Lone Tree (26 page)

Leaving the bloodied body half in the street and
half on the curb, Carl got into the car and drove off. Breathing in gasps,
hands shaky and streaked with the kid’s blood, he worked on gaining control of
himself. Then he had to pull over and search for the seat adjustment because
the kid’s legs were a lot longer than his. He was so close—too close—to
freedom. He couldn’t get caught now. Maybe he’d taken too long with the kid?
Were the cops already on his tail?

He made turns at random, zigzagging his way to who
knew where. Finally his ragged breathing began to even out.

He passed an apartment complex, parked two blocks
away and walked back. A blue sporty model was backed into a slot. Doors were
locked but windows were conveniently rolled halfway down. He took a quick look
around, then reached inside and unlocked the driver’s door. He slipped in,
yanked the lower panel off the dashboard, found the wires and fiddled with them
and got the car running in no time. He had skills.

Later, as the day dawned and warmed up, he
discovered why the windows were down. The air conditioner didn’t work.

In Farber, he took the first exit, cruised along
until he spied a phone booth and an empty parking place, then pulled over. He
yanked the directory open, searched for Realtors and found
Quality First And
Last Real Estate
. He snorted as he read the advertisement:
Quality
Sales, Quality Personnel, Quality Listings
. Someone had worked hard to get
the point across.

Now he needed a map. With his forefinger on the
address he looked up to check the street sign. Well, well, skip the map. Here
he was. Looking back down, he tapped the listing twice, pleased with himself.
He checked the number on the store front behind him, belonging to a cleaners,
then the one next to it, a flower shop. Okay, across the street, a couple
blocks that way. No problem. Leave the car here and walk. It’d feel good to
stretch his legs.

After just a few steps he stopped and looked back
across the street to a chain store, one of those places that sold everything
and sold it cheap. Wouldn’t do to go calling when he looked and smelled like a
bum after spending the day inside a car that didn’t have air conditioning.

He bought a cheap shirt and trousers and a package
of skivvies. The washroom had a toilet, sink, and a lock on the door. The
faucet was stuck on lukewarm, but he did a passable job with paper towels and
the soap dispenser then dressed in his new duds. He wasn’t going to worry about
his two-day-old stubble. He’d seen worse on the streets since he’d gotten out,
even on well-dressed dudes.

As he stared at his reflection in the pocked mirror,
he thought about Millicent. If he hadn’t had to clear out so fast, he would’ve
brought what he needed with him. But she was in the past, not worth fretting
about. He needed to get on with the future.

Quality Realty was a big place, two desks in the
front and then a row of three in the back. A man sat at the front desk to his
right. He glanced at Carl then looked back at his computer screen. Must be too
busy to take on a new client. And too old anyway, forties or fifties maybe,
with glasses and graying hair.

The woman at the desk to his left was on the phone.
When he looked her way, she smiled and held up a forefinger, signaling she’d be
right with him.

He used the time to check out the office: three men,
one woman, one empty desk. The man at the far left leaned back, reached for a
pencil and played with it while studying an opened folder on his desk. He
couldn’t be more than thirty, was slender and long-waisted, would probably make
six feet when he stood up, and he had wavy, dark-blond hair. His gray suit coat
was unbuttoned, showing off a pinstriped tie in three shades of blue and a
frosty-white shirt.

Carl’s attention sharpened. Adrenaline kicked in.

The brass name plaque on the man’s desk held two
lines:
Quality at Your Service, Willis Bender.

Perhaps sensing he was being studied, Bender looked
up and caught Carl’s eye. Fearing he might appear too interested, Carl made
himself glance away. The third man, at the back desk on the right, was also
light-haired and possibly tall, but had a face full of freckles Leroy hadn’t
described. The nameplate on the empty desk said it belonged to Teresa Stone.

Carl stared into space. Hello, Mr. Bender. Did you
enjoy my wife? I’ll remember to ask you if she was worth it.

“May I help you, sir?”

With a jolt, Carl realized it was the second time
the woman had spoken to him. Something in her eyes faltered when he looked at
her, and Carl reined himself in. He didn’t want to make an impression in
anyone’s memory. She wore a form-fitting, light-red dress with a rounded neck
and she looked good. If he didn’t have his mind on other things he would’ve
given her more attention. Instead he gave her what should pass for a puzzled
smile, hoping that would explain his preoccupation.

“I’m looking for, uh, a Mr. Donovan?”

“Donovan?” Her brows drew together. “I don’t
recognize that name, but I’ve only been here a couple of months.” Turning in
her chair, she looked at her colleagues for help.

“Used to be a Donovan at Rancho Realty,” Willis
Bender offered. He was still playing with the pencil. His voice was smooth,
sounded cultured. How many times had it whispered sweet nothings in Jackie’s
ear? “Alan or Adam, I think. Don’t know if he’s still there. Haven’t seen him
in a while.”

Carl held his gaze. Bender’s eyes narrowed, and the
pencil became still. Carl forced his features to ease; not time yet to tip his
hand. “Sounds like my man. I’ll check over there. Thanks.”

Back outside, Carl fast-walked the sidewalk, looking
neither right nor left and paying no attention to sounds either. He was focused
on the phone booth and its book as if it were the light at the end of a tunnel.
Finally he was there and he grabbed the book, fanned the pages to
B
, and
his gaze raced down the columns until it fastened on one line. Slowly he blew a
breath out. He relaxed for the first time since he’d been waiting in the café
parking lot for that bitch, Millicent.

Tearing the page out, he stuffed it into his pants
pocket, and then he got back into the coupe. At a gas station he pulled in and
gassed up, bought a city map and then found and marked, with great care, the
route to Willis Bender’s house.

“Apple today? Carrot?” Lainie cooed at Glory while
she ran the brush through the horse’s mane. “Maybe I could rustle up a sugar
cube. Like that?”

Grooming the horse also relaxed her, as if she were
on the receiving end of the attention. As she smiled at the thought, she heard
Nelly’s voice, a distant murmur, and she looked up. She spied him standing
alone at the entrance to the stables. Evidently he’d been thinking aloud, just
talking to himself.

She turned back to Glory and finished up. Now that
the horse was groomed, she needed to work on herself. She’d grown accustomed to
wearing dirt and dust when riding—it was like a second skin she picked up out
there—but she didn’t care to wear it longer than necessary.

As she put things away, her attention turned again
to Nelly. He appeared to be intent on something outside, but as far as she
could tell, there was nothing there that wasn’t always there.

“Hey,” she said, walking over. “What’s going on?
You’re...” she paused, searching for the right words. “You’re spooking me.”

His bluish-gray eyes usually reflected a glint of
the wit that kept him young, of the common-sense variety as well as humor. But
sometimes they appeared faded, mirroring his age, as they did now. Shortly
after he met her gaze, however, his eyes lit up.

“Spookin’?” he echoed, looking amused and indulgent
at the same time.

“Yep, that’s the right word. Nelly, you are as
steady as the dawn rising and the sun setting, but the last couple of days
you’ve been downright moody. And, yeah, that spooks me.”

He put his fingertips to her cheek, as a father
would to a child, then he dropped his hand and looked out at the yard. His
movements were slow, as if muscles and joints weren’t cooperating. Lainie felt
a sudden and fierce tug of affection for this elderly, simple man.

“Storm’s brewin’,” he said.

She glanced at the sky. No turbulence, no clouds, no
wind. Sun not as bright and warm as last month, but nothing to be alarmed
about. She looked back at Nelly, tilted her head.

“Can’t see it,” he said slowly. “Can’t hear it.
Can’t smell it. But it’s there.”

She returned her attention to the horizon. “Maybe
it’s not in the weather,” she murmured, surprising herself with the thought.

“Yes’m. That’s what I’m thinkin’.” He stared hard at
her, as if trying to see into her soul. “You take care, little missy, you
hear?”

A ball of uneasiness formed in her gut. “Nelly,
what—”

“There you are,” said Reed’s voice, and both Lainie
and Nelly jumped.

Reed stopped, grinned. “So what’d I do? Caught you
two schemin’?”

Nelly gave him a mild look. “Mr. Reed, you really
thinkin’ there might be somethin’ goin’ on around here you not know about
already?”

Lainie’s unease fell away. Nelly sounded like
himself again, losing that sense of uncanniness that had unnerved her.

“Well, now, there aren’t many people who can
surprise me,” Reed told him. “But you’re one of ’em, and another one is
standin’ right next to you. So you can see how that makes it kinda scary from
my end.”

“Surprisin’ and scary?” Nelly chuckled. “I be
complimented, Mr. Reed.”

“Uh-huh.” As Reed’s gaze lit on Lainie, he pulled
keys out of his pocket. “Got a favor to ask. Nate at the garage called. Starter
motor came in, but I can’t spare the time to drive the truck in and was hopin’
you’d do it.”

“Starter motor?” she echoed. Nelly looked as dubious
as she felt. “How am I going to get it started without a starter motor?”

“It’s got one, but it’s tired. If it won’t start,
wait a minute or two and try again.”

Nelly tilted his head. “Kinda like sweet-talkin’ a
horse?”

“Maybe, but a lot less personal.”

With a good-natured snort, Nelly turned back to his
stable. “In that case, Mr. Reed, I’m glad I got the horses and you got the
truck.”

“Well?” Reed asked, gaze returning to Lainie. He
jangled the keys.

“Oh. Yeah. Sure.” Standing in the sun made her feel
even grittier than when she’d been inside the stable. “No hurry, I hope. Number
one on my agenda is a shower, then I’ll drive the truck in.”

Catching the look that came into his eyes—focused,
intent, yet slightly glassy—she smiled, realizing that in his mind he was
already in the shower with her. This wasn’t the first time she’d noted the
impact she had on him, and she liked it.

She stepped forward, reaching for the keys but not
taking them, just touching his hand. “Thinkin’ you need a shower, too, are
you?”

Reading the tease, his lips quirked. “Oh, you’re
cute, Lainie Sue. Really cute.”

“No time for the truck, no time for...anything?”

His fingers closed over hers just tight enough she
felt the keys making an indentation in her palm. “Oh, yeah, really cute.” He
released the keys. “Go get your shower,” he whispered. “And think about me
while you’re in there.”

Lainie watched him walk away, noting the familiar
stride, the lean body, the fluid grace. Slowly she blew her breath out. Oh,
yeah, he had an impact on her, too.

Bender’s house was in a cozy-looking residential
area. No grass, just a rock garden with little pockets of white daisies here
and there. Carl Henry cruised by twice, couldn’t see that he’d attracted
attention, so he parked a block away and walked back on the shady side of the
street. He passed a postman on his route, a kid on a bike making circles in the
street, and an old man walking a dog.

When he was near the Bender house he glanced over
his shoulder, saw no one, so crossed the street. He opened the side gate and
strode into the yard as if he belonged there. Since the yard was fenced he was
quickly out of sight of neighboring houses.

He waited, listening, heard a car drive by, shouts
from kids on another street. He inched his way to the garage’s side door and
peeked through the glass pane in the upper half. No car. He worked his way
around the house’s exterior, stopping at each window. Curtains were closed
against the sun, so he listened carefully until he was sure no activity was
going on in there, then moved on to the next one. The back door had an old
rickety lock that took sixty seconds to open, and then Carl was inside the
kitchen.

He closed the door behind him and strutted to the
doorway leading to the rest of the house. He’d found the man he wanted, and
less than an hour later was inside his digs. Not bad.

As he checked out the rooms, he looked for signs of
Jackie. The dresser drawers and closet held only men’s clothing, and the small
bathroom held nothing womanish either. Carl ran his fingers over the trousers,
suit coats and shirts in the closet. Nice duds, smooth to the touch. Nothing
coarse or cheap for Willis Bender.