“Pretty sure. Because that’s the other thing we noticed. Amish guy with a computer. Sort of steampunkish, if you know what I mean.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Was he here a lot?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t think so. I would have noticed. Couple times, maybe. You think that’s the guy? Who was messing with our wireless?”
“I’m not sure. It’s possible.”
“Hope you find him. You can’t miss him. Real Old Testament-ey.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
IT MIGHT BE ONE more coincidence, I thought, getting on the highway to head east a few minutes later. After all, Trey Renner, Brenda’s affable if protective son, didn’t have a beard, despite his—well, Amish-ey—haircut. But Lumberback’s description of the potential hacker, combined with the coin that Mc-Quillen showed me and his contention that Brenda wasn’t telling the truth about one aspect of her midwife days, was enough to merit a return trip. Even if I was just crossing more people off my list. The important thing was, I still had plenty of time to pick up the boys before braving inbound traffic for Red, White & Boom that night.
I was parking in the gravel lot at Brenda’s Books ’n Things less than an hour later when my phone rang.
“Well, don’t bother now.”
“Who’s calling?”
“It’s Patty Bowden. And I said don’t bother.”
“Don’t bother what?” I said, looking at the store. The inside was dark and the sign on the door said it was closed.
“Don’t bother looking anymore. For Mike and Todd. I mean, what’s the point?”
“What do you mean? Did you find them?”
“Find them?” She laughed weakly, like someone making light at a bankruptcy hearing. “I got more important things to worry about now.”
“Like what?”
“Like finding a place to live. Got burned out last night.”
“What?”
“You heard me, soldier. Trailer went up in flames. Only reason I’m alive is the dogs. Woke me out of a deep sleep, smoke pouring through the house.”
“Are you OK?”
“I’m alive, but that’s about it. Staying with an aunt right now. Don’t suppose you’ve got any idea who did it.”
“Did what?”
“Torched me. Sheriff says it was arson.”
“Arson?”
“I mean, just seems odd, Mike and Todd missing, I talk to you, then this? Starting to wish I never called you.”
“Why?”
“Makes me think you’re one of them people brings trouble with you wherever you go.”
We talked for a couple more minutes. I told her how sorry I was. I also told her I wasn’t going to give up trying to find her brother and nephew, and she didn’t have to worry about payment. She called me soldier again and said that was the least I could do. I hung up and got out of the van. I debated bringing along the Louisville Slugger, but decided against it in the end. You could never tell with that thing, what good it might or might not do.
48
I PEERED INSIDE THE SHOP DOOR BUT SAW NO one. I knocked. The glass in the door rattled loosely, but no one came. I took a couple of steps back and examined the front of the store. In the light of day the window displays looked more tired and ticky-tacky than the first time I’d stopped as evening approached. A jigsaw puzzle of the Manhattan skyline included the pre-9/11 twin towers. Dust covered a cellophane-wrapped package of twelve bayberry-scented candles, except where someone had traced a finger along the edge. Something had gnawed at the side of one of the wooden bird feeders hanging from the top of the display. Cobwebs filled corners. The colors on the painting on the lintel above the door—bluebirds in their nest—were fading. I looked more closely at the depiction. In quality it was barely on par with the tole paintings of geese one of my aunts filled her house with when I was a boy. Now that I studied the image there was also something about the birds that seemed off—
I started at a sound. Trey Renner appeared, opening the door from the inside, though the shop was still dark.
“We’re closed.”
“I can see that. I was hoping to talk to your mom.”
“About what?”
“Couple follow-up questions.”
“I already told you, it’s not good for her to talk about that stuff.”
“Maybe you can help me, then.”
“How?”
I studied his face. He was clean-shaven like me, with no signs of razor cuts indicating an attempt to hack off a beard. But that had been weeks ago, so what evidence would there be? The bowl-shaped haircut persisted, and seemed oddly out of place on the repairman, like a guy in a kilt wearing a pink nylon fanny pack.
“Excuse the question. But did you use to have a beard?”
Renner looked behind him, and then glanced over my shoulder. “You drove all the way down here to ask me that?”
“Well, that and a couple more questions about David Derwent.”
“As I said, that stuff’s ancient history. And my mom doesn’t want to talk about it. Fact is, I don’t want her to talk about it.”
“It won’t take long, I promise. I’m just wrapping up some loose ends.”
It was something to do with the bluebirds’ heads, I thought. I wished to hell I’d paid more attention to that stuff as a kid. But of course I hadn’t. Because my dad, of all people, was the birder in the family; my mom was too busy with teaching and housework and us kids to care. And since it was him, I’d been automatically dismissive of the things he tried telling me—
“Maybe I can help.” Renner stood aside to let me in.
“Thanks.” I stepped in, wary. The same musty smell greeted me as before, of books too long on the shelves without someone handling them, of bins of stale candy, of a rug allowed to dry in place after a water leak soaked it.
“So how about it?” I said.
“How about what?”
“The beard.”
He sighed. He looked like a man tired of repairing computers whose only issues were the owners hadn’t plugged them in.
“I’ve had a beard on and off. Satisfied?”
“Maybe. Have you ever been to a coffee shop in Columbus called Scarlet & Gray Grounds?”
“Did you say you had questions for my mom?”
“Yes. But what about the coffee shop?”
“Why are you asking me this?”
The heads. That was it. What was I thinking? They weren’t bluebirds at all, I realized, even as poorly painted as they were. They were blue jays, unmistakable now that I thought about it, with those bright eyes and that distinctive crest. I conjured an image of my father putting out bags of suet for them midwinter, and then sitting for hours in the kitchen watching them through the window.
“Like I said, just tying up some loose ends.”
“My mom’s back here.” He jabbed his right thumb toward the rear of the store. “She can explain everything. Which I guess you deserve to know.”
“Everything like what?”
“Like the truth, as long as you’ve come all this way.”
He gestured for me to precede him. I stayed put, my mind working furiously.
Blue jays. Two of them. Side by side. Two jays.
Renner looked back at me. “There a problem?”
Two jays.
Jay Jay.
Jay Jays.
JJ’s.
“JJ’s,” I said, staring at Renner.
“What of it?”
I recalled the urgency in Mike Bowden’s voice as he summoned his son. He’s saying JJ’s, now. The snatch of conversation Angela caught after she was taken captive. The driver told him to shut up. The link between the two events and the two sets of conspirators the word provided. Since the day I’d walked into Brenda’s Books ’n Things it had been right in front of me.
“You’re—” I started to say, when I was interrupted by the shop door opening. I turned. A man stood in the aisle, pointing a gun at my head. A man I
recognized, but someone I hadn’t seen in a couple of weeks. And when I had, he hadn’t been pleased to see me.
“You messed up my pretty floors,” the custodian at Maple Ridge High said, as Renner stuck his own gun in my back.
49
“THAT’S HOW YOU KNEW SO MUCH ABOUT Abdi Mohamed,” I said. “About the Ninth Period, I’m guessing. Him and Faith. And who his counselor was. You had a spy. In plain sight.”
The words sounded more coherent in my head. The actual sounds I made were mumbled because of the swelling around my mouth, as if I’d kissed a nest of hornets and they’d kissed right back.
“I prefer the word ‘patriot,’” Renner said.
I was sitting in a wooden chair, my butt going numb, hands and feet trussed with plastic zip ties, head ringing from where Renner had knocked me back and forth with a closed fist one or two dozen times. As far as I could tell, half the blows related to information he wanted that I wasn’t forthcoming enough about; what I knew about his mom, Brenda; what I knew about Abdi Mohamed; and what I knew about Barbara Mendoza. The rest of the time he just wanted to hit me.
“Tell me this. Was it just a coincidence you found out about the niece?”
“So many questions,” Renner said.
“Thing is, Barbara was so secretive about Angela. No one knew. But you put the pieces together somehow.” The comment directed at the custodian. He looked at Renner. Renner nodded. The custodian slapped me hard enough to make Renner’s blows up to that point seem like puffs of baby’s breath in comparison.
When I raised my head again, eyes clearing, Renner said, “Dwayne saw her crying in her office from time to time. When she didn’t think anyone was around. It gave him pause. Satisfied?”
A funny formality had crept into Renner’s voice. I couldn’t place it at first, and then recalled similar phrasing from the night we’d rescued Angela. From a man wearing a Guy Fawkes mask. So I’d met them both before. And had an errant siren not interrupted us that night, everything might have been different.
“Why were you looking for the boy?” Renner said.
“I already told you. His family hired an attorney. In anticipation of charges being brought.” Anticipation took an effort of ten seconds and what felt like double the syllables. “The FBI was all over them because of what happened with the brother. Hassan. The attorney hired me to find Abdi. That’s all there is to it. It was just a job.”
“But you were in the parking lot that day. When that immigrant assaulted the Bowdens.”
I laughed, despite how much it hurt. “Assaulted them? She was a mom with kids loading groceries into a car. All I did was what any real man would do.” I held Renner’s gaze as I spoke. “I tried to help her. I got hired after that because Abdi’s family believed I could help them.” Mistakenly believed, I thought with bitterness, realizing how badly I’d failed.
“Help a terrorist?” Dwayne said. He had a fleshy face, in contrast to the trim Renner, with a short, gray mustache that looked like something stripped from a squirrel’s nest and glued on with Elmer’s.
“Somalis aren’t terrorists,” I said.
“Except for Hassan Mohamed,” Renner said evenly.
“There’s always going to be few fanatics in the world,” I said, looking into his eyes. “Dipshit crazies who don’t know any better—
Renner’s fist connected with my right temple before I could finish. This time I blacked out for a couple of moments. When I raised my head and my eyes cleared, I saw the custodian holding a knife.
“Please?” he said to Renner. “Asshole’s basically asking for it.”
Renner made a face at the obscenity. But he didn’t reply. My insides went cold as I realized he was thinking hard about the suggestion.
“We will build a fire of pure white flame that reaches to heaven,” he whispered. He shook his head. “It’s better if he goes out like the rest of them. No questions about time of death.”
“Time of death?” Dwayne said. “Like you can tell with bits and pieces. Because that’s all that’s going to be left.”
“Leave it, please.” Renner pulled his phone from his pocket and glanced at the screen. “It’s getting late. We need to mail the package.”
“Mike and Todd Bowden,” I said.
“What about them?” Renner said.
“Where are they? Or should I ask, where are their bodies? Since their sister hired me to find them and someone tried to kill her. I’m guessing you shut them up after I entered the picture?”
Renner traded glances with the custodian.
“Or because they put whatever you’re up to in jeopardy? Is that it? Did you try killing Patty Bowden for the same reason?”
Renner leaned close and stared at me. His eyes blazed with the clarity of true belief. It occurred to me in that moment that he was a doppelganger for Ronald J. McQuillen, minus the newly shorn beard. Driven by an inner burning. We will build a fire of pure white flame that reaches to heaven. Where had I heard that before?
“It is time for you to stop talking,” he said.
True belief. The chosen one. The third brother.
I thought back to the day I met McQuillen and took in all his oddities in the Garden. Fire of pure white flame. He’d used the same phrase. Attributed it to someone.
To David Derwent, the Son of Seth.
He was their king.
I said, “A girl died out here, a long time ago. In childbirth. Her and her baby. That was the rumor. Your mom took off afterward.”
“Please be silent.”
“But your mom came back, later. And that baby didn’t die, did it? Did he?”
Renner didn’t speak. Dwayne lifted the knife and moved closer. I stared into Renner’s eyes.
“Did you?”
I waited for the fatal blow. The slide of the knife up under my rib cage. But instead Renner and I held each other’s gazes for several long seconds.
“Of course,” I said, struggling to enunciate. “That’s why Brenda left town for a while. To wait for things to cool down. There’d be too many questions, her showing up with a new baby and the mom nowhere in sight. That poor girl—do you even know her name? Who she was? Where she’s buried? Your real mother?”
Renner leaned back. “That is enough.”
“Derwent made himself out to be this mythical being. ‘Seth,’ the third son of Adam and Eve. The chosen one. The third brother. But the fact of the matter was, he was an only child. So the story didn’t quite fit.”
Renner shook his head.
“His first wife couldn’t have more children. So he started casting around. Found a follower more than willing to do his bidding. To carry his seed. Which turned out to be you.”
“You gonna let him flap his jaws like that?” the custodian said. He waved the knife back and forth. Flick flick. Ice filled my gut. But Renner held up a hand to stop him.
“What was the plan?” I said. “Brenda would stay away for a while, lay low, then show up later with you as her own kid? Reunite with Derwent? Except it didn’t work out because he blew himself up after killing John McQuillen. So she was left alone to raise you.”
Renner closed his eyes, as if his thoughts were far away.
“A single mom,” I continued. “But with a big consolation prize. Because you’re the chosen one, aren’t you? Or so you’d like to think. Your father was David Derwent. But he wasn’t the real third brother, was he? You are. Trey—the third one, right?”
Renner opened his eyes. He looked at me and didn’t say anything. He turned and nodded at Dwayne. The custodian approached me, and I started to rock in the chair, to fend off the attack even if only for a few seconds. But that lasted only a moment or two. I felt something soft and wet clamped over my mouth and nose and choked at a sickly sweet smell. The dim light of the room dissolved into black, taking all my pain from Renner’s blows with it.
50
MY MIND SWAM BACK UP FROM THE depths of unconsciousness, slowly drifting upward toward the ability t
o conjugate verbs and form full sentences, like a hunk of waterlogged ocean garbage that’s spent the day rising and sinking and now, perhaps for the last time, rises once again. Thoughts clicked into place like beads on an abacus. Kaltun Hirsi, tormented in the grocery store parking lot. Freddy Cohen, reluctantly offering me a job. The pain experienced by the Mohamed family. Abukar Abdulkadir, so earnest, and naive, in his desire to help. Ronald McQuillen, glugging Mountain Dew in the Garden while he rooted out enemies of the state, and of his own family. We will build a fire of pure white flame that reaches to heaven. Angela Mendoza, trembling as she climbed out of the van and into her aunt’s arms. Brenda Renner, the fragile midwife with a deadly secret. Trey Renner: Time to deliver the package.
More thoughts: Anne, miffed at my reproach over Ready Player One. Miffed, but also disguising regrets? Helene Paulus, so frank and professional, and also so beautiful as I kissed her by her car in the parking lot. Joe, and Mike, and—
I opened my eyes. I was prone on a cool metal floor. It was dark, but not pitch black. An engine was running. My feet were still bound and my hands were still tied behind me, though I realized with some effort I could flap them back and forth and wave and stretch my fingers, for all the good that did me. I’d been gagged, and not politely. My head felt like someone had used it to pound titanium pistons into place. I could move a little, wiggle back and forth, but in the same way a trussed pig wiggles on a hook on the downward conveyor slide toward bacon and baby back ribs and breakfast sausage. A pig, dying alone, the way we all die.
No. Not alone. There was someone else. Someone lying beside me.
“Mmmph,” I said.
Nothing. Then a deep sigh.
“Mmmph.” The gag cutting into the sides of my mouth.
“Shhh.”
“Mmmph.”
“Shut up. They’ll hear us.” A young, male voice, tense with fear. Abdi?
“Mmmph.”
“Shift your head down. By my hands.”
“Mmmph?”
“Just do it, motherfucker.”
Motherfucker. So maybe not Abdi. But who?
The Third Brother Page 19