A Shred of Truth by Eric Wilson Page B

there, ain’t he?”
    “Who?”
    “You can’t fool me, missy. I know what I seen.”
    “No one else is here,” I heard Felicia respond.
    “Then why’s you wearin’ that little robe, hmmm? You think I’m blind?” A pause. “I can see through them curtains, you know.”
    I heard the curtain being readjusted.
    “If he’s wantin’ attention—”
    “I’m sorry, but I think there’s been some misunderstanding.”
    “You just watch yourself. You don’t be cuttin’ in on my corner, flashin’ them skinny legs. No man wanna cuddle with no bag o’ bones. You wastin’ your time here.”
    Despite myself, I stifled a chuckle.
    “We’re old friends,” Felicia said, “and I’m leaving in the morning.”
    “Durn straight, you are.”
    “You have a good night, ma’am.”
    I heard the New Orleans woman
humphhh
and pound away down the landing. As I leaned back and took a breath, my eyes slid to a pile of clothes at my feet. My silent mirth vanished. There, along with the spring dress I’d seen at Cheekwood, a wig of long locks glistened red.
    Johnny Ray’s test last night at Owen Bradley Park. His weakness.
    All along it had been Felicia.

15
    H ere was the proof. Plain as day. She’d cozied up to Johnny and kissed him just to lure him into a trap. His shoulder bore the wounds of that encounter.
    Virescit Vulnere Virtus …
    Was she a helpless accomplice? Or an instigator? Either way, she’d lied to me.
    She was relocking the hotel-room door. “Did that lady know you?”
    “I bought her nephew some bug spray.”
    “Nice of you,” she said. “You can come out now.”
    “Gimme a minute.”
    I closed the door, turned on the light, banged the toilet seat against the porcelain tank. The worry in her voice only fueled my anger. My pulse beat against my eardrums, and the bathroom’s small area felt suddenly claustrophobic—as though someone else were here with me.
    With my right fist cocked, I raked aside the shower curtain. A tiny shampoo bottle rattled into the tub.
    Nothing. No ax-wielding foe.
    “Doll?”
    “Be right out.”
    I could try sneaking the wig out, but lifting fingerprints from it seemed unlikely.
    Wait. My cell phone.
    I snapped a photo of the wig, then sent it to Meade and myself. On my way out, I’d get a shot of the Hyundai’s license plate. It could link Felicia to last night’s events and possibly lead to the true culprit, especially if he’d paid with a credit card.
    I stepped from the bathroom. Pretended to wash my hands at the sink. In the mirror I could see Felicia’s eyes on me.
    “Everything okay?”
    “You tell me.” I turned toward her. “What’s going on?”
    “Aramis? What’re you talking about?”
    “Oh, I think you know.”
    Her shoulders slumped. “You found the wig, didn’t you?”
    I strode toward her and snatched her arm, eliciting a short gasp, then headed for the exit. The flimsy chain snapped from the wall as I yanked open the door. She followed along, feet scrambling to keep up but giving no resistance.
    My plan was simple. Take her back to our brownstone, let Johnny confirm her identity, then keep her secured until morning, when I would turn her in.
    Her fate would be in Meade’s hands.
    At the top of the stairs, I slowed. Felicia wasn’t dressed for this, and I had no interest in injuring her. I guided her back to the room, gave her a moment to slip into her shoes and a light jacket. From the base of the steps, we crossed the lot to the passenger door of my Honda Civic.
    “Get in.”
    “Let me explain.”
    “You almost got my brother killed. Why?”
    “To tell the truth, I’m relieved that you know.”
    “The truth.” My fingers tightened around her wrist. “Okay, let’s start there.”
    “Yes, I drew Johnny away from the party, but I had no idea he was planning to attack him. And honestly, my main hope at the party was to bump into you. I saw you once through the crowd, and I—”
    “Enough. Just tell me why.”
    “Why do you think?