Free This Doesn't Happen in the Movies by Renee Pawlish Page B

truth.”  We were both breathing heavily as I released him.  He turned around, rubbing his wrists where I’d held him.  He slid along the wall to the back door.  “You’re crazy, man.  Crazy.”
    “And you better hope I believe you,” I said.  He looked at me with near terror.  It took him two attempts before he got the screen door open.  Then he disappeared inside.  I almost laughed at his fright.
     

 
     
     
    CHAPTER ELEVEN
     
     
    It was time to talk to Amanda again.  I’d made that decision before walking out of the alley, so Tuesday morning I was parked in Amanda’s driveway at exactly nine o’clock.  I had a suspicion, based on my own experiences with too much alcohol, that she would still be in bed, and I was right.
    “Too much vodka last night?” I said when she answered the door, bleary-eyed and tired, after the fourth ring.
    “Reed,” she said, her voice a gravelly mix of cigarettes and semi-sleep.  “I was hoping you’d stop by.”  She wore a stark white terrycloth robe open to her navel.  The silk nightgown underneath was too sheer for the cold weather, accentuating body parts I didn’t want to know about.  I focused on her face, ashen from what I’d guess to be a massive hangover.
    “We need to talk.”  I pushed past her and into the living room.
    “What’s the matter,” she asked, shutting the door.  “Aren’t you still looking for Peter?”
    “Yes, I am.  But I want to know what’s really going on.”  I stalked to the bar and leaned against it.  She’d have to step through me to get to any liquor.  I crossed my arms and inspected her.  She had dark circles under her eyes, and the white robe drained her face of any color.  To say she looked like a ghost would be an insult to Casper and his relatives.
    “What do you mean?”  She held a hand to her ear, as if our voices were a cacophony of out-of-tune instruments, while she eyed the bar behind me.  I’m sure the vodka was calling to her.
    “You’ve had me on a wild goose chase, haven’t you?”  She didn’t answer.  “I’ve been running around trying to figure out where Peter is, but he’s dead, isn’t he?  You had him killed, just like you said.  You hired someone to kill him, and now you’re trying to cover your tracks by making it look as if you're concerned.  Then you hired me, and you've had me calling around to credit card companies and checking with the police.  Merrick probably tracked all of that down, but you made me do it again, to keep me busy, and misdirected.  And you made a fake ransom note.  ‘We will be in touch.’  Like any ransom note would say that.”  I couldn’t keep the derision from my voice.  “What other bullshit have you concocted?”
    “No, that’s not it.”  She waved her hands nervously.  “You don’t understand.”
    “Obviously,” I retorted as she shook her head vigorously, then blanched from the effort.
    “Level with me, or I’m out of here right now,” I said.
    “No, please,” she pleaded, clasping her hands as if in prayer.  “You’re right.  I haven’t been honest with you.”  A long pause stretched out before us, but I wasn’t going to rescue her.  She could fall into the proverbial hole she’d made.  She finally let out a huge sigh, and began.  “You’re right,” she said again.  “I did hire a group to take care of Peter, but something happened.  They were supposed to kill him before he ever reached Philadelphia, but they didn’t.”
    “How do you know?”  I still didn’t trust anything Amanda said.
    “Because Peter contacted me after the time he was supposed to be dead.”  I didn’t have any response to that.  “I was sort of telling the truth when I hired you.  I did want you to find him, to find out why he wasn’t dead.  But I couldn’t very well tell you that.”
    “But why me?”
    She sighed.  “I heard about you from someone at the club.”
    “Sure,” I said.  “I’ve built up such