Generous Lies

by Robin Patchen

  No. Mr. Kopp would help him. He'd know what to do.

  He pulled out his phone and searched for Mr. Kopp's number in his contacts. Now that he had a plan, his hands were shaking. He finally got the number and started the call.

  The car door opened, and Matty disconnected. He'd lost his opportunity.

  "Put that thing away," Frank said. "You gotta stay alert."

  "Whatever." Matty slipped his phone into his pocket. He'd find a way to make the call. He couldn't use his father's excuse and go into the woods, because he'd done that when they first got there. Fine. He'd wait.

  He took a long sip of his warm soda.

  Fifteen minutes passed in almost complete silence. And then, a red sedan pulled in. Matty'd already discounted it when he saw the driver step out of the car.

  From twenty-five yards away, it was easy to tell who the man was. Really tall frame, really short hair, really broad shoulders. "That's him."

  Frank swore under his breath. "That's not a black Camry."

  "I noticed."

  Frank swore again while they watched Mr. Kopp and a short brunette walk to the end of the dock. He carried a paper bag. She carried some sort of tote. They talked a minute, then the speedboat pulled up. Mr. Kopp and the chick climbed on board, and they all drove away.

  His father's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Now what, genius?"

  Matty stepped out of the car and slammed the door while a rage he'd never known poured over him.

  He heard the other door open and slam. "We don't have time for a hissy fit."

  Matty balled his fists, told himself not to speak.

  Frank rounded the car, stopped right in front of Matty. "You got a problem, kid?"

  It was that word. Kid. Like his father didn't know his name. Couldn't care less about him. About the fact that he'd put Matty and Jimmy and their mother in danger. Matty's arm was moving before he could stop it. He landed a blow on his father's temple, and Frank staggered back.

  He bent at the waist, grabbed his head in both hands, and didn't move.

  The rage fizzled out, and shame replaced it. "Dad, I'm sorry."

  Frank stood up straight, and Matty resisted the urge to step back. But his father rounded the car and slid into the driver's seat.

  Matty waited for something, he wasn't sure what. But, despite what he'd just done, the world hadn't changed a bit. The sun's rays glared off the tops of the cars in the parking lot and forced beads of sweat down his back. The air was so still it seemed to be holding its breath.

  Matty opened the passenger door and sat.

  "We'll go back to the house," Frank said. "Maybe the Camry is there."

  "Why don't I just call Mr. Kopp, tell him I left something in his car, and ask where it is?"

  "We won't have to do that if the car is at his house. Maybe the red car belongs to the lady he was with. Was that Aiden's mom?"

  "They're divorced. I've never seen that lady before. Or the car."

  His father's logic was sound, but Matty desperately wanted to call Mr. Kopp. He needed the man's help, needed to know he wasn't in this alone. He needed a father, and he couldn't count on his own.

  Chapter 39

  Apparently, Garrison could no longer water ski. It really ticked him off.

  He hadn't tried since college. He'd been able to do it back then. As he wiped out the fourth time—just seconds after being pulled to his feet—Garrison decided water skiing was stupid.

  Nate swung the boat around and idled beside him. "Had enough, old man?"

  Garrison hoisted himself onto the boat. "Anytime, anyplace, Boyle."

  "Except on water skis, I guess." Nate's smug look had Garrison wishing he'd arrested the guy when he'd had the chance.

  Sam held out a towel. "It was a good effort."

  He snatched the towel and looked at Aiden, who was fixated on the phone in his hand. Must have been Nate's because Garrison had buried his own at the bottom of Sam's bag with hers. Well, at least one person hadn't witnessed his humiliation. Then Aiden cracked up, stood, and angled the phone toward Nate. "Dude, you gotta see. I put it in slow-mo."

  Nate watched, roared with laughter. "That was the best wipe-out yet."

  Great. Just great.

  Sam bumped his shoulder. "Don't listen to them. You looked good."

  Garrison lifted his eyebrows. "Isn't it a sin to lie?"

  She giggled and snatched a life preserver. "It's my turn."

  Five minutes later, watching Sam cut through the smooth water, Garrison nearly forgot his humiliation. The lake was surrounded by cabins nestled among pine trees. The sun shone and glistened off the surface. With Sam smiling at him, the sight was breathtaking.

  Aiden handed him a bottle of water, sat beside him on the back of the boat, his eyes on Sam. "She's good."

  "Yup."

  "Looks hot in that bathing suit, too."

  Garrison kept his focus on Sam in case she got into trouble but leaned toward Aiden. "That's not creepy at all."

  Aiden laughed. "I'm just saying, she's really pretty." A short pause, then, "There's still nothing going on between you two?"

  Garrison couldn't help it. He flashed back to their kiss, those moments when he'd held her in his arms. He'd hoped to put this conversation off. "We were just friends, but things have...progressed."

  He glanced at Aiden. His son was staring back at Sam and nodding slowly.

  "Is that a problem?"

  "Sam's okay. I like her."

  He met his son's eyes. "Yeah?"

  He shrugged. "I guess."

  Garrison turned to watch her again. She jumped the wake and swung out beside the boat, sending a perfect spray onto the glassy water. She was more than hot. She was beautiful. And kind. And for some reason Garrison couldn't comprehend, she liked him.

  And Aiden didn't hate her.

  Maybe at least one part of this story could have a happy ending.

  Aiden was quiet so long, Garrison figured the conversation was over. Then, "She didn't tell you, did she?"

  "Tell me what? She didn't tell me anything."

  "Oh. Okay."

  Sam slid effortlessly back across the first bump of the wake, then the second, and swung out toward the other side of the boat.

  "She caught me in your bedroom," Aiden said, "on Sunday. I was looking for my phone."

  "Ah. She didn't tell me. Not that I'd have been shocked."

  "You hid it well."

  "I'm a pro."

  "Where was it?"

  Garrison had already duct-taped the cell back to the underside of the coffee table. "Good effort, son. I'll tell you when you have a teenager of your own."

  Aiden laughed. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

  A few minutes passed while Sam showed off her skills.

  Other families were out today, some skiing, some tubing, some anchored in coves and swimming off the side of their boats. With the hum of the motor and the waves and smiles from fellow boaters, Garrison felt at peace.

  Aiden took the seat beside Nate, and the two of them had a conversation Garrison couldn't hear. He'd need to ask Aiden later what they'd talked about while Garrison had been with Sam. Whatever it was, the two seemed to have bonded in the hour or so they'd been together. That was a good thing. Garrison could use all the help he could get.

  After they'd skied, Nate maneuvered the boat to a quiet cove, and the group jumped off the side and swam until they were exhausted. Then they climbed on board, reclined in the seats, and snacked on the food Garrison had grabbed from the cabin. The sun dipped low, and shadows crept across the water.

  "It's been a good day," Nate said, "but Ana's expecting me to come over and tuck her into bed."

  "You two don't live together?" Aiden asked. "I figured, since you're engaged and all."

  "That's not really any of your business," Garrison said.

  "Don't worry about it," Nate turned to Aiden. "We decided to do things the right way. First the wedding, then the living together. Now, if I had my druthers,
we'd already be married. But she wants the whole shebang—fluffy dress, bridesmaids, fancy wedding."

  Aiden looked at Sam. "Why are chicks so weird about that stuff?"

  Her blush was slight as she glanced at Garrison. He winked, and she looked at Aiden. "Most girls dream about their weddings their whole lives."

  Aiden smirked. "That's a stupid thing to fantasize about, a poofy dress and some dude in a tux."

  "Maybe," Sam said. "Maybe it's like how guys dream about hitting a walk-off home run."

  "Or the big catch for a touchdown," Garrison added.

  "Sure," Aiden said. "But sports are cool."

  Nate chuckled. "I guess weddings are cool for girls. Whatever Marisa wants, I'm fine with it."

  Garrison said. "She agreed to marry you. You better not give her any reason to wise up and back out."

  Nate snapped a towel at Garrison, who barely angled out of the way. "You wanna go back in the water, Boyle?"

  "Right. Like you could put me there."

  Aiden laughed, and Sam said, "Now boys, let's try to be a good example for the youngster," which only made Aiden laugh harder.

  Nate pushed the throttle forward, and Garrison wondered if the afternoon could have been better. Three more days, and Aiden would go into rehab. Three more days for Garrison to figure out how to make this work.

  Chapter 40

  Matty stared at the white SUV in the driveway in front of Aiden's cabin. Frank had parked on the narrow road in front. No point in trying to hide when the only people who would recognize them were on a boat.

  "I guess I need to call Mr. Kopp now," Matty said.

  Frank grunted. "Doesn't make any sense. Do you think they flew?"

  "No way. Even when they go to Pittsburg to see Aiden's aunts, they always drive. That's a lot farther than this."

  His dad didn't respond, just stared at the house.

  Matty did, too. It was small but right on the water. A fun place to spend a week, especially considering what Aiden had put his father through on Friday. Maybe he just wanted him away from bad influences. Like Matty.

  "Here's what you say."

  When Frank shifted toward him, Matty could see the welt where his fist had made contact, right above the eye. It would bruise later. A tangible reminder of what he'd done. "I'm sorry about—"

  "Don't." He looked out the window like he couldn't meet Matty's eyes. "You tell Mr. Kopp you think you left something in his car and ask if he'll check for you. Something small, like a book or—"

  "My phone charger."

  "Yeah. That'll work. He'll tell you he didn't see it, but you have to say you think you stowed it somewhere—but not in the trunk."

  "Obviously." He imagined the car. Where would Mr. K not have looked? Not the glove box—he might've had to get in there for something. "The pocket on the back of the seat. When we're all three together, I sit back there, and Mr. K took us to dinner a couple of weeks ago."

  "Okay. Then why didn't you need your charger before now?"

  "I had a spare, but now it's not working. If it's there, then I'll keep borrowing Mom's charger until they get back. If not, I'm out of ideas, and I'll have to go buy another one."

  "Good. That's good."

  Matty felt a bizarre surge of pride. Yup, he could spin a lie just as well as his old man. Like father, like son. He dialed Mr. K's number. It rang four times before voicemail picked up. He ended the call. "No answer."

  Frank swore under his breath.

  "I should have left a message," Matty said.

  "We'll wait a few minutes, then try again."

  Matty snatched the bag of powdered donuts. Almost empty. "We gotta get food. I'm starving."

  "You'll survive."

  His stomach growled, and he shoved a donut in his mouth. What he wouldn't give for a steak right now. And a huge baked potato. And to be anywhere but here.

  A knock on the window had Matty jerking the bag of donuts. Powdered sugar spilled on his pants. He turned toward the sound, saw a man bent over, looking in his father's window. Little guy. Dark hair, dark glasses, suit and tie. Probably a neighbor wondering what they were doing there.

  "Crap." His father rolled down the window. "I told you I have it under control."

  Wait. His father knew this guy?

  The man pushed up his glasses on his too-big nose. "Prat and I thought you could use some help."

  "You thought wrong. We'll have your merchandise by the end of the day."

  "You've been saying that since Saturday." The man looked across the car, saw Matty. "That your son?"

  "Matty, meet Lionel."

  Lionel reached across the car, and Matty shook his hand. It was hot and damp. "Nice to meet you."

  The man kept Matty's hand and squeezed. "You should have delivered the package on Sunday."

  "He ran into a snag," Frank said.

  Matty wasn't sure what to say. He kept his mouth shut.

  Finally, the man released his grip.

  "I'll have the package soon," Frank said. "Maybe you can find a place—"

  "We're working together now." He looked up, nodded at the cabin. "Let's go inside."

  "They're not there."

  "But maybe the package is."

  "No." Matty's father shook his head like he was all confidence, but his fingers were shaking. If Dad was that nervous, then this was trouble. "The guy who has them doesn't know he has them. They're hidden in his car."

  A shadow had Matty turning toward his window. A man was standing there. All Matty could see was a belt over jeans and a torso covered with a black shirt. The man didn't bother to look in the window.

  Frank grabbed Matty's wrist, and Matty just about lost the donut. His father never touched him. This was bad. Very bad.

  "Let's just theorize," Lionel said. "What if the man found the package and opened it up? What would he do with it?"

  Mr. Kopp would turn the diamonds over to the authorities, of course, because he used to be an FBI agent. But Matty wasn't dumb enough to say that.

  Frank let go of his wrist and settled his hand on the gearshift. Yes, just take off. That was their only choice. They'd go to Mr. Kopp, tell him everything, get his help.

  "He didn't find it," Frank said. "If he had, he wouldn't be waterskiing right now, that's for sure."

  "You're awfully confident for a man who's had zero luck getting his hands on the package."

  "We're so close, we can smell it," Frank said.

  "Well, then, you have nothing to worry about."

  Frank pushed the button on the gearshift. Matty willed him to put the car in drive.

  A tap on his right. He turned toward it. Saw a handgun. Nearly crapped his pants.

  "You don't want to do that." Lionel nodded toward the gearshift. "You might get away, but your son would end up with a bullet in his head."

  Frank lifted his hand, fingers splayed. "Now, let's not make threats. You and I have done a lot of business. I told you where we were, kept you updated on our progress all along. You can trust me, you know that. Tell Prat to put that thing away before somebody gets hurt."

  "Why don't you shut the car off and give me the keys."

  The engine, and Matty's hope for escape, died. Frank handed the car keys to Lionel.

  "Thank you. Let's all go inside, shall we?" Lionel pulled the door open.

  Frank turned to Matty. "Just do what they say."

  Matty managed to nod.

  The man beside his door pulled it open, and Matty stepped out. His legs jiggled like rubber, and he held onto the car door to keep from falling over.

  The man—Prat, Lionel had said—was tall and had dark skin and straight black hair that reached his shoulders. His T-shirt was tight enough that Matty could see the definition beneath it. Matty figured this guy could finish him off in about thirty seconds, even without the gun.

  The man was expressionless as he stepped out of the way and gestured with the pistol toward the cabin.

  Frank came around the car and grabbed M
atty's wrist. "Let's go, son."

  Son.

  Not kid. Not boy. Son.

  Crap. They were gonna die.

  They reached the cabin door, and Lionel pushed it open and stepped inside.

  Matty followed his dad and froze.

  The place was a wreck. Tables overturned. Drawers empty, their contents strewn across the hardwood floors. Obviously, Lionel and Prat had already been inside.

  A man was standing on the far side of the room, in front of the TV. Bald, as tall as Mr. Kopp, body of a guy who spent his life in the gym. He looked like the dark-side version of Mr. Clean. He remained expressionless but slid a gun from the pocket of his gym shorts and aimed it at Matty's dad.

  Prat pushed Matty from behind, and he stepped farther into the space.

  "I take it you didn't find the package," Frank said casually.

  Lionel said, "If your man sold them—"

  "I'm telling you, he doesn't even know they exist. They're hidden in his car."

  "Which is where?"

  Frank shrugged. "We haven't figured that out yet, but it has to be close. We had a plan, but now... The guy's going to freak out, Lionel. This was a bad play on your part."

  Matty cringed at his father's words. Didn't figure it was a great idea to antagonize the guy holding all the power. Prat was right behind him. He could feel the man watching. That gun poised.

  Lionel stepped closer, pushed his glasses up on his nose. There was nothing scary about this guy. He looked like a bank teller or something. Slight, unattractive, nerdy. Nothing intimidating about him—except the look in his eyes. "I think my bad play was trusting you. Sit down."

  Frank pulled Matty across the debris. He picked up cushions from the floor and set them on the couch. Much of the stuffing had been pulled out, and what was left poked from rips in the fabric. He and his father sat facing Lionel, their backs to the door. To Prat. Mr. Clean didn't move, stood against the wall on the right.

  "Now what?" Frank said.

  "Now we wait." He looked over their heads. "Tie them up."