Page 144 of Take Your Breath Away

“Please, God, tell me you still don’t think he killed her? Tell me you’re not still after him for that.”

“No, I don’t think he’s killed anyone. Not yet. But I want to stop him before he does. I think he’s armed. I think he took the gun from that man who made him dig up his wife’s grave. We have to stop him before he does something stupid.”

Sixty-One

Andrew

Greg said, “You remember there was a while there when Brie was helping us out in the office.”

I remembered. It wasn’t the fanciest headquarters. It was an office trailer, white metal, a few windows, a basic bathroom, with all the architectural charm of a kid’s playhouse made out of a refrigerator’s cardboard delivery carton. We had leased it and set it up on a vacant lot in Milford’s west end, hoping one day to construct something more permanent. We were really busy, putting together all those bids for several jobs—the ones I now knew we’d lost because of Greg—and Brie, who was good with numbers and putting together proposals, had come in for a week or two to get us organized.

“Go on,” I said.

“We were both out at a site when a call came into the office, from one of our competitors. Dumbass called the office instead of my cell. Brie took the call. Recognized the name on the caller ID as the company we most wanted—well, that you most wanted—to beat for the Wilkins job, that auto repair shop we were going to build. Brie asked if she could take a message and the guy, flustered, hung up, but not before he’d said the meeting was all set.”

“She knew something was up,” I said. “We’d already lost the Frampton job.”

Greg nodded. “Yeah, the condo thing.” He shook his head. “Brie figured something was up, followed me. Saw me meet with the guy, saw him pass me an envelope. She, uh, she confronted me about it later. Said she wouldn’t tell you, that I had to man up, tell you myself. And if I didn’t, she would.”

“The fishing trip,” I said.

“Yeah.”

“But you had no plans to confess.”

“I … I couldn’t. And hear me out, okay? I was … I was thinking of you.”

“Really.”

“If I’d confessed, you being kind of a Boy Scout and all, you’d insist on going to the police. The whole thing would unravel. They’d have killed you, too. I couldn’t let that happen. That’s why I’m telling you all this, so that maybe you’ll understand. I did something awful, but at least they didn’t kill you.”

My cheeks felt hot. It felt as though my eyes were filling with blood, that I was looking at Greg through a red filter.

Just shoot the fucker now.

No, I couldn’t do that. Not yet, anyway.

“I explained the situation to them. They recommended someone, this Matt guy.”

“He did it while we were at the cabins,” I said. “You knew it would happen. You had her killed, and then let the world think I’d done it.”

“Yeah, but you were alive,” Greg said.

“And when that fake Brie showed up this week, it freaked you out.”

Greg nodded. “I called him, asked him if somehow he’d fucked it up.” He looked at me pleadingly. “Would you at least give me a head start?” he asked.

“No.”

“I know you’re going to turn me in. I get that. Even an hour. Give me a chance to pack a bag, you know. Say goodbye to Julie. I know you won’t believe this, but it’s been eating me up for years.” He paused. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

I had no reply for that. But I had one last question. “Tell me about Candace Di—”

Before I could get out my question, Isabel let out a cry. The homeless man who’d made an appearance my last time here was making his way toward us, and his entrance into the scene had startled not just Isabel, but all three of us.

“Hey,” he said, looking at Greg.

Greg glanced nervously at him. “Not now, Neil,” he said.