I woke up with Paula standing in front of me, tapping my foot with hers.
“You missed the ending.”
“Damn,” I said. “Was it good?”
“Of course,” she said. “It was a Helen Mirren movie.”
I checked the time, saw how late it was, and knowing what kind of day I was going to have tomorrow, I said, “I should be going.”
“Why?” Paula asked.
Funny how a single, three-letter word can freeze you, like the couch surface had suddenly turned into adhesive. I looked up at her impassive, pretty face and said, “I can probably come up with a lot of reasons, but I refuse to think of any.”
A slight smile. “Spend the night.”
I nodded. Her smile grew wider. “On the couch, if that’s all right.”
“That’d be fine.”
We bustled around the condo for a few minutes, engaged in putting out blankets and a pillow, and both of us using the bathroom facilities, and it came to when we were in the living room, and she was near the door to her bedroom, and I went to her, lifted up her chin with my fingers, and kissed her.
She gently kissed me back, and then slowly pulled away.
Her eyes were bright and laughing. “Sleep well, sport.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I did sleep well, but one of the advantages—or disadvantages—of living right near the beach is that when the sun comes up, it can blast right through your windows, even if you wanted to keep sleeping. Paula probably had curtains in the bedroom, but the ones in the living room window were pulled apart, such that I got up at some ungodly early hour.
I rested on her couch, crunched a bit because of the tight quarters. My quiet cell phone was on a nearby coffee table, demanding attention.
Soon, I thought, but not now.
Not now.
I turned and tried to get back to sleep, but that wasn’t working. And I knew if I got up to draw the curtains closed, that little bit of effort would just wake me up that much more.
So I surrendered.
I used her bathroom, got dressed, slipped on my cell phone, and then went to my jacket. I remembered our conversation from last night, and I looked at the closed bedroom door, and something just jelled inside of me, knowing Paula was just a few yards away.
I walked to the bedroom door.
Passed it.
Went to a door that led into what was designed as the second bedroom, and which she used for her home office. I opened the door and peered in. Cluttered small space, with bookshelves, a desk with a computer monitor and attached printer. Piles of newspapers on the floor. I stepped in. The computer was in sleep mode, and the printer was on. I gave the place a quick glance. There were a number of framed photos, some showing a much younger Paula Quinn with her family, up in Dover. Some more contemporary photos, a couple with her and a presidential candidate, and one with a US senator who was now president of the United States.
None of her with her fiancé, Mark Spencer.
That made me feel good.
A smaller photo, almost hidden by a pile of papers. I brushed the papers aside.
Paula Quinn, a couple of years back, sitting on an outside deck of a seafood restaurant in Falconer, smiling and raising a drink.
Sitting next to me.
I felt even better.
I looked at her computer gear, went back out to the kitchen, still moving as quietly as I could. I could use a cup of coffee or tea before I went out on this Sabbath day. I filled a teakettle, put it on her stove, and turned on the burner. I went through her cabinets, didn’t find any coffee, and her tea was those fancy brands with names taken from bad fantasy novels, and which usually taste like grass clippings.
I closed the cabinet doors, let the teakettle start to steam. A couple of thoughts started bouncing around. I went to my coat, slipped it on, and felt a bulky item stashed away in an inside pocket.
Then I got to work, making sure not to wake up Paula.
About a half hour later, I was back home. It was a bright, beautiful day in March, the air crisp and clean, and I liked the feeling of the sunshine on my face as I walked north and eventually made it to the Lafayette House and its parking lot. I strolled through the lot and came upon my dirt driveway, looking down upon my house. At a near boulder I sat down and stretched out my legs, crossed my arms. My dear old house. Battered, burnt, but still standing.
Just like me.
Just like Tyler Beach.
It was a sweet sight, down there. A nice place of refuge, a nice place to live, but I couldn’t go back there, not quite yet.
I unclipped my cell phone, switched it on.
Waited.
Seagulls dipped and soared, and the waves kept on crashing onto my private little beach, with the illegal NO TRESPASSING signs set up around the perimeter.
My phone started ringing.
Surprise, surprise.
“Hello?”
“Lewis?”
“You know it.”
Some heavy breathing. “You got something that belongs to me.”
“Funny, Raymond,” I said. “I can say the same thing about you.”
“Damn it, why haven’t you been answering your phone? I’ve been calling you all night and all this morning.”
“Maybe I wasn’t so eager to talk to someone who stole my car, left me alone at Walmart, right after I saved him.”
“Lewis, there are forces in motion. Lots of money on the line. Lots. For the past couple of years, I’ve not been in a good position. I’ve lost a lot from some investments. And I had to do what I had to do. I’m sorry. It just happened.”
“Just happened,” I said. “Right. You managed to get my Pilot up and running without a key.”
“Blame my Boston background as a kid, learning how to steal stuff,” he said. “Look, this is all interesting, and I’m sorry again, but can we make a deal?”
“Sure.”
Inside my coat pocket, I removed the buff-colored envelope I had taken from my car last night, leaving the other mail behind. I said, “All right, Counselor, what I have here is a thick envelope, addressed to you, postmarked a number of weeks ago. Is that what you’re looking for?”
“Yes.”
“Glad to hear it,” I said. “I’m sitting near my house at Tyler Beach. I’m thinking of getting up, walking to the water’s edge, tearing up the envelope, and tossing it all in the water.”
He swore. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. I guess we’ll just have to find out. Up for a face-to-face, then?”
“Of course.”
“But let’s make a deal before we get together.”
“What do you mean, a deal? I thought we had one already. Your SUV for my envelope.”
“As you’d say, facts not placed in evidence, Raymond. Besides, what kind of equitable contract could we have, trading documents worth millions for one battered Pilot?”
His breathing quickened. “All right. You’re correct. There’s a lot going on. I’m up for a deal. What are you proposing?”
“Beats me,” I said. “I’m still thinking it through. Tell you what, come back with my Pilot to the parking lot at the Lafayette House, bring me a late breakfast, and we’ll reach an understanding. Sound fair?”
“Good. I’ll see you soon.”
“I’ll be here.”
I switched off the phone and continued resting on a boulder.
When my Pilot rolled in, I winced at seeing the damage. I’d only had it for a few months and now it looked doomed to end up in a junkyard somewhere. But with my funds now past the depletion point, I was afraid that battered piece of Honda driving machine would be my only option for the months ahead.
Raymond parked it in an empty spot, switched off the engine, and stepped out, carrying a coffee container and a doughnut bag. He had an eager yet concerned look on his face. As he approached I nodded in his direction and then went back to looking out at the fair Atlantic, the Isle
s of Shoals and their white buildings looking particularly sharp and crisp.
He came and sat down next to me. He had trimmed his beard, showered, and looked fairly clean-cut and reasonable, except his skin was pasty from being out of the sun for a while. I handed him the plastic bag from Walmart.
“Here’s the clothes and sneakers I bought for you last night,” I said. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to keep the change. Shipping and handling expenses.”
“I understand,” Raymond said. He passed over the breakfast.
I opened the bag and discovered two plain doughnuts. I took a sip of the coffee and spat it out.
“Really, Counselor,” I said. “This the best you can do? Two doughnuts and cold coffee?”
He said, “Then let’s go back up to the Lafayette House, I’ll buy the entire breakfast buffet for you. Just give me my envelope back. Here. Here’s the keys to the Pilot.”
“Did you gas it up?”
“Shit, no. Look, is that going to make a difference?”
“Sorry,” I said, emptying the cold coffee on the rocky soil. “I’m just joshing with you.”
I crumpled up the coffee cup, put it in the doughnut bag, crumpled that up as well, and tossed it at a nearby trash container. Much to my surprise, the damn thing actually went in.
I said, “Tell me about the young brunette lady.”
“What lady is that?”
“The one at your last Christmas party. Laughing and passing around drinks.”
He tried to laugh. “Lewis, no offense, you’ve been there. You know how many pretty young girls are floating around.”
“How about the pretty young brunette who used to work for you and took a job at another firm?”
He paused. “Eve. Eve Linehan.”
“Do you know where she ended up?”
“No,” he said. “She . . . she said she was going to take some time off, find another job with better hours and opportunity for her. I wrote her a nice letter of recommendation. She told me she’d let me know when she got another job, but I never heard from her again.”
“When did she stop working for you?”
“Not sure,” Raymond said. “Sometime in January.”
“Right after Felix’s arrest.”
“Ah, yes, that sounds right.”
“So it’s late on a Saturday night. Felix calls your number, saying he’s been arrested. Does the call go to you? Or is it screened?”
“Screened. Oh, damn.”
“Eve would be on duty that weekend, wouldn’t she? She took the call, but instead of passing it on to you, she passed it on to her new employer.”
“Hollis Spinelli.” A few curses. “That’s why Felix never called me.”
“Very good, Counselor. Hollis Spinelli. And Felix probably got a nice, thorough briefing. Play along with your new lawyer, or something very bad will happen to Raymond Drake.”
I slipped the sealed envelope out of my pocket, held it up. “Felix was going to that Porter apartment to pick this up from Fletcher Moore. No envelope was there, but Fletcher was there, dead. The place was salted with Felix’s fingerprints; his stolen pistol had been used in the crime. Perfect little setup. Performed by Hollis and friends. They wanted this envelope, and they wanted Felix out of the picture.”
Raymond didn’t say a word. I went on. “Then Felix comes to trial. Maybe Hollis and company are concerned you’re going to do something silly like crash the courtroom, raise a fuss. So you’re held captive at home. Waiting. Meanwhile, the paperwork, the search continues. Fletcher Moore’s house. A real estate company in Porter. And somehow it ended up at your house.”
“Fletcher said he would pass it over to Felix. He also said that if he was spooked that night, he had made arrangements with a mail-forwarding company to send it to me after he dropped it in the mail.”
“Frustrating, wasn’t it?” I said. “Kept up in that bedroom, knowing the damn envelope was probably on your counter. But Yuri and Yvonne . . .”
“Two stone-cold hired killers,” he said. “I thought about negotiating with them, but that wouldn’t work. If I told them what I had, they would have killed me and taken the envelope. Or killed me and taken the envelope and negotiated their own deal.”
I still had the envelope in my hand, and I tapped it on the boulder I was sitting on. “What’s in the envelope?”
“Whoever has it has the power to scuttle the upcoming casino vote. That’s why it’s worth tons of money.”
“Please,” I said. “You can be more specific than that.”
A heavy sigh. “Fletcher, in his research, in preparing for the vote, back in some dusty drawer somewhere at the town hall, found a survey map of the Tyler Beach Improvement Company.”
A couple of cars came into the Lafayette House parking lot, including a white GMC van.
“A survey map that didn’t match the one the balloting is based on this Tuesday?” I asked.
“That’s right. And if that got out . . . boom. Too many questions, too many ifs, and all the big casino interests out there will scurry away in less than a heartbeat. Why put up with the aggravation?”
“And Fletcher. Was he selling it?”
“Everything’s for sale, Lewis.”
“And Hollis. I guess he wasn’t prepared to get in a bidding war between you and his casino interests.”
“Yeah.”
“So you get the envelope, and what happens next?”
“My clients are happy, very happy. The vote goes on. I get back on track for a secure financial future. And you, I know things are tight for you. I’m sure I can arrange a finder’s fee.”
“But what about Felix?”
“Huh?”
“Don’t grunt,” I said. “It’s uncouth. I thought they would have taught you that at law school or something. Felix Tinios. The guy who saved your ass from being tossed into Boston Harbor some years back, with a set of concrete overshoes. Remember? He’s on trial tomorrow, being defended by someone who hates him, and probably has a private side deal.”
“What kind of side deal?”
“To put Felix away for killing his dad.”
“But Felix, he should tell the judge!”
“Sure,” I said. “In a usual and sane world. But we’re not in a usual and sane world. I’m sure Hollis has told Felix, you make any fuss at all, try to make a complaint, then your friend Raymond is dead.”
“That would never hold,” he said. “There would be appeals, there would be motions, I could petition the court to take over Felix’s defense.”
“Certainly, and time would pass. And what would happen once Felix is found guilty? Would he stay at the county jail?”
“No,” Raymond said. “He’d be sent to the state prison, in Concord.”
“Where there would be lots of opportunities for Hollis to arrange for Felix to be killed while in custody.”
“Jesus,” Raymond breathed.
“Funny you should mention his name,” I said. “Because you and I are now going to have a ‘come to Jesus’ moment. You want this envelope, then bright and early tomorrow morning, you’re going to court, and you’re going to take over as Felix’s lawyer.”
“It’s not as easy as that,” he said.
“Then come up with a way to make it easy,” I said. “Debts need to be paid, and when I spoke to Felix last, he told me to get you. Now you’re gotten, and you’re going to the courthouse to get him out.”
“But—”
I dangled the fat envelope in his face. “Or I get up and get in my banged-up Pilot over there, and find somebody who might be interested in it. Like the local newspapers.”
“Lewis . . .”
“Last chance, Counselor.”
A pause on his end, and then another sigh, and he deflated some, his shoulders slumping and falling to his sides. At any other time or place, I would have found some sympathy for him, but not today.
He nodded. “Okay.”
I dangled the envelope again. “Not good
enough. I want to hear your words, in full flavor and explanation, telling me what you’re going to give me in exchange for me passing this envelope over.”
Then the oddest thing happened, and I had to look three times to make sure I wasn’t imagining things.
A tiny orange dot of light was dancing around the middle of the envelope.
I froze.
I slowly turned my head to look behind us.
The white van from earlier was parked sideways toward us, with a side sliding door open.
“Raymond.”
“Lewis, stop bugging me, damn it.”
“This isn’t a bugging kind of comment. We’ve got company.”
“Who?”
“Your competition, I’d imagine,” I said. “Look at the envelope. We’re being targeted. Someone’s over in that van with a rifle and a laser sighting device.”
He whirled as well, and turned back to me. “Shit. What do we do?”
I was tempted to say that line from that old joke, “What do you mean we, kemosabe,” but I said, “Well, we haven’t been shot yet. I’d say our only other option is to walk over there and see what they want.”
He said, “We could make a break for it. Dive over these boulders, hit the water.”
“Really? A laser dot like that means a sniper, means an experienced gunman. If we move away, we’re dead.”
“I still want to chance it.”
I slowly got up. “You chance it, Counselor. I’m going for a little stroll. If you don’t want to have that orange dot on your forehead, I suggest you join me.”
I got up from the boulder, envelope in hand, and slowly started walking to the van, keeping my hands in view, especially the one with the valued envelope. A few feet later, Raymond muttered a curse and joined me.
“So why not shoot us and grab the envelope?” he whispered.
“Probably wanting to make sure that the paperwork is the real deal, and not a cheeseburger recipe.”
“You always got a snappy answer to everything?”
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