Unspeakable (28 page)

“Of course not,” Olivia sighed. She walked around near the back of the machine, where she saw a tangled mess of cords on the desk—and a power strip on the floor. The woman crouched down on one knee to plug in the machine. Olivia noticed the other end of the cord drop from the twisted heap and land on the floor. Someone had cut it.

“No, wait!” Olivia yelped.

The woman balked and dropped the plug. Wide-eyed, she gaped up at her. Then she seemed to notice the cut cord she was about to plug in. “Did you do this?” she asked, bracing herself with one hand on the floor. “This is dangerous! If I'd plugged this in, I could have . . .” She trailed off, and put a hand over her heart. She looked a little wobbly.

Olivia noticed people on the other side of the room staring at them.

It took her ten more minutes to convince the lady and the maintenance man that she hadn't sabotaged the machines.

“Somebody could have gotten killed,”
the librarian had muttered.

Stepping outside, Olivia lit up a much needed cigarette—her first today. The sidewalks were practically empty on this chilly Sunday night. She trudged uphill on the steep sidewalk to where she'd parked the car on Sixth Avenue. She never got to read about the two other murders and the second fire. But she had the scanned copy of the article from 1964.

The librarian had kept asking, “Well, if you didn't cut those cords, then who did?”

“I have no idea,” Olivia had told her again and again.

Olivia spied the darkened doorways of the buildings. She nervously glanced down an alleyway as she hurried by. The wind blew a piece of paper past her. She kept looking over her shoulder for whoever was out there.

As she'd told the librarian—she had no idea who it was.

But Olivia had a feeling he knew her very, very well.

“S
even-thirty on a Sunday night,” announced his grandfather—over the ringing telephone. He hit the pause button on the TV remote. He was ensconced in his favorite chair with a TV table in front of him. “I'll bet it's some stupid telemarketer.”

The cordless was on the table lamp beside him. Dee had made stuffed pork chops for dinner, and TCM was showing
Doctor Zhivago
. For the last forty-five minutes, Collin hadn't been able to figure out what the hell was going on in the Russian epic, but he'd fallen in love with Julie Christie. She'd helped him take his mind off his troubles for a little while. Then the phone had rung, and he was back to reality again.

His grandfather checked the caller ID. “So—does anyone know who Olivia Barker is?”

Collin hesitated, and then watched his grandfather click on the cordless. “Hello,” he grumbled into the phone. He was dead silent for a few moments.

“Who is it?” Dee asked. With a TV table in front of her, she sat on the other end of the sofa from Collin.

Old Andy waved her question away. “Uh-huh,” he said into the phone. “He's here right now. He's been here all day. We're just finishing up dinner. I'll hand you off to him. . . . Well, yes. It's been nice talking with you, too.” He held the cordless out to Collin. “It's Gail's aunt.”

Moving the TV table aside, Collin got to his feet and took the phone. “Um, you guys keep watching the movie. I'll see it some other time. I've still got homework to do.” He headed into the kitchen and heard them start the movie. “Hello, Olivia?” he whispered into the phone.

“Hi, Collin. Your grandfather says you've been home all afternoon. Is that right?”

“Yeah, I've been here.”

“You haven't had an extended memory lapse or anything like that today?”

“No. Why?” He headed for the front door. “What's going on? Did something happen?”

“I—I was at the library today, and thought I might have seen you. Never mind.”

Stepping outside, Collin left the front door open a crack. The night air chilled him, but he walked down to the driveway—just to make sure his grandparents didn't hear him. “Are we still on for five o'clock tomorrow?”

“Yes,” she said. “Listen, just to double-check on that policeman, Ian Haggerty. You said he's a friend of yours. Is that right?”

“Yeah, he's a nice guy. He's cool.”

“You didn't seem too happy to see him at the memorial service.”

“Oh, I was just surprised he was there. Plus, my grandfather doesn't like him much. So it was kind of awkward.”

“Why doesn't your grandfather like him?”

“I'm not sure, really. When the cops were guarding the house for the first month after my mom was killed, Ian was the only nice one. I used to smuggle him Cokes and snacks, and we'd talk. He was like my only friend for a while. My grandfather found out, and put a stop to it.”

“Why'd he do that?”

“I guess he thought it was
inappropriate
, which is a crock. Anyway, my grandfather doesn't trust him. By the way, you never explained. How do you know Ian?”

“I don't,” Olivia said. “He came up to me on the ferry yesterday on the way back from the service. He asked a lot of questions. He said he was your friend.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Oh, how I knew you, that sort of thing. Don't worry. I didn't tell him anything. I didn't talk with him very long. But I have to agree with your grandfather. I don't quite trust him.”

“Ian's okay, really,” Collin said. But suddenly he wasn't so sure.

“Well, maybe it's my suspicious nature,” Olivia sighed. “Before I forget, could you email me that recording you made of our session on Thursday night? I'd like to look it over before we meet tomorrow.”

“Sure, no problem, I'll do it right away.”

“Good. See you tomorrow at five. Good night, Collin.” She hung up.

Clicking off the phone, Collin stepped back into the house and returned the cordless to the family room. His grandfather put Julie Christie on pause again. “So what's going on with Gail's aunt?” he asked.

Collin collected his grandfather's dinner plate and silverware. “She wanted to thank me again for coming to the memorial.” He grabbed his grandmother's plate and then his own.

“Thanks, honey,” Dee said. “Just leave those by the sink. I'll wash them later.”

Retreating to the kitchen, he set the dirty plates in the sink. He glanced back toward the family room, and quietly slipped out the front door again. He took his iPhone from his pocket and composed an email:

He started to type,
I think you're wrong about Ian,
but erased it. He signed off,
Take Care, Collin.
Then he attached the file for the video and sent it.

He rubbed his arms to fight off the chill, and gazed at the shadowy driveway ahead. He couldn't see the gate. Everything turned to black after a curve in the gravel trail. Collin clicked on his phone again, pulled up Ian's number, and dialed it. He figured he was standing far enough away from the front door—and the intercom by the gate—so his grandfather wouldn't overhear.

Ian answered on the third ringtone. “Collin?”

“Hi. Did I get you at a bad time?”

“No, not at all,” he said. “What's going on?”

Collin wandered down the driveway. “Sorry I couldn't get together with you yesterday.”

“No sweat. Bad timing on my part. Your grandfather seems to have come around a little. He certainly was friendly enough. Or maybe he was just putting on a good front.”

“To tell you the truth, he hasn't changed much,” Collin admitted. “He doesn't trust you. He thinks you might be trying to pin something on me for what happened to Gail and Fernando—like I might have been responsible for them getting killed.”

“Well, he's wrong. I'm just concerned about you, that's all.”

“Gail's aunt called. She says she met you on the ferry yesterday. She says you were asking a lot of questions.”

“Yeah, I was curious about how she knew you. Collin, what are you getting at?”

“Well, what are
you
getting at?” he retorted. “I'm sorry, but you showed up out of the blue at the memorial—based on a hunch that I might have been friends with Gail? Don't get me wrong. I was glad to see you. But it's just kind of weird. I don't know. . . .”

Collin turned toward the house again. He saw something dart between two trees by the living room window. It kept moving. Bushes rustled, and suddenly a tall man's silhouette emerged from the darkness. He wove through the trees and bushes along the driveway. He was coming toward him.

Collin's heart stopped.

The front door swung open. Collin's grandfather appeared in the doorway. “Collin, are you out there?” he yelled. There was panic in his voice. He had the cordless phone in his hand. “Get in the house, right now!”

The man disappeared behind the brush, but Collin could still hear his footsteps and twigs snapping. He was paralyzed. The steps were coming closer. He heard the man breathing—and then he seemed to pass him.

“Collin!” his grandfather called again.

All at once, his feet started working, and Collin sprinted toward the house.

His grandfather opened the door wider for him. “Were you meeting somebody out here? Who was that?”

Out of breath, Collin staggered inside. “I don't know. . . .”

His grandfather slammed the door shut and locked it. “Son of a bitch came right up to the window, scared the wits out of your grandmother. . . .”

Wringing her hands, Dee stood in the front hall. “Where did you go off to?”

Collin shrugged. “Nowhere, I just stepped outside for a sec.” He glanced down at his iPhone, and realized he'd hung up on Ian.

“Hello, 9-1-1?” his grandfather was saying into the cordless. “This is Andrew Stampler at 27 Skog-Strand Lane. We have an intruder on the premises.... No, he didn't get into the house. I think he ran away. But I'd like you to get a patrol car over here as soon as possible. . . .”

Dee put a hand on his arm. Collin could feel her trembling. “Your grandfather and I didn't get much of a look at him,” she whispered. “Did you?”

Collin shook his head again. “No, I couldn't even see what he was wearing.”

His grandfather clicked off the cordless. “Who were you talking to out there?”

Wide-eyed, Collin stared at him. He was too frazzled to make up a good lie. And it was too late to hide the cell phone in his hand. Just then, as if on cue, it rang.

“Who is it?” his grandfather demanded to know.

Collin looked at the caller ID. “It's Ian Haggerty,” he admitted. Turning away, he clicked on the phone. “Hi, sorry we were cut off,” he muttered.

“What happened?” Ian asked. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. We had a prowler sneaking around outside the house. But I think he's gone now. We called the police. They're on their way. In fact, I should go. I'll call you later or shoot you an email.”

“All right, do that, because it sounds like we need to talk. Are your grandparents there with you now? Are you sure you're safe?”

“Yeah, we're fine. Talk to you later.” Collin clicked off the line. He sheepishly looked at his grandfather, who still glowered with disapproval.

Collin could hear a police siren in the distance. He wondered if the cops might spot the prowler somewhere alone Skog-Strand Lane. The guy was sure running pretty fast.

He didn't say anything to his grandfather, and he didn't want to overthink it. But he could have sworn when he was talking on the phone just now, Ian had sounded like he was out of breath.

 

 

Three flashlight beams cut though the darkness, rippling over the trees and bushes in his grandparents' front yard. In addition to the three cops combing the woods around the house, two more were out in patrol cars, checking Skog-Strand Lane and Viking Way for the would-be prowler. Collin stood outside the front door with his grandfather watching the eerie light show. Dee was in the kitchen, washing the dinner dishes.

“I made a few calls after we ran into your friend Ian yesterday,” his grandfather said.

At his side, Collin glanced down at the ground. He should have seen this coming.

“First of all,” his grandfather continued, “there isn't a senior at your school named Amanda Brooks. In fact, there's no Amanda Brooks at North Kitsap High at all. So—your pal was lying to me, and you were backing him up.”

“I'm sorry,” Collin murmured.

“Did Ian mention in your brief conversation yesterday that he's on suspension from the police force?”

Bewildered, Collin gazed at him and shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

“He was suspended for two weeks. He beat up a kid—not much older than you. He has one more week to go before he's allowed back.” His grandfather sighed, and put a hand on Collin's shoulder. “The point is, you don't really know him. You only know him from what he's told you—like that business about you reminding him of his little brother. Well, Ian Haggerty doesn't have a little brother. He has an older sister and a widowed mother, both in Pittsburgh—but no little brother.”

Collin winced. “Are you sure?”

“Like I said, I made some calls.” Old Andy squeezed his shoulder. “Now, I want you to be honest with me. Have you told him about any of your crazy reincarnation theories?”

Collin shook his head. “No. I swear I haven't, Grandpa. Yesterday was the first time I saw him or heard from him since they stopped guarding the house in August. I almost called him last week, but I got his machine and hung up. That's the closest I've come to talking with him in months. In fact, I was just out here calling him to find out why he showed up yesterday like he did.”

“And what did he tell you?”

Collin frowned. “He said he was concerned about me, that's all.”

His grandfather said nothing for a moment. He just stared out at the policemen with their flashlights, searching the woods near the end of their driveway.

“Son,” he whispered finally. “Take it from me. He's not your friend.”

 

 

The police continued to search the area for another hour, but they didn't find the prowler. They assured Collin's grandfather that they would put an extra patrol on the cul-de-sac for the next few nights.

Collin was glad to hear that. After what had happened to Gail and Fernando, he was worried about his grandparents' safety. He'd been worried for Mrs. Pollack-Martin, too. Following the service yesterday, he'd tried to phone her several times, but kept getting her answering machine. He'd finally phoned Riverview Manor and asked if she was all right. The operator had told him Mrs. Pollack-Martin had gone out of town, and would be away for several days.

He wondered if anything had happened to make her change her mind and take his advice. Or was this “gone out of town” story concocted by someone as an explanation for her disappearance? Was she ever coming back?

Sitting at his desk, he looked out at Liberty Bay. There was no sign of the boat tonight. He read over an email he'd just composed: