“Did you know Charlie Holsan had the owner of that place killed?”
I rock back on my chair, pulling a surprised face. “No, I did not know that. How do you know that?” I already know how she knows. Rick Lamfetti, the guy I refused to kill for the old man, the guy I sent up to Anaheim, was on Lowell’s payroll for god knows how long. He’ll have squealed and told her anything she wanted to know just to keep his own ass out of jail. Thing is Rick’s dead now, and without his testimony, Lowell’s got little more than a statement that can’t be backed up.
The agent smirks at me. She knows I know she’s got nothing on this one. “You killed Frankie Monterello for your boss.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. When was this event supposed to have taken place? I’m sure I’ll be able to tell you exactly where I was. Who I was with at the time.” I know for a fact the Monterellos never called the cops when Frankie died. No way. If there’s one thing I can count on, it’s that the Italians will have buried their boss and cleaned up the mess without making a report to the authorities. A family like that doesn’t want cops poking around their business. Better to say Frankie moved out of state or something, should anyone ever ask.
“We’re not interested in fake alibis, Mr. Mayfair.”
“Why would I give you a fake alibi? I’m merely trying to help.”
Lowell looks like she’s just swallowed a quart of bleach. “Well, I really hope that sentiment holds, Mr. Mayfair. Because you’re going to be helping us for a very long time.”
“The blaze started around three pm this afternoon. Known to be the home of one Charlie Holsan, a man suspected to be involved in a number of illegal operations, the eight-bedroom mansion was valued at two point three million dollars. Mr. Holsan has not yet come forward to speak with authorities or fire marshals about the fire. There is speculation that the sixty-two-year-old could actually be inside the building, though that won’t be confirmed until fire fighters have managed to get the blaze under control and officials can investigate. Even that might not be easy. The ferocity and fast-spreading nature of the fire has already significantly weakened the structure of the mansion. It is unlikely much of the interior will be intact by the time the inferno is put out. Stay tuned to Channel Six News Live for ongoing updates.”
I turn the television off, a sick feeling twisting in my gut. Zeth did that. I know he did. There are plenty of other people out there who had reason to set a fire in Charlie Holsan’s former home, but I know in my very bones it was Zeth. Pippa sits on the couch beside me, still staring at the now black TV screen.
“Is it wrong that I’m glad he’s dead?” she says softly.
I turn to look at her, surprised. “Really? You’re glad he’s dead?”
“Of course I am. He did countless unspeakable things to you. And…and to Zeth. He poisoned that woman at the gas station. And he scared the living shit out of me when he broke into that apartment to take Lacey. Not to mention he’s the whole reason Lacey is dead.”
When she puts it like that, I can see her point. She’s just so proper, though. Hearing her admit she’s glad someone like Charlie got what he deserved is a little out of character. “I thought you’d rather we trusted in the justice system. Send the bastard to jail, or something.”
Pippa shakes her head. “Hell, no. Prison is too good for the likes of him. Better he rots in hell than leeches off the state for the rest of his life. Plus,” she says, her voice taking on a hard edge, “he would still have been able to control things from inside. There are always people ready to carry out orders on prisoners’ behalves. You and Zeth would still have been in danger.”
I don’t know if she even realizes she’s included Zeth in her concern, but the fact that she has makes me feel like crying. I know we’re a long way off yet, but I can almost see a future where Pippa not only supports my relationship with the man she considers solely responsible for ruining my life, but perhaps…perhaps she will even like him. It’s a long shot, wishing for something like that, but I have to be an optimist about these things. If I’m not, I’ll go crazy.
Michael returns home mid-afternoon with a black eye and a split lip. Pippa rockets off the couch when he stumbles through the door, still in the running gear he was wearing earlier, though now soaked in blood. “Oh my god, is that your blood?” she gasps.
Michael lifts one eyebrow at the sight of Pippa at The Regency Rooms. “Not all of it,” he says. And then, to me, “Where’s the boss? He back yet?”
I shake my head. “I tried calling him earlier. He didn’t answer. I figured…I figured he needed some space.”
In truth, it hurt a little that Zeth let his cell phone ring out rather than talk to me, but I know how torn up inside he is right now. He’s off dealing with his problems the only way he knows how—by torching buildings and god knows what else. Better not to guess.
“He’ll be back before nightfall. He swore he would,” Michael says.
“And Julio? What happened with Julio and Rebel?”
Michael casts a cautious eye in Pippa’s direction. “Maybe it’s better I don’t go into details right now. Suffice it to say, Rebel’s problems are all solved now. And we don’t need to worry about Julio again, either.”
He’s probably right. Pippa doesn’t even know half of the crap Rebel’s involved in, and neither do I. Frankly, I don’t want to know. So long as Michael’s okay, then I’m happy to leave the conversation for another time. From the tone of his voice and the finality of his words, Julio Perez is just as dead as Charlie Holsan and that’s all I need to hear.