“I don’t think so,” I said, holding the phone between us so she could see what I was seeing. “Ted isn’t listed as the event organizer. He hasn’t even confirmed he’ll attend yet. The invitation was sent by Carl’s assistant.”
“Carl’s assistant?” Vero took the phone from me to see for herself. “If Carl had an employee, why wouldn’t this person have told anyone their boss was missing, especially if said boss wasn’t around for months to cut them a paycheck?” Vero narrowed her eyes at the screen. “And why would they schedule the meeting at Carl’s house? Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“That whoever sent this invitation already knows Carl is dead.” This sounded too much like a setup. And besides us, there were only three people alive who knew what had happened to Carl—Theresa, Aimee, and Feliks. “What if Aimee set up a dummy account, posing as Carl’s assistant? Maybe she and EasyClean are working together; she lures him to the scene, and EasyClean takes him out.”
“Or maybe she figured she could do it quicker and cheaper on her own. Think about it … She posted the job to the forum while Theresa was in jail, and she responded to both offers while Theresa was stuck at home with an ankle monitor. But now Aimee has her wingman back. What does she need EasyClean for? She’s not exactly squeamish when it comes to blood. And EasyClean’s already botched three attempts.” Vero shook her head. “I think Aimee got spooked when we showed up with Carl and she wants Steven handled fast. And if she and Theresa take him out, she doesn’t have to pay anyone.”
“Then why include Ted in the meeting? If she intends to murder Steven, why invite a witness?”
“Ted hasn’t confirmed he’ll be there. What if she never really sent him an invitation? Maybe this is all just staging. You know, part of the ruse. Maybe Aimee set up the e-vite to make it look like it was a meeting of the partners, so Steven wouldn’t suspect anything was out of the ordinary.”
The more I thought about it, the more it all made sense.
“I’m sending those pics to FedUp before she weasels her way out of paying us.”
“Wait,” I said as Vero reached for her cell. “That meeting is in less than two hours. Steven won’t be there, but whoever invited him doesn’t know that.” I powered off Steven’s phone, tapping it against my chin. “Don’t send those photos just yet. I have a better idea.”
* * *
It was almost dusk when Vero and I arrived at the motel, with Steven duct-taped in the back and Carl in his bag on the floorboard. I had crouched in the back seat as Vero drove my van out of the garage. She’d waved to Officer Roddy as we’d left, leaving him to assume I was still safely inside my house.
Vero checked the number on the key and backed the van as close to the motel room door as she could manage. We scanned the parking lot and the closed curtains in the neighboring windows, making sure there were no witnesses as we hefted Steven from the back of the van and shoved him inside our room. He teetered on his bound ankles before falling to the carpet with a thud.
“Do we have to lift him to the bed?” Vero panted, bent over her knees. Steven writhed in his duct tape restraints, his eyes shooting daggers at me as I put the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door and drew the heavy drapes closed. The room was a dump. The wallpaper was peeling from the walls, and there were yellow stains on the popcorn ceiling. I didn’t want to imagine what kinds of horrors were hidden by the funky 1970s patterns in the carpet, but I also didn’t think we could muster the strength to lift him onto the bed.
“We should at least move him away from the door.” We dragged him by his armpits into the gap between the beds. I tucked a pillow under his head and turned on the TV, cranking up the volume and changing the channel to ESPN. “Ready?” I asked Vero, brushing off my hands and reaching for my keys. Steven’s eyes flew open wide. His breathing became panicked and ragged as we headed for the door. “Sorry, Steven. Believe me, this definitely beats the alternative. I’ll be back in a few hours to check on you.”
The TV drowned out his thrashing as Vero and I left and pulled the door closed. I climbed into the driver’s seat, pausing before putting the key in the ignition.
“You’re feeling guilty,” Vero said, buckling herself in. “Don’t. He was manhandling you in your own damn garage. Meanwhile, you’re trying to save his sorry, miserable life. You have nothing to feel guilty about. Now come on. We’ve got a body to get rid of.”