He liked to think of it at the time as public relations.
And when he made detective, well, it wasn’t like the movies, where you were running down alleys and jumping over fences. You spent your time talking to witnesses and making notes and sitting at a desk and writing reports and phoning people.
Every year, he got just a little bit heavier.
And now, he figured, he was at least eighty pounds over what he should be. All these thoughts ran through his head in the seconds before he stepped under the hot water. That, and one other thing.
The number 23.
Three times in one day that number had reared its head. Twenty-three dead squirrels. The number on the Ferris wheel carriage holding the three painted mannequins. That student’s hoodie.
Maybe it was nothing, he thought, as he soaped his considerable belly. There were numbers surrounding us all the time. There were probably numerical coincidences everywhere if you knew where to look. License plates, dates of birth, home addresses, Social Security numbers.
And yet . . .
He’d keep his eyes open. Have that number in the back of his mind as he continued with his investigation. Make that investigations.
Now that Angus Carlson was going to be assisting, Duckworth hoped he could hand off some of his workload. Assuming Carlson would be starting in the detective division today, Duckworth was going to give him a list of things to look into. Those strung-up squirrels for starters. See if he thought they were so funny then. And Duckworth still wanted the other Thackeray College students, the three who’d been attacked before last night, interviewed. Maybe Joyce wasn’t the only one who’d heard some very strange comments from Mason Helt. Finally, he wanted Carlson to go back out to Five Mountains and find out who fired up the Ferris wheel.
Duckworth could concentrate his efforts on the Rosemary Gaynor investigation, and finding the missing nanny, Sarita Gomez. The old guy who lived next door said she worked shifts at a nursing home, but didn’t know which one. There were several in the Promise Falls area, so it might be better to go to the station and work the phones than drive from facility to facility.
He cranked the taps shut, reached for the towel, stepped out onto the mat. He was holding the towel around his waist—there wasn’t quite enough material to allow him to tuck it into place—and glanced out the bathroom window, which looked out onto the street.
That white van from the night before was still there. Even though the sun wasn’t quite up yet, Barry could make out the words written on the side.
Finley Springs Water.
He blinked a couple of times to be sure he was reading that correctly. What the hell was Randall Finley’s van doing parked out front of his house? Was that actually the same van that had been there the night before?
Had Randy been waiting to talk to him last night and returned this morning?
He skipped shaving. Duckworth ran his fingers through his hair, dressed hurriedly, not bothering with a tie, which he could do after breakfast, and followed the smell of brewing coffee to the kitchen below.
“It’s ready,” Maureen said when he came into the room.
“What’s Randall Finley doing here?”
“What?” she said.
“Finley, you know—first-class asshole, former mayor? That Finley?”
“I know who you mean. He’s here?”
“His van’s parked across the street. I think it’s been there all night. Was he hiding under our bed?”
“You got me. We’ve been having an affair for the last six months.”
Duckworth stared at her and waited.
Maureen smiled, let out a short laugh. “That’s not Finley’s van. I mean, yes, it belongs to his company, but Trevor’s got it.”
“Why would our son have Finley’s van?”
“I’m sure it’s not the only van Finley owns,” Maureen said. “The man probably has a small fleet of them. You could hardly run a bottled-water company with just one van.”
“That’s not the question,” Duckworth said, growing more impatient with each passing second. “Why is our son driving that man’s truck?” He paused. “And why is it here?”
“Trevor paid me a little surprise visit last night,” Maureen said. “I mean, he was coming to visit both of us, but you ended up working late. He’s upstairs, asleep, although he’ll probably be down any minute. He has to be at work at seven thirty.”
“Our son is working for Finley?”
Maureen nodded enthusiastically. “I know! Isn’t it wonderful? He’s been going through such a bad patch. The breakup with Trish, trying to find work. Now he’s got this job and I think it’s doing wonders for him. I could see a real change in him. It’s taken him forever to move past losing that girl, and add to that being out of work, and—”
“He can’t work for that man,” Duckworth said, taking a seat at the kitchen table.
“Now you’re talking like a crazy person,” his wife said, filling a cup with coffee and putting it in front of him. “Our son gets a job and you want him to quit?”
“What’s he doing for him?” he asked.
Maureen put a fist on her hip. “You’re the detective. There’s a truck on the street, filled with cases of bottled water. Trevor has the key, which allows him to take this truck anywhere he pleases. I’ll wait while you put it together.”
There was noise on the floor above them. Trevor’s old bedroom, where he hadn’t lived for a couple of years. He was getting up.
“He was sorry to have missed you last night,” she said.
“I’ll just bet he was.”
“But at least you get a chance to see him this morning.” When Duckworth said nothing, she continued. “Don’t you be negative about this. Don’t go bursting his bubble.”
“I’m not going to be negative. I just want to know how he ended up working for that asshole.”
“That’s the spirit,” she said.
“He should go back to school, learn a trade. Not drive a truck around for some blowhard.”
Trevor showed up a minute later, his hair suggestive of some sort of electrocution. He had on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. He gave his mother a kiss. “Thought I’d grab some breakfast before I get dressed,” he said to her. He looked at his father and smiled as he ran his fingers through his hair.
“What’s going on with you and Finley?” Duckworth asked.
“Good morning to you, too, Dad,” he said.
“When’d you start working for him?”
“A week ago,” he said.
“How’d that come about?”
“I saw an ad online. He was looking for drivers; I applied; I got it. Is that a problem?”
“Your father and I are delighted,” Maureen said. “Is it part-time, full-time?”
“Full-time,” Trevor said. “It’s not a ton of money, but it’s better than what I was making before, which was a big fat zilch.”
“Does he know who you are?” his father asked.
“Uh, well, I filled out the application form with my name on it, so I would say that yes, he knows who I am.”
“That’s not what I mean. Does he know you’re my son?”
“Our son,” Maureen said. “I don’t remember you making him alone.”
“Shit, I don’t know, probably,” Trevor said. “I mean, he probably told me at some point to say hello. So, hello.”
Duckworth shook his head.
“I don’t need this,” Trevor said. “I’ll get something on the way.”
“Trev,” his mother said, but he didn’t stop. Maureen looked at her husband and said, “You can be a real horse’s ass at times. It’s not always about you.”
She set a bowl in front of him. He looked down at it.
“What is this?” he asked.
“That,” she said, “is fruit.”
• • •
When Barry heard the front door open and close, and looked out the window and saw Trevor Duckworth heading for the Finley Springs truck, he chased after hi
m. Trevor was about to close the door when Duckworth, winded, caught up.
“Hey,” he said.
“What?” Trevor said.
“Just give me a second.” He took four deep breaths, then said, “I’m sorry.”
“Sure, whatever.”
“Listen to me. I’m glad you’ve got a job. It’s great. We’re glad to see you get something.”
Trevor, perched on the edge of the driver’s seat, said, “But?”
Duckworth couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, there’s always a but. Look, I’m not going to tell you to quit this job.”
“Like I’d have to if you did.”
“Yeah, I get that. You’re a grown man. You don’t have to do what your parents tell you. All I want to say is, watch your step around Finley.”
“It’s just a job, Dad. I’m delivering water.”
“Sure, that’s the job. But a guy like Finley . . . he always has an agenda. I had a run-in with him yesterday. He wanted something from me I wasn’t prepared to give.”
“What?” Trevor asked.
“An advantage. He wanted to use me to further his ambitions. Wanted me to snitch on others in the department. And I can’t help but wonder if he’d find an angle using you.”
“I just drive, Dad.”
“Okay. I’ve got one last thing I’ll say, and then I’ll shut up about it. Don’t ever compromise yourself with him. Keep your nose clean and don’t make mistakes. Because if he’s got something on you, I promise you, sooner or later, that son of a bitch will use it.”
Trevor’s eyelid fluttered.
“What?” Duckworth asked.
“Nothing,” Trevor said. “I hear ya. I gotta go or I’m going to be late.”
Duckworth stepped back, allowing Trevor to close the door. He started up the van, turned it around in their driveway, and took off up the street.
THIRTY-SIX
David
I popped in to see Ethan before he was out of bed, told him I had a lot of things to do today, and that he’d have to get himself to school. No ride.
“Okay,” he said.
“You feel better?” I asked. It was meant as a general question. Did he feel better about Carl, after their meeting the night before? After showing him Dad’s model railroad? And after getting the pocket watch back?
“My tummy’s okay this morning,” he said. So he’d taken the question more literally, but in a way, answered the question I thought I’d asked. If he wasn’t feigning illness, and wasn’t anxious about attending school, then maybe he did feel better about things generally.
I hadn’t planned to have breakfast, but Mom had already put a cup of coffee at my place at the table. I grabbed it without sitting down, took a sip, set it on the counter.
“I have to go,” I said. To Dad, who was struggling as usual with the tablet, jabbing it like he was Moe poking Curly’s eyes out, I said, “Ethan can walk today. Scoot him out in plenty of time to get to school.”
“Sure. He gonna have any more trouble with that boy?”
“I hope not.”
Dad nodded. “That’s good.”
There was something different about him today. Actually, I’d noticed it first late yesterday. He was more pensive. When he’d put his arms around me in the garage and intimated he wasn’t the good man I’d always thought he was, I’d wondered what he was beating himself up about. Maybe it had something to do with Mom. I could tell something was going on with her. That she was becoming more forgetful, that Dad was covering up her mistakes. I could see that getting him down, but if Dad was being any less attentive, less supportive, the evidence wasn’t there. He seemed as devoted to her as always.
“I saw that girl,” Mom said, sitting down with her own coffee.
“What girl?”
“The one who came over last night with her boy. She seemed nice.”
“You didn’t even talk to her, Mom. I didn’t even know you’d seen her.”
“I was looking out the window,” she said.
Ethan and I had to get out of this house.
“Yes, she seemed nice,” I said. “But she’s got plenty of baggage.”
“Who doesn’t?” Mom asked. “You think we didn’t have baggage when we met each other?”
Dad looked up from the tablet. “David doesn’t need to take on another woman with a checkered past,” he said. “What did that detective say?”
“What detective?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”
“In the books. There were a whole bunch of them.” Dad had read a lot of crime fiction over the years. “This one had ‘money’ in the title, I think. The detective says something like, ‘Never go to bed with a girl who’s got more troubles than you do.’”
“Donald!” Mom said.
The thing was, Dad, or the detective he was quoting, was right. I didn’t need more problems. I had something of a history trying to rescue damsels in distress and it had not gone well. Sam Worthington sounded like another one. An ex-husband serving time for bank robbery and nasty in-laws who wanted custody of Carl.
That wasn’t a checkered past. That was a shitstorm.
And despite that, I hadn’t stopped thinking about Sam all night.
I needed to get her out of my head. I had more than enough to worry about. I had a new job working for Randall Finley, and was committed to looking into Marla’s situation, hoping I might find something that would help her.
I’d start with that.
“I really have to go,” I said. I took one more sip of the coffee and poured the rest into the sink.
When I opened the door, I nearly ran down my aunt, but managed to stop short.
She was just about to ring the bell. “Aunt Agnes,” I said.
“David,” she said. “I apologize for coming by unannounced.”
“No, that’s okay. Come in.”
As she stepped inside she said, “Your mother’s been calling about Marla, and I thought I’d drop by and bring everyone up-to-date.”
I called into the house. “Mom! Agnes is here!”
I heard a chair scraping across the floor. A second later Mom appeared and hobbled toward her sister. Her leg was still hurting. The two of them threw their arms around each other. Despite my aunt’s reputation for coldness, and the strain that sometimes existed between her and my mother, I guessed that deep down, they still cared for each other. Aunt Agnes just wasn’t very good at showing it sometimes.
“How is she?” Mom asked. “How is Marla doing?”
“She’s okay,” Agnes said. “Hello, Don.” Dad had made his way out of the kitchen to see what was going on. “I know you’ve been phoning and I thought I’d just stop by and tell you she’s probably going to come home today, although frankly, having her at the hospital is great, because I can wander up there anytime I want to see her. But it’s the wrong place for her. She needs to be home. Gill and I are going to spell each other so there’s always someone there.”
“What about . . .” Dad started to ask. “You know, the baby, and the woman . . .”
Agnes smiled, clearly understanding what he was trying to ask, but didn’t want to put into words. “The police are doing what they have to do, and we’re doing what we have to do. I’ve got Natalie Bondurant on it.”
“Do you really think Marla should be going home this soon?” Mom asked. “I mean, considering what she tried to do, wouldn’t it be better—”
“I think I know what I’m doing where my own daughter is concerned,” Agnes said.
“Of course,” Mom said. “Of course you do. All I’m saying is, if something did happen again, if there was another . . . incident . . . it might be better if she was already at the hospital and—”
“Arlene, please,” Agnes said.
Mom said nothing, at least for a couple of beats. I guessed she’d gotten the message. Back off.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Mom said. “You think I don’t know anything.”
“I didn’t say that,” Ag
nes said. “I’m just making the point that Marla is my daughter, not yours, and I resent that you would suggest that I don’t have her best interests at heart.”
“My God, I never said such a thing,” Mom said. “You’re putting words into my mouth.”
“For Christ’s sake, stop it,” Dad said. “Both of you. Arlene, your sister’s going to know what’s best for her own daughter.”
Mom glared at my father for what she surely saw as treason. She took a second to compose herself, underwent an emotional reboot, and said to Agnes, “I’m very sorry if you thought that was what I meant. Anything you need, you just ask. You know we think the world of Marla and would do anything to help her.” She reached out and took her sister’s hand in hers. Agnes didn’t do anything to stop her.
“Thank you,” my aunt said, her voice still slightly frosty.
“And David’s going to help, you know.”
Agnes shot a smile at me that seemed genuine. “I know. And I appreciate that. I truly do. Listen, I must get to the hospital, for more reasons than I can count. David, I seem to have caught you as you were leaving. I’ll head out with you.”
Agnes allowed Mom to give her a half hug and kiss, and Dad offered the same gesture. Heading down the steps, she said to me, “I’m glad I caught you.”
“Yeah,” I said. “This is good.”
“I know the kind of signals I send off. That I don’t need anyone’s help. That I know everything. That I’m too proud to accept assistance.” Maybe she was waiting for me to contradict her. When I didn’t, she smiled. “I know yesterday, when I found you and Marla at the Gaynors’ house, I may not have seemed very appreciative of what you’d done. Trying to get to the bottom of things. And for that I apologize.”
“It was a stressful time,” I offered.
“Indeed.” We had reached her car, a silver Infiniti sedan. “But I have to put my ego aside. This is about Marla. I know she may not always speak highly of me, but she’s the most important thing in the world to me, and all I want is for her to get through this.”
She placed a hand on my wrist, and I could feel it tremble.
“She’s my baby,” she said. “My one and only. I’ll do anything to help her with this.” Agnes kept a grip on my wrist. “I have one request, however.”
Broken Promise Page 22
