.”

Mallinger fingered my soiled sweater.

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry, Chief. I clean up real good.”

“I’ll meet you at the motel,” she said.

“Sounds like a plan.”

“I’m sorry I made you lie in the slush,” she said. But the way she was grinning at the memory of it, I didn’t believe her.

When I unlocked the door to my motel room, I found Lindsey Bauer Barrett waiting inside. I wouldn’t have been more surprised if Hillary Clinton had come calling.

Lindsey was sitting at the small table; her hands were folded neatly on top like a schoolgirl waiting for the principal. The drapes were opened and I could see the motel parking lot over her shoulder. She had to have seen me coming and this is the pose she had chosen to greet me with.

“Hello, Mac.”

“Zee.”

I didn’t bother to ask how she got in.

Zee gave me a quick inspection, wrinkling her nose at my appearance.

“What happened to you?”

“I was lying in a gutter. You should know something about that.”

“It’s going to be one of those conversations, isn’t it?”

I set the shopping bag on the bed and removed my jacket. I’ve had it for many years—bought it long before I came into my money—and I hoped a dry cleaner could restore it. I hung it in the small closet and pulled off my boots while Lindsey watched me. There was a look of expectation on her face.

“I want you to do two things,” I told her. “First, call your friend Muehlenhaus.”

“He’s not my friend.”

“I don’t give a damn what he is. Call him. Tell him there’s been a terrible mistake. Tell him that I can prove Jack Barrett didn’t kill anyone; I can prove it beyond a doubt, reasonable or otherwise. Tell him to stop trying to have me killed.”

Lindsey didn’t bat so much as an eyelash, which proved to me what I had suspected: She knew Muehlenhaus had sent Norman. She had probably been in cahoots with him since the very beginning.

“Second”—I pointed at the bucket near her elbow—“go down the hall and get some ice.”

I took my time in the shower. Took my time shaving and brushing my teeth and getting my hair just so for my date with Mallinger. I had purchased a pair of black Dockers and a blue dress shirt with a button-down collar and put them on. It was warm and damp in the tiny bathroom, so I waited until I was outside and had a chance to cool off before donning a black silk-blend sweater speckled with blue, red, and gold. I sat on the edge of the bed, quickly buffed my black leather boots with a towel and slipped them on.

“You look good,” Lindsey said.

She was still sitting at the table. The ice bucket was three-quarters full and she had made a sizable dent in the vodka.

“I made you a drink,” she told me.

I went to the table and picked up the short, squat glass that the motel provided. The drink was a bit stronger than I liked, but welcome nonetheless.

“Where’s your driver?” I asked.

“He’s around.” Lindsey gestured at my room. “Not exactly a Barrett Motel, is it?”

“Did you call Muehlenhaus?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘Oops.’ ”

“You people.”

“I hope you don’t think that I—”

“You called him. You told him that I had information that might prove Jack killed his high school sweetheart. You probably asked him, ‘What should we do?’ What did you think his answer would be?”

“I didn’t know.”

“Fine, you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t. You must believe me, Mac. I only wanted to protect Jack. That’s why I called Mr. Muehlenhaus.”

“The thing that bugs me—besides getting shot at and seeing an innocent kid almost killed—isn’t Muehlenhaus. He’s predictable. It’s you, Lindsey. It’s your willingness to believe that your husband actually murdered a girl. That just floors me.”

“You told me he did.”

“So?”

“What you said when you entered the room, that wasn’t just to hold off Mr. Muehlenhaus, right? You really can prove Jack is innocent?”

“Yes.”

She smiled, and for a moment she looked as she had when we were kids, when our lives were only slightly complicated.

“What proof? What do you know?”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

“What do you mean you’re not going to tell me?”

The smile disappeared. Lindsey was on her feet now and leaning heavily on the table. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table and I thought there was a good chance she would throw it across the room.

“I’m not going to tell you for the same reason that Jack never told you, or anyone else for that matter, the reason why he was content to let people whisper the word ‘murderer’ next to his name.”

“Why?”

“I’m an honorable man.”

Lindsey stared at me like she didn’t believe it.

“You said so yourself, back at the Groveland Tap,” I reminded her.

She still didn’t believe it.