The Palm Beach Murders James Patterson (ebook reader with built in dictionary .TXT) 📖

said, “Let’s go see Brennan. I need a little confrontation with him. I want to settle our differences, and he needs to see I’ve moved on. I want the satisfaction of him seeing us as a couple. Then I’m going to tell him you make me feel like he never could.”

“What do I have to do?”

I smiled and patted his hand as I said, “Just look pretty.”

“I can do that.” He gave me a sly smile and said, “I can do a lot more if you want. I’d like to see that prick piss his pants.”

I thought about it, imagining Brennan with urine staining his expensive slacks, and it made me smile. Marty tended to make me smile.

“I just feel like there’s something I have to get off my chest with that guy.”

“Are you kidding? Brennan treated you terribly, and you have a right to get anything you want off your chest. He needs a dose of his own medicine.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

When Marty wandered off again, I grabbed four twenties from my purse and laid them on the table. I wanted to scoot out of there with minimum fuss.

My friend Lisa Martz, who had introduced Marty and me, came through the front door and saw me. She came right to the table and gave me a hug.

Lisa said, “Look at you, aren’t you a vision. How’s it going with Marty?”

Before I could answer, Marty was next to her, ready with a hug.

I didn’t feel like chatting. I was focused. I wanted to have it out with Brennan. I felt my impatience grow as Lisa chatted about the most Palm Beach of things: houses, cars, and scandals.

When Lisa moved on to another table to spread the gossip of the island, Marty and I were alone. He said, “When do you want to play this little game of yours?”

“Why not tonight?”

Chapter 29

I had to stop at the Brazilian Court and left Marty in the car. I stopped and spoke with Allie at the front desk, then rushed to my room. One advantage of living in such a tiny space is that nothing ever takes long to find. I was back in the car in a few minutes and found Marty listening to the Moody Blues on the radio.

As I drove through Palm Beach with Marty in the passenger seat, he surprised me by showing some nerves. It wasn’t about a confrontation, either.

Marty said, “Do I look all right to meet Brennan?”

I laughed and said, “You’re not going to date him. You look fine.”

“I mean, will I impress him the way you want me to?” He blew into his hand and smelled his breath. “God, I need a mint at least.” He dug in the glove compartment, then turned to the console. That was where he found the pistol I’d stuck in there the day before.

He reached down, pulled out the gun, and examined it for a second, then said, “We’ll take this, too. I hate to admit it, but somehow it makes me feel more confident.”

If Marty was hesitant to play this game, it didn’t show as he slipped the gun into his pants and pulled his shirt out over it.

By the time we were in front of my old house, Marty was looking around to make sure no one was on the street. This was Palm Beach and it was after nine o’clock, so that wasn’t even a worry.

Both the Bentley and the Jaguar were in the driveway, and I could see the downstairs den lights on. That meant Brennan was home. He was the only one who used the den; he’d sit in there when he was working late to keep up with the foreign stock exchanges. We sat in the car and watched the house for a few minutes. Then I saw Brennan’s silhouette as he stood up from the desk and walked to one of the file cabinets that were built into the wall.

There was no traffic this time of night, but I kept twisting my head from side to side just to make sure. I was nervous, and there was no hiding it. Not only was my heart still pounding, but I felt a thin sheen of sweat across my forehead. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

I turned to Marty and said, “Okay, when we get out, don’t slam the door, just close it quietly.” He nodded obediently.

I said, “You sure you’re still up for this, babe?”

“Anything for you.”

“Brennan can be a lot to deal with. For all his bluster, he does have a mean streak, and he’s not afraid to show it.”

“I can handle myself.” Marty sounded confident.

“I just want to say what I have to say and get out of here. Okay?”

“Okay, okay. I’ll behave.”

I looked up at my grand house and thought about how much my life had changed in the past six months. It made me angry.

Before I had time to dwell on my emotions, a splash of light fell across us. A car had just turned and was coming down the street slowly. We were parked awkwardly on the curb where there wasn’t supposed to be any parking. We stuck out like a sore thumb. Then I realized that at this time of night, it was likely a police car on patrol. I didn’t feel like answering questions in front of my estranged husband’s house.

Then I thought of the real problem. What if they pulled us out of the car and found the gun on Marty? That would not go over well here in Palm Beach.

I looked at Marty and saw the same concerns on his face.

We both stared at the car as it came toward us at a steady pace like a shark moving methodically through the water. Neither of us could find the will to move.

Marty was about to say something when I held up my hand to keep him quiet. I needed to think.

Then, as the car was almost on top of us, I noticed it