Every Waking Hour

by Joanna Schaffhausen

  “Ellery did. With maybe an assist from a seventeen-year-old acrobat.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Never mind.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Thank you for staying with the girls.”

  “I see it now. It’s the victories that keep you coming back, no? Chloe’s home. She’s okay. Her parents must think you all are miracle workers.”

  He wondered if this was a side dig at his relationship with Ellery. “It matters even when they don’t come home alive.” Coben likely had other victims they didn’t know about, girls he’d disappeared and carved up and refused to say where they were now. As long as he kept them secret, the dead belonged to him.

  “Speaking of home, I need to get back there. So does Tula, as her school starts up again next week.”

  “Yes, I know. We have tickets to fly back tomorrow.”

  She bit her lip, hesitant. “If you’d like, I can take her back with me tonight. This way you could stay here longer with Ellery. It seems like she might need someone to help her until her shoulder heals up.”

  Reed widened his eyes with surprise. “That would be kind of you—presuming you take Tula only as far as Virginia.”

  “God, Reed, I’m not planning to kidnap her.” She gave a small shudder. “Don’t even joke about such a thing.”

  “I’m sorry. You have to understand that it’s not a joke to me, Sarit. I won’t let you move her half a country away from me without a fight.” He kept his voice low, but his intent was serious.

  “Yes, yes, message received,” she replied, her palms up, and he decided that would have to be good enough for now. He heard the bedroom door open and close and Ellery appeared from around the corner, her hair a hopeless tangle and the triangular imprint of a pillow corner on her flushed cheek.

  “Do I smell cake?” she asked.

  “Yes!” Tula cried, thrusting her butter knife in the air. “Now we can eat it!”

  Reed served them each a piece, congratulating the girls on an admirable first effort. “It’s not as good as the ones Daddy bakes,” Tula confided to Ellery. “He made me one shaped like a volcano for my last birthday, with red lava running down the side and everything.”

  “Oh, yeah? He made me one for my birthday, too,” Ellery replied, meeting Reed’s gaze over Tula’s head. He smiled at her in shared memory of the dark chocolate with lavender butter cream frosting concoction they’d shared at the end of an intimate dinner in this very kitchen. She had accused him once of being the man who caught the monster and then went home, never having to deal with the jagged holes the monster’s claws left behind. Ellery bore those marks on her body and on her life, with the locks on her door and the scars on her skin and her usual refusal to celebrate her birthday, the day of her abduction. She was right that he would never fully understand. He couldn’t climb into the darkness with her. But he could stand in the light and extend his hand and wait patiently to see if she would join him.

  She smiled back at him and stuck the fork in her mouth, licking the frosting off with relish. Reed grinned and figured the odds of winning her over had to be in his favor.

  His side had the cake.

  * * *

  Reed sat on the sofa, sorting through his messages. Tula and Sarit had left for Virginia, and Ellery and Ashley were headed out to the wharf. “She should see something besides the inside of my apartment,” Ellery had said as she winced her way back into her sling.

  “But your ankle,” he’d protested.

  “Also wants to get out of this apartment. We’ll sit on a bench and look at the ocean.”

  She paused with her keys in hand on the way out the door and looked to where Speed Bump lay sprawled under Reed’s feet. “You’re using my dog as a footrest.”

  He didn’t look up from his phone. “It was his idea. My feet were here first. I can’t help it if he’s wedged his way under them.”

  “Well, at least you can’t make him smell any worse,” she replied. “We’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  Reed might have said something in return, but he couldn’t be sure. His attention diverted to an email message from the Baltimore PD in response to a ballistic test he had asked them to run. The bullet that was recovered from Carol’s husband was too degraded to run any conclusive analysis to a specific weapon, but its caliber matched the Beretta recovered from the Stone house. Reed pondered if there might be another way to connect them while he continued through his email messages. He sat up in surprise as he reached one from People magazine.

  Let us tell your love story, the subject line read. Inside he found a plea from an editor who wanted to interview him and Ellery about their romance. Their readers would be delighted to share in his happiness—it could even be a cover story. Reed snapped the window shut with nauseated horror. Just reading the note made him feel like he was at the end of a fish-eye lens. My love story is none of your goddamn business. Ellery wouldn’t even say the words to him. They thought she’d somehow sit for an interview? This, he realized with guilty regret, was a mess partly of his own making. He’d written the book on Ellery. He’d sold her story to the masses years ago and still they hungered for more. Their appetite for her, for Coben, felt boundless, and he found himself on the receiving end of the bite. Furious, he opened his laptop and tapped out a heated reply: Not interested. Don’t contact me again.

  He sat back, still stewing. He wanted to punch someone but feared it was his own face that deserved the fist. Moreover, he had two murders that remained unsolved, contributing to the churn he felt in his gut. Bump jumped up and flopped on the couch next to him, his chin on Reed’s arm. “I have a gun and a dead body, but I can’t connect them with forensics,” he told the dog. “What do you suggest?”

  Bump rolled over, offering his belly.

  “I don’t think that will quite do it.” Reed gave him an absent-minded scratch. When his fingers trailed off, Bump whined, got down from the couch, and trotted across the room. He stuck his head in a magazine rack and emerged with a half-chewed bone in his mouth, which he brought back and laid at Reed’s feet. “That’s disgusting,” Reed told him, and Bump wagged with enthusiasm, accepting this as a compliment. “How long have you had that thing stashed over there?”

  Bump nosed the bone, trying to get Reed to throw it. Reed complied with a sigh. As Bump raced after the skidding bone, Reed sat up ramrod straight. “Wait,” he said. “You just might have something there.”

  Bump grumbled his displeasure when Reed declined to chase him for the bone. He flopped down with a noisy protest while Reed hunted down a phone number for the woman who had, until now, been a footnote in this whole complicated affair. He said a silent prayer that she could help him while the number rang through to Irma Goodwin of Baltimore, Maryland. “Yes, hello?” Her voice had the thin, creaky quality of the very aged.

  “Mrs. Goodwin, my name is Reed Markham, and I am an agent with the FBI.”

  “The FBI? Has something happened?”

  “Do you recall telling the Baltimore police about your husband’s gun being stolen years ago?”

  “Yes, it was a Beretta 92. But I don’t know who took it or when. I explained all that to the nice young man from the police who came to ask me about it.”

  “Your husband kept it in the closet? In a shoe box, is that correct?”

  “Yes, the bedroom closet. That’s right.”

  “Ma’am, at any point have you engaged a cleaning service?”

  She let out a gravelly chuckle. “A cleaning service? What do you think this is, Park Avenue? Mercy, no. I scrubbed all our floors and toilets myself. Still do, thank you very much.”

  Reed closed his eyes, his hopes fading. “I don’t suppose you knew a Carol Frick socially then. Maybe through church or something like that?” The two women were different generations and lived in different parts of the city. If they’d crossed paths some other way, it would be hard to imagine where.

  “Carol Frick, did you say?”

  “That’s ri
ght.”

  “A redhead, wasn’t she? A little bitty thing. Yes, I remember now. We had a terrible ice storm—gosh, it must have been about twenty years ago—and I slipped on the back steps while taking out the garbage. I broke my left leg and was out of commission for six weeks. The neighbors chipped in to hire a woman to come tidy up the place a few times while I was stuck on the couch, and her name was Carol Frick.”

  Reed made a fist of victory. Here was the last puzzle piece. He just had to fit them all together now. “Thank you, Mrs. Goodwin. It would be helpful to know the exact dates that Carol Frick came to your house. Do you think you can find that out?”

  He heard her wooden chair slide out from the table. “I keep all the old calendars. Let me check them for you.”

  He waited, convinced this had to be it. He heard her footsteps and the clunk of the phone against the table as she picked it back up. “It was twenty-one years ago this winter,” she said. “Does that help?”

  Reed did some quick mental math. “Yes, I believe it does.”

  33

  Perfect summer afternoons with a high blue sky and the salty ocean breeze almost made up for the brutal winters that held Boston hostage for nearly one-third of each year. Ellery sat on a shaded bench with Ashley, each of them in possession of a fresh-squeezed lemonade, near enough to see the boats on the harbor. Seagulls swooped in and out around them, patrolling for any piece of lost pretzel or hot dog that a wayward tourist might have dropped. Nearby at a playground, children laughed and chased each other around while tired parents chatted in the shade and called out periodic weak reprimands to stop throwing sand. The parents watched the children. Ellery watched the perimeter out of habit, just in case. Ashley saw her staring and turned her head.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “Nothing.” There was no one. Not this time. “How’s your lemonade?”

  Ashley fiddled with her straw. “It’s good. But we should probably head back soon.”

  Ellery gave her a questioning look. They hadn’t been sitting long, and frankly, her bum ankle could use the rest. “There’s no hurry.”

  “Yeah, there is.” Ashley squinted out at the water. “I called Dad this morning. He’s flying out to pick me up.”

  “Oh. That’s good, I guess.”

  “I thought you’d be happy. I’ll be out of your hair.”

  “No, I, uh, I’m glad you’ve patched things up with him.”

  Her sister snorted and kicked at the grass with one foot. “I didn’t say that. He’s still royally pissed at me for coming out here without asking. But I didn’t have a choice. He wasn’t going to say yes if I’d asked.” She risked a quick look at Ellery and ducked her head. “Neither would you.”

  Ashley was right, but Ellery felt guilty that she knew it. “You don’t know that.”

  “You didn’t tell me. You came to see me when they did the transplant, but you didn’t tell me anything about who you were. You just left after the procedure and didn’t say a word.”

  Ellery pursed her lips. “I wrote to your father. He said you were doing well.”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t say anything to me.” Her voice was small and hurt.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you?” Ashley looked her over searchingly and then slumped back against the bench. “I know I probably seem like some dumb kid to you.”

  “No,” Ellery said with feeling. “That’s not true.”

  “I remind you of him. Dad. Of what he did to you.”

  “Maybe at first. A little. But now you remind me of you.” She smiled at the girl. “And maybe a little bit of me.”

  Ashley smiled back almost shyly. “Really?” She hesitated. “Because I was thinking that I could apply to college out here. Mom says I have a good chance at some big scholarships on account of the cancer. Turns out you can write a kick-ass sympathy essay when you almost die and live to tell about it.”

  A laugh escaped Ellery. “Yeah, that’s about how I did it.” She hadn’t considered this commonality with Ashley before. Odds said they should both be dead, and yet here they sat in the summer sun.

  “And maybe, if I came out here for school, we could hang out sometime. Almost like real sisters.”

  “We’re already real sisters.”

  “Yeah?” Ashley smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You said Dad’s not ever going to be your father again.”

  “That’s different,” Ellery replied with a sigh. “And it was his decision. He’s the one who walked out and made no effort to contact me for years. Daniel died thinking his father didn’t give a damn about him. Maybe it wasn’t true, but that’s how it felt from our end, and he did nothing to show us otherwise.”

  Ashley nodded, glum. “You can’t forgive him. I understand.”

  “What he did to us doesn’t matter for you. I’m glad he got his act together and that he’s been a good dad to you. You deserve that. It’s not your fault he settled down and stayed.”

  Ashley turned to her. “And it’s not your fault he left.”

  Dammit, she was not going to cry in front of this girl. Ellery squeezed Ashley’s hand as hard as she could. “That’s right,” she said, her throat tight. “It’s not. So what do you say we head back and meet the old bastard?”

  At the apartment, Ashley gathered her things while Ellery limped around tidying with Reed fussing behind her. “I can do this,” he said as she attempted to fold a blanket with one arm. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

  “By the time I tell you, I can do it myself.”

  He folded his arms. “Are you sure about that?”

  She cursed as the blanket slipped through her fingers. “I don’t even want him here,” she said in a low voice.

  “Then he waits downstairs,” Reed declared flatly. “You don’t have to let him in if you don’t want to.”

  “Part of me does want to,” she said, angry at the tinge of hysteria in her voice. “That’s the crazy part. I want him to see this place and know I can afford it. I earned it. I decorated it. I live here by myself and I’m completely fine with it.”

  “I know you are,” Reed said, trying to be soothing.

  She let the blanket fall to her feet. “I hate that I even care what he thinks.”

  Reed stooped to pick up the blanket and he folded it in two seconds with his perfectly good arms. He handed it back to her with a tender smile and she held it against her chest like armor. “You won. He lost. He probably doesn’t even realize how much he lost, and that’s a shame. But it’s his shame, not yours.”

  “Right.” She took a deep breath just as the buzzer rang. “It’s show time.”

  John Hathaway looked relieved that she opened the door for him. “Ellie.” She still hadn’t adjusted her mental image of him as the big strong man who walked out the door. He was older and grayer now, still tall but not as beefy. His brawn had moved to his gut and stayed there. “It’s good to see you,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  She replied with a curt nod. “Come in. Ashley’s about ready.”

  Bump read her body language and hung back behind her rather than giving his usual enthusiastic greeting. Her father tried. “Hey there, boy. Aren’t you a handsome fella?”

  Bump gave two perfunctory thumps of his tail and looked to Ellery for guidance. “Oh, go ahead,” she muttered, and he went almost sheepishly, his tail between his legs, to collect his ear rubs and pats on the back. He returned immediately after to her side.

  Her father looked around her loft apartment with naked curiosity. “This is a nice place you have here. Right downtown? Must cost some serious dough.”

  He had left them with no way to pay the rent. Her mother had worked two jobs just so they didn’t get evicted. “I get by,” she said evenly.

  “Hi, Dad.” Ashley appeared with her backpack in hand, and he broke into a wide grin at the sight of her.

  “Ash, I missed you, kid. You about gave me a heart attack, running off like that.” She let
him hug her but did not return the embrace.

  “Running off with no warning,” she said. “It must be in my genes, huh, Pops?”

  He became uneasy once more and let her go. “At the airport, all the TVs were playing some story about a kidnapped girl,” he said to Ellery. “They say you found her.” Ellery said nothing. Her father nodded at the sling. “Looks like you went about twenty rounds with the guy, eh? I always knew you were tough.”

  Ellery looked away. Whatever you have to tell yourself to make it through the night, she thought.

  “Dad, shouldn’t we be going?” Ashley said pointedly.

  He looked to Ellery like he wanted to say more but didn’t have the words. “Yeah, I guess so,” he said at length. “Thanks for looking after my girl.”

  “She’s part mine now,” Ellery replied.

  Ashley beamed and rocked on her toes with happiness. She bounced in front of Ellery and then sized up her injuries. “A half hug for a half sister?” she suggested, holding out one arm.

  “Give me a second.” Ellery grimaced as she slowly removed the sling. “There,” she said, cautiously extending both arms. “The whole tamale.”

  Ashley teared up again as she moved in for a cautious embrace. “Thank you,” she whispered against Ellery’s uninjured shoulder. “For everything.”

  Ellery touched the back of the girl’s head. “Text me when you get home.”

  She watched from the window as they climbed into a ride share and drove away. She turned to find Reed had disappeared into her bedroom again, and she dragged herself to collapse on the couch. Bump joined her and she closed her eyes, enjoying the quiet of her mostly empty apartment. Her father’s remarks made her curious about the newscasts and what they might be saying about Bobby Frick. She located the remote and clicked around until she found the local news, where, to her horror, she found her own face. A woman with a frosted-blond bob and impossibly red lipstick was opining about her relationship with Reed.

  “You have to remember, Cindy, they met under extremely emotional circumstances. Frightening circumstances. The moment of her rescue would be supercharged in their brain circuitry forever. Strong emotions like that can take on different emotional shading with time.”