Paying The Piper - 12. Chapter 12

When they reached Marci’s apartment, Quent handed Drew a pair of latex gloves, which Drew accepted and donned without comment. After a quick glance up and down the hall, he reached out to put the key in the lock. Quent stayed his hand and leaned in close to the doorknob.

“What?” Drew asked.

“It’s all scratched up,” Quent answered quietly. He crouched down and ran his hands over the wood floor in front of the door. “Metal scrapings,” he said as he rubbed his fingers together.

“Someone was trying to pick the lock,” Drew surmised. Quent didn’t answer. He appeared to be thinking.

Drew sighed and turned back to the door. He turned the key in the lock and swung it open. He reached in and fumbled for a light switch, but Quent found his hand and stopped him. “No need to advertise our presence.”

Drew took a quick look around at the meager furnishings. “You’d think with even marginal success in her field she could do better than this.”

Quent swept by him. “Don’t assume anything.”

They circled the apartment once together. “Don’t touch anything,” Quent hissed before turning away. He began a thorough visual inspection of the room, starting with the computer desk in the corner.

Drew suppressed the urge to stick his tongue out at the other man. Instead, he started leafing through the mail on the table.

“You’re not very good at following orders, are you?” Quent asked in his ear. Drew jumped and spun around.

“Why do you think I’m unemployed?”

Quent’s eyes narrowed. He joined Drew at the table and, after a moment’s hesitation, began his own perusal of the mail. “Yes,” he said. “About that. I put a call in to some Palmer character about you.”

“I rather thought you would.”

“He wasn’t very talkative,” Quent complained.

“That’s Mitch for you."

Quent continued as though Drew hadn’t spoken. “You reacted rather professionally out there when the bullets started to fly. Maybe you'd like to share a bit more of your background, since he was so close-mouthed.”

Drew snorted. “No.”

“What were you doing out there in the first place?”

Drew shrugged and moved to a filing cabinet. “It’s a long quiet road. It clears my mind to drive at night.”

Quent shot him a suspicious look, but Drew ignored it. He continued to flip through the files. A moment later, he hit pay dirt. “Quent,” he called. “Over here.”

Quent sauntered over. “You shouldn’t be in her personal files.”

“Why do you think I have a key? It was so I could return her personal files when I was done with them. I have to say, she trusts awfully easily.”

“No, Marcus. People seem to trust you awfully easily. I’ve yet to figure out why.”

Drew passed over the folders he was holding. “That doesn’t make me a bad person.”

“It makes you a potentially bad person.” Quent squinted at the manila folders. “What are these?”

Drew started to explain, but instead reached up and turned on the desk lamp. When Quent protested, he waved him off. “We’ll risk it.”

Quent opened the first folder and photographs spilled out. They were of Cynthia and another man Drew didn't recognize. “Who's that?”

Quent arched an eyebrow. “You mean there’s someone in town you don’t know?”

“Bastard,” Drew whispered under his breath. He refused to ask again. Quent, feeling charitable, answered.

“That’s Perry Captiva. He the town’s happily married lawyer,” Quent said in disgust.

Drew cocked his head as Quent flipped through the pictures. “Flexible."

Quent flipped to the next picture and they both leaned in closer. “And imaginative.”

Quent sneered at the photograph. “He should know better.” He stuffed the pictures back into the folder. He tossed it on the table and opened the next one. Beside him, Drew gasped. “That bitch!”

Quent had to agree. The folder contained several pictures of Elizabeth and Rob. They, Quent noticed, were not nearly as flexible as Cynthia and Perry. Drew was sputtering indignantly. Quent snapped the folder shut. “Marcus,” he growled.

“What?” Drew spat back.

“I absolutely forbid you to tell Cale about this.”

“What? Why not?” Drew seethed with anger.

“Because,” Quent replied in a deadly voice, “I want to do it.”

Drew stared at him a full moment. “Against my better judgment, I’m beginning to like you.”

“Fight it,” Quent deadpanned.

The filing cabinet gave up twelve different folders on various people in Farther's Run. Most were quite wealthy. Among them were Elizabeth McCoy, Braden White, Stuart Cobb and Jim Stahl. Another separate file had Steve Mullen’s name on it. There were no pictures in either Steve or Jim’s folder. Steve’s file had a series of notes in neat shorthand, completely unintelligible. Jim’s had columns of letters and numbers.

Quent bundled them together. “That’s a tidy suspect list,” Drew remarked. Quent mumbled something under his breath. “This is obviously where Cynthia’s new influx of cash was coming from,” Drew said.

Quent pinched his lips together. “You don’t know that. She may not be involved at all.”

Drew’s expression was skeptical. “And maybe it was her job to get the marks into bed.”

Quent gave a long-suffering sigh. “We don’t know anything for sure. It’s possible these people had no idea who was blackmailing them, if that’s indeed what was happening.” He reached up to massage his temples. “I’m not sure either of these…ladies…was clever enough to pull off a scheme like this.”

“Didn’t you know them?”

“In passing only. They went to school with Cale, though.”

Drew flicked off the light and they left the apartment. “You have to admit,” Drew said as they walked back to the car, “it’s the most rational explanation.”

“I don’t have to admit anything.”

**********

Cale finally convinced Elizabeth to go home. He promised to call later in the morning when the hospital discharged him. He was just drifting off when Drew and Quent arrived.

“Wait,” he called as they tried to back out of the doorway. “What did you find out?”

Quent stepped forward. “Quite a bit.”

“Well?” Cale urged.

“It looks like Marci and, possibly, Cynthia were…blackmailing certain people in town.”

Cale’s mouth dropped open. He looked over at Drew, who hadn’t moved any closer. “There’s more, isn’t there? Tell me.”

Quent glanced over his shoulder. “Marcus,” he said. Cale watched an invisible signal pass between the two, then Drew gave Cale a weak smile and left. Cale’s stomach tightened painfully.

“What is it, Quent?” he asked softly.

In answer, Quent handed Cale a manila envelope that he'd been carrying under his arm. Cale didn’t open it. Quent placed his hand on Cale’s shoulder. Cale gave a shaky sigh and flipped the envelope open.

He studied the topmost picture for over a minute. Quent noticed he didn’t look at the others. Silently, Cale closed the folder and handed it back to Quent.

“That’s my fault,” he said, resigned.

Only shock prevented Quent from slapping his friend. “I beg your pardon?” he asked.

“I haven’t been…intimate…with her for some time. A long time.”

Quent lowered himself into a chair. “So that makes it all right?”

Cale shrugged. “It explains it.”

Quent bit the inside of his cheek. His anger was quickly being transferred from Elizabeth to Cale. “I didn’t see a file on you.”

Cale’s head shot up. “I haven’t been unfaithful to my wife!”

“Why not?”

Cale closed his eyes and sank back onto the pillows. “Quent. Please just let this go for now. I’m tired.”

Quent didn’t move, so Cale rolled over, away from his friend, and pulled the blanket up around his shoulder. Finally, Quent stood up. He stayed by the side of the bed for a long moment before he spoke.

“You consider me your friend, Cale, so listen to what I’m saying. Find happiness where you can. Little else matters in life. Especially as we’ve just been reminded – quite brutally – how quickly it can all be taken away.” Cale didn’t reply. Quent picked up the file and left.