R. Jagger - A Way With Murder

His brain was trying to grasp a thought but was having trouble.

Then it came to him.

He leaned out the window and waited for Alabama to appear at street level.

“Hey, ’Bama.”

She looked up.

“What?”

“I really don’t want you to see Robert Mitchum again.”

She blew him a kiss.

“I won’t if you don’t see Secret again.”

“That’s different and you know it.”

“Actually I don’t.”

Day Two

July 22, 1952

Tuesday Morning

When Waverlyasked Waterfield if he knew where she could get a good recent picture of Kava Every, at first he had no idea. An hour later he led her to a storage room and shut the door. Leaning against a box was an eight-by-ten group photo framed in glass, now broken. “This was taken at the firm’s retreat,” he said. “That’s Kava right there.”

Waverly’s heart raced.

She was 99 percent sure that the woman was one of the same ones from the envelope under Bristol’s dresser.

She looked at Waterfield.

“Can I take this?”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Okay.”

He pulled it out, rolled it up and hid the frame behind a box.

“Are you okay?”

A beat.

Then she nodded.

“Bristol was having sex with her,” she said.

“How do you know?”

“I’ll explain later.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

When they opened the door and stepped out, something happened they didn’t expect.

Tom Bristol was leaning against the wall.

His arms were folded.

He was waiting for them.

His eyes fellto Waverly’s purse.

She followed them down.

To her horror, the end of the photograph stuck out. Bristol grabbed it, snatched it out and unrolled it. “This is firm property,” he said. “What else do you have in there you’re not supposed to?”

He grabbed her purse.

Then he pulled out the envelope and waved it in front of her face.

“That’s not yours either,” he said. “I called the temp agency. They never heard of you.” To Waterfield, “You knew that, didn’t you? You knew she wasn’t a real temp.”

Waterfield’s eyes flickered.

Then they got hard and he said, “If she’s not a temp, that’s news to me.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, why? What’s going on?”

“Then what’s she doing with the photo?”

“What do you think? I’m sending her out to get it reframed.”

“Bullshit.”

Waterfield softened, as if caught.

“Okay, the truth is that I brought her back here in the hopes of coping a feel,” he said. “Then I got worried about someone seeing us coming out together. I gave her the photo to have an excuse for being in here, that I was giving it to her to get it reframed.”

“Bullshit,” Bristol said. “Get out of my sight, you’re fired.” Then to Waverly, “As for you, you better learn to swim because the next time you’re in the water I’m not going to pull you out.”

Waverly couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t move.

“Get out of here and don’t come back,” Bristol said.

Her lips quivered.

Leave.

Leave.

Leave.

She couldn’t make her feet move.

“Get out,” Bristol said.

Suddenly something snapped in Waverly’s head. Thunder rolled through her veins at what she was about to do.

Then she snatched the envelope out of Bristol’s hand and ran.

“Get back here you bitch!”

Go!

Go!

Go!

Go!

Go!

Day Two

July 22, 1952

Tuesday Morning

When River toldAlexa Blank that someone hired him to abduct her and await further instructions as to whether to kill her or not, it took her a moment to realize it wasn’t a joke. “After I got hired, I got fired,” he added. “That’s because I was supposed to get the job done by last night and didn’t. What that means is that someone else now has the job. Since the target time was last night, my suspicion is that he’s already on your tail.” He looked around. “He might even be watching us right now.”

She stared in disbelief.

Then she walked away and said over her shoulder, “You’re cute but you’re way too weird for me. Have a nice life.”

River caught up to her, grabbed her arm and jerked her to a stop.

“I’m here to help you,” he said. “You need to trust me.”

She shook her arm free.

“Get the hell away from me or I’ll call the cops.”

Then she was gone, heading down the street and disappearing into the restaurant.

River waited for five minutes before following her in and taking a seat in the corner booth.

She was back in uniform.

Shaken.

Confused.

River waved at her and said, “Coffee please.”

She ignored him.

She didn’t disappear into the kitchen and out the back though. Nor did she head over to the phone to call the cops. River flagged down the other waitress, ordered coffee, and sipped it.

He eased back in the booth and stretched his legs out on the bench.

He didn’t stare at the woman.

He kept his eyes pointed out the front window, watching the skirts and suits parade past, ready to get up if someone looked too much like a killer.

Ten minutes passed.

He got a second cup.

More time passed.

A half hour.

An hour.

Alexa Blank was beginning to look his way with greater and greater frequency. Then, when River was hardly paying attention, she slipped in and locked eyes.

“Who hired you?”

River shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said. “That’s what I want you to help me figure out.”

“How?”

He shrugged.

“Who wants you dead?”

“I don’t know.”

“You have to know.”

“Well I might have to, but I don’t.”

River studied her eyesand found no lies.

“What I propose is that you and me slip out the back right now and sort this out someplace quiet.” She was about to say something when River interrupted her. “Think long and hard before you say no. I’m only going to give you this chance one time.” A beat then, “You have ten seconds to give me your answer. After that I’m gone and you’re on your own.”

She darted her eyes.

“How do I know this isn’t a trick to get me to leave with you?”

“You don’t,” he said, standing up. “Five seconds.”

Day Two

July 22, 1952

Tuesday Afternoon

The dark beautyLondon Marshall bounded through the door early afternoon looking like a hundred crazed banshees were on her tail. “Someone broke into my house,” she said. “It’s trashed.”

“When?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “When I left for work this morning everything was fine. When I swung by just now it was trashed.”

Wilde swung his suit jacket over his shoulder and dipped his hat over his left eye.

“Let’s have a look.”

At street level Wilde pointed to Blondie and said, “That’s mine, the little green one.”

London headed to the passenger side and slipped in to find the steering wheel in front of her.

“It’s English,” Wilde said. “Everything’s backwards.”

They got rearranged and Wilde merged the front end into thick, noon-hour traffic.

He exhaled and said, “I have to be honest. I haven’t had ten seconds to work on your case.”

“That’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I understand.”

“I’m on it now though,” he said.