Let's Play Make-Believe (7 page)

“Holy shit, what have
I done? Holy shit, what have I done?” Marty kept chanting that same phrase like it was some kind of mantra that would bring him back to reality. Or maybe it would
keep
him from reality. Because at this moment, as we tried to gain some perspective and figure out what we would do next, we knew that we were both involved in a murder.

My car swerved as Marty overreacted to a car pulling up to a side street.

I screamed, “What the hell are you doing? We need to draw
less
attention to ourselves, not more!” I immediately regretted being so sharp. I was on edge, and looking at Marty, who was perspiring uncontrollably and leaning into the steering wheel, I knew he was, too.

He took the turn onto Kings Highway, and I knew we'd be cutting through some odd little neighborhoods just north of Fort Pierce.

“Where are you going?” I asked with the stress still evident in my voice.

“The turnpike.”

“Listen, Marty, we have to take a deep breath and think this through. You want to go to a road that will photograph us entering and ping off my SunPass as we pay the toll? We need to stay on the back roads, or at most, get on I-95.”

I could see that my words were registering with him. He said, “Do you think anyone saw us? It just sort of happened. I didn't even know what I was doing.”

I felt like I was about to throw up. I'd never been involved in anything at all like this. I had talked to the cops more in the last couple of weeks than I had in my whole life combined. If I'd been counting on Marty being my rock, I could see I'd made a mistake. Even if I went to the police right now, I'd have to explain why I'd driven all the way up to Vero Beach with Marty and why we'd both fled the scene. This wouldn't play out well in any courtroom. Now we had to jump in with both feet.

Marty turned onto one of the main roads and then took the entrance ramp to I-95. I didn't want to question his every move; he was already so far over the edge that I even wondered if he might pull the gun and use it on himself or maybe even on me. If we got stopped by a cop now, it would all be over. There was no way he'd be able to look calm with the way he was acting.

“Speed up and get into the center lane. You're drawing attention,” I snapped when I looked at the speedometer and saw that he was only going forty-eight miles an hour. Cars whizzed past us like we were parked.

Marty mumbled something as he got into the flow of traffic. He was still staring straight ahead, and I tried to figure out how to get the gun from him. That would be a good first step. Eliminate the possibility of more murders or a suicide.

I leaned over and patted him on the shoulder and rubbed his neck for a minute. He didn't respond. The guy was a wreck. Then I let my hand drift down between the seat and his back until I felt the grip of the pistol tucked into his belt on the right side of his back.

I didn't say anything; I just pulled out the small semiautomatic pistol and slipped it into the console.

Marty saw where I put the gun but didn't say anything. I felt like I might have relieved some of the pressure he was feeling by taking the gun from him.

I said, “Marty, we're going to have to come up with a decent alibi to get through this.”

“I know, I know. I still can't believe what just happened.”

“The last place anyone can prove we visited was Gulfstream Park. I think I have one of the betting slips in my purse.”

“I have a whole bunch crammed in my pocket.”

“Good, good. We just say we stayed at the park until later in the afternoon, then took I-95 back to Palm Beach. We'll make sure someone sees us as soon as we get into town. We can go to the Palm Beach Grill and have a drink. If we hurry, we can be there by five thirty and it will match up with leaving the racetrack about four.” I waited for some kind of response from my semicomatose boyfriend. Then I said, “We're going to have a drink and gather ourselves. We won't mingle with anyone unless we have to, but we at least want the bartenders to see us.”

He took his eyes off the road and stared at me for a moment but didn't say anything. I had to gasp and point at the slow Mazda in front of us to get him to look back at the highway and swerve into the right lane.

“Trust me, babe, this is the only thing we can do.”

He took the exit at Jupiter before I could say anything. He said, “I don't know why, but I feel like it's a better idea to drive down to US 1 here and then south to Palm Beach. Maybe it's an instinct. Does that sound right to you?”

Suddenly he sounded coherent and in control. “Yeah, that sounds good, Marty. Just keep cool and it'll all work out. But there's one other thing we need to talk about.”

“What's that?”

“No matter what happens, you know the police are going to talk to you, if for no other reason than the fact that you're Teal's ex-husband. You have to face them and be cool and composed during the whole meeting. They might come as soon as tonight. They'll try to trip you up on details. You have to be careful with what you say.”

“Talk to me about what? We've been at the track all day, then stopped for a drink at the Palm Beach Grill. I can account for almost every minute of my day.”

“And I'll back you up on every single thing you say. But we need to practice our story over and over. And not be on the phone to each other every few minutes.”

He nodded. “Smart, very smart. I'm lucky I have you.” He focused on the street in front of him, careful not to cause an accident or draw any attention. If someone spotted us up here at the north end of the county, it would blow all our plans instantly.

I leaned back in the seat and took a deep breath. I tried to clear my mind, but all I could see was that dark blood spreading across Teal's pretty flowered dress. I was an accomplice to murder.

About midday, I turned
on my phone and called Marty. We didn't want a lot of phone calls that could be verified by the police. We felt it would be more natural if we had just one call during the day like any normal couple. That was all part of the plan we'd formulated on our frantic drive down from Vero Beach when we decided to try to cover up our involvement in the murder of his ex-wife. Once we'd made a conscious decision to hide it, we were committed.

We met at TooJay's, a decent local deli chain that was in the same plaza as the Palm Beach Grill. It was later in the afternoon, so the place was nearly empty except for a few of the elderly residents who'd walked over from the Biltmore Condos and a couple of traders from the local financial companies grabbing a late, late lunch.

We picked at a platter because neither of us felt much like eating, and when we were sure no one was around, Marty said, “So the cops came by my apartment late last night. It was a Vero detective and an agent from the Florida Department of Law Enforcement. I guess they needed the FDLE for jurisdiction. They didn't call first. Just knocked on my door around eleven. I acted like they woke me up, but of course I couldn't sleep.”

This was what I had been anxious to hear all night. I couldn't believe I'd managed to keep my cool. I'd wanted to race over to see him or call him the entire day. “What'd you tell them?”

Marty leaned in close and said, “Just like we practiced. We went to the racetrack, then drove almost straight home to the Palm Beach Grill. I dropped you off at the Brazilian Court about nine. I hadn't heard from or talked to Teal in a couple of months. I even left my betting slips in the front pocket of my jeans so I had them when the cops asked if I had any proof I'd been at the track. It worked out exactly like you said it would.”

I said, “They came by to see me about noon. Maybe they were checking some other details about your story first.”

“What'd you tell them?”

“Same thing. Just like we practiced. Not too much detail. The difference is
I
really was asleep when they knocked on the door.”

We sat for a few minutes, nibbling corned beef and turkey off the platter. Then Marty said, “I'm still in shock over what happened. It was like I wasn't even there. I have no idea what came over me. I hope you can see that wasn't the real me yesterday. I want you to know I'm a good man.”

I took the opening to a question I needed to ask. “Teal said you drove her to move. What did she mean?”

Marty shrugged. “Nothing. She said I couldn't let it go, but I could. She overreacted and got a restraining order during our divorce proceedings. The judge seemed like he was only listening to her and didn't care about my side of the story at all. But the restraining order was just to make her look like a victim. It was a horrible experience that got me really down on myself. But once I met you, it was a lot easier.”

I said, “You saved all those betting slips and asked me to use my Volvo. I have to ask: Was shooting Teal part of a spur-of-the-moment game or did you plan it?”

He gave me a puppy-dog look and said, “I'd never put you in that position. It just happened. I was just as shocked as you were that it happened, but now I think it might all work out. I think if they had enough, the cops would've arrested me. We're in the clear, and I feel like this is all going to be okay.”

I said, “I hope so, because…”

“What? Come on, you can tell me.”

“Marty, I love you. Sometimes it takes stress or danger to reveal exactly how you feel about someone. I love you, and I would do anything for you.”

He looked relieved. Finally he said, “I've been wanting to tell you how I feel for a long time, but I was afraid I might scare you off. I mean with your divorce and all, I didn't want to add anything to your plate. I love you, too.” He reached across the table and lifted my hand so he could kiss it.

I couldn't keep from glancing around the nearly empty restaurant and wondering if any of the patrons could be cops.

It was dark by
the time we left TooJay's, and we decided to just walk around to the other side of the plaza and stop into the Palm Beach Grill for a few drinks. God knew we could use some alcohol.

We sat at the same high-top as the night we met. The waitress, Suzie, a cute little thing I'd known since she started here, gave us an odd look. A minute later she was back with two Grey Goose vodkas with cranberry. Both doubles. Marty threw his down quickly and looked at Suzie and said, “May I have another, please.” Then he stood up and said, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

As soon as he was away from the table, Suzie looked at me and said, “The cops were here right when we opened. They asked about you and Marty. They asked if we saw you in here often and if you were here last night. Is everything okay?”

“Just a misunderstanding.”

“But you're sure you're okay? I mean, there's nothing funny going on with Marty?”

I let out a laugh. “No, he's not holding me hostage or anything. He is a little stressed out, so if you don't mind making his drinks a little stronger so he can relax, I'd appreciate it. We're going to have a serious talk.”

Suzie was a good waitress and kept the drinks coming without either of us having to ask. After a while, Marty and I shared a hamburger and nibbled at the fries. Marty had walked over to say hello to one of his clients from the island who was putting in a separate pool for his children and wanted a new patio with two enclosed rooms built around it.

There was a TV on in the corner, and I saw a local news piece on Teal's murder. Vero Beach was on the very edge of the local news territory, and the story had gained some interest because shootings generally didn't occur in an upscale town like that.

I stared at the TV, relieved Marty wasn't at the table to see it. The pretty, young female reporter spoke in front of Teal's cute house, and the story was interspersed with footage and earlier interviews. One of them was with a police detective who said absolutely nothing about the facts of the case other than to give the information that they had a body and no witnesses. A photo of Teal flashed on the screen. She was dressed up like she was going to a fancy party or a ball. It suddenly struck me as sad.

The reporter said, “Anyone with any information about this horrendous crime can call Crime Stoppers or the Vero Beach Police Department.” It made me think about what had happened and how Marty had snapped so unexpectedly.

The news story headed for its conclusion with the reporter saying, “Police are working around the clock to solve the murder of Teal Hawking. Evidence is still being analyzed, and interviews are being conducted.” Then the story ended with the police detective declaring, “We won't stop until this case is solved.”

Marty walked back to the table as I processed that last remark. We sat, silently watching all the rich and wannabe-rich people as they came and went through the restaurant's door. After Marty had downed a double vodka, I finally said, “You feel like another game?” His eyes were a little woozy, but he was still in control.

“Sure. What'd you have in mind?”

“A good game of make-believe.”

Marty just stared at
me. “A game of make-believe?”

“It's only fair. You owe me this one.”

Marty leaned back and raised his hands. “I'm not arguing. Anything you want.”

I said, “Anything?”

“Anything at all.” That smile said he was sincere.

I let him consider his words and just gazed into his eyes. He really was a good-looking man and a lot of fun to hang out with. I said, “Let's go see Brennan. I need a little confrontation with him. I want to settle our differences, and he needs to see I've moved on. I want the satisfaction of him seeing us as a couple. Then I'm going to tell him you make me feel like he never could.”

“What do I have to do?”

I smiled and patted his hand as I said, “Just look pretty.”

“I can do that.” He gave me a sly smile and said, “I can do a lot more if you want. I'd like to see that prick piss his pants.”

I thought about it, imagining Brennan with urine staining his expensive slacks, and it made me smile. Marty tended to make me smile.

“I just feel like there's something I have to get off my chest with that guy.”

“Are you kidding? Brennan treated you terribly, and you have a right to get anything you want off your chest. He needs a dose of his own medicine.”

“I couldn't agree more.”

When Marty wandered off again, I grabbed four twenties from my purse and laid them on the table. I wanted to scoot out of there with minimum fuss.

My friend Lisa Martz, who had introduced Marty and me, came through the front door and saw me. She came right to the table and gave me a hug.

Lisa said, “Look at you, aren't you a vision. How's it going with Marty?”

Before I could answer, Marty was next to her, ready with a hug.

I didn't feel like chatting. I was focused. I wanted to have it out with Brennan. I felt my impatience grow as Lisa chatted about the most Palm Beach of things: houses, cars, and scandals.

When Lisa moved on to another table to spread the gossip of the island, Marty and I were alone. He said, “When do you want to play this little game of yours?”

“Why not tonight?”