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From his perch atop the bridge of the Sunset Voyager, Pete saw the lights go out on the Lenore. Pete decided to wait for a bit and then maybe walk over there, just to check things out. In the meantime, he figured he could afford another beer. He didn’t think anything was going to happen tonight.

If there’d been any news, surely he would have heard from Mickey’s mother…or even the police. Pete figured Jo was probably trying to convince Nick to call the police or something. Pete wondered if she was succeeding. Pete thought he’d kept Nick believing in him pretty well, but of course, Jo had an advantage over Pete when it came to Nick. She could fuck him.

Pete knew a lot about Nick. How could you be in Mickey Lassiter’s presence for more than ten minutes and not know a lot about him?! Pete shook his head, remembering Mickey’s obsession with the man. It was too bad she’d never get to meet him. But that was her own fault.

Pete took the beer from the fridge and let his thoughts move back…back to Margie Hannaford and her father.

After George’s remarks at the funeral, Pete Crofton knew he couldn’t change his name and get started on a new life with a new identity. That would be the move of a guilty man, and Pete was not going to give George one ounce of encouragement in his pursuit of justice for his daughter.

Pete could, however, get the hell out of the state of Florida. He considered going back to California, but he didn’t like it there, and he knew George had a lot of contacts there. Instead, Pete went to Charleston, South Carolina for a few months and took stock of his life and his bank balance.

While he was there, he kept a low profile, avoiding the yacht clubs and other haunts of the rich, opting instead to get his ‘boat time’ in by visiting various brokers and hanging out at the marinas. It was here that he found out about the job of ferrying boats around for rich people.

The first time he did it, it was a favor for a friend. Pete never did favors for anyone without some expectation of return, so it wasn’t purely altruistic on his part. He was hoping the friend would put in a good word for him at the brokerage he worked for and that Pete could get a job selling boats.

Pete discovered that delivering boats was an even better job than selling them. Pete got to pretend that the boat belonged to him. And he got paid for doing what he loved most. Not paid much, that was true, but it was enough to keep him from having to dip into the hidden money.

And then something totally unexpected happened.

Pete met Mickey Lassiter at a wedding and fell head over heels in love. She was one of a string of bridesmaids, and he was a last-minute choice as an usher, the chosen one having broken his ankle the week before tripping over a curb, thereby giving the lie to the notion that drunks don’t hurt themselves.

With all the hoopla over the fallen usher and the lateness of Pete’s arrival, he and Mickey never got to meet before the wedding. His first view of her was when he was standing at the front of the church and she walked up the aisle. Pete didn’t look past her to the bride but kept his eyes on her through the whole ceremony.

Mickey noticed him staring and got embarrassed. She blushed and looked down and didn’t pay a lot of attention to the ceremony after that either. After the wedding, when the bridal party was hustled into limousines and taken by the photographer to a public park with lots of flowers and ponds and swans, Pete elbowed Mickey’s intended partner out of the way and took his place instead.

He introduced himself, and they made small talk all the way to the park. During the back and forth and ‘say, cheese’ of the photo shoot, Pete only took his eyes off Mickey when he was forced to look at the camera and smile.

During the reception, he asked Mickey for every dance. When it was over, he had her address and phone number in Lafayette. He knew her life story, and she knew nothing about him…not the truth anyway.

Peter Crofton had forgotten how to tell the truth. He was so used to lying and scheming that he just naturally did so. When the subject of his occupation came up, he said, ‘boat broker’ without a second’s hesitation. He wasn’t sure how to answer the question about where he lived, so he just said ‘Florida’, without naming a city.

After each of these questions, he countered with one of his own and managed to keep the spotlight on Mickey’s life, charming her beyond all expectation by his attention and sweetness.

Mickey floated home from the wedding and immediately called Jo to tell her all about it. The next day, Pete sent flowers, and the day after that, Mickey arrived home from work to find him sitting outside her door in a sports car with a picnic basket and a bottle of wine.

Pete wined and dined Mickey for a month or so, keeping a careful eye on his bank balance. When it became clear that he and Mickey were hitting it off, he closed up the apartment in Charleston and found one in Fayetteville. He told her that he could be a boat broker from anywhere, what with the Internet and all.

It was the first time in his life that Pete felt guilty about lying. He wasn’t sure if he felt guilty because he was remorseful or because he was afraid of being found out.

Six weeks into the relationship, Pete excused himself from Fayetteville, telling Mickey that he had to go to Florida for a convention and boat sale. Really, he was delivering a houseboat to Jacksonville. He went as fast as he could, pushing the small boat to its limit, driving from sunup to sundown, stopping only for fuel.

It was after the third such trip that Pete finally confessed to Mickey that he wasn’t really a boat broker. When he explained what he did, Mickey said that she thought that was an even better job. Who wanted to be a salesman, anyway? Getting out on the water was much more adventurous. She wished that she could come along on one of the trips with him.

Pete relaxed a little and decided that from here on in, he was going to tell Mickey the truth. Lying was, however, a hard habit for Pete to break. It was second nature to him. He always wanted to make himself look better than he really was. When Mickey asked him about college, he rattled off his prepared story, naming the small southern college that barely anyone had heard of.

“I never went to college,” confessed Mickey. “I went straight to work in the firm.”

The firm was one of Fayetteville’s top advertising agencies. Mickey had served a term there in high school as part of an apprenticeship program. Mickey and advertising were made for each other and fortunately, the head of the firm noticed it. He offered Mickey a summer job and then, when she finished high school, a permanent place.

Mickey accepted, and it wasn’t long before she had her own accounts. Clients were surprised at first, and a little leery, to discover such a young person in charge of their account. Mickey soon won them over, however, with her charm, know-how and amazingly creative ideas.

Pete could have kicked himself when Mickey said she hadn’t gone to college. He could have made a lot of mileage out of saying he had made his way the hard way, without benefit of wealthy parents or a college degree. Oh well, too late now.

Everything was going along great. Pete was madly in love, and he thought that Mickey was too. He started making noises about more permanent living arrangements, saving money by only paying one rent, etc. Mickey backed up a step at that, and Pete tried to slow it down. But his bank balance was getting dangerously low. He couldn’t keep up appearances much longer, and there was no way he was touching Margie’s money for at least another year.

Then something went wrong. Pete didn’t know what it was, but Mickey changed. Instead of being wildly in love with him, she seemed wary. Every conversation held a question about Pete’s past or his business or his family. They were questions he thought he’d already answered, and he wondered why she was asking them again.

Good liars have to have good memories, and Pete had one of the best. He knew his ‘story’ inside out, and he never wavered. But Mickey knew something. He could tell that.

It all came to a head just before the trip to Fort Lauderdale. Mickey insisted that Jordana come along with them. Pete had not lied to Nick when he said that he was going to propose to Mickey on the trip, and he had tried numerous ways of keeping Jo out of the equation without coming right out and saying he didn’t want her along on the journey.

Pete Crofton didn’t want Jordana Miles anywhere near him. He sensed that she had never liked him, and the feeling was mutual. Pete didn’t know why, Jordana seemed like a nice enough person, but from the moment they met, they had disliked each other. Pete wondered if that was the problem with Mickey…that Jo had been pouring poison about him into her ear. He was relieved when Jo went to Europe, but it didn’t seem to help his relationship with Mickey.

Then Mickey told him she wasn’t going on the trip.

On the day before they were supposed to leave…the fucking day before!! All the arrangements were made. Pete had even agreed to take Jo along.

They’d gone out to dinner and were walking back to the parking garage. Pete never paid for valet parking. They were walking along, enjoying the warm, spring air and suddenly, just as they were entering the stairwell in the parking garage, Mickey announced that Jo wasn’t going on the trip. And not only that, Mickey wasn’t going either, and when the trip was over, Pete could stay in Florida because he wasn’t welcome in Fayetteville.

Pete opened his mouth to charm his way past her anger, but he never got the chance. Mickey cut him off and informed him that she had checked him out and that she had found out that every word out of his mouth had been a lie so she supposed the words ‘I love you’ had been too.

Pete followed her up the stairs, trying to protest, “No, Mickey, I…”

“Shut up,” said Mickey, “I’m not done yet.”

This surprised Pete into silence, and he stopped on the landing, feeling his temperature rise as Mickey detailed the lies that Pete had told her about his background. Then she mentioned Margie Hannaford, and then she mentioned Celia Prudhomme.

A red haze began at the corners of Pete’s eyes and slowly moved inward, clouding his vision. His anger became a loud humming sound, and he could barely make out Mickey’s words.

“Mickey, listen…” he begged. And then he turned on the old Pete charm.

But Mickey wouldn’t listen. She told him to go…go back to Florida…find some other rich woman to live off…go on, go away…she had to phone Jo and tell her not to bother packing…

Maybe it was the mention of Jo that did it. Maybe it was the fact that he had spent almost all of his money. Maybe it was the fact that, for one of the few times in his life, Pete wasn’t going to get his own way, wasn’t going to be able to talk someone around to his viewpoint. Maybe it was the fact that he really loved her and couldn’t stand losing her.

Whatever it was, Pete’s anger rose up, and before he knew what he was doing, he’d reached out with both hands and shoved Mickey hard, screaming, “Shut up! Shut up!”

Mickey took two steps backward, but she was standing at the top of a flight of stairs, and after two steps, there was nothing but air. Her arms flailed as she fought for balance, but she could get none, and she tumbled backwards down the steps, striking her head on the concrete at the bottom with a sickening thud.

Pete stared at her from the top of the stairs. “Mickey,” he cried, and he started down the steps toward her. He stopped halfway down, however, when he saw the spreading pool of blood coming from under her head, which lay at an unnatural angle. “Mickey,” he whispered.

There was no movement. Pete stood and watched her for several seconds, his mind racing. Finally, he made his way carefully down the last couple of steps and gently picked up her wrist. There was no pulse. She was dead.

Pete stepped away from the body and shoved his hands in his pockets. Think! he told himself.

He looked around him and then listened carefully, making sure he was alone. Then he went back up the stairs and picked up Mickey’s purse from where it had fallen on the landing above. He removed her cell phone and her identification but left all her cash. Then Pete carefully wiped his fingerprints from the purse and put it back down on the landing.

They had come in Mickey’s car. Pete had leased one but used it as little as possible, always citing some mechanical malfunction as the reason to take Mickey’s. Pete didn’t go back to Mickey’s car now. Pete didn’t care about any evidence of himself that was in the car. Of course, there would be. He was in the car all the time. He looked at the railing on the stairs and squinted hard, trying to remember. No, he hadn’t touched it.

Pete retraced his steps to the entrance of the parking garage, using his shirt tail to wipe off the door handle to the stairwell. He saw a sign that said, ‘Construction. Do not enter.’ He pulled it in front of the stairwell door. Then he walked home. He paced his apartment and tried to get his mind to work.

If only…the words played a refrain across the back of his head. If only…

Pete shook his head to get rid of the thought. He didn’t have time for regrets. If he started down that road, he’d be sitting there all night. No, it was time for action.

Pete got his key to Mickey’s apartment. He’d had it made without her knowing. Just in case… well, he figured it was now ‘in case’. He went to her apartment and let himself in. He got out a suitcase and carefully packed two weeks worth of clothes and toiletries. He found rubber gloves under the sink in the kitchen and wore them while he went through her desk and briefcase, looking for anything bad about himself. He didn’t find anything.

Pete put the suitcase in the trunk and carefully locked Mickey’s apartment. He made sure no one saw him coming or going. He went back home and sat down again, staring into space, trying to figure out his next move.

The cold sweat of fear was clouding his brain. Pete swiveled his neck, trying to calm himself.

Mickey was dead.

That was fact number one.

People would think he had killed her.

That was fact number two.

Fact number two was, in truth, that Pete had killed her, but he was already rewriting history in his mind. She fell; he didn’t push her.

Now Pete just had to keep her alive until he could get out of town. He reached out to the table and picked up Mickey’s cell phone. He dialed his own number. Even so, when the phone rang, it startled him. He let it ring until his answering machine came on. He waited another thirty seconds and then he hung up Mickey’s phone and erased the blank message from his machine.

Pete packed his own suitcase and set it by the front door. That took half an hour. Pete figured that was long enough. He called Mickey’s cell phone.

When the voice mail kicked in, he said, “Hey, Babe! Got your message. Listen, don’t worry about it. I’m sure you left it at the restaurant. We can pick it up tomorrow on our way out. See you bright and early. Love you. Bye.”

Pete paced the apartment for the rest of the night, going over things in his head and making plans. If he could just get to the boat, everything would be fine. Once he was on the boat, everything would be okay. He just had to get to the boat.

With Jo.

Pete had to pick Jo up in the morning and get her to the boat. He had to make her think that Mickey was still alive but…detained…work…yeah, that would be it, some work emergency. Once on the boat, he’d do the cell phone thing again, have Mickey ‘call’ him, to establish that she was still alive.

Then he’d take the boat and go to Florida. Yeah, if he could just make it to the boat.