by Kate Flora
Since he was in a semi-talkative mood, I ventured another question. “So who attacked you?”
“I told you. Someone working for the cartel. The guy in the cowboy boots. And another guy, one who looked a lot like Fred. Listen. We didn’t exchange names, ranks, or serial numbers. They attacked. I fought back. I was outnumbered.” Another attempt at a shrug. “I’m just better at hiding in the woods.”
“I’ll bet you are.”
“I don’t think they’re really with the Marshals Service,” he said.
I felt the depressing let down that comes from hoping the bad stuff is over and learning that it isn’t. I’d been excited at figuring out a place Charity might hide. I’d been right, but I’d missed her. Now I was drained and I still had to pull it together for the people waiting at home.
He looked at flattened as I felt. Probably he’d followed me with the same high hopes. “Look, Kinsman, I’m scared for your sister, too, but what can I do? You now know everything I do about how to find her. Maybe she’ll call you.”
I wished I could have done more. I knew her situation would continue to haunt me. But people were waiting. The only way to explain why I’d been gone so long was tell Andre the truth. It’s hard to lie to him even if I wanted to. He’s too good at spotting liars, and anyway, I place a high value on honesty in our marriage.
I left Malcolm Kinsman slumped over the wheel of his car, trying to summon the energy to take the next step. On the way home, I stopped and bought beer and an assortment of unhealthy snacks.
Twenty-Nine
Andre came out to the car to get the beer and said, “Please don’t do that again.” He’s too good at spotting subterfuge.
“I had an idea about where Charity might be,” I said.
“And went larking off on your own to check it out, right? Without telling anyone where you were going and without backup?”
He graciously refrained from saying that I was an idiot.
“Yes. And I just missed her. She’s moved on.” I placed my hand on the basketball. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to thinking for two. Uh. Three.”
“I know that.”
“And you invited Fred and Alice to stay for dinner. Without consulting me.”
“I know that, too.” He hesitated, warring, I could see, between the cop’s reluctance to share and a husband’s obligation to explain. “I’m waiting for some intel,” he said. “Something about them. It just feels off.”
“Wouldn’t that be a reason to keep them away from us?”
He sighed, like his explanation was long and complicated and I might not buy it anyway. “Trust me just a little longer, please?”
“Okay.”
I followed him inside with my bag of snacks, passing Fred and Alice and Jonetta and Lindsay, who were sitting in a congenial circle on the back deck. I poured some Doritos and veggie chips into bowls, delivered them to our guests, and returned to the kitchen. “Kinsman was right behind me. What’s the story with him, anyway? Is he a good guy or a bad guy?” I said.
“Good. Mono-focused. Can we talk about that later? Right now, we’ve got a hungry crew and I’ve got chicken to cook.”
Was he avoiding me? Trying not to upset me? Were his explanations really complicated? Or was he just eager to get to his grill and feed these people? Just a guess, but I thought we’d cleared the air, he’d explain everything when he could, and that it was the allure of the grill. There is a peculiar affinity between men and their grills. Some men. It was part of Andre’s new-found pleasure with our house. He’d grilled at our rental, but not often. And there had been a time in our lives when the smell of burning meat had been taboo. Part of the dark wallpaper in my head.
While I was wondering when I might get his theories about Kinsman, Andre tied on his apron and assembled his tools. He goes at this like a surgeon. “Did you get enough corn?” he asked.
“We’re good.”
Well, good meaning we had enough food for this group, and for dinner tomorrow, when Suzanne, Paul, and their kids would be coming. I wasn’t sure we were so good interpersonally. I was pondering on that when he abandoned his meal prep and put his arms around me. “We’re supposed to be in this together,” he said. “Then you suddenly take off with our kid like that. Thea, there are bad people looking for Charity. People who are willing to kill a federal agent. You think they’d hesitate to harm you if they thought it would help them find her?”
He pulled me tighter and I burrowed into that space where his shoulder met his neck. If I have a happy place—a concept I generally resist—this was it.
“How can I take care of you if you won’t let me?” he said.
I decided not to remind him of the times lately when I’d been home with potential threats and he wasn’t answering his phone. We both knew his work sometimes required that. We also knew my work could sometimes be dangerous. Our world was a dangerous place, though we were working on making it safer. Our baby would be too little to fend for itself.
“Talk to me about Kinsman. Please. I can’t get a read on him, and I bet you can.”
“He’s kind of a fish out of water,” Andre said. “He’s a team player without a team. He’s a man of action and he’s got nothing concrete to act on.”
“I though those guys were trained in infinite patience.”
He nuzzled my hair with his chin. “True. So am I, but if a family member is threatened?”
I exhaled, realizing I’d been holding my breath for a long time. “So why do Alice and Fred distrust him?”
“They’re afraid he’s a rogue agent.”
“I don’t know what that means. Do they think he’s on the other side? Working for the bad guys?”
His arms tightened. “He wants to find his sister and protect his best friend.”
“So why don’t Alice and Fred work with him?”
I loved to stay in his arms and listen to the rumble of his voice in his chest. I felt his shrug as he said, “That’s just not their way. You know how public safety organizations are. They’re territorial. They have structures and rules. Kinsman’s got rules, too, but he’s an elite, improvise-in-the-field actor.”
It still didn’t make sense to me. It seemed like Kinsman and these government agents would be allies. There was something in Andre’s voice, though, like he didn’t get Alice and Fred either. Almost as if he was talking like they could overhear. We were standing by the door. I remembered what he’d said earlier—to be patient, he was checking something out. They didn’t feel right.
“I didn’t want you to invite them to dinner.”
“I know. But if I were working in a strange place, one of my colleagues had been killed, and a local connection invited me home for a meal, would you think that was a bad thing?”
“I always want you to be fed and cared for. Them? Not so much.”
I lifted my head. Studied his face. And thought I got it. He didn’t want them here either. He was keeping them here so he could watch them. If they were here, they weren’t looking for Charity and weren’t threatening her brother. Wasn’t there something about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer?
“Okay. I think I’ve got it.”
He nodded.
“I’ll try to be hospitable.” Before the grill pulled him away, I added, “Did you get a chance to hear about Lindsay’s day, or shall I fill you in?”
“Better fill me in. I think I scare her.”
“I understand. You used to scare me, too.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Really? I thought you just hated me.”
“That, too.”
We met when he was the detective investigating my sister Carrie’s murder. He was brutal. I was defensive. Somehow we fought our way to something better.
I quickly gave him the basics of Lindsay’s assault. “I didn’t want her going home alone and brooding about it. Wondering what she’d done to provoke him. Which she’d do. And she’d done nothing. I’m also a bit worried that despite what the officers s
aid, this kid will get out on bail and the first thing he’ll do is try to get her to withdraw her complaint. Hold on.”
I got out my phone and queued up the video. “This is what I saw when I walked in to work this morning.”
He watched the brief video without speaking. Handed the phone back. “The poor kid. She’s lucky you came in early.”
“She’s lucky that it didn’t get any worse,” I said. “She’s not lucky. Having a guy press you against the wall, hold you there with his body, and stick his fingers inside you, none of that is okay or easy to get over.”
He ran a warm hand gently over my cheek. “I meant she’s lucky to have you. So. You have your waif, and I have my annoying government agents. Let’s go outside and start our lovely evening.”
“Don’t forget Jonetta,” I said.
“I don’t believe anyone who’s ever met her can forget Jonetta.”
Which was pretty much the truth.
I picked a lot of lettuce, and found tomatoes and a cucumber and made a salad. So far, this garden was keeping up with us. I’ve heard, though, that a summer garden could drown you in produce. That was hard to imagine.
We sat around in comfortable chairs and shucked the corn while Andre presided over his grill. When he gave me the word, I went inside to start cooking the corn. Lindsay came with me, wanting to know if she could help.
“This is so great,” she said. “You inviting me home, I mean. I’ve got a bunch of friends who have internships this summer, and none of them have been to their boss’s homes like this. Just being here, and meeting Jonetta and Andre, makes me feel so much better.” She shifted from foot to foot, embarrassed. “I thought I’d be scared of him, but he’s so nice.”
“Unless you’re a bad guy. Or gal,” I said, handing her a stack of plates, “he’s absolutely the best at making people feel safe.”
I got out a fresh stick of butter, just in case some of those present were “roll the corn in the butter” types. I’ve become so much more domestic since we got the house. Normally, Andre and I work so much dinner is a slipshod thing. Left-overs. Take-out. Something quick and simple or meals skipped altogether.
I don’t have ESP and I’m not connected to the psychic network, but something—maybe an instinct for danger honed by life-experiences which in a cop would be the famous cop gut—made me go upstairs to the gun safe. I brought my handy little Barbie special down to the kitchen and slipped it into a drawer. Pretty soon, any such action would have me wrestling with child-locks. For now, I felt safer knowing it was within reach. I expected Fred and Alice were also armed, and of course Andre had a gun.
I wondered what my new neighbors would think if they knew a casual summer cookout Chez Kozak-Lemieux was such a gun party. Probably nothing. This was Maine. People had guns for hunting and for shooting that damned woodchuck that kept eating the garden. True, there were a few asshats who liked to show off their handguns, but most of them were so overweight or unfit that in a real gunfight, they’d be on the floor in seconds.
Why was I thinking about all this when I was standing in my sunny kitchen, waiting for the corn to boil, about to sit down to dinner with a couple of my favorite people?
Because I was also about to sit down to dinner with two unpleasant federal agents and a traumatized sexual assault victim. And two people had been killed at the house across the street. No wonder I felt like there was a dark sheen over everything, however blue the sky and green the grass.
Lindsay had set the table and put a handful of bright flowers in a small blue vase in the center of the table. Andre came in carrying a platter of delicious-smelling chicken. Everyone came in to wash their hands while I put the corn in a bowl.
As the guests headed for the table, Jonetta stayed behind in the kitchen. “Hey, girlfriend,” she said. “What’s bothering you?”
An astute reader of people, my friend Jonetta. I shrugged. It was so nebulous. But she would understand. “This feeling that something bad is about to happen. Crazy, I know. But it’s so strong.”
She nodded. “You’ve gotta trust those feelings. They happen for a reason.”
I’m a competent grownup who shouldn’t need it, but I was relieved at how validated I felt.
“Thanks.”
I grabbed the corn and followed her into the dining room.
It should have been a strange and strained meal, but the summer afternoon and good food seemed to be working some kind of magic on Alice and Fred. I didn’t expect they found themselves invited to dinner very often. It was nice to see some of the stiffness fall away. Partly it was Jonetta. She has a kind of magic that she brings. She has created it—her school and the amazing success of students no one else has expectations for—and yet she’s always grateful for it. Gratitude is something we’re told we’re supposed to practice. Most of us don’t. Jonetta does.
Having someone at the table who was grateful for the food, delighted to be having a vacation, and happy for the company lifted everyone up. Sometimes I think she should be a preacher or a politician, but I know she is meant to the do the work she does. She makes an important difference in young girls’ lives. Why would I want her to do something else?
I pushed away the dark clouds.
Andre’s chicken was perfect. The salad tasted the way food fresh from the garden does. It was almost laughable the way a tableful of people crunching on corn sounds. MOC was having a quiet evening instead of the usual acrobatics, just enough kicks to reassure me that the kid was still active.
I was in the kitchen, refilling the corn dish, when I heard steps on the deck. It wasn’t going to be the postman, or UPS or FedEx at this hour, and we weren’t expecting anyone.
We’d had a visit from Nathaniel Davenport, who worked for the dark side. The bad guys might well have someone else looking for Charity who would come knocking on our door. I set the bowl down and slid open the drawer, arming myself.
The screen door burst open, and Jason Barbour stepped into the room. He was sweaty and disheveled and he was holding a hunting rifle. He raised the rifle and aimed it at me. “Where’s Lindsay?” he demanded.
I stared at the gun, forgetting how to breathe. It took a few seconds to remember how and to get mad. This guy was supposed to be in jail. They were supposed to notify us—his employers and his victim—if he was released. And he was subject to a restraining order preventing him from coming near Lindsay.
His arrogance knew no bounds. He was breaking so many laws. Obviously, the message of his spoiled upbringing was that laws didn’t apply to him. Well, too bad. I didn’t know or care what he thought he was here for. He was not getting near Lindsay.
With no faith that it would work, I tried reason, giving him a chance he didn’t deserve. “Don’t do this, Jason,” I said. “Whatever you’re here for, you’re making a big mistake. You’re in enough trouble already. Do you really want to add criminal threatening and violating a restraining order to the list?”
“This trouble is all your fault.”
My fault that I’d kept him from completing a rape? Why was it that predators always think someone made them do it? And now it was my fault that this idiot had barged into my kitchen with a gun?
“Your fault,” I said. “Why did you come here?”
“Her roommate said she was staying with you.” A smug and foolish grin, like he was just the cleverest little thing to have tracked me down.
Nothing clever about this. There was an armed and clearly out-of-control man in my kitchen. I should have been cowering in a corner. Instead, I debated: should I shoot him or let someone else do it? I was pretty confident I could handle this. A rifle is a very poor close-range weapon. His hands were shaking and the smell of alcohol was coming off him like he was a scent diffuser.
Better to let the professionals handle this. MOC would not like being too close to the sound of gunfire, and anyway, mama was supposed to avoid stress. Oh, if my doctor only knew!
“Andre,” I called, keeping my voice calm. “Can
you come here for a minute? We have an unwanted visitor.”
“What the fuck!” Jason said. “I said I wanted Lindsay.”
“You’re not getting near Lindsay, Jason. You’ve done her enough harm,” I said. “What part of a restraining order don’t you understand?”
He blinked at me like I was speaking a foreign language, like someone saying “no” to him was incomprehensible.
“This is your last chance to avoid serious consequences. Put your gun down on the counter and leave. Now.”
I was about to tell him he would otherwise be very sorry when Andre, Alice, and Fred poured into the kitchen. Andre and Alice from the dining room, spreading out quickly in a vee so he could only watch one of them at a time, while Fred appeared from the hall. All three were armed and all three guns were aimed at Jason.
He looked at me, eyes wide, and said, “What the fuck?” again. Whoever had bulldozered his life smooth had made such a big mistake. They’d created an entitled monster who couldn’t believe he’d ever face consequences instead of a responsible citizen.
“Detective Andre Lemieux, Maine state police,” Andre said. “Drop the gun and put your hands on your head.”
Jason stared.
“Police. Drop the gun!”
As Jason stared at them without complying, I slipped past Andre and into the dining room, where I put an arm around Lindsay, and Jonetta and I escorted her into the living room, away from the commotion in the kitchen.
She got as far as “Is that…” before dissolving in tears.
There was another sharp command from the kitchen.
A single explosive gunshot.
Breaking glass.
A scream.
So much for dinner and gratitude.
Thirty
I wanted to run to the kitchen and see what had happened, but Lindsay was clinging to me and weeping. Jonetta had planted herself between Lindsay and the door. I was worried about my nice new kitchen and seriously pissed off that our pleasant dinner had been disrupted. One shot didn’t mean the situation had been resolved.
