Envy the Night (30 page)

He kept drumming his fingers awkwardly, the sound uneven, no rhythm at all. Why couldn’t he think of any songs?

Nora spent twenty minutes with her father before she stood. It hadn’t been enough time for either of them, but she had Frank waiting in the truck and Renee, Vaughn, and Ezra waiting on the island.

“I’ll come back tomorrow, Dad. First thing in the morning. Okay?”

His face dropped as if an invisible hand had slid over it and tugged the eyes down, the mouth into a frown. She knelt beside his chair, squeezed his hand.

“Everything’s okay, Dad. I promise. And I will see
you
,” she kissed his cheek again, “in the morning.”

She released his hand—it was always hard to leave, but this was an entirely new feeling—and walked to the door without looking back. If she looked into his face again, saw the disappointment and worry and confusion, always the confusion, she knew she’d fall apart, end up in tears on the floor. Better to leave with her head high and her stride purposeful, have him thinking everything was okay and she was in control.

As soon as she stepped into the hallway, she closed the door behind her, hearing a soft click as it latched. The hallway was empty, and she turned to the left and started back toward the entrance, made it about three steps before the door to a vacant room across from her father’s swung open and a hand encircled her mouth and pulled her into the room. She saw a gun in her face, and even though she couldn’t see the man who held it yet, she knew it was the one whose hand had left bruises on her arm two days earlier.

“Three things,” he said, his lips close to her ear. “First, there’s a nurse in the
room next to your dad’s. Second, anybody screams or causes a problem, I’m going to begin shooting. Third”—he paused as someone laughed in a room a few doors down—“I’m the only person in this building with a gun. So if the shooting starts, a lot of people are going to get hurt. Including the old man you just left in that room.”

Frank had wanted to come in with her. Frank and his
gun
had wanted to come in. She’d left him in the parking lot instead. But how could she have known . . .
the newspaper.
She’d seen the warning and ignored it, wondered who would possibly have given that paper to her father. The answer: someone who wanted to make sure Nora came by to see him. She could hear Barb’s voice on the voice again:
We’re not sure how he got it.
This guy had been waiting here for a while. Probably all morning. They were smart, too. When she didn’t turn up at her house last night, they’d had to go in search of a way to find her. It wouldn’t have taken much research to learn that the only personal connection Nora had to Tomahawk was in this nursing home.

The hand on her mouth released slowly, air filling her lungs again.

“Good girl,” he said. “It would have been very bad if you’d screamed. Very bad.”

He was talking in a strong whisper, and he reached out and twisted the lock, trapping them inside.

“We’re going to be leaving through that window,” he said, gesturing at the large open window with the screen already removed. “Thanks for parking where you did. Makes this a lot easier.”

She swallowed, thinking of how clever she’d felt, parking in the rear of the lot to hide the truck. It was hidden, all right. Hidden from anyone who might come to her aid.

“First thing you need to do is make a phone call to your friend in the truck,” he said. “You tell him that a very good shot is watching him through a scope right now. You tell him to take that gun out from under his jacket, hold it in the air for a second, and then put it in the glove compartment.”

She didn’t respond. He smiled at her. His face and clothes were as she’d remembered, but the ornate belt buckle was gone. Maybe he thought it stood out too much. Maybe he’d gotten Jerry’s blood on it.

“If you don’t have Frank’s cell phone number,” he said, “I can provide it. Yes, honey, we’re all caught up on the research. Now, do you want to call or should I?”

She called.

__________

H
is fingers froze on the armrest when the cell phone rang. Jumpy. He took the phone out, saw it was Nora’s number. She was probably calling to order him out of the truck, not wanting to see him when she came outside.

“There’s a problem,” she said when he answered. Tension in her voice, but not the angry sort.

“What?”

“One of them is inside with me, and the other is watching you through a gun scope.” Speaking softly but clearly. “I’ve been asked to tell you to take your gun out, hold it in the air for a second, and then put it inside the glove compartment. If you don’t listen, they will shoot you.”

Told you, told you, told you!
the ghost screamed at him.
It’s over now, son, over because you got lazy and dumb and told yourself that wouldn’t matter. It
always
matters.

“You’re with your father?” Frank said. “This guy was waiting in your father’s room?”

“No, I—” There was a rustle, a whisper, and then her voice returned. “Frank, put the gun in the glove compartment, and do it fast.”

Shit. He hadn’t seen anyone watching, had no proof that this thing about the guy with the scope wasn’t a bluff, but he had to listen. He already knew there could be someone in those woods north of the building. Had been trying
to ignore the notion for the last ten minutes. Moving slowly, he reached inside his jacket with his free hand and withdrew the Smith & Wesson, held it in the air, then squeezed the phone between his ear and shoulder while he opened the glove compartment and put the weapon inside.

“I put the gun away.”

More whispering, then, “We’re coming outside. He wants you to get behind the wheel and keep your hands above the dash. If you see anyone else, look normal.”

The call was disconnected, but he kept the phone at his ear as he slid across the seat, banging his knees on the gearshift. Without looking at the display, he punched the
CALL
button with his thumb. That would bring up a list of previously called numbers, and Ezra’s number, entered just before leaving the island, would be at the top of the list.
Most times it doesn’t work on the water, but I’ll give you the number. It’ll ring, if nothing else.

Frank hit the
CALL
button again, keeping the phone up and hoping the watcher wasn’t going to be aware of exactly when the call from inside the nursing home had ended. Still, he wouldn’t have much time, because as soon as Nora and the guy with her left the building, it would be obvious that Frank should no longer have the phone to his ear.

One ring, then two, no answer, and right then he saw them—Nora and the man he’d knocked out in the body shop, rounding the corner of the building. Either there was another door, or they’d gone through a window. Odds were good nobody in the building had seen them leave. He closed the phone without getting an answer, dropped it into his lap, and thought,
Figure it out, Ezra, figure it out. There’s trouble on the way.

Nora walked to the truck quickly but without obvious fear, eyes up, stride steady. That was a good word for her, steady. She’d hung together through all of this, with the one exception coming when they’d found Jerry’s body. Brave girl. She didn’t deserve this.

Frank noticed the door was locked when they were about ten feet from the truck and leaned over to unlock it. When he moved, the gun in the tall guy’s hand showed for the first time, rising fast. Frank unlocked the door and leaned back, held his hands up again, indicating it hadn’t been an aggressive move, no suicidal idiot sitting in this truck, no, sir. The gun dropped, and then the door was open and Nora was inside the truck and sitting beside him, the tall guy piling in behind her.

“Keys,” the guy said, and Nora fished her keys out and passed them to Frank.

“Start it up and drive out of here. Take a right out of the parking lot, and go
straight until I say something else. Keep both hands on the wheel, keep the speed down, and keep your mouth shut.”

Simple enough. Frank did as he was told, made a right turn away from the nursing home without anyone stopping them or even seeing them. They’d gone about a half mile before he noticed that Nora’s leg was trembling against his.

Ezra rotated the cell phone in his palm and stared out across the water. The wind was coming at the island in uneven gusts, pushing tendrils of gray clouds ahead of it. Just one boat had passed in all the time he’d been out here, and he’d recognized it as Dwight Simonton’s pontoon. Unthreatening. A peaceful afternoon, a lonely lake.

But there was the phone in his hand, small and still and silent since those two rings, just two, that had come in from Frank Temple’s son. Ezra didn’t like the two rings. Liked it even less that there had been no second attempt.

He’d thought about calling Frank himself. Would take maybe ten seconds of conversation to clarify the situation.

He didn’t call, though. Because if it hadn’t been a mistake, if Frank had intended to hang up that quickly, without getting a chance to talk to Ezra or leave a message, then the afternoon was about to get interesting. Either Frank had been interrupted in his attempt to call—an option that prickled at the back of Ezra’s neck—or he’d made the call as a warning. One or the other. Or a mistake.

Ezra felt Frank would understand the effect of an aborted call like that, would anticipate the worry on Ezra’s end. That belief tilted the scales, ever so slightly, in the direction of trouble. No matter how gentle a shift that was, it was something he had to listen to. If you ignored it, the first chance you’d have to regret it wouldn’t come until too late.

He was alone on the porch. Vaughn and Renee were still inside, though he hadn’t heard much conversation from them. Vaughn had looked shifty, even angry, the last time Ezra was inside, but the woman seemed to have taken a measure of comfort now that some time had passed. She would listen to Ezra willingly, and Vaughn, if it came down to it, would listen to Ezra because he would be given no other choice. Ezra went to the door.

“You two got any rain gear?”

They were sitting together in the living room, Vaughn speaking to Renee in a harsh whisper, and when Ezra entered and spoke they both looked at him as if they didn’t understand the language.

“What?” Renee said.

“Rain gear? If not, don’t worry about it. I got a few of those emergency ponchos in the boat, if we need ’em. Chances are, we’re going to need ’em, too. Those clouds don’t look like kidders to me.”

Vaughn stood up. “What are you talking about? If it rains, we’ve got a roof over our heads.”

“Not anymore.” Ezra was turning down the blinds now, the sunlight disappearing from the room in strips. “We’re going on a boat ride, kids. And we’re going on it in a hurry.”

Now Renee was on her feet, too. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Vaughn said. “This guy’s crazy. What the hell are you talking about, boat rides?”

“Shut up,” Ezra said, and the argument died on Vaughn’s lips. There was still anger in his eyes, his forehead lined with dislike, but he quit talking. He was scared of Ezra, and that would make things easier.

“They’re coming, aren’t they,” Renee said, and there was neither question nor alarm in her voice. Just a calm, if disappointed, understanding.

“They could be,” Ezra said. “And I’ll tell you this—an island is a damn tricky place to sneak away from. So best to get off it early.”

“Where are we going?”

“Not quite sure about that one yet, but we’ll need a boat, and we’ll need to move fast.”

“I want my gun back,” Vaughn said. “If they’re coming for us, I want my damn gun.”

Ezra gave him a cool, even gaze until Vaughn looked away.

“When it comes time for shooting,” he said, “I’ll see that you got something to do it with.”

Three times the man with the gun instructed a turn. Those were the only three times the silence was broken. They’d gone maybe five miles, were well out of town and into the woods, before he told Frank to stop. They were at a ramshackle bar with
CLOSED
and
FOR SALE
signs in the windows, an ancient gas pump out front. Frank drove behind the building, following instructions, then parked and cut the motor. Nothing around them but the deserted building and the trees, with buzzing insects and wind-tossed cattails indicating a marsh about a hundred feet behind the bar. Frank turned away from it. It would take a long time before a body dumped in that marsh was found.

“Now we sit here and we wait and nobody says a word,” the guy with the gun said. His weapon was a Beretta, resting against his knee and angled toward Frank.

They sat for five minutes, maybe ten, and then gravel crunched under tires as someone left the paved road and drove into the parking lot. A few seconds later the new arrival appeared around the building. A van, light blue with darkly tinted windows, suburban-looking, about as anonymous as a vehicle could get. It pulled in beside the truck, and the driver climbed out. Shorter than the guy inside the truck, but quicker, more graceful in his movements. Strong, too. Frank remembered that from the way the guy had whipped his gun into Mowery’s face beside the police car.

“Out,” the guy beside Nora said, and Frank opened the door and stepped out onto the dusty parking circle, a warm gust of wind flapping his shirt against his body. It was his first opportunity to see the second man face-to-face, and he didn’t like the way the guy stared at him as if they’d already met, a sense of the familiar in his gaze. The guy held that look for a long moment, then turned away from Frank and slid the van’s side door open, and Frank found himself staring at Devin Matteson.

The last time Frank had seen him—the only time—it had been eight years earlier, in Miami. He hadn’t been around him long, maybe an hour, just enough for the dislike to put down roots, but what he remembered from that meeting was two qualities: arrogance and strength. The strength was no longer present.

Devin was leaning sideways against the seat so that he could face out, a gun resting in his lap, but it looked like just keeping his head up was taking a real effort. His usual deep tan and strong jawline had turned into a junkie’s face, fish-belly complexion with hazy, red-rimmed eyes and muscle lines that seemed given to tremors. Bulges showed under his shirt, and Frank realized after a second look that they weren’t bulges from a holster but from bandages.