by Boyle, Gerry
“He gave me no choice,” Fuller said, smiling now, eyes on Griffin, but his mind turned inward.
“Coulda run for it. Coulda gone to jail. Coulda shot him in the foot. Coulda—”
“No, you don’t understand. I had no choice ’cause it was all planned for me. It was planned way, way back. My old man, the bastard. My whole life. It was meant to go this way. He wanted me to end up right here.”
“You’re nuts, Joel. You’re cracking up. You killed a cop. Got nothin’ to do with your old man.”
Fuller looked over at Kelvin, standing there in his dirty blue T-shirt, black boxers, thick white legs, pine needles stuck to his fat feet. Fuller grinned, walked five steps, and took Kelvin’s hand. He held it up, palm open. Slapped the Glock into Kelvin’s palm, pressed the fingers closed.
“I didn’t kill a cop, Kelvin,” Fuller said, pulling the gun back. “We killed a cop.”
He smiled, eyes narrowing.
“We’re in this together, Kel. You got your little girl to protect, cute little thing.”
He paused, let it sink in, the implication, the threat.
“I ain’t got nobody, dude. Just you, you and me. We’re like family, right? Old pals. What is it they say? You said it, right? When you married that bitch?”
Kelvin waited, frozen by the weird smile, the crazy look Joel got sometimes.
“’Til death do us part, man,” Fuller said.
“We gotta get outta here,” Kelvin said, words streaming from him. “We gotta get him outta here, find the car and move it, bring it into town and dump it someplace. And then we gotta get out, go to Florida or California, Mexico.”
“No,” Fuller said.
“No?”
“I ain’t saying we’re not going,” Fuller said, walking past the body, bending to pick up the Ruger. “Just not yet.”
CHAPTER 37
Mia was looking along the barrel, over the sight. Her finger was tight on the trigger. And then it lowered, swung to her side.
“It’s okay,” Brandon said.
“It’s not,” Mia said.
She handed him the gun, turned, and picked up the paper. Nessa gave a snort, then eased back into the heavy breathing of deep sleep. They walked to the kitchen, where Brandon laid the gun on the table and said, “What?”
“Someone was here. They left this. They left it on your grandmother.”
Brandon looked at the note.
“On her?”
“On her chest. She was asleep.”
“Did you search the house?”
“I just found it. I heard something, took the gun, and went into the other room.”
Brandon looked away and listened, reached for the rifle.
“You stay with her,” he said. “I’ll look around.”
“Let the police do it, Brandon. That’s what they’re here for.”
“No, I’ll do it. And in the morning I’ll call Griffin. We’ll find them, and tell them.”
“Tell them what?”
“Tell them this was a very bad idea.”
They went to the living room, and Mia went and sat by Nessa, pepper spray at the ready. Brandon jacked a live shell out and it fell to the floor and rolled. Nessa stirred, opened her eyes, and said, “What?”
“It’s okay, Nessa,” Brandon said. “I’ll be right back.”
He started up the stairs, the rifle held low in front of him. At the second-floor landing, he stopped and listened. Felt the cool breeze from the water side of the house, and turned to the right. He flicked the hall lights on, paused at the door to a spare bedroom.
Turned the knob.
Pushed and reached in for the light switch. The lights glared on. He eased in, crept across the room. Opened the closet door slightly, swung it the rest of the way with the rifle barrel. There was no one in the closet. No one under the bed. Nobody behind the door, Brandon realizing he should have checked that first.
He did at the next room, another guest room. Hesitated at the door to his own room, swung it open, the light glared on.
A photo of Abraham Lincoln. Toy Civil War soldiers, a model of a lobster yacht. Bookshelves on all the walls, full. History and biography, sorted by period. In that, the oddest of moments, Brandon realized it was the room of a lonely person.
He shrugged off the thought, swung the closet door open. Nothing but his clothes, his old sneakers and shoes.
He heard footsteps on the stairs, backed out of the room, and went to the hall. Mia was coming up, her head emerging like she was coming out of the water.
She turned, saw him, said, “Are you okay?”
He nodded, went to the next door, the one on the end: Nessa’s.
It was the master bedroom, overlooked the lawn and the bay. Brandon touched the doorknob, felt something wet. Looked at his hand and saw a streak of blood. Looked down at the floor and saw a droplet.
He took the knob again, turned it with thumb and forefinger.
Eased the door open. Paused, reached for the light switch, put the rifle to his hip, and stepped in.
“God,” he said.
“What?” Mia said behind him. “Are you okay?”
Brandon checked behind the door, under the bed, in the closet. He walked to the French doors that led to the veranda over the sunroom, found them ajar, the cold sea breeze blowing in.
He turned back as Mia stepped into the room, put her hands over her mouth, and froze. She was staring at the bloody mess on the bed, dark red drips leading from the foot to the pillows, where there was puddle of black blood below a gutted carcass, orange and white.
“I didn’t know your grandmother had a cat,” Mia said.
“She doesn’t,” Brandon said.
He searched all the rooms, the cellar and garage, too. Brandon figured it had been Joel who had come in with the note, maybe Kelvin with the cat. Dropped the note on Nessa, continued up the stairs. Probably they’d watched the house, figured out which room was Nessa’s.
Left a calling card, went out the door, over the railing and down.
Nessa was sitting in the chair in the living room; Mia had made her tea in the microwave. They told her a cat had gotten in upstairs, made a mess in her room. She said she’d been out on the veranda that morning, watering the plants. There was a cat from the next house over, a big orange tom that had figured out how to get onto the veranda from the nearest maple tree.
And then Brandon squatted next to her and said, “Nessa. There’s a problem.”
He told her about Fuller and Kelvin, the fight at the funeral home. He told her Fuller wanted money from him, and knew where he lived, both on the boat and at Nessa’s. He said he thought Fuller was all talk, but by coming to the house, leaving a note, he’d raised the stakes.
“In the morning, I’ll call the cop I ride with,” he said. “He’s already working on it.”
Nessa sipped her tea, grimaced, put the mug down.
“You can’t give them money,” she said. “They’ll just want more and more.”
“It won’t get to that,” Brandon said. “This cop, his name is Griffin. He’ll take—”
Nessa continued as though Brandon hadn’t spoken. “It isn’t about money,” she said. “It’s about power. No amount of money will keep him satisfied. They always want more because they want to keep control of you.”
It was eery, like she was speaking from experience.
“Who?” Mia said.
Nessa didn’t answer, just put the mug of tea down, reached for the wine bottle, poured a new glass.
CHAPTER 38
It was a little after eight, Mia curled into Brandon in his bed, Abe Lincoln dolefully looking down at the two of them.
“You never see a picture of Lincoln smiling,” Mia said.
“The Civil War will do that to you,” Brandon said.
“I think some people are just basically sad. Sometimes they’re not as sad, maybe even sort of happy, but sad is their default setting.”
“I guess,” Brandon said. �
�Sometimes I think sadness is a sign of wisdom.”
“You’re a little like that,” Mia said. “But I think I make you happy.”
“You do.”
“Your grandmother is totally like that. I think she has two states of mind. Sad and sad and numb.”
“Ever since Nikki,” Brandon said.
“Most people move on. They grieve and then they put their lives back together. She had you, after all.”
“I guess I wasn’t enough.”
“How you think she’ll be today?”
“Sad and then she’ll numb herself.”
“She doesn’t seem afraid,” Mia said. “It’s like—”
“She’s resigned to it?”
“Yeah. Like she deserves it or something. It’s strange.”
“The way she’s been as long as I can remember. I don’t know. I’ll call Griffin now. I think he was on at seven today. And I should get over to the marina, see what—”
Brandon paused. Listened, then they both heard it. Car doors shutting in the drive.
He sprang out of bed, grabbed for his jeans and T-shirt. Mia rolled out of the bed, scooped her bra and shirt off the floor. Brandon yanked his running shoes on, went out the door and down the stairs. Through windows by the front door he saw the car.
A dark blue Land Cruiser. Lucky and Irina coming up the stone walk. Irina, in jeans and heels, was carrying a bunch of fresh flowers and Lucky, in khakis and boatshoes, had a brown bakery box, the bottle of Krug from the boat. Brandon opened the door and they smiled.
“Hey, man,” Lucky said. “We came to thank you. You weren’t at the boat, and I said to Irina, ‘I’ll bet he’s at Nessa’s. I think I can find it again.’”
“I hope we’re not too early,” Irina said. “I told him, ‘eight o’clock isn’t a good dropping-in time.’”
“She doesn’t know about Mainers,” Lucky said. “Up at the crack of dawn.”
“No, come in,” Brandon said, stepping back from the open door. “So how was the cruise?”
“Glorious,” Irina said. “I’ve never been so relaxed.”
They stood in the kitchen, Mia putting the flowers in a vase, Brandon starting coffee, Nessa still asleep in the second guest room.
“I remember this place,” Lucky said. “We sat at that table and drank beer, showed Nessa the charts.”
He was somber for a moment, Irina looking at him with some sort of concern.
“So the cruise was good? The boat performed okay?” Brandon said.
“As advertised,” Lucky said. “Comfortable. Easy to handle. Didn’t push it too hard, just moseyed up the coast. Spent a night and a day in Bar Harbor.”
“Had lunch in this lovely café,” Irina said. “I had the most delicious salad. Arugula and these exquisite fresh pears.”
“We spent the first night in Boothbay,” Lucky said.
Irina frowned. “Tourists,” she said.
“But still fun. Went out and had a drink and talked to these guys, crew for some mega-yacht that was in port. Just brought the boat up from Anti-gua. I’ve cruised all around there, so we traded stories.”
“Sounds fun,” Brandon said.
“Hey, I could just poke around the bay here. Explore, anchor for the night.”
Lucky grinned.
“Paradise,” he said.
Brandon served the coffee, put the pastries out on a plate, led the way to the sunporch, and everyone looked out at the bay.
“We have some news,” Lucky said, wiping jelly from his fingers.
“We’re staying for the summer,” Irina said, smiling.
“She likes Maine, even if it is on the edge of the wilderness,” Lucky said. “So we leased this place on the water in Falmouth. Three months.”
“Been empty for a while and needs some cleaning, but it’s furnished,” Irina said. “I think we can make it quite comfortable.”
“Sounds great,” Brandon said.
“Some guy gave it back to the bank. Walked away, left everything. Wine in the cellar. Steaks in the freezer. Even a Jeep in the garage, keys in it.”
“You’ll have to come see,” Irina said. “Bring your grandmother. We’ll have dinner.”
There were ships on the horizon beyond the islands, long blue shapes like a school of whales. Lucky was watching them.
“Big one’s a tanker,” he said. “Smaller two are fish processors, probably Russian.”
As Brandon looked at the two silhouettes, he felt Lucky turn and scrutinize him.
“How ’bout you guys?” he said. “Everything okay?”
Brandon looked at Mia. They both sipped; Mia waited. Brandon said, “We’ve got a little problem.”
There was a moment of quiet, and Lucky said, “Oh, really. Like what?”
Brandon told the story: the funeral fight, his conversations with Fuller and Kelvin, going to see Crystal with Griffin, the note and the cat.
“Okay,” Lucky said. “So they’re just some small-time hoods. Punks. See an opening here, think they can squeeze you for a thousand or two.”
“Coming into your home. That’s very creepy,” Irina said.
“Yes,” Mia said. “Right into Nessa’s bedroom. The cat.”
“My god,” Irina said.
“All that blood,” Lucky said. “Has to be some on them. Their shoes, the car, their clothes.”
“Don’t know if I can get blood analysis for something like this,” Brandon said.
“You don’t have to actually get it. You just tell them you have it,” Lucky said. “Guy has probation hanging over him?”
“Five years,” Brandon said.
“So have your man threaten to revoke him,” Lucky said. “Say you found his prints in the house. Say you’ve got the blood samples and you know they’ll match. Go after the second guy, the one with the kid, tell him he’ll go away, too, unless he cooperates. His baby’ll be in high school before she sees him again.”
Irina looked at him and he seemed to catch himself.
“He watches a lot of ‘Law and Order,’” Irina said. “I think your policeman friend probably will know best.”
“Sorry,” Lucky said. “Armchair detective. But I still think it’s the way to go.”
“Got to find them first,” Brandon said.
“That should be easy,” Lucky said. “At some point, they’ll be right here.”
“Or at your boat,” Mia said.
Lucky walked to the window with his coffee, looked out at the islands and the bay.
“We got back last night,” he said. “A little tricky coming in past Diamond Island Ledge. I was looking at the chart, think I know where I went wrong. On a port tack, went too far east, must’ve missed a marker in the dark, because all of sudden the bottom started to come up, but I knew I was past Little Diamond so—”
Lucky paused. Nessa was standing in the doorway in her robe and slippers, hair pinned back with barrettes. She smiled at Mia, saw Irina and looked startled. Lucky turned.
“Hello, Nessa.”
Nessa looked at him. Her mouth opened, her wine-rouged cheeks went pale.
It’s me, Lucky.”
“I told you Lucky and Irina chartered a boat from the yard for a week,” Brandon said. “They sailed up to Bar Harbor.”
“Yes, of course you did,” Nessa said, wavering on her feet.
“I’m so sorry, Nessa,” Lucky said. “Sorry about your loss. Very, very sorry I wasn’t here for you.”
“Thank you. It was a long time ago.”
“You know, for years I roamed around the world trying to get away from it. I should have called you.”
“It’s okay,” Nessa said, her voice brittle. “I’m not sure there would have been anything to say.”
“But I’d like to talk now, Nessa,” Lucky said, moving toward her. She took a step back. “Not now, not today, but soon. We’re going to stay the summer, you know.”
Nessa looked alarmed.
“You may not like it. It’s not very glamorous
, not compared to—where did you come from?”
“New York City. And before that L.A., London, Sedona, Geneva, a couple of years in Brussels. I’ve been a bit of a vagabond, Nessa.”
“You and your friends, you were like Gypsies.” She paused, seemed to look inside herself. “Nikki hadn’t lived like that.”
“We were all looking for something new, something different,” Lucky said. “We were all young and full of life, pushing the limits. You, too. You were right there with us. ”
Nessa went pale again, swallowed hard. She took another step backwards, nodded at Irina, who smiled in a sympathetic way, like Nessa was a sweet but doddering old woman.
“I’ve got to go,” Nessa said, and she did, hurrying toward the kitchen. Brandon heard her going up the back stairs.
“What was that about?” Brandon said.
Lucky stood with his coffee, watching the spot where Nessa had been.
“I hope I didn’t upset her. I don’t mean to. I mean, your grandmother was a ball of fire, high-energy. I swear, we didn’t think of her as Nikki’s mom. It was just Nessa. Nikki and Nessa, almost like they were sisters.”
He went on, but Brandon excused himself, Mia saying, “They both must have been very pretty.”
Brandon crossed the house and went up the back stairs. He found Nessa standing at the window in the back guest room. Brandon stood beside her and said, “I know it’s hard, Nessa. Seeing him.”
“You don’t know, Brandon,” Nessa said. “You have no idea.”
CHAPTER 39
Brandon could see her from the boat as he tied the Whaler, left it rafted against the side of Ocean Swell. Nessa was on Bay Witch, on the top deck, sitting in the canvas chair, wrapped in a blanket. She didn’t like the boat, hadn’t set foot on it in years. When Mia had suggested they go, Nessa had said. “Fine. I just don’t want to be alone.”
So she sat and drank tea, looked out on the harbor while Brandon and Mia did the post-charter inspection of Ocean Swell. He ran an eye over the rigging, saw nothing out of place. Walking forward, he saw the sails were fully furled. Lines were coiled flat on the deck, fenders hung neatly. The salt had been washed from the rails and it looked like the deck had been washed and scrubbed.
Mia went to the cockpit, found everything gleaming. She unlocked the cabin door, eased down and into the main salon. It was immaculate, the table-tops polished, the whole place smelling of lemony soap. She checked each cabin, found the linens and blankets folded neatly and stowed in the forward cabin where Lucky and Irina must have slept.
