The Laura Cardinal Novels (29 page)

She had never been so tired. Perhaps it was because she felt like a guest at her own scene. She was allowed to gather evidence, but always under the watchful eyes of the FDLE special agents. She chafed; she never did well where she didn’t have some control.

They finished processing the house early in the evening of the next day. Laura realized she was starving. She went by the deli on Market and got herself a submarine sandwich and a bottle of water, took them down to Battery Park. It was the first food she’d had all day.

After finishing her sandwich, she walked out onto the long dock. There was a slight squall out in the bay tonight, the scent of rain hanging in the air, and the sky alternated between bruised blue and copper when the sun came through. Fishing boats—she guessed a lot of them were charters—were coming in at sunset.

Why did he booby trap the tunnel? That bothered her. If he was protecting the de Seroux house, did he really think the booby trap would stop the police? Or maybe was it just to kill whoever got that far—because he could.

Maybe he did it because he was embarrassed by the house itself, what it said about him—his obsession with Misty, his shrine to his mother’s memory, the Victorian parlor. Mother and son sewing together. Maybe he wanted to hurt whoever became privy to his secret life.

Impossible to know what was in his mind.

Tomorrow morning they would search the tunnel again. Maybe she’d find her answer then. But she was beginning to believe it was just what her mother used to call pure bloody-mindedness.

She’d have to ask him when she met him face to face.

A pristine white sportsfisher was coming in, dropping down into idle just inside the no-wake zone.
Freedom’s Daughter
was written in blue cursive on the bow. Laura felt her spirit lift just looking at it.

“I’ve always wanted a boat like that,” Chief Redbone said behind her.

For a big man, he was light on his feet.

“Lot of work though,” he added, leaning on the dock railing. “Time and money both.”

The light had turned red now.

“That’s a beautiful name for a boat,” Laura said.

“I sure do second that.”

Laura felt uncomfortable around him. The only time they had spent together since the tragedy was on the drive to FDLE in Tallahassee. She had not seen him since.

“How’s it going over there?” he asked now.

She shrugged. “We haven’t found much.”

He sighed. “Glad I’m out of it.”

He didn’t sound devastated. He sounded like his old self. Laura wondered if that was a front.

“How’s Mrs. Descartes doing?”

He leaned his back against the railing. His eyes looked like dark pebbles in his face, which seemed unusually slack. “About as well as you’d expect, which is not good at all.”

“I should have gone with you. I feel responsible.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” He said it, but she could tell he didn’t believe it.

“Will she be all right? Financially?”

“She and Andy belong to the Church of Christ. Don’t have to worry about making ends meet, not in this town. We take care of our own.”

Laura opened her mouth to tell him she wished she could help, but said nothing. She could tell from the tone of his voice that she in fact wouldn’t be asked to help. She was the stranger here.

And so she watched
Freedom’s Daughter
glide under the bridge and into the Apalachicola River. Such a beautiful town. Easy and slow. She’d brought her big city troubles here, destroyed lives.

Chief Redbone stared straight ahead. “Thought you’d want to know Jerry Oliver’s been upgraded to guarded. They think he’ll be all right, although he lost the eye.”

She nodded. “There are a few things we need to discuss. Will you be in the office tomorrow?” she asked him.

“Nope. I’m pretty much done here.”

“What do you mean?”

He leveled his gaze on her. “I’m through with this. It wasn’t what I signed up for.”

“You mean you’re quitting?”

“Been there, done that, as they say.”

“What will happen now?”

“They’re plenty of folks wanting this job. They’re welcome to it.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Me?” He thought about it. “First thing I’m gonna do is go fishing.”

She thought he was done, but he stared back out at the bay and continued, “Hasn’t been one bad thing that a few days of fishing didn’t cure, at least for me. Even my divorce. Thing is, though," he massaged his forehead over one eye, “I don’t think I can ever get that picture of Andy out of my mind.”

Chief Redbone left not long after that. Laura remained until it was dark, staring out at the bay and the ocean beyond. It was a short walk to the Gibson Inn, but as Laura started back she became aware of someone in the corner of her eye angling toward her at a rapid pace.

She was reaching for the Sig Sauer on her hip when she smelled the aftershave.

Old Spice. A familiar shape.

She left the gun where it was as Frank Entwistle materialized beside her. She heard the tiny wheezes through his nostrils he always made whenever he tried to keep up with her.

“What are you doing here?”

“Thought you could use some backup. Emotionally speaking.”

“Emotionally speaking.”

“Yeah, you know. Be your sounding board." He waved his cigarette and the cherry danced around them like a flying saucer.

Laura was weary of this.

“If you’re so tuned in to me and my problems, why didn’t you give me a heads-up on the booby trap?"
Why didn’t you save Andy Descartes?

In the dark, his face was the color of ash and about as amorphous. “Could you slow down a little? You know I have a bum knee.”

He stopped, so she stopped too. “To answer your question, I’m not a mind-reader. I don’t have a crystal ball either.”

“Then what the hell are you?”

He shrugged his shoulders in his ill-fitting coat and loosened his tie.

“I been tryin’ to figure it out. You’re not the only one who’s affected by this situation.” He swiped at his forehead with the back of his hand. “Damn, it’s humid here. This is only a hunch, kiddo, but it could be I’m part of your subconscious.”

Laura watched as a stream of cars came down the Gorrie St. Bridge, headlights flaring behind the dead homicide dick and turning him into a silhouette.

“Why are you here?”

He shrugged. “Beats me.”

“Then why do you keep showing up?”

“Look, you’re the one who’s pulling all the strings. It’s pretty clear you need me.”

“Need you?”

Her phone chirped. She recognized the number that flashed on the screen—Victor’s home phone.

Frank was saying, “If I were you I’d—“

“Just a second,” she said to Entwistle, holding up a hand. She wanted to catch Victor before it went to voice mail. Maybe he’d had some luck tracing Lundy.

Entwistle said: “You sure you want to answer that?” just as Victor said something in her ear.

Laura stared from the phone in her hand to Entwistle. “Why wouldn’t I want to an—”

“Why wouldn’t you what?” asked Victor.

Laura looked at the spot where Entwistle had been. Gone.

Gradually it came through, what Victor was saying.

Frank Entwistle was right; Laura wished she could somehow deflect the words coming from Victor’s mouth.

SUMMER

Summer didn’t like lying to her mom, but she knew she’d never get to meet James if she didn’t. There was no way she was going to miss out on the most important day of her life.

“You sure Chrissy’s mom’ll bring you home?” her mom said as they pulled up in front of McDonalds.

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t want to impose.”

“She doesn’t mind. She likes driving.”

“You have to be home by nine o’clock. No later.”

“Sure, Mom.”

She got out of the car, holding her new shoulder-strap purse that went with her sandals, leaning in and giving her mom a kiss on the cheek. And then she was free.

Her mom pulled out and nearly got wiped out by a bigger SUV. She never did pay attention to her driving. She was just totally unawares, driving away but looking back, waving. As if she’d never see her again.

She always did that.

Her mom treated her like a kid in so many ways, but she also treated her as if she was already an adult. She really liked to “talk things out." Communication was a big thing in their house. Her mom—who had just recently asked Summer to call her Beth—always said, “There’s no problem too big to tackle if we just communicate.”

Summer glanced at her watch. Seven o’clock. She was glad about the timing. Butthead Bryan was coming over tonight, and when that happened, her mom, who was usually pretty level-headed, kind of lost it. She would do
anything
for him. She acted like a servant, waiting on him hand and foot. Bryan would be
thrilled
that she, Summer, was out of the way, over at a friend’s house. That way they could do the nasty.

She knew that James wouldn’t pat her butt the way Bryan patted her mom’s, right in front of her. James had respect for women. When she and James made love, it would be beautiful. It would be right.

She found a table by the window inside so she could see the parking lot. It wasn’t dark yet, but it was getting harder to see, especially because headlights were just coming on and they glared in the plate glass windows. Still, she’d know a Z4 anywhere.

She waited, and she waited.

It was getting darker by the minute. Every time a car pulled into the parking lot, she felt this incredible thrill. But none of them was a Z4. She glanced at her watch again. Had it really been ten minutes?

That was when the first doubt crept in. Maybe he was going to stand her up. She pictured having to walk to Chrissy’s in the dark and facing her friends, telling them he didn’t show up.

No. He wouldn’t do that. She and Jamie had some very open and honest conversations in the two and a half months since they’d met on WiNX, had talked for hours online and on the phone. She had fallen in love with him even before she knew what a hunk he was.

She knew he loved her. He sent her the MP3. He wouldn’t have done that if he wasn’t planning to meet her.

Of course her dad found out and took the MP3 player. He even read their e-mails!

Her face flamed as she thought of that.

“Summer?”

She looked in the direction of the voice. A middle-aged guy was making his way through the restaurant toward her.

“Are you Summer?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.” She waited for him to come up to her. He was breathing through his mouth and sweating from the heat. He wasn’t much taller than she was and looked a little like Mr. Murray, who taught fifth-period math.

“I’m a friend of James. He got tied up and couldn’t make it, so he asked me to pick you up." The man added, “I bet you’re thinking you shouldn’t go with me, but really, it’s all right. James is staying with me while he’s here.”

“You’re Dale?”

He looked surprised. “He mentioned me? Well, that’s cool. All he’s been talking about is Summer Summer Summer. I didn’t think he’d even mention me.” He smiled. His smile was so homely, it made her feel good. “Let’s go rustle up old Jamie.”

She followed him through the parking lot to a white GEO Prizm—not exactly what she’d been dreaming of.

He held the car door open for her, and for a moment she almost balked. Technically, he was a stranger. But if she didn’t go with him, it would all be for nothing. She wouldn’t get to go on her date.

Plus, James had mentioned Dale.

Dale was looking at her, frowning a little. As if he thought she didn’t trust him, and this disappointed him.

She got in.

They pulled out of the parking lot and drove south on Swan. She was aware that he kept sneaking peeks at her. She knew she looked good in her denim skirt and her pink peasant top; getting looked at was nothing unusual. “Why couldn’t James come?” she asked him.

“He’s working on his folks’ motor home. The air conditioner is on the fritz.”

“His parents are here too?”

“Yeah. They’re good friends of mine. That’s how I got to know Jamie. He was the one who got me into dirt bikes."

James had told her that he raced dirt bikes. He also loved to hike and camp. They had that in common; when her parents were still together, they had a camper and would go all over the place.

But now she had another worry. James’s parents. What if they thought she was too young? What if they called her mom? Worse, her dad? She thought about this as they drove. Pretty soon she noticed they were driving through an ugly area, past a big electric plant. Dale glanced at her. “Almost there.”

He turned onto the Old Benson Highway. This was a scrubby part of town—desert, old motels, and mobile home sales. She wondered why James would stay way out here.

They drove past motels with western names, crummy old places with peeling walls and rusty signs. Past a vacant lot that seemed to go on forever. The headlights picked out the desert broom that grew alongside the road. Her mom had a constant battle with the stuff in their little yard of the new townhouse.

“Here we are,” Dale said.

A weathered sign under a light on a tall pole said, EL RANCHO TRAILER COURT. Dale turned onto a narrow lane between two rows of trailers jam-packed together.

“He’s staying
here
?”

“It’s close to the airport.”

Gravel popped off the GEO’s tires as they drove slowly up the lane. The trailers looked dented and ancient—one of them had painted-over windows and was the color of dried blood.

That carnival ride thrill again, only this time it didn’t feel so good.

She glanced at Dale. He was humming a tune under his breath, like he was the happiest man in the world.

The window shades of the trailers they passed were all pulled down, dim light seeping out from underneath, flickering blue. She pictured hillbillies in their underwear watching TV and drinking beer in front of an electric fan. They drove by a dead palm that looked like a witch’s broomstick, and stopped behind a motor home parked at the end of the lane.