Dead Boyfriends (Mac McKenzie #4)

Priscilla came through her French doors in a hurry.

“McKenzie,” she ‘called. “McKenzie, stop. McKenzie . . .” She reached the table. “What are you doing here?”

Cilia was also wearing a swimsuit, dark blue with gold trim. It was dry, so I figured I was either delaying her swim or interrupting a bit of sunbathing. Without the camouflage of her tailored clothes, I could detect a heaviness in Cilia’s hips and thighs, a bulge at the belly, and a softness in her upper arms and shoulders. It was the body of a forty-plus woman, although I knew a great many twenty-year-olds who wished they looked as fit.

“You look awful,” Cilia said.

“People keep telling me that, so I guess it must be true.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Merodie Davies will be released from jail today,” I said.

“That’s wonderful,” said Silk.

“You came here to tell me that? I’m grateful, of course.”

“Sure you are.”

“Is—Is the Anoka County Attorney going to arrest someone else?”

“The case is closed and will soon be buried along with Eli Jefferson.”

Cilia sighed as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders and settled into a chair across the glass table from me.

“I’m surprised Mr. Muehlenhaus hadn’t told you already,” I said.

“Who?”

“Stop it, Cilia. I’m not in the mood.”

“What do you want? Why did you come?”

“You had me, Cilia,” I said. “You really had me with the story about your father and brother and Brian Becker. Tell me, was any of it true?”

Cilia gave me a slight smile and an even less perceptible shrug. I might as well have asked a professional gambler if he had the cards after he bluffed me out of a pot. I didn’t pay to see her cards, so she wasn’t going to show them.

“True or not, it worked,” I said. “You talked me into believing that you killed Eli Jefferson. You didn’t, though, did you?”

I turned my gaze on Silk. She began to squirm.

“I want you to leave now, Mr. McKenzie,” Cilia said. “Right now.”

“In a minute.”

“Leave now, or I’ll call the police.”

“Here.” I slipped my cell from my pocket and pushed it across the table at her. “Use my phone.”

“McKenzie.”

I kept staring at Silk.

“Cilia, you said you put the envelope containing Merodie’s check on the coffee table in the living room,” I said. “But I saw the crime scene photos, read the reports—there was no coffee table in the living room. You said that there was nothing amiss in the house. But the living room was practically awash in blood, Jefferson’s blood, by the time you said you arrived. You couldn’t possibly have missed it—if you had actually been there. You weren’t. It was Silk who delivered the check.”

“No,” Cilia said.

“You lied when you told me you hadn’t seen your mother for eons, didn’t you, Silk?”

She nodded her head.

“You were there the day Eli Jefferson was killed,” I said. “Your little black-cherry sports car, the one that makes you look so good when you’re driving—it was seen parked in Merodie’s driveway.”

“No,” Cilia shouted again.

“How about it, Silk?” I asked.

“Eli wanted sex and I refused to give it to him,” she said. Her voice was just above a whisper, and I had to lean forward to hear her.

“Silk, don’t say anything,” Cilia said.

“It’s okay, Aunt Cil. I was going to come forward anyway if my mother had been charged with Eli’s murder.”

“But she’s not being charged. She’s free.”

“Is that true?” Silk asked me.

“Free as a bird by three this afternoon.”

“Thank God,” Silk whispered.

“Silk, don’t say anything more,” Cilia said.

“The case is going to be dropped,” I said. “Eli’s death will be ruled an accident—so you’re off the hook, too.”

“Thank God,” Silk whispered again.

Cilia was on her feet. She moved next to her niece and clutched her shoulder.

“You’re not to say another word until we hire a lawyer,” she said. “Do you understand me, young lady?”

Silk took her aunt’s hand between hers. She brought it to her lips and kissed it lightly. “You can’t protect me forever,” she said.

“The hell I can’t. See if I can’t.” Cilia turned on me. “Get out,” she shouted.

“Shut up,” I said.

“You can’t speak to me that way.”

I pointed at my cell phone, still on the glass table. “Call Muehlenhaus,” I said. “I bet he tells you I can speak however I damn well please.”

That quieted her right down.

“Silk—” I said.

“Who’s Mr. Muehlenhaus?” she asked.

“Your fairy godmother. Silk, tell me what happened.”

“Is it important?”

“Yes, to me it is.”

Silk sighed heavily and gripped her towel with both hands.

“I met Eli in July when I delivered Mother’s check,” she said. “He came on to me. I let him.”