“Then—that’s six rings—maybe they’re just sleeping through it,” Madeline said.
“I’m sure it’s been a very long day for them,” Bob said. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“That’s eight rings,” Madeline said. “Now it’s going to—Hello, Mr. Weaver? It’s Madeline Plimpton. Please call me the moment you get this. We’re desperately worried about Jeremy. Please call.”
She brought the phone down where she could see it, ended the call, and gazed hopelessly at Gloria and Bob.
Gloria put down her glass and placed both hands over her mouth. “Oh God,” she said.
Bob said nothing.
SIXTY-ONE
CORY Calder, on the floor, blinking blood out of his eyes, looked up at Craig Pierce and said, “Where’s the girl?”
“What girl?” Pierce said.
Cory put a hand to his temple, felt blood, then moved it to his neck. The pain was excruciating.
“You were too clever by half,” Pierce said.
“I don’t . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you want to know how I found you?” Pierce offered him half a smile with his grotesque, partially eaten face. “It was actually so fucking easy.”
“I . . . I . . .”
“It was revenge. Revenge with a J. Your clever little signature on the Just Deserts posting. I mean, you can’t spell worth a shit, but that was deliberate, right? Thing is, if the only place you’d ever used it was on that site, you’d have been fine. But I did a search, found you’d used it on other sites. With your real name attached. Looked you up, found you lived right in my own backyard.”
“Please, you’ve made a mistake.”
“Drove by your house, kept watch on you, stuck a little tracker to your van. You’ve been hunting that Pilford kid, haven’t you? He was next on your list.”
“I need a doctor,” Cory said, starting to cry. “Please, please get me some help.”
Craig clucked his tongue sympathetically. “Is it all hurty?”
“Everything . . . It all went wrong,” Cory said, a bloody tear running down his cheek. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair.”
“Ahh, who’s the big baby now?” Pierce asked, wrapping both hands around the poker and driving it straight down, like a spear, through Cory Calder’s heart.
SIXTY-TWO
CAL
I let Jeremy sleep on the way back.
He nodded off next to me a couple of miles out of Sandwich, even before we went over the Sagamore Bridge. There was a McDonald’s on the other side. I did the drive-through and grabbed coffee and a couple of breakfast sandwiches. Jeremy woke up long enough to wolf one down, then went back to sleep. We’d never gotten to bed the night before, and what with all the commotion that followed, there’d been no opportunity to nod off.
I hadn’t had a chance yet, but I was far from sleepy.
I was anxious to get going. I had an appointment to keep with the man who’d answered Kiln’s phone, and I was going to have to drive flat out to get back to Promise Falls in time to keep it.
A lot had happened since the phone call.
First, there’d been that woman running up the road, who turned out to be Carol Beakman. As soon as she told me her name, I recognized it from my chat with Barry Duckworth. She told me she had been kidnapped by Cory Calder but had managed to free herself while he was out of the cabin. She’d wandered up North Shore in the other direction, banging on doors, failing to find anyone home. Then, when she saw all the commotion at the other end of the road—fire trucks and ambulances and police cars—she started running that way.
I identified myself, told her I had just recently been speaking with Barry Duckworth, that he’d been trying to find her. She burst into tears at that point and said she had to let his son Trevor know she was okay.
Before I offered her my cell phone to call him, I had to assess whether Calder remained a threat.
“I don’t know,” Carol said. “I don’t know where he is.” She glanced back down the road and said, fearfully, “Unless he’s gone back to the cabin.”
I hailed Higgins, told him in as few words as possible that Carol Beakman had been abducted and that her kidnapper, a man named Cory Calder, might be found a short distance down the road.
He rounded up another officer and together they booted it down the road and stormed the cabin while Carol and I watched from afar. A few seconds later, lights came on, and a few seconds after that, Higgins emerged and shouted at the top of his lungs: “Weaver!”
I left Carol in the care of another officer and ran.
“Have a look and see if that’s your Calder character,” he said, pointing his thumb inside.
I took three steps into the cabin and looked at the bloody, beaten body on the floor in front of me. A poker was sticking straight up from his chest. It was hard to be one hundred percent certain, given that much of his face had been turned to pulp, but this looked like the man Jeremy and I had met on the beach.
I came back out. “I think so,” I said.
“This is turning into one clusterfuck of a night,” Higgins said.
I went back to see how Carol Beakman was doing. Another team of paramedics had arrived and were checking her out. At that point, I gave her my phone so that she could call Trevor Duckworth.
There was a lot of crying.
Not long after she’d handed the phone back to me, it rang.
Barry.
“Name a favor,” he said. “Whatever it is, it’s yours.”
Once we were done, the phone rang yet again, and I saw that it was Madeline Plimpton. I nearly answered, then decided against it. Maybe I was being paranoid. But she’d just have to worry until later.
Police Chief Bertram arrived moments later, and appeared dismayed that between the time of our conversation and his arrival, a mere shit show had turned into a disaster movie.
There were so many questions to be answered, and statements to be made, that I was worried we wouldn’t get away in time for my meeting in Promise Falls. But around five thirty in the morning, Jeremy and I were allowed to leave.
We didn’t have to pack. His backpack and my suitcase were still in the beach house, burned by now to a crisp.
Jeremy woke up somewhere around the exit to Lee, almost to the Massachusetts–New York line.
“What do you think happened to that Calder guy?” he asked. “Who killed him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe it was that woman he’d kidnapped.”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Maybe Kiln?”
“Possibly,” I said. “Right now, I’m happy to let the East Sandwich police figure it out.”
About a mile later, he said, “I’m kinda glad to be going home.”
“I can’t take you straight there,” I told him.
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s like I told you last night, we’re going to fly under the radar for a few more hours.”
“Radio silence, under the radar. Where do you get these phrases?”
“I watch a lot of movies,” I said. “Let me put it another way. We keep our mouths shut. I don’t want anyone to know we’re back in town, that we’re alive.”
“What, like, including my mom?”
“Everyone,” I said.
“Yeah, right, my mom sent someone to kill us. That’s what you think?”
“No. But your mother has a history of being a bit careless with information. That’s why we’re not telling anyone we’re back. Not for a few more hours.”
“I don’t get why,” he said.
We passed the sign that welcomed us to New York state, and were delivered from the Mass Pike to the New York Thruway system. “I don’t think what happened last night had anything do with Just Deserts or any other social-media outrage.”
“Then what?”
“If and when I have something confirmed, I’ll lay it all out for you. And your mom.”
“Is it the stick-shift shit?”
“You’re gonna have to wait. I’m going to drop you at my sister’s.”
Jeremy shook his head. “No way.”
I gave him as stern a look as I could muster. “It’s not up for debate.”
I called ahead to my sister’s house and got her husband Dwayne. I said I had a favor to ask of them, and Dwayne, being somewhat in my debt from a previous incident, told me to name it.
I dropped Jeremy off and then made one last phone call to see if things were good to go.
They were.
It was five minutes to ten when I parked half a block down from Kelly’s Diner. As I reached the door, I did a scan of the street in both directions.
Nothing out of the ordinary caught my eye.
I pushed open the door and went inside. The morning rush was over. Only about half the tables were busy. There was a line of booths down the right wall, and the high-backed seats made it difficult to see who was occupying them.
But at the last booth, right ahead of the door to the kitchen, I could make out half a body. A leg, part of a shoulder, an arm on the table.
I walked past the other booths, and when I got to the last one, I offered up a smile.
“You still thinking of selling that Porsche?” I asked.
Galen Broadhurst looked too stunned to answer.
SIXTY-THREE
CAL
GALEN Broadhurst’s body language told me he was seriously considering slipping out of the booth and making a run for it.
“Don’t even think about it,” I said, sliding in across from him. “You might be able to outrun me in your Porsche, but on foot, you haven’t got a chance.”
Broadhurst resignedly shifted his butt back to the center of the bench. The table between us was bare.
“You didn’t order anything?” I said. “The coffee’s very good here.” I gave a wave to the waitress, who shuffled down our way. “Hey, Sylvie, how’s it going?”
“Good, Cal,” she said. “You?”
“Just great. Two coffees, I guess.” I glanced at Broadhurst. “Or are you a tea man?”
“Coffee,” he said quietly.
“Anything to eat?” Sylvie asked.
I pursed my lips. “I think we’ll just start with coffee and see where it goes from there.”
Sylvie nodded and slid away.
I turned to look at Broadhurst. “In the movies, this is where you’d say you thought I was dead.”
“I’m not saying a fucking thing,” he said. “You’re probably wired for sound anyway.”
“Would you like to check?” I asked, and held out my arms, inviting him to pat me down.
“Open your shirt,” he said.
I smiled and as I undid the buttons said, “A little musical accompaniment would be nice.”
I opened my shirt wide to reveal my chest and stomach. No wire, no eavesdropping devices.
“Satisfied?” I said.
Broadhurst made a grunting noise. I did up my buttons quickly. Didn’t want to give Sylvie heart palpitations.
“You know who I thought you were going to be?” I said.
Broadhurst waited.
“Grant Finch. Your lawyer friend, who did such a standup job defending Jeremy. Because it was him I raised my concerns with. So I guess then he talked to you to discuss our phone call. And you got very, very scared. Sound about right?”
Broadhurst remained silent.
“You want to know what tipped me first that something just didn’t fit right? And this was even before I found out Jeremy couldn’t drive a stick to save his life. That bullshit story that you left the keys in the car. Even after you found a drunk Jeremy and Sian McFadden sitting in it, trying to start it. That, as they say, beggared belief. You initially left your keys in the ashtray. Okay, I can buy that, since the car was right out front of your house, and the house is set way back from the road, so the risk of theft is minimal. But then Jeremy finds the key, tries to start the beast. You intercede. Then we’re supposed to believe you still left the keys in the car. And you love that car. Who wouldn’t?”
I lowered my voice conspiratorially, leaned in. “I have to be honest here. When I called about the car, like I was interested in buying it? I’m not. I’m sorry if I got your hopes up.”
I sat back up. “Anyway, I believe you held onto the keys. So, if you had ’em, stands to reason that when that car started up, you were behind the wheel.” I studied his face, looking for a reaction. “Am I boring you?” I asked.
Sylvie showed up with two china mugs of coffee.
“Oh, this is great,” I said. “I don’t know when I’ve needed a coffee more. There you go, Galen.”
We each had our mugs in front of us.
“Cream and sugar’s right there,” Sylvie said, pointing to the far end of the table to the chrome holder that also contained ketchup and mustard, salt and pepper.
“Allow me,” I said, reaching for the glass jar of sugar and a small metal jug of cream.
“Not really thirsty,” Broadhurst said.
“Suit yourself.” I took a sip of coffee and smiled. “Thanks, Sylvie. It’s just what the doctor ordered.”
“You’re so full of it,” she said. “If you boys get hungry, let me know. We got a pancake special.”
“Ooohh, let me think about that,” I said.
Sylvie understood that she was being dismissed, and left.
“So, where were we?” I said to Broadhurst. “You got in the car. You drove it. You ran down Sian McFadden. But I guess I’m getting ahead of myself. How’m I doing so far?”
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Ah, he speaks,” I said. “I’ve come to do you a favor. I’ve already done you a solid.”
“What’s that?”
“Your friend Gregor Kiln.”
Broadhurst blinked. “I don’t know—”
I held up a hand. “Please. Don’t embarrass yourself. And you didn’t let me finish. I’ve got good news.”
Broadhurst eyed me like a mouse waiting to hear the cat’s deal. “What?”
“Kiln’s dead. I killed him.”
Broadhurst swallowed.
“So he’s not going to be telling anyone about you hiring him. But I have to say, he wasn’t very good.”
Hesitantly, Broadhurst asked, “What about the kid?”
“Jeremy?” I smiled and shook my head. “He’s alive, but he’s not going to be a problem for you.”
“How do you mean?”
I leaned forward again. “This whole stick-shift thing I raised with Finch? I never brought it up with Jeremy. Far as he knows, he still drove that car. He doesn’t even know it’s got a manual transmission. I don’t know if you and Grant gave that a thought. I guess it never even came up. So, anyway, that problem is no longer on the table. The kid thinks he did it.”
“Okay,” he said slowly.
“And he doesn’t know about Kiln. I caught the son of a bitch setting fire to the beach house. Took him out fast. Bundled him up, weighted him down, took him out into Cape Cod Bay. He’s not going to be coming back up.” I smiled. “I know how to do these things.”
“But . . . the fire . . .”
I shrugged. “Arson. Told the cops that all sorts of Internet whackjobs have been trying to get Jeremy. Could have been any one of a thousand nuts. That was the plan, right? That the cops would think it was one of them, not a targeted hit because of what I’d figured out.”
Broadhurst wrapped his hands around the warm mug of coffee.
“So here’s the thing,” I said. “You’re pretty much in the clear. Only one who really knows the score who shouldn’t is me.”
His eyes narrowed. “Let me guess.”
I smiled. “I bet you’re going to get this right.”
“How much?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about that,” I said. “But before we talk money, I just want to know what happened after you ran down the girl? Did you even t
ry to save her?”
A long pause. “Yes,” he said. “I mean, I would have tried, if she’d been alive. I would have done the right thing.”
“Of course you would.”
“I . . . I had an argument with one of the party guests. This woman I’d been seeing. Stupid bitch said I’d been fooling around on her.”
I grinned. “Was she right?”
Broadhurst grimaced. “Kinda. Anyway, I’d had a little too much to drink, and said some things, and I needed to blow off some steam. I slipped out the back door of the house, came around to the front and got in the car. Took off up the road and . . . You have to understand, I wasn’t drunk. Even though I’d had a few drinks. I wasn’t weaving around or anything.”
He let go of the mug, made two fists and pushed them into his eyes. “It was a total accident. It was the girl’s fault.”
“Shit happens,” I said offhandedly.
“She . . . she just came out of nowhere. Ran across the road, right in front of me. I tried to swerve, to miss her, but I still caught her . . . and then I ran into the tree. I got out, I ran over . . . Oh Jesus.”
He was struggling to hold it together.
“Hey, look,” I said. “Kids do dumb stuff.”
“Yes,” he said. “It wasn’t my fault. But . . . but if they’d tested me, I’d probably have been over the limit. Maybe . . . way over.”
“I drive over the limit all the time,” I said. “Still drive fine.”
Broadhurst nodded.
“So,” I said, “how’d you get the kid into the car?”
“It wasn’t . . . the first thing I did. I was thinking about the girl.”
“Of course.”
“I . . . I went over to see how bad it was. And . . . she was gone. I felt for a pulse, checked for any signs that she was alive, and . . .”
I nodded. “Right, she’d bought it. I’m guessing Jeremy was nearby.”
“Yes.”
“Passed out?”
He nodded.
“On a bench. I went over . . . I don’t know when I got the idea exactly. It just . . . came to me. I saw a way to get out of this. He’d . . . he’d already tried to take the car once. I figured, if I put him behind the wheel . . .”
Parting Shot Page 37