Dead Boyfriends (Mac McKenzie #4)

Dead Boyfriends (Mac McKenzie #4) Page 47

You were only fourteen when your father taught you how to drive a stick on the dirt roads Up North, my inner voice reminded me, but I didn’t say.

Piotrowski paused for a moment to catch his breath, then started up again. “I wanted to fight, that’s what I told my insurance company. ‘Let’s go to court,’ I said. Not them pussies. They say, first, they only have my word that there really was a woman, like I made it up, right? Like I shoulda fucking asked her name, right? Shit. Then they say putting a sixteen-year-old unwed mother on the witness stand, crying all over the fucking place over this guy what was supposed to marry her and raise the baby, that’s what they call a ‘no-win proposition.’ So they settle out of court. Eighty-five thousand bucks, and me with a twenty percent deductible. Fuck. That’s all I can say. Why you want to know all this shit for, anyway?”

“The woman, the kid who sued you . . .”

“Merodie fucking Davies,” Piotrowski said.

“She’s in jail on a murder charge.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Well, good,” Piotrowski said.

Vonnie Lou Lowman, Eli Jefferson’s sister, lived in a small, split-level house in New Brighton, a suburb just north of Minneapolis. The doors and windows of her house were closed and the drapes drawn, giving the place a murky look. Apparently, Vonnie Lou thought her efforts would keep the heat at bay. I admit, it was a few degrees cooler inside, yet the back of my shirt stuck to me just the same.

Vonnie Lou offered Dr. Pepper, which I accepted greedily. The beers I had at the Ski Shack were working on me, and I didn’t want to be sloshed when I met Benny.

“No. No. No possible way.” Vonnie Lou answered my first question. “I’m not just saying that because he’s my brother, either. Eli would never have abused Merodie, would never have hit her. I don’t know who told you that, but it’s just not true. He was the most good-natured man you would ever hope to meet. Sweet as honey, I’m not kidding. He liked women. Believe me.”

“Were you and your brother close?”

Vonnie Lou smiled at the thought. “We had our ups and downs,” she said. “Like I told you, he was a sweet man. He liked his liquor though, and when he drank he did stupid things. Not mean things, or dangerous things. Just stupid.”

“Like sleeping with other women?” I asked.

Vonnie Lou nodded her head then, sipped her pop. “This time I thought it would work out for Merodie,” she said. “I really did. Merodie hasn’t had a whole lot of luck with men.”

“So I’ve been led to believe.”

“They’ve either turned out to be assholes or they died on her.”

“Let’s talk about that. I know about St. Ana.”

“Robert St. Ana, the guy who got her pregnant. That was before my time, before I met Merodie.”

“Did Merodie ever talk about him?”

“Not really, although from what she did say, I guess he wasn’t exactly the nicest guy in the world. Beat on her some, Merodie said. Did other things. Then he got her pregnant and wouldn’t marry her. The way I figure it, the best thing that could have happened to Merodie was him dying like he did.”

“What about Becker?”

“Brian Becker?”

“Is that his name?”

“If we’re talking about the same guy, yeah. Brian Becker. Him I did know. He used to live with Merodie. He was—God, what a creep. You heard he abused Merodie? That’s no lie. Slapped her around, called her names—he did it in public, too. We all told Merodie to get rid of him, told her he was no good, but she stood by him. I don’t know why. He treated her place like it was his. Drove her car. Took money from her. The day he died—I’ll tell you how much of a jerk he was. The day we heard that Becker died, we all went out and partied.”

“How did he die?” I asked.

“He died from being stupid, that’s how. You know what happened? He went out drinking without Merodie, but driving Merodie’s car. He drove back to the house, pressed the button on the remote to open the garage door, drove into the garage, parked the car but didn’t turn it off, closed the garage door, passed out, still in the car, and died of carbon monoxide poisoning. Merodie found him the next morning and called the police. The cops wrote it down as an accident. Personally, I think it was divine intervention. God decided Becker was just too stupid to live.”

“What about Richard?” I asked.

“Richard Nye?” Vonnie Lou spat the name. “Another jerk. He used to live with Merodie, too. I swear, Merodie attracted them like ants to sugar, you know? This one, Nye, he sold crystal meth right out of Merodie’s living room, I swear to God. Beat Merodie up when she told him to stop. Last I heard he was doing time.”

“For dealing drugs?”

“Yeppers.”

I made a note in my book and asked, “Did Merodie turn him in?”