Another house on the right, one more on the left, and he couldn’t help it—he stopped.
“We don’t live right,” Lisse said, angrily, partly sadly.
The car they had seen the day before was still in the driveway, a second one in front of it facing the detached garage, both fairly new.
On the grassy shoulder, almost on the lawn, was the gray limousine.
* * * *
4
Sharon helped Fran and Les with their gear, unable to hide a grin when Kyle nearly fell on his face trying to carry one of the saddles. He was doing his best, but it was clear that even with the stables empty, he was nervous. Like a horse was going to jump out of the shadows and bite off his butt.
Once everything was clean and in its place, she walked outside, hands in her hips pockets. A deep inhalation. “Boy,” she said with mock enthusiasm as Kyle joined her, “don’t you just love that smell?” He gave her a disgusted look. “It’s horsesh—manure, Shar, for crying out loud.” He sniffed his sleeves and grimaced. “God, it’ll take years to get this stink off me.”
She walked toward the fence, angling toward the paddock on the left. “You get used to it.”
“Never in a million years.”
She did not look toward the house. She did not want to see Deputy Schmidt there, his patrol car at the top of the drive next to Les’s battered Jeep. She did not want to be reminded. They had worked all morning, and he had been there the whole time. At least he hadn’t tried to talk to them. Just chewed his gum and stayed by the door. When the Burgoynes returned, he headed for the house, told her not to stray, he was only going to check in.
Like she needed the reminder.
She leaned heavily against the chest-high fence and let her arms dangle over the top rail. “Now, they’re not so bad, right?” she said, nodding to the two grazing horses when Kyle joined her.
The roan’s ears twitched at the sound of her voice, but it didn’t look up. The gray stayed near the gate, staring out at the pasture.
They could hear the palomino, sharp and distant.
“I was going to go shopping today,” she said, folding her arms on the rail to provide a rest for her chin.
“Skip school? You?”
“For Saturday,” she told him.
He looked down at his feet. “These boots are ruined. God, you’d think they were made of paper. What do you mean, for Saturday.” He raised his eyebrows. “For me?” He laughed. “You wanted to impress me?”
She turned her head slowly and stared at him with narrowed eyes. “Dovinsky,” she said, “you are a jerk. A total jerk.”
He grinned back at her. “Me, too.”
“You too, what?”
A one-shoulder shrug. Suddenly the horses were fascinating.
Her eyes widened. “New stuff?”
Another shrug.
“To impress me?”
“Hey, Shar, that horse is ... holy shit, it’s like a damn hose, for God’s sake.”
She smacked his arm with a palm. “Don’t change the subject.”
“Damn,” he muttered, and aped her stance at the rail. “You know, we’re the same size like this.”
He grinned.
She grinned back. “In your dreams, Kyle, in your dreams.”
But she was so glad he was around she wanted to hug him. He’d just shown up that morning, no invitation, said he heard the news and figured she wouldn’t be in school and figured maybe she could use some company if her brother wasn’t around. Which Phil wasn’t. In fact, he and her mother were on their way to Chicago to see a lawyer Chief Baer had told them about. She had refused to go, and only the chief’s solemn promise that she wouldn’t be alone for a second had convinced her mother it was all right to leave her behind.
In a way she had been awfully disappointed that Phil hadn’t argued harder; in a way she was glad, because her mother was in the middle of a hysterical temper that would have made the trip hell; and when Kyle had asked if she was scared, she was amazed to realize that the terror she had felt when her mother told her what had happened had been replaced by something more. Something darker. Something that scared her more than her father ever could.
Kyle straightened and walked slowly along the fence. “What’s the matter with that horse? Is it crazy or something?”
She followed, listening to Royal.
What made the sound worse was that they couldn’t see him.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I guess he’s—”
She stopped when she felt the breeze at her back. Pushing her gently. Getting stronger.
Kyle turned into it, squinting, then taking her hand. “Hey, Shar, I think maybe we ought to get inside.”
* * * *
5
Ari Lowe stepped onto the porch, grinning, thinking this was the best thing he’d done in years, crazy but nice. He had new clothes courtesy of Tony, clothes that didn’t sag or bag—”Jeans? You want me to wear jeans? You outta your mind?”—a bed he could die in it was so comfortable, and more people around him that he’d had in... well, years.
He moved to the head of the steps and leaned a shoulder against the post. Lunch had been huge. That girl, Dory, had made stuff he’d never heard of, made him eat every bite and then some, flirting with him the whole time and taking decades off his life. All the time, Tony laughed and told stories and made it seem like this was his real home, not the apartment back in the city.
What amazed him, though, was the difference in the daughters. Dory was kind of dark, he didn’t know what they called them these days—Latin? Hispanic?—but she was gorgeous. Slight, busty, and gorgeous. Made him start thinking about things he hadn’t thought of since forever, even with Tony trying to drag him to Miriam or Mabel or whatever the hell she was called.
Patty, on the other hand, was pale. Like porcelain. Dark hair, like Dory, but slender. Kind of like a boy, only no boy he ever saw looked like that. She was quieter, too, a little maybe angry at something. When she joked, which was all the time, there was an edge there he couldn’t quite put a finger on. Funny, though. He laughed so often, so hard, he just knew that before he had to go back, he was going to explode.
And the boy. Such a boy. Such a beautiful little boy, so damn cute in his cowboy suit, that Ari knew he’d have trouble growing up. Lots of girls, that’s for sure, but the other boys were going to make his life hell until they figured out he could get them girls, too.
The only one he wasn’t sure about was that minister. Not nearly as old as he pretended to be, joking with the rest of them but only out of politeness. Just showed up this morning out of the blue, looking for that crumb bum, Patty’s ex-husband, and wouldn’t you know it but Tony just grabbed him inside like he was one of his long-lost sons.
Tony was amazing.
The door opened behind him. “Ari, are you all right?”
“Just fine, Dory,” he said. “Getting some air. We don’t have air in New York.” He grinned, glad there was at least one person here who was his size. “You know, I could get to like it. The air.”
She smiled, bumped him with her shoulder. “You seen Joey?”
He shook his head. “Not since lunch. He went to play in the back, I think.” He lowered his voice. “I don’t think he likes that Trask.” He lay a finger along the side of his nose. “But I think Trask Likes him too much, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh, come on.”
“No. Really. You listen to me, Dory. I think there’s something. I think there’s something.”
They gazed in silence at the limousine. He knew there were two men inside. Bodyguards. Tony and Patty had brought them heaping plates of food, but they never left the car, and Trask hadn’t said a word.
“Maybe,” he said, “he’s not a real preacher.”
“Oh, he is,” she answered. “I’ve seen him on TV.”
“Ah.” That explained it. “He’s not real, then.”
A car drove by slowly, heading toward town. He couldn’t see the drive
r, but a woman with touches of fire in her hair stared back at him until the car passed, only glimpses of it through the trees and shrubs.
“You have a secret lover, Ari?’’ Dory said, bumping him again.
“Only in my dreams,” he answered.
Without warning she leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You’re sweet, you know that?” Her arm slipped around his waist and gave him a quick hug.
Then the door slammed open, and Tony boomed, “Unhand my daughter, you wretch, before I challenge you to a duel!”
Dory rolled her eyes.
Ari grinned. For a woman like this, a duel would be worth it.
A breeze kicked up then, and he shaded his eyes against it. Sniffed, and took a step down to get a better look at the sky. Rain? He didn’t think so; there weren’t any clouds.
“What’s the matter?” Dory asked.
“I don’t know.” His frown deepened, and he shrugged. “Guess I’m not used to all this air.”
Then he saw the frown on Tony’s face, and suddenly he wasn’t so sure.
* * * *
6
The yard is deep, the grass freshly mowed and still smelling of its cutting. Four trees at the back, thick and crowned high, the shade beneath cool and shifting as the last leaves tremble and prepare to fall. There are two gardens, one on each side, both in disrepair, only a few late blossoms, the rest nothing but weeds, the dirt hard where it isn’t shifting dust. A simple granite birdbath half full in the center of the lawn. Just behind it is a swing set—three swings with canvas seats, the chains speckled with rust, the paint on the crossbar and legs peeling to expose rusted metal.
Joey sits on the center swing, legs tucked up and under, moving slowly back and forth. His hat is on, his eyes in shade. He stares at the unremarkable back of the house until his mother’s face appears in the kitchen window. She waves, he waves back, and a few minutes later she comes out to join him.
“They’re all here,” he says.
She stands behind him, pushing him gently. “Not everyone, hon.”
He squeals with delight as she shoves him hard, once, and sends him high. His legs kick out as he sails up the arc, tuck back under as he descends, and laughs when Patty hustles out of the way, sets herself in front and catches the chains as he comes down again. Her face is slightly flushed.
Joey grins and giggles. “Yes, everyone.”
Once he’s still, she backs away and mops her brow with a forearm. “Daddy?”
He nods.
“When?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Yesterday sometime, I guess.” He twists in the seat so the swing turns, chains creaking. “He’s not alone.”
“He’s...” She frowns. “I don’t understand.”
Joey laughs, rocking his head side to side. “Daddy has a girlfriend, Mommy. Daddy has a girlfriend.”
She looks away. “When did you see them?”
“Just now. They drove by the house. It’s not his car, Mommy. How did he get the car?”
Patty looks at the house, turning her back to him as she does. “Joey, you can’t see the road from here.”
“You can’t. I can.”
A mild scolding: “Joey.”
“I talked to him, too.”
She turns quickly. “You did? When?”
He shrugs. “This morning. Lunchtime. Sometime.” He tries to kick the ground with one boot, can’t quite reach it and the movement swings him, twists him, chains creaking. “Mom?”
“Yes, honey?”
“Come here, please?”
She hesitates. His head is down, so she can’t see his expression, and his voice gives nothing away.
“Mommy, please?”
“Sure, baby.” She kneels in front of him so she can see his eyes. “What do you want?”
“I want to go riding.”
She smiles. “At the stable? You?”
He pouts. “I can ride. I remember how. You showed me that time, remember?”
“That was a long time ago, sweetheart. You thought. . . I remember you thought the horses were giants.”
“I was little then. I’m big now.”
Not very, she thinks; in fact, you haven’t grown an inch in years.
“I don’t know,” she says aloud.
“Grampa will go with us.”
He would, too. He’d do anything for Joey, and Patty knew that if she refused, Joey would somehow get him to take him, anyway. It had never failed. Never.
“Well, we’ll see. When? Tomorrow okay?”
He shakes his head. “Can’t tomorrow.”
“Oh? Why not?”
“We won’t be here.”
Slowly she straightens, right hand rubbing her hip unconsciously. “What are you talking about? We just got here.”
A shrug. “Have to go today.” He looks up and smiles brightly. “Here today, gone tomorrow.”
“That’s not funny, Joey. I don’t get it. And I don’t think riding is a good idea. If your father is here, there might be—”
“Today, Mommy,” he says.
“Joey, no.”
He says nothing. Kicks at the ground again, misses again, slides partway off the broad canvas strap, swings his legs once more and kicks up dust. Then he stands, one hand still holding the chain, the thumb of the other tilting his hat back.
“Well, ma’am,” he says, trying to mimic a western drawl, “I guess we’ll just have to see about that.”
Her lips move, but no smile. “Joey.”
He holds out his hand. “Mom, we have things to do, okay? I want to ride. I want to play with Grampa. I want to talk to that stupid old man.” He wiggles his fingers. “I have to, Mom.”
“Joey, this is—”
“Mom.” He stares at her.
She doesn’t move. A breeze kicks up, and she can smell dust and dying flowers and leaves already dead.
“Mom.”
“Joey?” She can barely speak. “Joey, I don’t understand.”
He tilts his head, looking at her almost sideways, his hat slipping off and hanging by its beaded strap down his back. “Well, first thing is,” and he points to the swing set’s legs, “you’d better hold on.”
* * * *
7
George Trout sat on his porch, cut-glass tumbler in one hand, matching decanter in the other. Whiskey in both, and turning sour in his stomach. He hadn’t tried to stop John from leaving, although he figured now that he probably should have. All the man would find was more grief, even if he didn’t stop at the old house. He could understand now why people murdered other people. John couldn’t do it, but he damn sure could. Take that woman’s neck in his bare hands and twist it until her head faced wrong way around. She had a hell of a nerve coming back after all this time. And more than once since he had seen the cars parked in the drive he’d been tempted to march down there and give that scrawny bitch as scathing a piece of his mind as he could muster. And he would have, too, if he hadn’t seen the crows. Gliding overhead. Waiting for him to leave. If they had lips, they’d probably be smacking them, thinking about the dinner they had missed the other day and how they were going to make up for it as soon as he left the porch. Little bastards. He grimed, then, and glanced at the loaded shotgun lying beside the chair. He wasn’t all that good a shot, but he was good enough that he’d have feathers on the grass if one of those bastards tried spooking him again. Anyone asked, of course, like Mister High-and-Mighty-Ain’t-I-Special Chief of Police Arnold Baer, he’d tell them it was for protection in case that other bastard came around. Blow his head off, too, and get a medal for it, by God. That’d teach them to call him Fish Man. That’d teach them to laugh at him behind his back, thinking he was a ghoul just because he wrote about what he wrote about. Teach them all, by Christ, and get him a fancy medal, to boot.
Then the air changed, he could feel it, and he didn’t think he could move fast enough.
“Lord,” he said, suddenly fearful, “not again.”
* * * *
Arn glared at the newspaper dispenser outside the luncheonette.’ The darn thing had taken his fifty cents and wouldn’t open, even though he could see there were at least six copies left inside. The way things were going today, he might as well take out his gun and shoot the thing open. It couldn’t get any worse.
In the Mood - [Millennium Quartet 02] Page 25