“Hell, yes, I agree. I can’t believe you suggested it, Cam.”
John leaned back in his chair. His shoulders slumped ever so slightly and his expression looked pained. “I couldn’t do it, not yet anyway. Maybe never. I can’t imagine being with another woman. I loved Catherine, and the thought of replacing her makes me sick to my stomach. You know how I felt about my wife.”
Cameron gripped his hands together in his lap to keep himself from reaching across the table and grabbing the lying bastard by the throat.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I was being insensitive.” He reached down into his open briefcase and pulled out a thick manila file folder. Pushing his drink aside, he carefully placed it in the center of the table.
“What’s that?” Dallas wanted to know.
“Another investment opportunity?” Preston guessed.
Cameron stared at John as he dropped his bomb. “Lots of notes and figures,” he said. “And . . .”
“And what?” John asked.
“Catherine’s medical records.”
John was reaching for the folder. When Cameron announced what was inside, John reacted as though a rattlesnake had just landed on his hand. He jerked back and then came up halfway out of his chair. The shock was quickly replaced by anger. “What the hell are you doing with my wife’s medical records?” he demanded.
John’s face was so red he looked as if he was about to have a stroke. Cameron began to hope that he would and that it would be massive and debilitating. The prick should suffer as much and as long as possible.
“You son of a bitch,” Cameron hissed. “I saw you Saturday night with the blond. I couldn’t figure out why you hadn’t told us about her, and so I decided to do a little investigative work on my own.” “You didn’t trust me?” John was genuinely outraged.
“No, I didn’t.”
Turning to Preston and Dallas, Cameron said, “Guess what? Good old Catherine wasn’t dying. John just wanted to get rid of her. Isn’t that right, John? You played us for fools, and, damn, we were that. We believed every word you told us. You knew Monk wouldn’t kill her unless we all agreed. That was the deal when we hired him. He works for the club, and you didn’t have the guts to kill her yourself. You wanted to involve us, didn’t you?”
Dallas whispered, “I don’t believe it.”
Preston was too stunned to speak. He stared at the file folder as he asked, “Is Cameron right or wrong? Catherine was terminal, wasn’t she? You told us it was her heart, a congenital defect . . .” He stopped and turned helplessly to Cameron. Then he whispered, “My God.”
John’s lips were pinched together. His eyes blazed with fury, his gaze fully directed on Cameron. “What gave you the right to spy on me?”
Cameron laughed harshly. “You arrogant ass. You’ve got the balls to be outraged that I spied on you and your little Barbie doll?” Glancing at Dallas, whose complexion was rapidly turning green, he asked, “Want to hear something else really funny? You’ll get a kick out of this news. I know I did.”
Dallas picked up the folder and asked, “What?” John lunged to grab the file, but Dallas was quicker.
“Catherine introduced this woman, Lindsey, to John. She hired the bitch to redecorate her bedroom. Isn’t that right, John? The affair started almost immediately after you met her, didn’t it? But you had already decided to kill your wife.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk about this here,” Preston said with a worried glance around the bar to see if anyone was watching them.
“Of course we should talk about this here,” Cameron said. “This is, after all, where we planned the mercy killing.”
“Cam, you’ve got it all wrong,” John said. He looked earnest now, sincere. “I’ve only had one date with Lindsey, and it wasn’t really even a date. It was a business meeting.”
Eager to believe John was telling the truth, Preston vigorously nodded. “If he says it was business, then that’s what it was.”
“Bullshit. He’s lying. I followed him home. I saw Lindsey’s car parked in his garage, and she was there waiting for him. They were all over each other. She’s living with you now, isn’t she, John? And you’re hiding it from everyone, especially the three of us.” Cameron began to rub his temples. He’d had a pounding, relentless headache off and on for the past week, ever since he discovered John’s nasty little secret. “Don’t bother to answer. I’ve got all the facts right here,” he said, pointing to the folder Dallas had just opened. “Did you know Lindsey thinks you’re going to marry her? I got that bit of information from her mother. She’s already planning the wedding.”
“You talked to Lindsey’s mother? All that alcohol has gotten to you, Cameron. It’s made you delusional . . . paranoid.”
“You pompous ass,” he scoffed.
“Lower your voice,” Preston pleaded. His brow was covered with perspiration, and he wiped it away with the bar napkin. Fear made his throat dry.
“Shall we discuss Catherine’s little trust fund that John was so worried would run out?”
“What about it?” Preston asked. “Was there any left?”
“Oh, yes,” Cameron drawled. “About four million dollars.”
“Three million, nine hundred seventy-eight thousand to be exact,” Dallas read from the folder.
“Dear God . . . this can’t be happening,” Preston said. “He told us . . . He told us he took her to Mayo, and they couldn’t do anything for her. Remember, Cameron? He told us . . .”
“He lied. He lied about everything, and we were so damned trusting we believed him. Think about it, Preston. When was the last time any of us saw her? A couple of years ago? It was right before she went to Mayo, wasn’t it? We all saw how bad she looked. Then when she got back, John said she didn’t want to see anyone. And so we respected her wishes. For two years, it was John who told us how her condition was deteriorating and how much she was suffering. All that time, he was lying.”
They all stared at John, waiting for him to explain.
John lifted his hands, palms up in mock surrender, and smiled. “I guess the game’s over,” he said.
Stunned silence followed the announcement.
“You admit it?” Preston asked.
“Yeah, I guess I do,” he said. “It’s kind of a relief, really, not to have to sneak around you guys any longer. Cameron’s right. I’ve been planning this for a long time. Over four years,” he boasted. “Did I ever love Catherine? Maybe, in the beginning, before she turned into an obsessive, demanding pig. It’s funny how love can turn into hate so quickly. Then again, I might not have loved her at all. It could have been her trust fund. I did love the money.”
Dallas dropped a glass. It landed with a thud on the carpet. “What have you done to us?” The question came out in a choked whisper.
“I did what I had to do,” John defended. “And I don’t have any regrets. Well, no, that isn’t exactly true. I regret inviting Lindsey to move in. I mean, I’ve loved every minute I’ve had her. She’ll do anything in bed, anything at all that I ask, and she so wants to please me. She’s getting clingy, though, and I’m sure as hell not going to get tied down again.”
“You son of a bitch,” Cameron snarled.
“Yes, I am that,” John agreed smoothly. “Want to know the best part, besides the pig’s trust fund? It was so damned easy.”
“You murdered her.” Dallas closed the folder.
John shifted in his chair. “No, that’s not exactly true. I didn’t murder her. We did.”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Dallas stammered, and then bolted for the bathroom.
John seemed amused by the reaction. He motioned to the waiter to bring another round of drinks.
They sat stiffly together, like strangers now, each lost in his own thoughts. After the waiter had placed fresh drinks on the table and left, John said, “I bet you’d like to kill me with your bare hands, wouldn’t you, Cameron?”
“I’d sure as hell like to,” Preston said.
John shook his head. “You’re a hothead, Preston. Always have been. And with your muscle-building regime, you could break every bone in my body. But,” he added, “if it weren’t for me, you’d already be in prison. You don’t think things through. You don’t have what it takes. I guess you just don’t have a calculating mind. We’ve had to push you into every financial decision. And we had to pressure you into agreeing with us to pay Monk to kill Catherine.” He paused. “Cameron, on the other hand, does have what it takes.”
Cameron inwardly cringed. “I knew you didn’t have much of a conscience, but I never figured you’d screw us. We’re all you’ve got, John. Without us, you’re . . . nothing.”
“We were friends and I trusted you,” Preston said.
“We’re still friends,” John argued. “Nothing’s changed.”
“The hell it hasn’t,” Cameron shot back.
John was completely unruffled. “You’ll get past it,” he promised. “Especially when you remember how much money I’ve made for you.”
Cameron propped his elbows on the table and stared into John’s eyes. “I want my cut now.”
“It’s out of the question.”
“I say we dissolve the club. We each take our share and go our separate ways.”
“Absolutely not,” John said. “You know the rules. None of us touches a dime for five more years.”
Dallas came back to the table and sat down. “What did I miss?”
Preston, who now looked as though he was going to be sick, answered, “Cameron wants to dissolve the club and split the assets now.”
“No way,” Dallas said, appalled. “You make a withdrawal, and it can be traced by the IRS. It’s out of the question.”
“He can’t touch the money unless we all go with him to the bank, remember? We all have to sign before we’re given access. That’s how we set it up,” John reminded them.
“You’re a real bastard, John.”
“Yeah, so you said. Face it, Cameron. You aren’t angry because I lied to you. You’re pissed off because your life’s miserable right now. I know you better than you know yourself. I know what you’re thinking.”
“Yeah? Enlighten me.”
“You think I didn’t have it all that bad. Right?”
“Yes,” Cameron admitted. “That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”
John’s voice was calm as he said, “But you didn’t have the courage to do more than whine. I did. It’s as simple as that.” He turned to Dallas. “You know, you’d never have asked Monk to kill Catherine if I hadn’t lied.”
“But, John, if you wanted out, why didn’t you just divorce her?” Dallas asked.
“The money,” he answered. “I wanted every dollar she had. By God, I deserved it for putting up with her. She was a controlling bitch,” he added, and for the first time there was bitterness and hatred in his voice. “Unlike Cameron, I didn’t mask my misery with booze. I planned. You have no idea how sickening she was. Her weight had gotten out of hand. She was a hypochondriac. All she thought about and talked about was her health. She did have a heart murmur, but it was no big deal. She was thrilled when she found that out. It gave her a reason to become even more slovenly. She took to her bed and stayed there, being waited on hand and foot by her maids and by me. I kept hoping her heart would blow up, and, honest to God, I tried to kill her with the ton of chocolates I brought home every night, but it was taking too long. Granted, I could have screwed around on her every night and she wouldn’t have known. In fact, I did screw around and she didn’t find out. Like I said, the woman was too lazy to get out of bed, much less leave her bedroom. I couldn’t stand coming home to her. Looking at her made me want to puke.”
“Are we supposed to feel sorry for you now?” Cameron asked.
“No,” he answered. “But as for crossing the line, we did that a long time ago.”
“We never murdered anyone.”
“So what? We’d still get twenty, maybe thirty years for all the crimes we have committed.”
“But they were white-collar crimes,” Preston stammered.
“Is that going to be your defense against the IRS?” John asked. “Think they’ll just slap your hands?”
“We never killed.”
“Well, now we have,” John snapped, irritated with Preston’s whiny attitude. Focusing on Cameron now, he said, “I’ll tell you this. It was easy . . . easy enough to do again. You know what I’m saying? We could wait a little while, maybe six months or so, and then talk to Monk again about your situation.”
Dallas’s mouth dropped open. “Are you out of your mind?”
Cameron cocked his head. He was already thinking about it. “I’d love for Monk to pay a visit to my wife. It would be worth every penny I had.”
“It’s possible,” John said smoothly.
“If you don’t stop talking like that, I’m out,” Preston threatened.
“It’s too late for you to get out,” John countered.
“There’s no such thing as a perfect murder,” Dallas said.
“Catherine’s was pretty damned perfect,” John said. “I can tell you’re thinking about it, aren’t you, Cam?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I am.”
Preston suddenly wanted to wipe the smug look off of John’s face. “You’ve become a monster,” he said. “If anyone finds out about Catherine . . .”
“Relax,” John said. “We’re in the clear. Now stop worrying. No one’s ever going to find out.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Catherine had the last laugh. The controlling bitch had ordered her attorney, Phillip Benchley, to wait six weeks to the day after her death to read her last will and testament. John was furious about the delay, but he knew he couldn’t do anything about it. Even in death the woman continued to try to manipulate him.
Catherine had hired Phillip before she’d married John. He was a partner in the prestigious firm of Benchley, Tarrance, and Paulson. Benchley knew which side of the bread was buttered. The old fart had catered to Catherine’s every whim. She must have changed her will at least three times that John knew of while they were married, but the last time he went through her papers to make sure he was still the primary beneficiary was six months ago. After that, he’d done his best to monitor her phone calls and visitors to make certain she didn’t have the opportunity to talk to her kiss-ass attorney again.
