Knockdown: A Home Repair Is Homicide Mystery

by Sarah Graves

  A faint sound from behind her interrupted her thought; she froze, listening. Scanning the trail in both directions, she saw no one either way, and suddenly it struck her that all those people she had expected to meet weren’t materializing.

  Maybe they’d taken side trails, down onto the beaches or out to Ship’s Point, the high, rocky tip of the promontory the park was perched on. But for whatever reason, they weren’t here.…

  She got up, began walking back down toward the parking lot. The sound came again, a crisp rustling that stopped whenever she did, whereupon all at once the trail seemed isolated, indeed, and she regretted her certainty of having companions on it.

  Around her the dark green pine boughs looked nearly black in the shade of the treetops. Cadaverous old spruces, with grayish limbs hung with moss, loomed threateningly. Suddenly she felt like running, but before she could, a hand on her arm stopped her.

  Reflexively she hurled both arms up, kicked back hard with her right foot. A sharp exhalation of surprise said she’d nearly connected.

  “Hey,” said a familiar voice, “easy does it. It’s me—”

  She spun around. “Wade! You scared the—”

  The amusement in his blue eyes changed instantly to contrition. “I’m sorry. Honestly.” He spread his hands in apology. “I followed you out here to say I’m sorry. I didn’t think …”

  He wrapped his arms around her, and after a moment she let him. “It’s okay. I thought it was him.”

  She stepped away. “Wade, don’t you see? It’s like being in prison, this feeling. And while he’s free and walking around, I’ll always feel this way.”

  A party of tourists came around a bend in the trail. A small brown dog romped beside them. Jake had time to notice the shorts and T-shirts they all wore, and to think about all the mosquitoes they would encounter up ahead where the trees gave way to insect-infested meadows.

  Then they were gone, glancing curiously as they passed; and the dog’s happy yapping faded, too. Jake looked at Wade. “You were saying? About an apology?”

  Wade stared purse-lipped at his shoes. “Well. The thing is, you were right that I wouldn’t have waited for you. That I’d have gone ahead and done something on my own. And—”

  And that you had a life before I knew you, in which you did worse things. Scarier, too.

  Although perhaps not so blatantly dangerous. In the bad old days, she’d pretended what she did was normal: creating financial strategies for guys so habitually criminal, any dollar bill they owned should’ve borne an engraving of Captain Kidd.

  Now, though, the illusion she’d created for herself back then was gone. Now the reality showed through: That all of those guys had been psychopaths, pure and simple. That she was lucky none of them had taken a sudden notion to kill her.

  That all along, it had been only a matter of time, and now the past had reared its ugly head to bite her at last.

  All of which showed on Wade’s face: that it was here, and had to be dealt with one way or another. They turned and walked together back down the trail, forest sounds rising around them: chipmunks chittering, a swoosh of wind in the tops of the pines, a boat engine muttering on the far side of the tree line, where the rocky cliffs dropped straight down.

  She took his arm, matching his gait with her own. “I guess in a way I’m just getting what I deserve. Delayed justice.”

  Wade stopped short, turning to her. “Please don’t say that. Everyone makes mistakes, Jake. But to say you deserve something bad to happen to you on account of it …” He shook his head. “That’s a trap. You aren’t the person you were back then. And for all you know, if you’d done what he asked, something even worse might’ve happened.”

  They began walking again, down the last steep path section. “And either way,” she said, “the fact remains that—”

  “That he’s got to be caught,” Wade finished. “And those New York cops aren’t going to be here in time to do it.”

  She glanced at him in surprise. “Bob Arnold stopped by just after you left,” he explained as they came out into the parking lot. “He’s pretty ticked, having to sit on his hands and wait for the city boys, as he calls them.”

  By now the sunlight was the color of honey pouring slantwise onto the water. “Maine has state cops, too,” Jake pointed out. “And the girl on Sea Street, that’s their problem, not New York’s. Why aren’t they taking the lead?”

  Wade shrugged. “They would be. But it’s a combined task force now, according to Bob, and not only does New York have way more evidence on Garner than Maine does, but their crime happened first, so they want first crack at him.”

  Which meant their making the arrest. “Yeah, right,” she said, unconvinced. “More likely, some New York district attorney wants to make a career move, thinks a big, gory murder case with plenty of juicy publicity will help.”

  He tipped his head. “Could be that, also. Some politics in the mix, and some time just to get things organized, too.”

  She made a face as he went on: “But for whatever reason, Bob says he was told to sit tight. And you have to admit, a bunch of squad cars speeding in here with their lights flashing and their sirens howling wouldn’t exactly help us, anyway.”

  “True.” It was a nice fantasy, big-city cops riding to the rescue. But once they got here, why would they be able to find Garner any faster, or even at all?

  They didn’t know Eastport, its hiding places or its people. They wouldn’t be able to sort out the locals from the visitors. And he’d already shown himself to be clever not only at hiding but also at disguising himself when he wanted to.

  No, the way to catch him wasn’t by looking for him. It was by luring him in. And not only that—

  “Once they do get here, they’ll probably just spook him,” she said. “He’ll take off, wait around somewhere else until the authorities give up on Eastport.”

  “That’s what I’d do,” Wade agreed. “Which I guess deep-sixes my other suggestion.”

  She glanced at him. “Wait ourselves? Sit in the house with all the lights on, take turns sitting up at night, stay on alert until he’s apprehended?”

  Wade’s truck was parked near the trailhead. “That was what I was thinking,” he admitted. “But—”

  “But I believe we’ve just established that he might not be apprehended, not for weeks, maybe. Or months.” Or until after he gets his revenge on me, she didn’t add. After I’m dead.

  But Wade understood. “Get in,” he said. “Sam can come and get your car.”

  He held the door and she climbed up gratefully, ready to go home. But that, it turned out, wasn’t where they were headed.

  “Tonight could be our last chance,” he said. “Once all the crowds leave, Garner might change his tactics.”

  To better ones, he meant, ones that could succeed before they managed to get up to speed on his new strategy.

  “But if I’m going to be in on this harebrained scheme of yours,” Wade added as he drove back down Washington Street toward downtown, “some reconnoitering is in order.”

  On Water Street, he slowed to examine the storefronts and the windows of the vacant rooms above them.

  “I wonder why the owners don’t sell tickets on the Fourth,” said Jake, “so people can watch fireworks from indoors.”

  As the sun sank, a perceptible chill was already gathering; summer nights in Eastport could be balmy, but more often they were good excuses for electric blankets.

  Wade shook his head. “Someone would fall through one of the old floors, owner’d get sued.”

  They drove on. “I don’t like the alleys,” he said, frowning at the narrow openings between the old buildings.

  The police had opened the street to traffic long enough to get the food and beer trucks down to resupply the restaurants. Wade slowed the pickup, still eyeing the alleys and old structures on the wasteland behind the buildings.

  “See the shed back there? I’d want someone on the roof of that.” He poin
ted at the low, rickety wooden structure. “And at the top of all those other little alleys, too,” he added. “Guy won’t necessarily just come strolling at you down the sidewalk, Jake. I give him more credit than that, don’t you?”

  “He won’t necessarily come at all,” she said, not knowing whether she hoped he would or not.

  Up ahead, a pair of Bob Arnold’s deputies were putting the yellow sawhorses back out so no more vehicle traffic could enter. Wade raised a companionable hand as he threaded the truck around them.

  Down on the breakwater, the last of the fireworks were being loaded onto the barge, under the big dock lights. Wade frowned at the sight. “Hope those guys know what they’re doing.”

  She turned in surprise. “They might not?”

  He shrugged. “New team. Old fellow from the company retired last year, whole new crew took over. They’ve got all the proper licenses and all, but …”

  But in the blowing-things-up department, no license could compare with years of experience, his frown said. “Worse case, they can just scuttle the barge and jump overboard, I guess,” he added, not very reassuringly.

  They turned onto Washington Street, uphill past the post office building, then between the big old houses, some vacant and others occupied, toward Key Street and home.

  “Anyway, I could be wrong,” she said as they pulled into the driveway, “but I think Garner’s going to show up.”

  The porch light was on, and inside, the delicious mingled fragrances of fish hash, garden green beans freshly picked and snipped, and biscuit dough just now lightly browning floated in the back hall.

  Bella turned from the stove with a spatula in her hand and an apron around her middle, her air the calm, commanding one of a general readying for battle.

  “It’s all under control for tonight,” she announced before Jake could ask. “Sam’s got the keys labeled and on chains.”

  So people could get into the rooms above the downtown stores to watch over her on the street, Bella meant. “Your father is out borrowing a few more cellphones,” she added.

  Because George and Ellie didn’t own them; Ellie said if she wanted to be reachable by telephone 24/7, she’d just sit by the one at home.

  And George … well, he had a beeper for his emergency duties, but otherwise if it were up to him the mail would still be traveling by pony express.

  Bella dumped the green beans into boiling water and went on: “Also, Bob Arnold says his guys have checked all the empty houses and everywhere else they could think of. But no luck.”

  With a deft motion of her wrist, she turned the skillet-sized pancake made of fish hash, which on the cooked side was already a rich, tasty-looking brown. “He said he wanted me to be sure to tell you they’re doing their best.”

  Jake nodded; she believed it, and not only for her own sake. Bob and his guys would be eager to show the New York cops that at least they’d been trying to find Steven Garner.

  Or “the subject,” as they’d be sure to start calling him as soon as those other cops actually arrived. Right now, with a few thousand extra people in town for the fireworks, what they were calling him wasn’t printable.

  “And George Valentine stopped by, too. He left that.” Bella waved the spatula at the table. On it lay a small, dark electronic gadget.

  An unfamiliar electronic gadget, at least to Jake. But at the sight of it, Wade’s eyes brightened.

  “Gotcha,” he said.

  “IT’S A KID TRACKER,” SAID SAM LATER IN THE PARLOR, TURNING the item in his hands. “See, it’s even got a panic button.”

  “But how does it work?” Jake peered at the thing Wade and Sam seemed to think was the answer to their problems. “I mean, where do you watch whoever you’re tracking?”

  “On your computer screen,” Sam replied. Her laptop was open on the coffee table. “See, you log in to the company’s website.”

  He tapped keys; moments later a map of Eastport appeared on the screen. The map was remarkably detailed, even showing the small alleys between the downtown buildings.

  “It’s really sweet, Mom. If you push the panic button, it sends a message anywhere you want. I’m going to set it up so it emails to right here, and Bella can—”

  “Oh, no.” Jake glanced toward the kitchen where Bella worked intently, scrubbing the pots and pans.

  Jake lowered her voice. “Sam, I adore Bella, you know I do. But if there’s any chance I’m going to be sending panic messages, I want someone on the other end who’s not going to panic, reading them.”

  Sam looked up warily, knowing Bella was not inclined to do any such thing. “Yeah, well, don’t get any ideas about me. I’m going to be—”

  “No, you’re not.” Wade came into the parlor behind them. “I told you already I don’t like the idea of you in a crowd with a loaded weapon. Besides, I want somebody with a little springiness in his nervous system to sit at that computer. You’re elected.”

  Sam’s face darkened mutinously. “But—”

  He’d stowed the gun in his room after Bella objected to his sitting at the dinner table with it. Now Jake felt a moment of sympathy for him; going out armed to protect his mom was the kind of task a young man could get excited over.

  By comparison, watching a computer screen wasn’t, however necessary it might be. “Sam, please. I really need you to do it.” Outside, the light was fading fast and the streetlamps were on. Only an hour or so and it would be completely dark. It was nearly time to go. “Sam?”

  He sighed heavily. “All right. I don’t know why I’m always the one who—”

  “Think of it as payback for all those times you used to lock yourself in your room and refuse to come out,” Jake told him.

  Sometimes for days, back in that other life, the one she was trying now to put an end to at last. He had the good grace to look embarrassed.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he gave in grudgingly. “Guess I’m lucky nobody from back then is after me, huh? The way I behaved.”

  He turned back to the screen, tapped a few more keys. “Okay. Put the tracking module in your pocket.”

  She did, and he pressed the computer’s refresh button. When the grid on the screen had vanished and then redisplayed itself, a small red icon showed, with a label: Key Street.

  “So it works.” She felt her heart flutter nervously.

  By now George and Ellie would already be downtown, waiting. With any luck, Steven Garner would be down there, too.

  Jake got up, hoping it turned out to be good luck, and not the other kind. Outside the parlor windows, the last of the day’s light drained from the sky.

  “It’s showtime,” she said.

  CARS LINED BOTH SIDES OF KEY STREET, PARKED EVERYWHERE they could squeeze in. Lawn chairs stood three deep in the yards where a view of the harbor sky was possible, and the sweet smoke from a hundred barbecue grills all over town made the cool air pungent.

  Parents carried infants and led trudging toddlers down the hill toward the waterfront. Older kids waved plastic light swords, tossed foil bomb-bags and stomped them, setting off loud reports. Rowdy teenagers ran and shoved one another, while aging couples, stepping carefully in the gloom, clutched one another’s arms and leaned together.

  “You’re sure you’re up for this?” Jake’s dad asked quietly as they walked along together.

  “Yes. And anyway, I don’t think I have much choice.”

  In the end they’d stationed Bella at home with Sam, in case he needed to send her somewhere to do something based on what he saw on the computer screen. Jake felt a sudden strong pang of wanting to be there, too, but banished it with an effort.

  “Garner’s not going to quit,” she said. “He’s got it in his mind that I killed his dad. If he isn’t stopped, sooner or later he’s going to …”

  But what Garner might do didn’t bear thinking of, especially when she recalled what he’d already done. She squeezed her dad’s arm and released it. “Look, there goes the boat.”

  A broad, beamy
fishing boat fitted with dragging tackle for urchin and scallop fishing moved away from the breakwater. On it were the men from the fire department, charged with responding if any emergency developed.

  Which it had never occurred to her that any might, until Wade made his comment about the new team. Behind the boat moved the barge with the actual explosives loaded onto it, while out on the dark water floated the lights of dozens of other small- and medium-sized vessels.

  Some people apparently wanted cold salt spray to go along with their light show. Wade frowned at them.

  “Someday something flaming’s going to fall on one of them,” he said. Which he said every year, and nothing bad ever happened.

  It occurred to her that in the public-safety department, he was a bit of a worrywart. They reached the downtown buildings overlooking the harbor.

  “You up there,” Jake told her dad, pointing at the windows over the front door of Wadsworth’s hardware store.

  He took the key she handed him and vanished through the side door leading to the stairway up. Moments later his face showed briefly in the window above, and he flashed the high sign.

  Then George and Ellie hurried over for their keys. “You be careful,” Ellie urged, giving Jake a quick hug.

  “I will.” The whole street was practically solid with people milling around, waiting.

  Ellie took the key for the big apartment over the gift shop just past Furniture Avenue, overlooking the first of the alleys Wade was worried about, and went in.

  George strode away up the alley itself, to perch atop the old shed back there and keep watch on whoever went by the alley’s opening onto the street. “That leaves me,” Wade said.

  They made their way together between the shouting middle-schoolers and their harried parents, a gang of teen girls madly texting even as they tottered on their stack-heeled sandals, and a quartet of pleasantly sozzled, Uncle Sam—costumed men singing patriotic songs as they weaved along arm in arm.

  Wade stopped in front of the old Berman building, once a row of department stores and now transformed into gift shops, an antiques store, and a soda fountain. Turning, he gazed sternly at Jake.