Riptide (Sam McRae Mystery #3)

Chapter 43

The woman gawked at me. "What are you talking about? Who are you?"

"Cut the crap, Marsha. You know who I am. I know who you are. Let's get real, okay?"

The woman crossed her arms and tilted her head back. "I have nothing to say to you."

"Okay, fine." I got up in her face. "We can play it your way. It won't go easy, but once I turn Conroy in to the cops, do you think he won't spill the beans on you? He'll be on his knees begging for a plea bargain. And do you suppose part of that plea bargain will involve turning state's witness against the people who paid him to look the other way while they bribed a witness in a first-degree murder case? Yeah, I'd take that bet—"

"Hey, sis, what's going on?" The voice from within was familiar and unmistakable.

Marsha looked about ready to spit nails.

"Oh, sis," I said. "You want to tell Junior what's going on?"

She said nothing, but pure hatred radiated from every pore.

"What do you want?" she said, finally.

"You have to turn yourself in."

"Fat chance."

"Really? We'll see."

"You gonna make me?"

"I think I can."

"I'd like to see you try."

Our voices must have carried, because who should appear at Marsha's side, but Mr. Horny Cokehead himself.

"Girls, girls ... please," he said, grinning and stumbling. "No fighting. Okay?"

He leaned on Marsha's shoulder and raised his glance toward me. The grin vanished.

Marsha turned toward Junior and glared at him. "Junior, go back to your room. Now!"

Junior turned around and slumped off.

"That's right, Junior. Do what mother says," I goaded. "You know, you might want to keep your brother on a leash. The last time I saw him, he tried to hump my leg."

"Fuck you!" Marsha turned her wrath upon me. "Who are you to judge? How would you feel if your own father gave your birthright to someone else's kid?"

"I haven't the slightest idea."

"No shit you don't." Marsha looked at me with disdain. "Our mother dies and he goes and marries some piece of trailer trash. Then her kid gets to own the family business? Well, the hell with that. I wasn't going to let that happen. That business should go to Junior. Billy Ray was an interloper, plain and simple."

"Interloper. That's quite a word. So many syllables. Almost as many as in premeditated. As in first-degree murder. I'm so disappointed, Marsha. Everyone says such nice things about you."

"Well, I care about my brother. I'm the only one really looking after his interests."

"You care so much, you took your trust fund money and left him high and dry."

"Don't preach to me, honey. I had to live in that house, not you. Once our mother died and our father hooked up with that whore, I simply couldn't stand it."

"Must have been pretty horrible to drive you to leave the country and assume a new name."

"You can't prove any of that."

"Oh, but Conroy knows all about it. I'm sure he'll be more than willing to share what he knows to keep his ass out of prison. Not to mention having his private eye license yanked and his reputation turned to shit."

Marsha closed her eyes and lifted a hand to her brow, rubbing it. A tear formed in the corner of one eye.

"I only wanted to help Junior. I swear."

"It's over, Marsha. One way or the other, the truth will come out. Now, you can either admit what you did or sully Conroy's reputation by forcing him into a plea bargain in which he turns state's witness against you. Do you want that on your conscience, too?"

Marsha paused, as if considering taking a dive off a cliff. The moment stretched to eternity. Her answer would make or break my deal with Conroy.

I wasn't looking to bring Conroy down. Who was I to judge the man? But Marsha had to confess her mortal sins if I hoped to make an airtight case for Jamila's innocence.

Finally, Marsha exhaled. "Okay, fine. I kept in touch with Dwayne and Curtis after I left Maryland. They kept tabs on Junior and let him know I was okay, without giving away too much detail."

"Were you using the nonprofit as a front for laundering money from drug smuggling and bringing illegal aliens into the country?"

"I don't want to talk about that."

I can just imagine.

"My point," she continued, "was that they kept me apprised of events. Every now and then, I come into town on business and stay here incognito. When I heard that vicious slut Lisa Fennimore had sunk her greedy little hooks into my brother, I came here. I told Junior he should insist on an amnio before he marries that gold digger. I'll bet anything that's not even his kid."

"So, you think Lisa hopes to get her hands on the business, too?"

"Lisa just needs to get married to access her trust fund. She doesn't give a damn about my brother or the business. And my father obviously gave up on Junior ages ago. That rat bastard!"

I nodded. "Did you come to Maryland intending to kill Billy Ray?"

Marsha shook her head, looking glum. "No. It's just that ... after I heard what happened in the parking lot, I sensed an opportunity to get rid of the guy for good, and keep free and clear of the whole mess. But, I swear to God, all I wanted was to get that scum sucking man out of our lives. I killed him to protect Junior."

"Except, of course, if your father dies, you're the one who inherits the business now, aren't you?"

Marsha paled. She raised a hand to her chest and sputtered. "I didn't kill him for my gain. I swear, I did it for Junior. I'm going to take care of him."

"Like you took care of Curtis?"

Marsha shook her head. "You don't understand. Dwayne said Curtis was jeopardizing our whole operation. We had to get rid of him."

"Who? You and Dwayne?"

"I ... I'm not saying anything more." She crossed her arms.

Far as I was concerned, that was as good as an admission. With any luck, the cops could tease out the details. I turned and scanned the distance. "Here they come."

Marsha's mouth was agape. "Who?"

"The cops. They're here."

I waved a hand toward the cop cars pulling into the driveway.

"Why? How?" Marcia asked.

"I told them my theory. And now you've confirmed it." I opened my shoulder bag and revealed the small tape recorder I'd borrowed from Barbara Feldman of the Wicomico Weekly Alternative. She'd have a big scoop on her hands now.

"Marsha," I added. "Just so you know, I didn't have a birthright. My parents both died when I was nine. And sometimes life just isn't fair."