He flipped the second switch. Light immediately illuminated the deck…and the mop leaning against the railing, its cotton tendrils whipping in the wind.
Pressing the phone to his chest, Adam managed a chuckle. He turned off the balcony lights and turned on the kitchen lights.
A mop. He didn’t even know he owned a mop. The cleaning girl must have left it out there the other day and he just hadn’t noticed it.
Feeling silly, he returned the phone to the wall cradle and retrieved the cutting board to cut up his snack. He heard the rattle again but continued to slice his apple. It had to be a drainpipe or a loose shutter. He’d call the handyman service tomorrow.
As Adam shut out the kitchen lights, taking his cheese and apple with him, he glanced over his shoulder one last time toward the windows. He still felt as if someone was there. As if someone was watching him.
It was ridiculous, of course. There was no one there. Just a mop.
When Casey came downstairs Monday morning at six-thirty, her father was already in the kitchen. He was still bundled in his coat and hat from taking Frazier outside. “You’re up early.”
“Got a busy day.” He unbuttoned his coat. “Bus is coming for me. I’m going to play cards. And swim. They have a pool, you know. They swim on Wednesdays.”
“Dad, keep in mind, it’s just a trial basis. We’ll have to see about Wednesday when Wednesday comes.” When Casey had called the senior center on Friday, Mrs. Poppy, a staff member, had said they’d had a cancellation that afternoon and would love to meet her and her father. It was their policy to not have a doctor evaluation unless they felt it necessary. They liked to draw their own conclusions, Mrs. Poppy had explained.
Ed had been on his best behavior at the senior center that afternoon. He identified the day, the date, the current president of the United States, and the warm air mass passing through the Texas Panhandle. Mrs. Poppy had found him charming. She accepted him on a trial basis for a program they called “semisupervised.” He would check in and out each day at the front desk. He’d be encouraged to attend programs and activities and would be monitored by a team of employees.
Casey hadn’t been able to decide if she felt relieved, or more worried than before. He father had been acting so normally the last few days that she was beginning to wonder if Jayne was right. Maybe the medication really was working and maybe she was overprotecting him, overstating his shortcomings.
Maybe Casey was just crazy.
“Would you like some coffee?” she asked.
“Nope. Gotta check the weather.” He walked out of the kitchen, carrying his coat. “Peanut butter and jelly air system off the Carolinas.”
So she wasn’t completely crazy.
Casey had called midmorning to check on her father and had been informed by Mrs. Poppy that he was in the craft room making a Christmas gift and that he was having an excellent first day. When she’d called Jayne with an update, her sister had fed her an “I told you so” line and then invited them for a birthday dinner for Joaquin Friday night. She was making his favorite enchiladas and Lincoln was invited as well.
Now, Casey stood on the front porch, freezing to death, watching for her father. The wind whipped around the corner of the house, blowing her scarf across her face. Frazier paced at her side, seeming as eager to see Ed as she was.
At last, she spotted the white minivan coming around the corner. It pulled into the driveway, and Casey, with her boxer escort, went out to meet her father. The van stopped. The door slid open and Ed appeared.
“Have a good evening, Mr. McDaniel,” the driver said. Ed didn’t reply.
“Thank you,” Casey said to the driver and waved. She shut the van door behind her father, looped her arm through his, and led him toward the front porch. “So, Dad, how was it?”
“It was all right.” The dog bounced up and down in front of him and Ed patted him. “We didn’t play cards.”
“Oh, that’s disappointing.”
“Cards are on Tuesdays and Thursdays. That’s what Kate said. They don’t let you change the channel on the TV. Haven’t seen the forecast all day.”
“We can fix that. Who’s Kate?”
“Have to have a partner to play bridge. Not to play poker. Kate says she’ll be my partner if I want to play bridge. I told her I’d think about it.”
Casey laughed. Her father was so talkative. He was never this talkative. They crossed the porch. “Dad, who’s Kate?”
He looked at her. “Kate who? It’s cold out here.” He stepped in front of her, opened the door, and waited for the dog to bound in before going inside.
“So you want to go back again? Tomorrow?” she asked.
“Cards on Tuesdays.” He shuffled toward the laundry room, unwinding his scarf, removing his wool cap. “Kate says she’ll be my partner.”
Tugging off her hat, Casey got in front of her father and put out her hand. “Here, give me that. And your coat. You and Frazier go check out the forecast. TV’s already on. There’s chili for dinner. I put it on this morning.”
The phone rang.
“Phone’s ringing.” Ed shuffled away.
Casey stood there for a second. “Thanks, Dad.” On her way toward the laundry room, she grabbed the phone off the kitchen counter. “’Lo.”
“Hey.” It was Lincoln.
“Hey, yourself. You’re not home from work already, are you?” She smiled, tickled to hear his voice. They hadn’t talked since last night.
“No, still at work.”
She detected something in his voice. “What’s going on?” She hung up her Dad’s clothing, one piece at a time.
“I shouldn’t be making this call. I’m standing out front on the sidewalk, freezing my ass off.”
He was obviously upset. He never cursed. “Okay.” Now he was starting to scare her a little. “So make it quick. What’s wrong?”
“You absolutely cannot tell anyone. Not anyone. Not even your assistant deputy buddy. You have no idea what lines I’m crossing here. I did not make this call.”
That was the first time he’d ever acknowledged she even knew Adam Preston. The reference to him being her “buddy” was a little odd. Was he jealous of their friendship? “I get it, Lincoln.” She slipped out of her coat. “You didn’t make this call.”
“There’s a lawsuit in the works. A big one. You’re named as one of the defendants, along with the Delaware State Police, the Georgetown City Police, the hospital, the State of Delaware, you name it.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. Who’s suing me? Who’s suing me and the state?”
“We were notified as a courtesy because our firm defended the client in the state Linda Truman case.”
“Gaitlin is suing me? For what?”
“Harassment, basically, but he’s claiming you’ve prevented him from obtaining a job. Ruined his relationship with his girlfriend. Caused insomnia. There’s a long list of complaints, apparently. He wants damages.”
“I’m harassing him? You’ve got to be kidding me.” She was so angry that she practically shouted into the phone. “And what does this have to do with the hospital? This makes no sense.”
“These things don’t have to make sense. But in this case, it’s actually good news for you because the hospital’s lawyers will be defending you.”
“Lincoln, I still don’t understand. I made a complaint about him to the police. How can I be harassing him?”
“You didn’t tell me he’s been harassing you,” Lincoln said into the phone. “What’s he been doing? When did you go to the police?”
She exhaled, dropping her coat on a hook. “Long story. I didn’t want you involved. I still don’t. Your firm will probably end up having to defend him in court again on the Truman case, so let’s not go there.” She walked into the kitchen; it was filled with the spicy aroma of tomato, cumin, and chili pepper. “How soon will I officially learn I’m being sued?”
“Midweek, probably. Wednesday. Thursday. But I’m serious, Ca
sey. This could be a mess. He’s somehow got the RP people behind him. Two attorneys flew in from Dayton this morning.”
“RP?” She lifted the lid on the Crock-Pot and the aroma got stronger.
“Rights for the People. A citizens’ rights activist group.”
Casey grabbed a wooden spoon from the drawer. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I think my sister sends them money.”
“Look, I have to go. My secretary is waving at me through the window. I just wanted to give you a heads-up. Call you tonight?”
“Sure.” Casey hung up. Like Lincoln, she didn’t curse often. She hadn’t been raised in a household where either of her parents did. Her father always said there were more eloquent ways to express oneself. But sometimes there was nothing that sounded right like a good swear. She dug into the pot of thick chili beans and chunks of beef and pork. “You son of a bitch,” she muttered.
Angel tiptoed out of Buddy’s room, closing the door behind her. He’d been running a fever since yesterday afternoon. When she’d picked him up at Shonda’s last night, it was like his skin was on fire. Then she’d arrived home to find out that Charlie hadn’t paid the electric bill or the phone bill, but that he had taken the money she’d left him on the table.
Buddy was better today, but Angel still had to keep him home; she didn’t want to get Shonda’s little girl sick. Angel’s sister hadn’t been happy about Angel calling in sick with only two weeks left before Christmas, but when Angel had agreed to work extra hours over the weekend, Amber had calmed down a little.
Beat, Angel walked down the hall and through the living room. She didn’t look at James lying on the couch as she cut between him and the TV. He’d come home about three. Said he didn’t know where Charlie was and he didn’t know anything about the bill money.
Angel didn’t really care where Charlie was, but when he did come home, she was going to have it out with him. He was either going to straighten up or get out. Him and his brother. She wasn’t going to live this way. Wasn’t going to raise her boy this way.
“Turn it down or turn it off,” she told James. He was watching a monster-truck race.
He picked up the remote, but she didn’t hear the volume go down. She leaned over to pick up a plastic mallet that went to Buddy’s tool set. “You hear me? I said turn it down.”
“I’m turnin’ it. I’m turnin’ it,” he grumbled. “Hey, you heard anything from Charlie?”
She tossed the mallet into the cardboard box at the end of the couch that served as a toy chest. Angel had picked out a nice red and blue toy chest at Wal-Mart that she was hoping she could get Buddy for Christmas. Missing work today would kill her budget for the week, though. It might mean no toy chest now. “Have I heard from him? You heard the phone ring? Hell no, I ain’t heard from him.”
“You got a lotta mouth, you know that, Angel? I tell Charlie all the time, he oughta make you watch your mouth.”
Angel bit back a response. She had a feeling she had to be careful alone around James. Charlie might give her a smack once in a while, but she knew he’d never hurt her bad. But James? James was hard to read.
God, she never should have gotten drunk that night. Never should have slept with James.
A monster truck on the TV revved its engine.
“I said, turn it down.” She walked into the kitchen. Dirty dishes littered the table and the counter. James had made himself spaghetti for dinner last night when she had refused to cook. He’d sprayed tomato sauce all over the stove, the wall, and the counter.
The truck on the TV grew louder. There were sounds of fans screaming and an announcer whooping it up.
At the kitchen sink, Angel soaked a dish rag with warm water. She had just wiped down the counters and dropped the dirty dishes into a sink full of hot water when she heard someone bang on the door.
“I got it!” James hollered over the TV.
Dishrag in her hand, Angel went to the window and peeked out. She groaned. It was Drina, James’s sometimes girlfriend. Angel didn’t like her much. Not that she had anything against Latinos, but Drina was as two-faced as they came. She could be all sweet and nice to your face and then call you a whore to your friends. Angel had warned Drina weeks ago to stay out of her face and out of her house. Angel was surprised she was here.
Angel dropped the curtain and went back to the dirty dishes. She heard James let Drina in.
“What are you doin’ here, honey? I was gonna call you later.”
“Don’t you honey me, chico,” Drina said above the drone of the trucks.
Angel couldn’t see them from where she stood, but she could imagine Drina all up in James’s face. Latino girls were good at that, especially the bad-assed ones, and Drina was definitely a badass.
“Hey, the baby’s sleepin’,” James said.
“Well, my niños are in the car, so you listen here. I want my money.”
“What money?”
“The money you stole from me. The money you took out my bag while I was takin’ a pee after you got your rocks off the other night, chico.”
“Shhh. Lower your voice.”
“Don’t you touch me! Don’t you do it!”
Angel slowly lowered a cereal bowl into the dishwater as she listened.
“I told you, you don’t take what’s mine. You don’t take what I earn to feed my babies. You understand that? I don’t scrub people’s toilets so you can have my money. You hear what Drina is sayin’?”
“Drina, I swear—”
“I’m not jokin’, chico. You do it again, and you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
“What are you gonna do, call the police?” James said in that snotty voice of his. “’Cause you do, and I’m gonna tell them all about you workin’ in those rich people’s—”
“No, loco, I’m not goin’ to call the police,” Drina interrupted haughtily. “But you’re gonna wish I had.”
Angel heard the door open and then slam. A minute later, the monster trucks got louder. She smiled to herself. Maybe she liked Drina better than she’d thought.
Chapter 21
I wait for him on the boardwalk. It’s cold and there are few people to be seen. Those who do face the elements walk with their heads down, hurrying along, bundled in coats and hats and hoods that obscure their vision.
No one will see me. No one will notice me. I look like them.
I sit on the bench facing the ocean. The waves rise up and crash down in thick white mountains of foam. There is a cold-pressure zone moving in. I have seen it on The Weather Channel. Like Ed, I like to watch The Weather Channel in the morning when I drink my coffee. I like to know what the temperature will be for the day so I can dress accordingly. I like to know the temperature in Puerto Vallarta. No reason in particular. I am just curious. I am a curious man.
I hear footsteps behind me, but I don’t turn around. He knows to stand behind me. He knows not to look too closely beneath my hood. Despite how stupid he is, he seems to sense that I am dangerous. Rodents are like that—not smart, but they recognize danger. I think of him as a rodent. A rodent with thinning hair.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I say.
“Don’t know what yer talkin’ about.” He sniffs.
My fists clench at my sides inside my leather gloves, but I don’t raise my hand to him. I know better. I am still in a public place. “Stealing from houses.”
“I didn’t—”
“Silence,” I order in a deep voice.
He is silent. He knows that I am angry. He knows that he is expendable.
“You do what I hire you to do and you stay out of trouble. You understand?”
“I understand.”
I relax my hands. Flex my fingers. Anger is bad for one’s blood pressure. It serves no purpose. I like to always act with purpose. Speak with purpose. I speak to the knuckle-head now with purpose. “Who have you told about me?”
“No one.”
“Your girlfriend?”
“I don’t tell her sh
it.”
I wince at his bad language. “You recognize you have a good thing here, right? I pay you well.”
“Yeah. Sure.” He sniffs again.
I consider offering him my handkerchief, but the thought of his snot on a piece of my clothing so disgusts me that I don’t. “I pay you enough? Enough to support your drug habit?”
He hesitates. Shuffles his feet. I imagine that he is wearing a hoodie and that his hands are stuffed down in his pants pockets; he is not smart enough to wear a coat or gloves.
“You pay enough,” he says.
“You understand that you can’t tell anyone.” I try to speak plainly so that he understands me, even with his limited IQ. “If you tell anyone, you know what will happen?”
“Won’t get paid.” His voice is nearly lost in the howl of the wind.
“No,” I say. “I’ll kill you.”
He walks away. I let him go.
I sit a minute longer, waiting until he has made his way down Rehoboth Avenue. To his vehicle. To a bar. Anywhere away from me. He is filth and I hate the idea that I have to deal with people like him every day.
I turn my thoughts purposely to something more pleasurable. I think about Maury and how our relationship is evolving. From the time I first learned of his accomplishments, I have admired him. Wanted to meet him. Maybe, on some level, to be him, at least when he is at work.
Now that our friendship has been established, I want so badly to pay him a visit. And I know that he wants to see me. I can tell by his letters that he is eager to meet me. That he sees me now as a worthy student, if not an equal.
I could visit him easily enough. No one would be suspicious.
But I know that I must be patient. That there must be no physical contact as long as he remains incarcerated. It’s not safe for him. Certainly not safe for me.
That doesn’t mean I can’t pick his brain.
“What’s this I see in the paper about you getting your butt sued, sis?” Joaquin, who’d just come through the front door, walked up behind Casey and placed his hands on her shoulders.
Don't Turn Around Page 21
