Double Take

out what the damned sheriff knew, pretend you were interested in him, but did you manage it? Of course you didn’t. And look what you’ve brought us now—the sheriff breaking into my home.”
    “Again, why is the sheriff so interested in this bracelet?” Makepeace asked.
    Charlotte said in a flat voice, “It belonged to the sheriff’s wife.”
    “Shut up, Charlotte.”
    “Why? It doesn’t matter if Makepeace knows.”
    “Did the sheriff find the bracelet?” Makepeace asked.
    “No, of course he didn’t find it,” Pallack said. “I threw it in the bay an hour after Charlotte told me he’d recognized it.”
    “So the reason this guy came to San Francisco was because of this bracelet? But how did he even know about the bracelet?”
    “It was a piece of bad luck,” Pallack said.
    “What’d you do, Pallack? Kill his bloody wife, decide you liked her bracelet, and take it off her?”
    Dix thought his heart would stop. It was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, sit there and pretend he was still unconscious. He wanted to yell at Pallack to answer Makepeace, but Pallack ignored him.
    “So this guy has nothing to do with Julia Ransom?” Makepeace asked.
    “No,” Charlotte said.
    Pallack said, his voice low and vicious, “If only the cops had arrested Julia Ransom for murdering her husband, but you didn’t leave enough evidence to point at her. If you’d done it right, found those journals in the first place, I wouldn’t have had to call you again.”
    “And if I weren’t here again, the real blackmailer, Soldan Meissen, would still be bleeding you dry.”
    “All right. Yes, you’re right,” Pallack said. “Now you’ve only got one more thing to do, and that’s get rid of the sheriff. Then you leave town. No more questions, do you understand? Just do what I tell you.”
    Dix could swear he felt the air change, and it was coming from Makepeace. Was Pallack nuts? Talking down to a psychopath who’d just as soon slit his throat as breathe?
    Makepeace gave a clipped laugh that wasn’t a laugh at all. It made Dix’s skin crawl. His head was clear now. He could focus, at last. Makepeace had pulled his arms around the back of a chair and tied his wrists. He began to work the ropes.
    “So what if the sheriff did find them? Those journals?”
    “He couldn’t have gotten into the safe even if he’d found it. The journals are there, exactly where I put them.”
    “I don’t know why you still have them. First you believed Julia Ransom had the journals and I burned her house down to make sure they weren’t found. Then you told me it was Soldan Meissen who’d stolen them from Ransom’s house all along. Why not just destroy them? Are you planning to read them like bedtime stories?”
    Dix felt Pallack’s fury at that dig. One sharp-edged moment passed, then another. But he said only, “If you’d found the journals when you garroted Ransom like you were supposed to, none of this would have happened.”
    “The journals weren’t there. I told you that then. If they had been, I would have found them.”
    “Soldan found them, didn’t he?”
    Dix pictured Makepeace, a smile on his mouth that should be scaring the crap out of Pallack. Oddly, he sounded amused. “Yeah, Soldan was so good he didn’t even know I was in his ridiculous sheik’s room standing behind him, reading his stupid book over his shoulder. He didn’t look up until I had the wire around his skinny throat. Do you know he’d wrapped the journals in a red silk cloth and just shoved them under that low table? Lots of confidence. The fool.”
    “Yes, yes, it’s over now. Forget the rest of it, Makepeace. Take the sheriff out of here, and make sure he’s never found.”
    There was a pause, then Makepeace said, “I’ll remove him for you, bury him deep, maybe in one of the forests up in western Marin. Then I’ll kill that Ransom bitch and I’ll be through here, Pallack.”
    Pallack’s fist hit his desktop. “Dammit, Julia doesn’t matter now. She doesn’t need to be dead—I don’t care if she lives to be a hundred.”
    Dix heard Makepeace say very quietly, “I do. How are you going to speak to your parents now that Meissen’s dead?”
    “Only August spoke to them, never Meissen. He was repeating conversations with my parents from August’s journal notes.” His voice filled with grief. “My poor mother has to think I’ve forgotten about her. Six months now without a word from me. She must be