At Risk (13 page)

“I really shouldn’t stay,” Liz said. “I’m not hungry, and—”

“The biggest mistake Jack ever made was to drop you for that worthless sister of yours,” Nora said. “You’re the one I wanted for my Jack. He wouldn’t have turned out nearly as wild if he’d had you to keep him straight.” She locked an arm through Liz’s. “No argument, now. Come and eat supper with us. It’s not as though you haven’t done it a hundred times before.”

“Thank you,” Liz said. “Maybe I could eat a piece of trout. Nobody fries fish like you do.”

“It’s all in the flour coating and keeping the oil hot enough. You can’t overcook fish, or it’s tasteless and tough. And you’ve got to have at least one of Arlie’s biscuits. And I know you like lima beans and dumplings. I bought four bushels at Spence’s last August and froze them. They’re about gone, so if you miss these, you’re out of luck.” Nora squeezed her arm. “You grew up fine. I’m proud of you. You always said you were goin’ to college, but Jack says we have to call you Dr. Clarke now.”

“Not you,” Liz assured her. “For you and my old friends, Liz will do just fine.”

“You may as well drive up to the house,” Nora said. “Kids have been vandalizing trucks and boat trailers. Arlie caught two of them throwing paint on one of his boats last week. Lucky for them, they could run faster than he could. I just went around to the one’s mother and told her that my husband was crazy and carried a forty-five on his hip. I warned her that if she didn’t want her son dead, she’d keep him off this dock.”

“Would Arlie have shot them?”

Nora laughed. “Hell, no. But he would have busted some asses and probably landed in county jail. Kids can do what they please nowadays. Not like it used to be. But Arlie hasn’t been locked up in ten years, and I’d like to keep it that way.” She walked around the car, waited for Liz to unlock the passenger door, and then got in. “You know the way.”

Liz chuckled. “I should. I spent enough time at your house.”

“You’re a good girl, Lizzy, and we’re all proud of you. I wish it could have worked out between you and Jack. I worry about him a lot.”

For an instant, Liz thought of what it would have been like if she’d given her virginity to Jack that summer when she was seventeen. Would they have broken up, or would her love for him have trapped her here in this small fishing town? Would her ambition have been buried under the strain of too many babies and too little money?

“. . . Idiot girl he married,” Nora continued, breaking through Liz’s reverie. “Jack’s got the Rafferty temper, wild as Injuns, all of them. Arlie’s mother was half Nanticoke, and the Raffertys have as much Lenape Injun in them as Irish. Used to be, fishing, running charters gave a man a solid living if he was willing to work hard, but no more. Fish are about gone; water’s polluted with mercury and God knows what other filth. I worry about my Jack, I surely do.”

“He’ll be all right,” Liz assured her with more conviction than she felt. “He said he’d had some college and that he—”

“Hmmph,” Nora scoffed. “Didn’t brag on what kind of trash he’s associating with, did he? If he doesn’t keep his nose clean, he could end up worse than Georgie. He could end up dead.”

Liz pulled into a wide driveway behind a blue compact Toyota and a Ford pickup with black-and-white plates. The two-story rambling Victorian house didn’t look any different from when she’d last laid eyes on it. Half the front had been painted a creamy white, but the paint cans and brushes sat on the bare dirt area that passed for a front lawn. What grass there was clung to the edges of large clay pots bearing wilting pansies and herbs. A crumbling brick walk led to wooden steps, worn smooth by time and weather, and a wide porch that encircled the front and two sides of the house.

A disassembled boat motor held the place of honor near the front door, along with several rocking chairs and a porch swing. The front door was fashioned of colored glass panels and boasted a tarnished brass doorknob and a mail slot that had never been used for mail delivery. Original shutters, painted black, sagged at each side of the large, twelve-paned windows.

Liz couldn’t help smiling. She could have been fourteen again as she followed Nora into the wide front hall with its braided oval rug and brass stands that held, not umbrellas, but fishing poles. The house smelled of lima beans and dumplings and hot biscuits, fresh from the oven. The furniture looked as worn and comfortable as the exterior, not so much untidy as lived in.

“Arlie, look what I found down near the dock!” Nora called.

Her husband, grayer and more stooped than Liz remembered, came through the archway that led to the dining room, a can of Budweiser in one hand. “God-amighty! Look what the wind blew in,” Arlie said. “Look at you. Donald Clarke’s girl, all grown up. You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He grinned, showing the Rafferty clan’s perfect teeth, still intact and only slightly yellowed by age. “We’re just sittin’ down to supper. I’ll set a plate for you.”

“I already asked her, Arlie,” Nora said, shooing the two of them through the formal dining room and into the kitchen. “We don’t eat in there much,” Nora explained, “not unless it’s Thanksgiving. Just the three of us here now, and Jack usually stirs up something for hisself on the
Dolphin III
.” She pushed an orange cat off a cushioned chair. “Sit, sit,” she ordered.

“You took long enough,” Arlie said to his wife. “Did you find it?”

“I swear, men are born without a findin’ gene,” Nora said as she filled a tall glass with ice cubes and followed with cold tea and a slice of lemon. “Arlie lost the phone number of Saturday’s charter, and I had to go lookin’ for it down at the dock. He’d lose his ass if it wasn’t glued to his pizzle. Good thing I was down there. You would have sneaked off without comin’ for a proper visit, wouldn’t you?”

“I meant to come by and—” Liz started.

Arlie took his seat and passed a plate of biscuits to her. “When? You’ve been back at the old place for a couple of years, haven’t you? Don’t think we didn’t hear about it. Joe what’s-his-name who shingled your roof, he goes out with me regular when trout are running. He said you and your daughter had fixed up the old place.”

“Working on it,” she answered. “It all takes time.”

“And money,” Nora put in. She slid a helping of lima beans and dumplings onto Liz’s plate.

“Your daddy would be proud,” Arlie said.

“I hope so.”

“A pity they never found his body,” Nora said. “He deserved a proper burial on Clarke’s Purchase like the rest of his people.”

“I know,” Liz said. “I used to grieve about it, but . . .” She sighed. “It can’t be helped. You know the Delaware Bay. He’s not the first to be lost overboard without a trace.”

“Arlie, want to offer grace?” Nora asked.

Liz bowed her head for the familiar words and then let herself enjoy the company of old friends and the food of her childhood. Nora was full of talk about people and boats that Liz had known, bad storms, tourists, and a run of good-sized trout that were biting on squid.

After supper, there was coffee and homemade apple pie. When Liz drove home, sometime after nine, she felt stronger than she had since she’d discovered Tracy’s murder.

Some things never change, she thought. She’d spent years running from her old life, and in the process, she’d almost forgotten the good times.

When Liz arrived home, Michael’s female German shepherd was waiting for her in the circle of light by the back door, head cocked, ears alert. Liz gave a little sigh of relief when she saw the guard dog. Whoever was playing these stupid games would be in for a huge surprise if he tried to sneak around with Heidi on guard.

“Hello, there.” When the dog didn’t respond, Liz remembered the silent whistle in her purse. She dug it out and blew on it to signal Heidi that she was off duty. The reaction was immediate. This time, when she called Heidi’s name, the animal trotted toward her, tongue lolling, eyes wide and friendly. “Good girl, good Heidi.” Liz took a dog biscuit from the bag on her car seat and offered it to her. Heidi nibbled it daintily and wagged her tail. “Yes, you’re a good girl,” Liz assured her.

She crossed to the porch. It was as clean as she’d left it—no grisly flowers, and no dead animals. Humming to herself, Liz unlocked the back door, pushed it open, and called Heidi in.

The phone on the kitchen wall was ringing. Liz ran to get it. “Hello!”

A tinny, almost mechanical voice crackled, “Ready or not, here I come.”

“Who is this? What sick game are you—” The line went dead, and Liz slammed the phone down. She stared at it, trying to shake the unease that pricked the skin on her upper arms. She took two deep breaths and went to the back door, jerked it shut, and turned the deadbolt.

Heidi whined and looked up apprehensively.

“It’s all right,” Liz said. “Just a jerk-off.” But was he? Since she’d discovered Tracy’s body and the disturbing events had started happening here at the house, she’d tried to think rationally. She’d been angry, even unnerved, but she hadn’t been afraid for her personal safety. Not really.

“Suppose I’ve been deceiving myself?” she murmured. “Suppose some psycho is after me and I’m too dumb to realize it?”

The dog tilted her head, a curious expression in her tawny eyes.

Liz wondered if she should call Michael and tell him about the call, but decided that she didn’t want to worry him. What she needed was reassurance, and Michael was a typically paranoid cop who saw perverts behind every tree. He’d only make things worse.

Jack . . . Jack was laid-back. He’d laugh and tell her that most phone harassers were harmless.

She pulled open a cabinet drawer and flipped through the phone book. Not the yellow pages, too expensive. He’d probably list . . . Yes, there it was. Rafferty, Jack.

“Be there,” she murmured as the phone rang, twice, three times. “Answer it, damn you. Pick up the—Jack.” She let out a sigh of relief when she heard his voice. “It’s Liz.”

“I know who it is. Mom told me that I just missed you. I had a charter, and we pulled in to the dock right after you left. Hold on a minute. I just got out of the shower. I’m dripping all over the floor. Let me get a towel.”

“I’m talking to a naked man?” Pleasurable memories of their passionate interlude in her back yard washed over her.

His deep chuckle drove back the shadows. “Okay, Lizzy, I’m now decently covered. What’s up?”

“I just got a crank call.”

“What did they say? Did—”

“Could you come over? Just for a little while. I’d rather . . .” She swallowed her pride. “I need some company. I don’t think I’m in danger. I’ve got a friend’s German shepherd here, but—”

“How about supper?”

“Your mother stuffed me with trout and lima beans with slippery dumplings.” She leaned against the table, suddenly feeling much better.

“No, not you. Me. I haven’t had anything and I’m starved. How about if I pick you up? We can go out to Rick’s Crab Shack. I’ll eat, and you can have a beer with me or eat again. Rick still makes a hell of a softcrab sandwich. I’m buying. What do you say?”

She hesitated. She remembered Rick’s as having great food, but attracting a rough crowd on weekends. This was Monday, and she had told the school she wouldn’t be in until Friday, so . . . “There’s no need to take me out. I could fix you something to eat here.”

“Are you trying to proposition me? Lure me into your house with food and then take advantage of me?”

She laughed. “Is that what it sounds like? Do women make a habit of making excuses to get you to come over?” In her mind, she could almost see Jack, towel wrapped around his lean hips, hair dripping. She wondered if he’d shaved. She was certain she’d caught the scent of Obsession on him at the funeral.

“I’m not in the mood for a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup. Live recklessly. Come with an old friend and have a drink. You can tell me all about this phone call that has you spooked.”

“All right,” she answered.

“Good. Give me twenty minutes.”

He was there in eighteen. And shortly after, she had her arms wrapped tightly around Jack’s waist as they sped down Clarke’s Purchase Road in the cool darkness on his Harley.

“You okay?” Jack shouted as he approached a stop sign and applied the hand brakes.

“Yes.”

“Having fun?”

“Yes.” She realized that she was. She was wound as tight as a spring and needed a release after the past several days. And it had been too long since she’d done something on a whim. Sometimes she felt closer to sixty than forty. She’d always had to be more mature than her age, had to be the responsible one. Her twenties and thirties had slipped by all too fast, and if she didn’t allow herself a little fun, she’d be too old to enjoy it. Being close to Jack felt good, and she had a suspicion that before the night was over, she’d be even closer.

Other than the prices, Rick’s Crab Shack, built on pilings sunk into the bank of a tidal salt creek and mudflats, hadn’t changed in the years since Liz had last been there. Rick’s scarred wooden tables were still covered with newspaper, the beer was still served in oversized, chilled mugs and pitchers, and the jumbo hard-shell crabs were so spicy they made your nose run.

Crude chairs made from barrels and springy plank floorboards added to the ambience, as did the lobster and crab pots hanging from the ceiling. Most of the light came from the 1970’s Budweiser sign hanging over the bar and a few naked sixty-watt bulbs wired inside the lobster traps.

The country music, courtesy of WDSD, wailed from a lime-green radio bolted to a side wall with a hand-printed warning underneath that read,
“Rick don’t care if you swear. Rick don’t care if you smoke. But touch this dial and he’ll rearrange your smile.”
Someone had crossed out the word “smoke,” but Liz noticed that at least half the customers ignored the Delaware law prohibiting smoking in public places. Rick’s did not cater to a particularly sophisticated crowd.

The small restaurant was noisy, but several additions to the main room jutted out over the water, and Jack steered Liz toward a secluded table where they could talk. As usual, he ordered as if it were his last meal: crunchy salads, thick fries, a platter of raw oysters and clams, two of Rick’s infamous soft-crab sandwiches, homemade coleslaw, and a brimming pitcher of cold beer.