In the Hush of the Night

by Raymond Benson

  “Glad to see you again, Charlie.” Mr. Paley shook Charlie Ward’s hand. “How was the drive?”

  “Not too bad from Mount Prospect, since it’s Saturday.”

  He turned to Jason’s mother and kissed her on the cheek. “Nice to see you, Tricia, how are you?”

  “Fine, thank you, we’re happy to be here.”

  He indicated Miranda. “And who is this gorgeous young lady?”

  “Mr. Paley, this is my sister Miranda. She’s here visiting from Indiana.”

  The man shook her hand. “Nice to have you here, Miranda.”

  “Thank you, I wouldn’t have missed the party.”

  Jason appreciated the fact that Greg Paley, unlike his wife, didn’t seem to have a negative opinion of his daughter’s choice of husband and his family. Mr. Paley also seemed to respect Charlie Ward’s independence in business. At any rate, Jason thought, by most standards his family had always lived comfortably in an upper-middle-class slot. They weren’t poor. They did quite well with that little hardware store. Jason had grown up in it, worked there, and could have taken it over. He couldn’t tell if his father was genuinely disappointed by his son’s decision not to carry on the family business, but if he was, Charlie Ward didn’t show it. Both of his parents supported whatever Jason wanted to do. Miranda worked for a not-for-profit organization in Indianapolis, where she was also seeing someone.

  Miranda leaned in to Jason and spoke softly. “I thought you said they lived in a mansion. This place isn’t so big.”

  He looked at her sideways. “Is that sarcasm, big sister?”

  She elbowed him. “Duh. This is pretty impressive.”

  As the group moved through the foyer toward the back of the house, Jason glanced upward to the second-floor landing above the staircase. Nat’s grandfather, Maxim Paley, sat in his wheelchair, gazing down at them, his wrinkled face typically deadpan and silent.

  Over a hundred guests came and went throughout the day. They all seemed to be a part of the Paleys’ country club social network, except for the twenty or so students who were friends of both Jason and Natalia. Even the mayor of Highland Park stopped by to give his regards to the couple. Live music was provided by a popular local band that played classic rock and recent pop songs. Angela Paley’s eighty-one-year-old mother got on the dance floor and gyrated with the younger men to Joan Jett’s “I Love Rock ’n’ Roll.” The food and drink kept coming. It was quite the soiree. Everyone was drunk by mid-afternoon, when a large group photo was organized and shot by many cell phone cameras.

  Jason paced himself so he wouldn’t get too sloshed. Nat, on the other hand, was passed out on a lawn chair in the sun at three o’clock. Jason laid a towel over her so she wouldn’t get sunburned.

  As things were winding down, Jason’s father, struck by all the opulence, pulled him aside to join him and Miranda and asked, “How much do you think Greg Paley makes a year?”

  “I have no idea, Dad,” Jason answered. “They have a nice home, don’t they? Palit Wool does pretty well, I guess.”

  “I’d never heard of it until you started dating Nat.”

  “Me neither.”

  “I had,” Miranda said. “I’ve seen some of the shawls. Very pretty. You should get Mom one for her birthday.”

  “That’s a good idea, Sis. Thanks for the suggestion.” Jason looked over at Greg, who was holding his liquor quite well. The man spotted his future in-laws, gave them a wave, and sauntered over with a beer in hand.

  “Enjoying yourselves?”

  “Sure are, Greg, thank you,” Charlie said. “Tricia and I will have to be going soon, though. We’ve had a great time.”

  “And I have a million things to do before I head back to Indianapolis tomorrow,” Miranda added.

  “Well, I hope you’ve had some fun. But you know you’re welcome to stay past the end of the party and have supper with us.”

  “Supper? I couldn’t eat another thing!” Charlie said.

  Mr. Paley smiled broadly and turned to survey the pool and yard, where the band continued to play. There were still a few lively guests jumping in and out of the pool or playing volleyball, but much of the energy of the first couple of hours had diminished.

  “Jason, have you ever been hunting?” Greg asked.

  The question took him by surprise. “Hunting? Uh, no.”

  “You want to go?”

  Jason looked at his dad, who made an expression—say yes! Miranda, on the other hand, appeared to be horrified.

  “I don’t know, I’ve never done it. What kind of hunting? Where?”

  “Up in Michigan where we have our cabin, it’s a forested area with a lot of deer, even black bear.”

  “I’m not sure I could shoot Bambi’s mother,” Jason said.

  Greg laughed and put a hand on Jason’s back. “If you’re going to be my son-in-law, you’re going to have to learn how to hunt. You don’t have a choice.” He laughed some more, indicating he was only kidding. Jason and Charlie laughed, too, but Miranda remained silent.

  “I don’t know,” Jason said. “Maybe I will sometime. When do you go?”

  “Oh, usually at the beginning of the fall. September. Trey goes up there a lot more often than I do. He goes hunting all the time.” Paley leaned in, conspiratorially. “He probably does it when it’s out of season, too.” He shook his head. “That boy can be a handful.”

  “Would Trey be going with us?”

  “Of course! I can’t go hunting without Trey, he wouldn’t let me.”

  Jason’s brief interest was dashed. The last thing he wanted to do was be cooped up in a cabin in the woods with Trey Paley.

  “When I get back from my business trip, I’ll take you to the range, let you practice firing a gun.”

  “What’s your business trip?” Charlie asked.

  “I leave tomorrow to go overseas. I fly back and forth over the Atlantic four or five times a year. It’s part of the job. Have to check on Palit Wool’s manufacturing plant.” Greg shrugged. “I’m used to it. Sometimes Trey goes with me, keeps me company.”

  “How long will you be gone?” Jason asked.

  “Three weeks, probably. No more than a month, I hope.”

  “Where is the plant?” said Miranda.

  A loud crack in the yard startled everyone. A few of the women, including Miranda, screamed.

  “What the—?” Greg did a double take.

  Trey Paley had a pistol in his hand and had fired it into the sky. He was drunk, laughing, and stumbling like a fool. Mack was on the ground, also drunk and laughing.

  “Trey!” Greg shouted.

  “Sorry!” Trey called back, but he kept laughing and swinging the gun around.

  “Excuse me a moment.” Greg strode across the patio and onto the yard. He approached his son, grabbed Trey’s forearm with lightning speed, and took the pistol with his other hand. Jason and Charlie watched Greg exchange low, harsh words with Trey. His son wouldn’t wipe the grin from his face, so his father gave him a little shove. Trey lost his balance and fell on his ass. That did the trick. Trey stopped laughing, jerked up straight, and grimaced, turning beet red.

  Greg said something else to him and walked back to the patio and inside the house with the handgun, ignoring everyone’s looks, as Trey stared him down. Mack got up, said something to his friend, and together they turned and swaggered off to another side of the property.

  “How lovely,” Miranda said quietly.

  “Reckless ass,” Jason muttered.

  “You don’t like Nat’s brother, do you?” his father asked.

  “Not at all.”

  “Well, I suggest you start trying to like him. You’re going to be married to his sister.”

  “You saw what he just did.”

  “I know. It’s one of the hazards of matrimony, son. I couldn’t stand your mother’s Aunt Hilda, but I did my best to get along with her.”

  “Aunt Hilda scared the crap out of me when I was little,” Miranda added.
<
br />   That made Jason laugh. Aunt Hilda had long been the butt of many family jokes.

  “Was Greg in the military?” Charlie asked, after Miranda excused herself to find a restroom.

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  From the corner of his eye, Jason watched Nat, who was in her bikini, as she approached them with a frown on her face.

  “Did that nasty bang wake you up, my dear?” Jason asked.

  She cuddled him and put her head on his shoulder. “Ugh, I feel awful.”

  “Should have paced yourself.”

  “I know.” She looked up at Charlie and Tricia, who had just joined them, both wearing expectant looks on their faces that signaled the end of their stay. “Are you guys leaving already?”

  “Yes, we have to go. I just said goodbye to your mother,” Tricia said. “We’ll see you soon, okay? You two come over to our house for dinner real soon.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m going to go see them out,” Jason said to Nat, who nodded and embraced them.

  “Thank you for coming!” Then she added to Jason, “I’m going to go lie down.”

  Jason followed his parents through the house to the front, where Miranda was waiting for them in the foyer. He noticed the look on her face. “Didn’t you have a good time?”

  “Sure,” she answered, “if you like hobnobbing with royalty when they think you’re the peasants.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  She shrugged. “I’m sorry. It’s just not my scene.” She furrowed her brow. “You like your girlfriend’s family?”

  Jason lifted his hands. “Sure. What does it matter? I like Nat.”

  “Her brother’s a real jerk.”

  “That, he is.”

  “Be careful around him.”

  “I will.”

  “I heard him putting you down. Don’t stand for it.”

  It was true. Throughout the afternoon, Trey had never let an opportunity to insult Jason go by. He always did it in an I’m-just-kidding way, but Jason knew better.

  “He’s bigger than me.”

  “Just don’t let him run over you.”

  “When Nat and I are married, we won’t see him much.”

  “Her mom is a character.”

  “Angela’s funny. She’s like this vintage glamour queen who doesn’t believe she’s pushing sixty.”

  “And her dad is nice enough; I like him. You like Mr. Paley?”

  “Yeah, I do. With all his money and stuff, he could be a real dick, but he’s not.”

  “He inherited his business, right?”

  “From his father, who inherited it from his father. I guess Trey is supposed to inherit it, but I’m not sure that’s going to happen.” He raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes at that. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Sure. I can’t believe my baby brother has a master’s degree.” They hugged and said goodbye, promising to stay in touch more often.

  Jason watched them drive away and went back inside. Glancing up to the second-floor landing, he wasn’t surprised to see Maxim Paley again, still sitting there in his wheelchair. Why hadn’t they brought him down to the party? Jason knew there was an elaborate staircase lift for the chair, and he had seen Nat’s grandfather downstairs in the past.

  Jason waved at the old man. Though Maxim was in his eighties, he looked as if he was ten years older. A stroke he’d suffered in his sixties had left him partially paralyzed and without speech, but Jason wasn’t sure if the man could hear or not. He could move his arms, as well as propel the wheelchair by himself.

  Maxim Paley nodded at Jason.

  Jason decided to say hello. He ascended the grand staircase and approached the old man. “Hello, Mr. Paley. I’m sorry I haven’t come up earlier to say hi. How are you doing?”

  Maxim Paley just looked at him.

  Jason saw that he kept in his lap a little notepad of Palit Wool stationery and a marker attached to it with Velcro. He squatted next to the wheelchair.

  “Why didn’t you come join us? You didn’t want to come to the party?”

  No response.

  “Can you hear me, sir?” Jason nodded at the notepad. “You can write messages?”

  No movement.

  Jason reached over and clasped the patriarch’s right hand. “Well, if it means anything to you, sir, I love your granddaughter, and I’ll do everything I can to keep her happy.”

  Maxim Paley squeezed Jason’s hand.

  Oh my God, he can hear me!

  “I don’t know Mr. Paley very well yet, but I like your son, too. My future father-in-law.”

  Another hand squeeze, a little harder.

  Was that approval or disapproval?

  “I have to be honest, though, I don’t think your grandson, Trey, likes me much. I’m doing my best with him, but he’s making it very difficult.”

  The hand squeezed again, this time even harder.

  4

  Saturday for Annie began by feeding Aloysius, having a bite of breakfast, practicing for five minutes the most recent tap routine she’d learned, and then leaving Chicago at 7:30 in the morning. As she drove the Ford around the southern tip of Lake Michigan toward Grand Rapids, she listened to the eclectic music and news selection on the PBS station until she could no longer receive it. After that, the radio had slim pickings; there was no CD player or digital audio input in the Bucar. Lakeway was located another three hours north, at the bottom of the Manistee National Forest. The scenery grew more attractive the farther into rural Michigan she went. The trees that dotted the landscape at first multiplied in number, size, and girth. When she eventually reached her destination, she found Lakeway to look pretty much like what she expected. A town of about 2,000 people, mostly white, the community had a reputation for being the staging area for various types of wilderness adventures—camping, kayaking, and hunting. Hence, there were a lot of motels, lodges, and “country cabins” in town and on the road leading to it. The setting for these adventures—the forest—surrounded the village and grew denser toward the north.

  Annie had never been much of an outdoors person. Having grown up in Chicago with two older brothers and a younger sister, her sensibilities were strictly urban. Her life had always been about the pavements, the streets, noisy traffic, and the melting pot of diverse people of all races and ages. She craved the pulse of a metropolis; it energized her. It was in her blood. Living in New York during her analyst years only intensified her love for big cities. While she found the surroundings in Lakeway, Michigan, beautiful and even breathtaking at times, she still felt like a fish out of water. It was so incredibly quiet. She thought if she had to spend too much time in the wilderness, the silence would drive her mad. If there wasn’t Wi-Fi or a Starbucks within a stone’s throw, forget it.

  For the journey, she dispensed with the business attire and wore jeans, a polo shirt, and sneakers. Her second weapon, a Glock 22, was in the holster at her waist. She constantly switched between the 22 and the 27 because the latter was smaller, although they were both .40 caliber. The 22 held sixteen rounds, whereas the 27 held only nine. She usually carried the Glock 27 at work and the 22 out on arrests, surveillance, searches, and other operations. As was the case with all female FBI agents, carrying a gun also sometimes presented wardrobe challenges. Wearing a gun with a business suit—skirt and jacket—at the office could be awkward. Usually, she preferred slacks and a blouse, which allowed her to carry one of her Glocks in the ankle holster.

  She arrived on time at the police station, which was located across from a city courthouse in “downtown” Lakeway. The reception area was small, consisting of a few chairs. Across from her was a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY, and next to it a man in uniform sat at a desk behind a window. He had a mop of curly hair and looked to be in his early thirties. Annie registered the name tag. “Captain Baines?”

  “Yes, ma’am. How can I help you?”

  “I’m supposed to meet FBI agent Harris Caruthers here. I’m Special Agent Anne Marino.” She fla
shed her credentials at him.

  The captain raised his eyebrows and stood. “Oh, yeah, I’ve—we’ve been expecting you. Agent Caruthers is in our conference room. I’ll take you back.” He opened the security door and let her inside. She noted how his eyes went up and down her body, a familiar visual assault she, as well as every other woman, experienced regularly. It was no longer a surprise to Annie, but it never failed to annoy her when law enforcement “colleagues” ogled her.

  When his eyes got to her legs and feet, Baines creased his forehead.

  “You’ll have to remove the gun, ma’am. Regulations. You can lock it in one of the cubbies over here.”

  It was standard operating procedure for visitors to stow their weapons inside a prison or a police department building. She nodded at him, squatted, undid the holster, and drew the handgun. She proceeded to place the gun inside one of the designated safes, locked the door, and pocketed the key.

  Baines smiled. “There we go. Safe and sound.” He led her through another door and held out a hand. “I’m Captain Mike Baines. Call me Mike. Or Captain Mike. That’s what everyone else does.”

  “Thanks, Captain Mike, I’m Annie.”

  He showed her into a small conference room where a man, also in his early thirties, sat at a table with the contents of a case file spread out in front of him. He was dressed in a plaid shirt and jeans. The telltale holster—empty, for he, too, had to stow his weapon—was on his waist. Across from him was a much older man in uniform—the chief.

  “Guys, this here’s Agent Marino,” Captain Mike said.

  They both stood. The younger one spoke first. “Glad you could make it. I’m Harris Caruthers.”

  “And I’m Chief of Police Bill Daniel.”

  Hands were shaken all around.

  “Can I get you anything?” the captain asked. “Coffee? Water?”

  “Coffee sounds great, thanks. Cream, no sugar.”

  Captain Mike went off to fetch the beverage and the remaining three sat.

  “How was the drive?” Caruthers asked.

  “Fine. Very pretty, in fact, once I got out of the Chicago sprawl.”