Death Will Pay Your Debts
DEATH WILL PAY YOUR DEBTS
Elizabeth Zelvin
OUTSIDER BOOKS
Table of Contents
Chapter One: Barbara
Chapter Two: Bruce
Chapter Three: Bruce
Chapter Four: Cindy
Chapter Five: Bruce
Chapter Six: Bruce
Chapter Seven: Bruce
Chapter Eight: Cindy
Chapter Nine: Cindy
Chapter Ten: Bruce
Chapter Eleven: Bruce
Chapter Twelve: Bruce
Chapter Thirteen: Bruce
Chapter Fourteen: Barbara
Chapter Fifteen: Jimmy
Chapter Sixteen: Cindy
Chapter Seventeen: Bruce
Chapter Eighteen: Bruce
Chapter Nineteen: Bruce
Chapter Twenty: Cindy
Chapter Twenty-One: Bruce
Chapter Twenty-Two: Barbara
Chapter Twenty-Three: Cindy
Chapter Twenty-Four: Cindy
Chapter Twenty-Five: Cindy
Chapter Twenty-Six: Bruce
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Jimmy
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Bruce
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Cindy
Chapter Thirty: Bruce
Chapter Thirty-One: Cindy
Chapter Thirty-Two: Cindy
Chapter Thirty-Three: Bruce
Chapter Thirty-Four: Cindy
Chapter Thirty-Five: Bruce
Chapter Thirty-Six: Bruce
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Bruce
About the Author
The Bruce Kohler Mysteries
Other Works by Elizabeth Zelvin
Copyright Page
Chapter One: Barbara
"There's something I need to tell you," Jimmy said.
Barbara threw her oversized handbag onto the hall table and started unwinding the red silk scarf from around her neck.
"I have something to tell you too," she said.
Jimmy sat in his usual pose, half hidden behind the giant screen of his latest computer, his hands resting lightly on the ergonomic keyboard. Flanking it on the wraparound desk were the paraphernalia of his trade, his obsession, his couldn't-throw-any-of-them-out-of-the-lifeboat love along with Barbara and AA: extra monitors, a couple of open laptops, backup hard drives, his own servers, high-end speakers that would have satisfied a bat, all blinking and sparkling like a high-tech permanent Christmas. For once, his ears were clear of headphones and the speakers mute, a concatenation of silences that visited their apartment less frequently than Santa Claus.
"Come out and sit on the couch with me." She bounced onto the sofa.
Jimmy pushed his chair back, lifted his fingers from the keyboard, and stood up.
"This must be serious," he said.
She patted the seat beside her.
"I hope you aren't going to tell me your AA anniversary is off. Because if so, I'll never forgive you."
"No, no," he said, "the anniversary is on."
"Or that I can't come and hear you speak?"
"Don't worry, pumpkin," he said. "I know how much it means to you."
"We are so lucky," she said. "Twenty years without a relapse, and we still love each other. Don't we?"
"Of course I love you, petunia."
"Then what's wrong?" A single butterfly turned a preliminary somersault in her stomach. "Is it something bad? Are we going to need a mini-meeting?"
"Yeah, let's do that." He held out his hands. "Say the Serenity Prayer with me, and we'll take turns sharing, no crosstalk."
Now several butterflies were doing pushups in her gut. But as long as he wasn't drinking, how bad could it be?
"You're scaring me, Jimmy. Did someone die?"
His warm grip felt the same as usual.
"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change . . . "
"You go first," he said.
He never wanted to go first. She was always afraid that he was waiting to hear what she thought so he could say what she wanted to hear.
"No, you go first," she said. "Mine can wait."
He took a deep breath and let out one of those big, gusty Adult Children of Alcoholics sighs.
"I'm afraid you're going to be angry. You know that trip to California that I promised you for your fortieth birthday? We can't do it. It's not because I don't like to leave Manhattan or that I'm too busy with work. Letting all that go was part of the birthday present, and I meant it, petunia, honestly I did. It's—" His face flushed purple, and he stared down at his hands, which were opening and closing, a tic she'd never seen before. "I don't know how to tell you this, so I'll just say it: We can't afford it."
She drew a quick involuntary breath. His forehead wrinkled, and he glanced at her apprehensively, then looked back down at his hands. Her lips tightened, and she shook her head. She'd agreed not to interrupt. If she hadn't, all hell would be breaking loose right now. He had promised her.
"You know how you and Bruce always call me a computer genius? Well, fifteen or twenty years ago, I was. I could make as much money as I wanted whenever I wanted. I never had to worry about having enough, and neither did you, because I was always happy to help you out, and Bruce too, since he got sober. But times have changed. The generation coming up now have had digital everything all their lives and been online since they were two years old. Nowadays any kid can do what I do. I'm not a computer genius any more. I'm just an aging geek who's never tried to live within a budget. I'm sorry, so sorry, but the money's run out. My credit cards are maxed out. A couple of old clients who owed me money have gone under. I don't have any big new projects. It kills me not to give you the trip you were so excited about. I know this birthday is a huge big deal for you. I hate like hell to disappoint you. But I can't do it. The money isn't there."
Barbara struggled for control. He tried to take her hand, but she shook him off. If only she could let herself go, have the fight and cry and cry and eventually make up and let him put his arms around her. But it wouldn't solve anything.
"Your turn." Jimmy's voice was tight with anxiety. "What did you want to tell me?"
"I'm pregnant."
DEATH WILL PAY YOUR DEBTS
Elizabeth Zelvin
OUTSIDER BOOKS
Table of Contents
Chapter One: Barbara
Chapter Two: Bruce
Chapter Three: Bruce
Chapter Four: Cindy
Chapter Five: Bruce
Chapter Six: Bruce
Chapter Seven: Bruce
Chapter Eight: Cindy
Chapter Nine: Cindy
Chapter Ten: Bruce
Chapter Eleven: Bruce
Chapter Twelve: Bruce
Chapter Thirteen: Bruce
Chapter Fourteen: Barbara
Chapter Fifteen: Jimmy
Chapter Sixteen: Cindy
Chapter Seventeen: Bruce
Chapter Eighteen: Bruce
Chapter Nineteen: Bruce
Chapter Twenty: Cindy
Chapter Twenty-One: Bruce
Chapter Twenty-Two: Barbara
Chapter Twenty-Three: Cindy
Chapter Twenty-Four: Cindy
Chapter Twenty-Five: Cindy
Chapter Twenty-Six: Bruce
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Jimmy
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Bruce
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Cindy
Chapter Thirty: Bruce
Chapter Thirty-One: Cindy
Chapter Thirty-Two: Cindy
Chapter Thirty-Three: Bruce
Chapter Thirty-Four: Cindy
Chapter Thirty-Five: Bruce
Chapter Thirty-Six: Bruce
Chapter Thirty-Seven:
Bruce
About the Author
The Bruce Kohler Mysteries
Other Works by Elizabeth Zelvin
Copyright Page
Chapter One: Barbara
"There's something I need to tell you," Jimmy said.
Barbara threw her oversized handbag onto the hall table and started unwinding the red silk scarf from around her neck.
"I have something to tell you too," she said.
Jimmy sat in his usual pose, half hidden behind the giant screen of his latest computer, his hands resting lightly on the ergonomic keyboard. Flanking it on the wraparound desk were the paraphernalia of his trade, his obsession, his couldn't-throw-any-of-them-out-of-the-lifeboat love along with Barbara and AA: extra monitors, a couple of open laptops, backup hard drives, his own servers, high-end speakers that would have satisfied a bat, all blinking and sparkling like a high-tech permanent Christmas. For once, his ears were clear of headphones and the speakers mute, a concatenation of silences that visited their apartment less frequently than Santa Claus.
"Come out and sit on the couch with me." She bounced onto the sofa.
Jimmy pushed his chair back, lifted his fingers from the keyboard, and stood up.
"This must be serious," he said.
She patted the seat beside her.
"I hope you aren't going to tell me your AA anniversary is off. Because if so, I'll never forgive you."
"No, no," he said, "the anniversary is on."
"Or that I can't come and hear you speak?"
"Don't worry, pumpkin," he said. "I know how much it means to you."
"We are so lucky," she said. "Twenty years without a relapse, and we still love each other. Don't we?"
"Of course I love you, petunia."
"Then what's wrong?" A single butterfly turned a preliminary somersault in her stomach. "Is it something bad? Are we going to need a mini-meeting?"
"Yeah, let's do that." He held out his hands. "Say the Serenity Prayer with me, and we'll take turns sharing, no crosstalk."
Now several butterflies were doing pushups in her gut. But as long as he wasn't drinking, how bad could it be?
"You're scaring me, Jimmy. Did someone die?"
His warm grip felt the same as usual.
"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change . . . "
"You go first," he said.
He never wanted to go first. She was always afraid that he was waiting to hear what she thought so he could say what she wanted to hear.
"No, you go first," she said. "Mine can wait."
He took a deep breath and let out one of those big, gusty Adult Children of Alcoholics sighs.
"I'm afraid you're going to be angry. You know that trip to California that I promised you for your fortieth birthday? We can't do it. It's not because I don't like to leave Manhattan or that I'm too busy with work. Letting all that go was part of the birthday present, and I meant it, petunia, honestly I did. It's—" His face flushed purple, and he stared down at his hands, which were opening and closing, a tic she'd never seen before. "I don't know how to tell you this, so I'll just say it: We can't afford it."
She drew a quick involuntary breath. His forehead wrinkled, and he glanced at her apprehensively, then looked back down at his hands. Her lips tightened, and she shook her head. She'd agreed not to interrupt. If she hadn't, all hell would be breaking loose right now. He had promised her.
"You know how you and Bruce always call me a computer genius? Well, fifteen or twenty years ago, I was. I could make as much money as I wanted whenever I wanted. I never had to worry about having enough, and neither did you, because I was always happy to help you out, and Bruce too, since he got sober. But times have changed. The generation coming up now have had digital everything all their lives and been online since they were two years old. Nowadays any kid can do what I do. I'm not a computer genius any more. I'm just an aging geek who's never tried to live within a budget. I'm sorry, so sorry, but the money's run out. My credit cards are maxed out. A couple of old clients who owed me money have gone under. I don't have any big new projects. It kills me not to give you the trip you were so excited about. I know this birthday is a huge big deal for you. I hate like hell to disappoint you. But I can't do it. The money isn't there."
Barbara struggled for control. He tried to take her hand, but she shook him off. If only she could let herself go, have the fight and cry and cry and eventually make up and let him put his arms around her. But it wouldn't solve anything.
"Your turn." Jimmy's voice was tight with anxiety. "What did you want to tell me?"
"I'm pregnant."
Chapter Two: Bruce
I breezed into Barbara and Jimmy's apartment, tossing my backpack on the table. I never used to carry more than I could fit into my pockets. No moss. But since our summer in the Hamptons, I had been seeing Cindy, who was, unbelievably, a cop. Her schedule was irregular, and when I stayed over at her place, clean socks and shorts and a toothbrush were de rigueur. So I carried them around just in case. I was halfway across the living room carpet toward the computer, where I knew Jimmy would be clinging to the keyboard until the last possible moment for us to get to the AA meeting on time, before I noticed that Barbara, who had opened the door for me, had been crying. Jimmy was not his usual cheerful self either. I glanced from her puffy eyes and red nose to his set jaw and grim expression. Jimmy has the square face and undersized features of a modern-day Henry VIII, so his little mouth can fool you. But this time, he definitely wasn't smiling.
"Hey, guys," I said, "what's going on? Who died?"
I expected a straight answer, or more likely, a convoluted one. Barbara is an open book, and it's more like one by Henry James than one by Hemingway. She always has plenty to say. Not this time. She hunched a pettish shoulder, folded her arms across her chest, and turned her back. I had a PhD in Barbara's body language. Was she mad at me? Let's see, had I done anything? I took a quick personal inventory the way the Twelve Steps recommended. Nope, my conscience was clear. A fight, then. My two best friends, who had been together for eons, didn't fight often. It must be awfully serious if Barbara didn't switch it off when I walked through the door. As she has explained to me many times, she's a world-class codependent who cares too much about what other people think to bicker in front of anyone, even me.
I looked from Barbara's back to what I could see of Jimmy behind the computer, which was mostly the top of his head. He sat curled into a crouch like a running back clutching a football. His arms weren't folded across his chest like Barbara's only because for Jimmy, hugging his technology was his most defensive stance, practically fetal position.
"Okay, dude," I said. "Barb? Guys? Somebody talk to me."
I counted to fifteen before Barbara caved, probably a record for her.
"Ask Jimmy," she said. "He's the one who's been hiding another addiction and managed to go broke just when he's about to become a father."
Jimmy lifted his head at that. His face was brick red and furious. He looked like Henry VIII about to give one of his wives the axe.
"And she's the one who's made a career of the disease, only now when I'm in trouble and need some support, all she can do is take my inventory."
"Whoa! I don't believe this! Who are you, and what have you done with my friends Jimmy and Barbara? Um, have you said the Serenity Prayer together? Have you done that sharing without crosstalk thing you do?"
They looked at each other.
"Of course we did!" Indignant is Barbara's default position.
"The process broke down." Bitter is so not Jimmy that it confirmed my opinion that he, at least, had been body-snatched.
I sat down in the middle of the sofa and patted the merlot leather on either side of me.
"Sit," I said. "You too, Jimmy."
They slunk toward me like a couple of kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Barbara bounced down on my right. More indignant body language. Jimmy lowered himself down like an old man on
my left.
"Did I hear you say 'father'?"
They both twitched. It's not like I didn't know their issues. Barbara's biological clock had been ticking like crazy for the past few years. Jimmy had always shied away from having kids because he was afraid he'd be the kind of father that his alcoholic dad had been. I understood that part. I'd had the same kind of dad myself. Barbara was scared stiff of having babies, loving them, and then having to hold her breath while she waited to see if they'd inherited his alcoholism. Jimmy and I had started drinking at fourteen, and it had been love at first gulp for both of us.
"Okay," I said. "What other addiction?"
Barbara's lips parted. But instead of blurting, she clapped both hands over her mouth. Good. For Barbara, shutting up was a recovery skill.
"Jimmy? What addiction?"
"Compulsive debting," he said.
“Huh? What are you talking about?”
“That's what Debtors Anonymous calls it," he said.
"I don't get it," I said. "Debt is the American way of life. You haven't been sneaking around to loan sharks, have you?"
"Of course not," he said, "but my credit cards are all maxed out."
“Nothing abnormal about that. What's the big deal?"
"Spending more and more money you don't have is a big deal," he said, "even if everybody does it."
"Like driving drunk on New Year's Eve," Barbara said, "if you want an analogy."
"But you've never had to worry about money."
"That's why I didn't see this coming," Jimmy said. "I've been spending as if the money was still rolling in the way it did during the high-tech boom. But things have changed. When my income couldn't keep up, I used my credit cards. Now I can't take Barbara to California for her birthday the way I promised. And on top of that, she tells me we're going to have a baby. I can't be Marc Antony any more."
"Huh?"
"The King of Denial," he said.
Everyone's heard the one about Cleopatra, Queen of Denial, but only Jimmy could bring the ancient Romans into an admission that he'd hit bottom.
"So now you're not in denial," I said. "That's a good thing, isn't it?"