Page 2 of Lethal Bliss

Movement in the rearview mirror startles me, and I look closely at it.

Behind, three of the truck’s doors are open.

Three men alight together.

I clutch my gun tighter and push open my own door.

Finally, it’s show time!

CHAPTER 2

Flora

RichardWells is a walking irony.

His deep, baritone voice on the phone had prepared me to meet some sort of a giant, not the diminutive and mousy man cowering before me.

“Did anybody follow you?” he asks now.

“No,” I tell him and settle into the only chair in the room. It's an armchair with peeling leather. The bed is on the other side of the room. It's neatly dressed, like it hasn’t been used all day. Richard has probably been too terrified to sleep.

He's at the window, taking a peek at the street outside. With the light on in the room, he’s making a big target of himself for anyone who might be watching.

I heave a sigh. “Mr. Wells—”

“Call me Richard, please,” he says without looking back at me.

“I checked for cars turning with me at every intersection,” I assure him. “I didn’t notice any following me. And I watched the street for half a minute after I pulled in here, and I still didn’t see anybody following or watching.”

He comes away from the window and crosses the room to the wardrobe on the other side of the bed. I watch in silence ashe rummages through a duffel bag. After a while, he pulls out a small plastic box and brings it to where I’m waiting. “Here.”

“What’s this?” I ask. It’s one of those transparent plastic packs of dental floss.

“Everything you need to know who killed my neighbor,” he says.

Puzzled, I take a closer look at the pack. It's then that I notice the black memory card lying in a corner. “You made a recording?”

“Yeah. It was raining when I heard the gunshot. When I looked through my window, I saw a man loitering in Carter’s—”

“Your window?” I ask.

“Yes, my window.” He turns toward the motel’s window again.

Now I’m confused. “You heard a gunshot in your house?”

“Not my house,” he clarifies. “The house next door. Carter’s house.”

My confusion deepens. “Raymond Carter was found dead in an abandoned warehouse in—”

“Forget what you heard,” Richard cuts in. “He was killed in his house, right next to mine. I heard them shoot him. I saw them loitering around on his patio. So I got my camera and went to the window. You won’t believe what I saw.”

“What’s that?”

“They were carrying him out to…”

“To where?”

He holds up a finger to silence me. Now there’s a frown on his face. “Someone is coming here,” he says and runs over to the window.