Стюарт Вудс - Class Act

A smiling woman opened the door. “Cara?”

“And you’re Hilda.”

“I am. Come on in, and let me get you a drink.” She led Cara to the bar. “The photo Stone sent me doesn’t do you justice.”

“Thank you,” Cara said, with a big smile.

“What would you like?”

“That’s a leading question, but let’s start with a Scotch on the rocks. Chivas, if you have it.”

“We have it.” Hilda poured them both a drink.

“Beautiful place,” Cara said, looking around.

“I’ll give you the tour.” She did so, then they returned to the bar and Hilda poured another drink for them both. “Oh, I didn’t show you the master bedroom, did I?”

“No, you didn’t, but I’d like to see it.” She picked up her bag and her drink and followed Hilda down to the end of the main hall, where Hilda opened the door.

“Ah, nice,” Cara said, dropping her bag and sitting on the bed.

Hilda sat next to her. “You’re a beautiful girl,” she said.

“So are you,” Cara replied, bending and kissing her on her bare shoulder. “I think I’d like a shower after my trip,” she said.

“Would you like me to join you?” Hilda asked.

“I’d love that.” She undressed and walked into the bathroom.

“Be right with you,” Hilda called out and got undressed. She bent and unzipped Cara’s Vuitton bag and moved the clothes aside. At the bottom were a silenced pistol and a switchblade knife. She zipped it up, then went into the bathroom, where Cara was already in the shower.

They kissed, then Cara dragged over a stool from a corner and sat Hilda down. Cara knelt and buried her face in Hilda’s lap.

Hilda allowed herself to enjoy it to the point of orgasm, then she reached up to the shelf beside her, behind a row of bottles, and removed a kitchen implement.

Timing her orgasm with her move, she ran her fingers up Cara’s spine until she found the right spot, then in one swift move, plunged the ice pick into her back and her heart. She stood and backed away from Cara, taking the ice pick with her. Cara was on her hands and knees, trying to get up, but she couldn’t make it.

With the ice pick at the ready, should she need it again, Hilda watched Cara finally collapse to the tiled floor. She turned her over to allow her to bleed out faster. It took no more than half a minute.

Hilda left her to drain for another minute, then turned off the shower, got out and dried herself. She went back into the bedroom and searched Cara’s bag more thoroughly, finding bundles of hundred-dollar bills.

Hilda made herself some dinner and poured a glass of wine, thinking about what she would shop for with Cara’s money. She regretted not keeping her alive long enough to learn who had paid her, but there were only two candidates: Sal and Stone Barrington. She wouldn’t have thought Stone had the kind of guts it took to hire a killer, and pay for the job, but it was he who’d sent Cara down. It had to be Stone.

When she had finished dinner, she rummaged in the garage and found some plastic sheeting and a roll of duct tape. She went back to the bathroom and dragged Cara’s body out of the shower and onto the plastic sheeting, then wrapped her and taped the bundle securely. She checked the shower to be sure that all of the blood had run down the drain, then she laid down a large bath towel and dragged her into the bedroom. She found Cara’s car keys, then dragged the body down the hall and into the garage. She opened the trunk and, with considerable effort, got the body inside and closed it.

She looked inside and found a rental car agreement: Cara had picked up the car at the Key West airport and was returning it at the Palm Beach airport. She found the rental car map and looked at the drive: seven or eight hours, she reckoned, and her route took her along Alligator Alley, through the Everglades. Cara could take her final dip there.

Hilda packed her bags, then had a cup of coffee to keep her awake. After a final check of the house to be sure that it was clean of any trace of Cara, she tossed Cara’s bag into the car with her own, then got into the rental, closed the garage door and the gate behind her, and headed up the Keys.

Jack Coulter lay in his bed and stared at the ceiling. The bedside clock showed 2:45 am, and he was trying to think of a reason why Cara hadn’t called. He thought of calling Stone, but what could he do? He’d just have to wait until morning. And try to sleep.

Hilda drove up the Keys to Key Largo, then turned north and made her way into the Everglades. The moon was bright enough that she could drive with only her side lights on. Somewhere north, she found a dirt road snaking off to her left. She turned on her headlights and drove slowly until she came to a shack on a river. It sported a sign: live bait, and there was a dock beside it where a couple of small boats were moored. She got a small but powerful flashlight from her bag and played it over the water. It was tidal, and the tide was coming in.

She dragged Cara’s body from the car out onto the dock, then sat and rested for a moment. Next, she ripped off the duct tape, wadded it, and threw it into the water, watching it float upriver with the tide. Finally, she dragged the body to the edge of the dock and rolled it into the water. It went under for a moment, then floated to the top. When it emerged, it was a few feet upstream, then it kept going. Hilda heard a couple of splashes from farther up, then some thrashing.

She then carefully folded the plastic sheeting, found some stacked bricks beside the shed, put three of them into Cara’s bag, and tossed it into the water. She got back into the car and retraced her steps to U.S. 1. After she had passed Cutler Bay, she stopped at a convenience store, used the restroom, then filled up with gas. While the pump was running she took the folded plastic sheeting from the trunk and deposited it in the trash can. Then she was on her way to the Florida Turnpike, thence to West Palm Beach and the airport. She turned in the rental car, paid cash. Then she booked herself on the next flight to New York and had some breakfast, thinking about shopping.

Stone was awakened early by his ringing phone. Dino, he reckoned. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Stone, it’s Jack Coulter.”

“Oh, hello, Jack.”

“There’s a problem.”

“What?”

“Our girl didn’t phone last night. I tried her this morning, but it went straight to voicemail.”

Stone was quiet for a moment.

“Have you heard from her or from Hilda?”

“No, neither.”

“I don’t think there’s anything more we can do until we hear from one of them,” Jack said.

“I agree.”

“Let’s talk after we get a call.”

They both hung up.

Stone spent his usual morning at his desk, then around noon, his cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Hilda.”

“Good morning. Did you and Cara have a pleasant evening?”

“She never showed. I was disappointed. Has she called you?”

“No, I’ve heard nothing,” Stone said.

“I took a morning flight to New York. Would you like to get together?”

“No, I can’t, until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow night, then?”

“Sure. What’s your number?”

“I’ve got a new throwaway.” She gave him the number.

“Are you going to see Sal while you’re here?”

“I don’t know. I don’t particularly want to.”

“All right. Where are you staying?”

“At the Carlyle. They give me the rack rate for a suite.”

“I’ll pick you up at the Seventy-Sixth Street entrance at seven, then.”

“Good. We can come back to the Carlyle later.”

“Great. Bye.”

Stone hung up and called Jack.