Whitewash (42 page)

Pensacola Beach, Florida

“I don’t see you for two years and all you can think about is changing me.” Sabrina tried to joke more out of exhaustion and nerves than anything else.

Just minutes before she had watched Miss Sadie come out of the fishing shop with Eric behind her. It suddenly didn’t matter how long ago she had seen him or even why. There was only relief.

He stared at her from the boardwalk as she stared back, not budging from the back of the Studebaker parked across the lot. Eric looked the same, maybe a bit leaner and his hair a lot shorter. She couldn’t say she’d ever seen him in a pink polo shirt, but he looked good, tan and clean-shaven, healthy, strong.

He didn’t waste any time, a trait that Sabrina knew had gotten him into as much trouble as it had saved him from it. On the boardwalk he leaned down to tell Miss Sadie something that made her nod and come rushing back to the car. Then they waited while Eric flipped the Open sign to Closed and locked the shop. They had followed him here, a small hair salon next to Paradise Wine and Liquor. Once inside, he had given her a long, silent hug, then taking her by the shoulders he led her to a chair and eased her down in it.

“Miss Sadie says you haven’t gotten out of the car since you left Tallahassee?” Eric asked, his brows furrowed. He was more serious than she had ever seen him.

“Except to go to the ladies’ room,” Miss Sadie said before Sabrina could respond. “At a gas shop in Panama City.”

“The best place to hide is in plain sight. How can we do that, Max?” he asked the woman whom Sabrina had not been formally introduced to but guessed owned the salon. “Short and blond?”

“It’s not the police as much as the others,” Miss Sadie said, and Sabrina was struck by how much she must have been able to tell Eric in a very short time.

She watched the three of them in the wall mirror in front of her. Max was in the middle with short and spiked red hair. She wore a black dog-collar choker, a formfitting black tank top and a black leather miniskirt with bright red flip-flops. There was a tattoo on her ankle and a gold toe ring on her middle toe, tiny studs all the way up one ear and only a small gold hoop in the other.

On Max’s right stood Eric and on her left Miss Sadie, an odd threesome with nothing in common except the woman sitting in front of them and their challenge of what to do with her.

“Are they professionals?” Max asked Miss Sadie, who nodded. And Max nodded, too, as if that was all she needed to know.

Sabrina wanted to interject that she might know a little something about all of this, but she was more fascinated by their exchange. She was also exhausted. Who knew panic could drain a body and mind so completely?

“They’ll be looking for her to go extreme,” Max said with a glance at Eric.

“So, less is best?”

“Keep the same color,” she said, running her fingers through Sabrina’s hair. “Maybe a few highlights. We can cut it, but not real short. Bangs would be good. Different but not extreme.”

“Okay,” Eric agreed, making the decision without looking at Sabrina.

Would they even ask her before they started cutting and highlighting? It reminded her of being nine and going to the movies with Eric, who was twelve and thought he knew everything. Their mother always gave Eric the money and as keeper of the money he made all the decisions—deciding which movie, what size drinks, Milkduds or Junior Mints. When Sabrina protested he’d simply say, “Do you want to go to the movies or not?” She couldn’t help wondering if she protested now would he say, “Do you want me to hide you or not?”

“She’s awfully pale.” Max had evidently moved on. “She’ll stand out like a sore thumb on the beach. We’ll use the spray-tan booth.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Miss Sadie said. “She’s so fair skinned and she usually wears black and white. Very classy, but maybe some bright colors would be good. I always thought royal blue would bring out the color of your eyes, dear.” And this time Miss Sadie’s eyes met Sabrina’s in the mirror as the old woman laid her hand on Sabrina’s shoulder.

That small gesture seemed to make Eric realize he had been ignoring her. He came around in front of the chair, squatting down to eye level to get a good look at her.

“It’s really good to see you, Bree,” he finally said with a smile.

Chattahoochee, Florida

Leon could be a persuasive guy all on his own without what you might call any professional accessories. Oh, sure, he’d been known to get decent information with only a crescent wrench or a pair of pliers, which was exactly why he had a pair in his pocket, but he could also get people to tell him some of the most unusual things just by asking the right questions.

He found Arthur Galloway in the television room, sitting in the same recliner he was in the other day when his daughter visited. His hair stuck up in a couple of places, his shirt was wrinkled and he wore one white sock and one brown. For a minute Leon wondered if they hadn’t bothered to move him since Sunday.

Leon had bought a couple candy bars from the vending machine and now he set one on the tray table in front of Arthur Galloway as he sat down next to him. He had seen the daughter do this with a Whataburger. The old guy hadn’t taken a bite until she left and one of the orderlies tried to snatch it up. Leon sat back and started to unwrap his own candy bar.

The old guy’s eyes darted around constantly. Leon had been close enough to notice this the other day, too. That was fine. He could look around all day if he wanted.

“I like Snickers better,” Galloway suddenly said without acknowledging Leon’s presence.

Leon didn’t say a word. Instead, he pulled up the wrapper and put the Snickers bar on the tray table. He picked up the Almond Joy and started again. He had a couple of bites down before Galloway grabbed the Snickers.

“They don’t like me having chocolate,” he said, stuffing his mouth with about half the candy bar as if he was worried someone would notice and take it away.

“Bossy sons of bitches, huh?”

Leon thought he saw Galloway smile just slightly. It was hard to tell.

“You visiting somebody?” Galloway asked, still not looking at him.

“Yeah, but the schmuck wasn’t in his room.”

Galloway finished the candy bar in two bites. His hands went to the arms of the recliner and his fingers started drumming. Leon tried not to stare, but the guy’s fingers fascinated him. There was rhythm to their movement.

“What about you?” Leon asked casually, trying to sound like he didn’t have anything better to do for the time being. “You get many visitors in this place?”

“A few.” And that was it, nothing more.

“My buddy doesn’t have anybody. His own kids won’t even come see him,” Leon said, glancing to see if he was pushing any buttons. “They say this place creeps them out.” He waited, but couldn’t keep his eyes off the guy’s fingers. The right hand did something different from the left hand. “My buddy says he doesn’t mind on account of his kids always wanting to borrow money. Says at least he gets some peace and quiet in here. You know what I mean?”

But Galloway was gone. Leon knew. He could sense it. He wasn’t making a connection with the guy.

He glanced at Galloway’s feet and noticed them both tapping. No, not really tapping, but maybe pumping…yeah, like pumping the pedals on a piano.

Son of a bitch!

Leon shifted his gaze back to Galloway’s fingers. The guy’s playing the piano, he realized.

And he certainly wasn’t listening to Leon. He watched Galloway a little longer, recognizing the gestures, the rhythm and the motion.

“What’ cha playing there?” Leon decided to ask.

Without any hesitation Galloway answered, “‘When You Wish Upon a Star.’”

Chattahoochee, Florida

Leon could be a persuasive guy all on his own without what you might call any professional accessories. Oh, sure, he’d been known to get decent information with only a crescent wrench or a pair of pliers, which was exactly why he had a pair in his pocket, but he could also get people to tell him some of the most unusual things just by asking the right questions.

He found Arthur Galloway in the television room, sitting in the same recliner he was in the other day when his daughter visited. His hair stuck up in a couple of places, his shirt was wrinkled and he wore one white sock and one brown. For a minute Leon wondered if they hadn’t bothered to move him since Sunday.

Leon had bought a couple candy bars from the vending machine and now he set one on the tray table in front of Arthur Galloway as he sat down next to him. He had seen the daughter do this with a Whataburger. The old guy hadn’t taken a bite until she left and one of the orderlies tried to snatch it up. Leon sat back and started to unwrap his own candy bar.

The old guy’s eyes darted around constantly. Leon had been close enough to notice this the other day, too. That was fine. He could look around all day if he wanted.

“I like Snickers better,” Galloway suddenly said without acknowledging Leon’s presence.

Leon didn’t say a word. Instead, he pulled up the wrapper and put the Snickers bar on the tray table. He picked up the Almond Joy and started again. He had a couple of bites down before Galloway grabbed the Snickers.

“They don’t like me having chocolate,” he said, stuffing his mouth with about half the candy bar as if he was worried someone would notice and take it away.

“Bossy sons of bitches, huh?”

Leon thought he saw Galloway smile just slightly. It was hard to tell.

“You visiting somebody?” Galloway asked, still not looking at him.

“Yeah, but the schmuck wasn’t in his room.”

Galloway finished the candy bar in two bites. His hands went to the arms of the recliner and his fingers started drumming. Leon tried not to stare, but the guy’s fingers fascinated him. There was rhythm to their movement.

“What about you?” Leon asked casually, trying to sound like he didn’t have anything better to do for the time being. “You get many visitors in this place?”

“A few.” And that was it, nothing more.

“My buddy doesn’t have anybody. His own kids won’t even come see him,” Leon said, glancing to see if he was pushing any buttons. “They say this place creeps them out.” He waited, but couldn’t keep his eyes off the guy’s fingers. The right hand did something different from the left hand. “My buddy says he doesn’t mind on account of his kids always wanting to borrow money. Says at least he gets some peace and quiet in here. You know what I mean?”

But Galloway was gone. Leon knew. He could sense it. He wasn’t making a connection with the guy.

He glanced at Galloway’s feet and noticed them both tapping. No, not really tapping, but maybe pumping…yeah, like pumping the pedals on a piano.

Son of a bitch!

Leon shifted his gaze back to Galloway’s fingers. The guy’s playing the piano, he realized.

And he certainly wasn’t listening to Leon. He watched Galloway a little longer, recognizing the gestures, the rhythm and the motion.

“What’ cha playing there?” Leon decided to ask.

Without any hesitation Galloway answered, “‘When You Wish Upon a Star.’”

Pensacola Beach, Florida

Eric had acted on gut instinct, pure and simple. Now, as he watched his sister share pizza with her eighty-one-year-old escort while the huge white cat climbed up and down the furniture, he wondered what the hell he was thinking. Being here with him might be more dangerous than sending Sabrina back to Tallahassee. Maybe it’d be safer to take their chances with the State Patrol if they could get them to believe her story. Her story did seem a bit crazy and he had heard some zingers. One thing Eric knew for certain was that unlike him, she couldn’t kill anyone.

With the TV remote in hand he paced his small studio apartment, pointing it at the TV in the corner, flipping channels. He should be relieved. Apparently it wasn’t a big enough story for national news updates. Finally he left it on Fox News and sat on a squeaky futon, the noise drawing both women’s attention.

“What? The place came furnished,” he told them with a smile, and the women resumed eating.

He ran a hand over his eyes, then pushed his fingers through his hair. It was way shorter than he was used to and still surprised him a little. It was part of his new look, his new disguise. And that was exactly why he shouldn’t have Sabrina stay here with him. But he couldn’t just send her away.

He’d been up all night, his usual schedule. But today he hadn’t had a chance to take a nap. Damn, he could sure use one, though he doubted sleep would help make sense of the situation.

“So who do you think hired this killer?” Eric asked.

“Mr. Sidel arranged the meeting,” Sabrina told him, batting at her new bangs. “Except I was supposed to be meeting the plant manager, Ernie Walker.”

“And this wasn’t Ernie.”

“No.”

“So you know Ernie?”

“I know who he is. This guy wasn’t any kind of plant manager.”

“Wait a minute. How do you know that for sure?”

She gave him an exasperated look.

“I’m not just busting your chops, Bree. I’m trying to figure out if this guy could be someone who works there.”

She put her slice of pizza down and sat back in the plastic-resin chair Eric used for his dining set. She wiped her mouth with a paper napkin, slowly, deliberately, but Eric knew she wasn’t simply stalling but rather thinking.

“He didn’t have any protective gear,” she finally said. “No goggles, no hard hat. Just a long pipe or a club, maybe. I couldn’t tell from down below.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to be bothered with all that safety stuff.”

“No, there was something more.” And she rubbed at her eyes, closing them tight as if that would help her to see the man in her mind.

Eric sat patiently. He noticed the old woman’s small black hand cupped over Sabrina’s right hand, flat on top of the cheap plastic table. The woman had introduced herself to him as Sabrina’s neighbor, but Eric knew in Chicago Sabrina barely let her neighbors know her name and she had lived in the same building for over ten years. She had told him once that she liked the anonymity. Same thing with her students. He knew she kept them at arm’s length. Unlike other professors, Sabrina never socialized, no coffees after class, no special-occasion pizza parties.

Eric had always envied her ability to compartmentalize the people in her life, even if he didn’t agree with it. In these past two years when he desperately needed to do exactly that to survive, he still found it difficult. His boss, Howard, was a prime example. But Sabrina was either good at it or made it look as though she was, with the exception of Miss Sadie.

“The alarm,” Sabrina said suddenly, almost jumping out of her chair as if an alarm had literally gone off. “I knew there was something that didn’t seem right. He didn’t know about the alarm.”

“What alarm?”

“Every reactor has a clear-water flushing tank. It’s the last stage in the process. Whatever runoff is left, which should be only water, gets flushed and cooled before it’s released through a filter into the river. If there’s any solid particles that might clog up or break the filter, anything as big as…” Her voice trailed off and he recognized the look in her eyes. Post-traumatic shock. He’d seen it in Sabrina’s eyes before, right after their mother’s accident. He didn’t like seeing it again.

“Anything as big as a body,” he said, finishing her sentence. “Let me guess. It trips an alarm. Any chance he thought he had shut off the alarm or tried to override it?”

“It’s all computerized,” Sabrina told him. “Only one person can change the process or override or shut off any of it.”

Her eyes met his and he watched the realization flood them. It was the same look she’d have when they were kids and she figured out some puzzle for the first time, or discovered the mystery ingredient in Pixie Stix. Only this realization was tinged with a bit of fear.

“What is it, dear?” Miss Sadie saw it, too.

“I was meeting the plant manager because Mr. Sidel wanted to prove to me that Reactor #5 wasn’t online.”

“So whoever sent this guy must not have known that the reactor and the alarm were on.” Eric left the squeaky futon to pace again. “Or they turned it on, wanting him to get caught.”

“The only person who can turn anything on or off has been gone since Friday,” Sabrina said.

“Forget about on or off.” Eric grew impatient. He was tired. It was too easy to lose focus. “More importantly, why the hell would someone want you…” He couldn’t bring himself to say “dead.” “Why would anyone want you gone?”

Instead of answering, Sabrina pushed away from the table and wandered to her overnight case by the front door where Eric had left it when he brought it in earlier. She went through several zippered pockets before she found and brought back a plastic bag. She set it down on the edge of the table, away from Miss Sadie and away from the pizza. Eric couldn’t identify the contents. It looked like an orange and cream–colored glob with bits of metal.

“I think this might have something to do with it.”

“What is it?” He picked up the bag and fingered the stuff that felt like jelly with glitter.

“I’m not sure.” Sabrina stared at it, but didn’t attempt a closer look. “Whatever it is I fished it out of what’s supposed to be a clear-water runoff pipe just before it got pushed out into the river.”