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Okay, her giving that up without a fight does surprise me.“Do the police know about this note?”
“They do,” replied Gibson.
“And?”
“And I don’t think their priority is finding money. It’s finding a killer.”
“Perhaps to find the killer, you have to locate the treasure,” noted Clarisse.
“I can’t tell them how to do their job.”
“But you can suggest things,” said Clarisse.
“Maybe. But if the police find the killerandthe treasure, where does that leave you?” asked Gibson.
“It will make me stop looking over my shoulder.”
“Bullshit, you want the money. I doubt you’re worried about your personal security.”
I wasn’t until Mommy went missing.“We can agree to disagree on that. So what will you do next?”
“I’ve got some leads. I’ll run them down.”
“Will you be working with Wilson Sullivan on this?” asked Clarisse.
“I won’t bother to ask how you know about all that, but yes, I will, at least on some of it. And what willyoube doing?”
“Don’t worry, my plate is full.”
“Did Nathan Trask knowwhoI was?” Gibson wanted to know.
“Not that he said, just that you visited. But he could easily find out your identity.”
“He must keep eyes on his father.”
“Of course,” said Clarisse.
“So you did walk me right into a trap.”
“Look, Mickey, I want you to survive this.”Actually, I don’t care, thought Clarisse.You had your shot, Mickey Rogers Gibson. You had everything, and you pissed it all away.
Gibson barked, “Youdon’t care about me, which is why you let me put a bull’s-eye onmyback with Trask.”
“In case you forgot,Iwent to visit the man directly. He knows about me, too. I didn’t use my real name, but with his resources, he could find me as well.”
“I don’t know for sure that youdidvisit him.”
“He has a female butler. Two guards at the front gate who wanded me. They took me up to the main house in a golf cart trimmed in gold. The place is enormous but not furnished over-the-top. He met me in a small room with a couple of chairs. He’s around five eight, fit build, early fifties, and has the darkest pair of eyes I’ve ever seen. I can hold my own with most people in pretty much any situation, but I have to confess, he intimidated me by saying almost nothing.”
“I’ll be in touch,” said Gibson. The line disconnected.
Clarisse looked down at herMICKEY GIBSONnotebook. But she had nothing right now she wanted to write in it.
She stared at the muted reflection in her computer screen. There might be two or three people in that reflection, she thought. Depending on the day and the need. And whatever else was swirling around inside her head.
She wanted to punish Gibson for not living up to her potential. Why Clarisse should care about that was complicated. But, essentially, it came down to the haves and the have-nots. Gibson had had it all. Clarisse had had nothing. When you have it all, it was your duty to capitalize on it. Otherwise, you were disrespecting everyone. Including people like Clarisse.
Nothing like a little pressure, Mick, she conceded, if only to herself. Some days she wondered why she was so obsessed with the woman. But she had an obsessive personality; every shrink she’d ever been to, and they had been legion, had diagnosed that about her. She could have saved them the time and herself the money because she had already self-diagnosed. It hadn’t been hard.
