He drove slowly, savoring the taste of victory. He wondered whether he should head out for a celebratory beer but decided against it. It wasn't as if he could talk about what happened. Talking was what might have gotten him into trouble in the first place.
After turning onto his street, he cruised past a number of large, well-maintained homes, each sitting on half an acre. He lived at the end of the cul-de-sac; his neighbors were a doctor and lawyer. He hadn't done too badly, if he did say so himself.
It was only when he turned in the driveway that he noticed someone standing on the sidewalk in front of the house. When he slowed, he saw the dog poised beside him and he slammed on the brakes, blinking in disbelief. He jammed the car into park. Despite the rain, he stepped out of the car and headed directly for Thigh-bolt.
When Zeus snarled and began to creep forward, Clayton stopped short. Thigh-bolt raised a hand and the dog froze.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he shouted, making his voice heard over the rain.
"Waiting for you," Thigh-bolt replied. "I think it's time we had a talk."
"Why the hell would I want to talk to you?" he spat out.
"I think you know."
Clayton didn't like the sound of that, but he wasn't about to be intimidated by the guy. Not now. Not ever.
"What I know is that you're loitering. In this county, that's a crime."
"You won't arrest me."
Part of him considered doing just that. "Don't be so sure."
Thigh-bolt continued to stare at him as if daring him to prove it. Clayton wanted to wipe that expression off Thigh-bolt's face with his fist. But ever present Cujo was there.
"What do you want?"
"Like I said, it's time for us to talk." His tone was even and steady.
"I've got nothing to say to you," Clayton fumed. He shook his head. "I'm going inside. If you're still out here when I reach the porch, I'll have you arrested for threatening a deputy with a lethal weapon."
He turned and started up the walk, toward the door.
"You didn't find the disk," Thigh-bolt called out.
Clayton stopped and turned around. "What?"
"The disk," Thigh-bolt repeated. "That's what you were looking for when you broke into my house. When you went through my drawers, looked under the mattress, checked the cabinets."
"I didn't break into your house." He squinted at Thigh-bolt.
"Yes," he said, "you did. Last Monday, when I was at work."
"Prove it," he barked.
"I already have all the proof I need. The motion detector I had set up in the fireplace turned on the video recorder. It was hidden in the fireplace. I figured you might try to find the disk one day and you'd never think to look there."
Clayton felt his stomach lurch as he tried to figure out whether Thigh-bolt was bluffing. Maybe he was or maybe he wasn't; he couldn't tell.
"You're lying."
"Then walk away. I'll be happy to walk the videotape over to the newspaper and sheriff's department right now."
"What do you want?"
"I told you, I thought it was time we had a little talk."
"About what?"
"About what a dirt-bag you are." He let the words roll out lazily. "Taking dirty pictures of coeds? What would your grandfather think of that? I wonder what would happen if he somehow found out about it, or what the newspaper might say. Or what your dad--who I believe is the county sheriff--would think about his son breaking into my house."
Clayton felt his stomach give another nasty twist. There was no way the guy could know these things . . . but he did. "What do you want?" Despite his best effort, he knew his tone had risen a notch when he said it.
Thigh-bolt continued to stand before him, his gaze steady. Clayton swore the man never so much as blinked.
"I want you to be a better person," he said.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Three things. Let's start with this: Stay out of Elizabeth's business."
Clayton blinked. "Who's Elizabeth?"
"Your ex-wife."
"You mean Beth?"
"You've been running her dates off ever since you've been divorced. You know it and I know it. And now she knows it, too. It's not going to happen again. Ever. Are we clear?"
Clayton didn't respond.
"Number two--stay out of my business. That means my house, my job, my life. Got it?"
Clayton stayed silent.
"And number three. This is very important." He raised a palm outward, as if taking an imaginary oath. "If you take your anger at me out on Ben, you'll have to answer to me."
Clayton felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. "Is that a threat?"
"No," Thigh-bolt said, "it's the truth. Do those three things, and you'll have no trouble from me. No one will know what you've done."
Clayton clenched his jaw.
In the silence, Thigh-bolt moved toward him. Zeus stayed in place, his frustration evident at being forced to stay behind. Thigh-bolt stepped closer until they were face-to-face. His voice remained as calm as it had been all along.
"Know this: You've never met someone like me before. You don't want me as an enemy."
With that, Thigh-bolt turned away and started down the sidewalk. Zeus continued to stare at Clayton until he heard the command to come. Then he trotted toward Thigh-bolt, leaving Clayton standing in the rain, wondering how everything that had been so perfect could have suddenly gone so wrong.
22
Thibault
I think I want to be an astronaut," Ben said.
Thibault was playing chess with him on the back porch and trying to figure out his next move. He had yet to win a game, and though he wasn't absolutely sure, the fact that Ben had started talking struck him as a bad sign. They'd been playing a lot of chess lately; there hadn't been a day without steady, heavy rain since October began nine days earlier. Already, the eastern part of the state was flooding, with additional rivers rising daily.
"Sounds good."
"Either that or a fireman."
Thibault nodded. "I've known a couple of firemen."
"Or a doctor."
"Hmm," Thibault said. He began reaching for his bishop.
"I wouldn't do that," Ben said.
Thibault looked up.
"I know what you're thinking you should do," Ben added. "It won't work."
"What should I do?"
"Not that."
Thibault drew his hand back. It was one thing to lose, it was another thing to lose continually. Worse, he didn't seem to be closing the gap. If anything, Ben was getting better faster than he was. The previous game had lasted all of twenty-one moves.
"Would you like to see my tree house?" Ben said. "It's really cool. It's got the big platform that hangs out over the creek, and this shaky bridge."
"I'd love to see it."
"Not now. Some other time, I mean."
"Sounds great," Thibault said. He reached for his rook.
"I wouldn't move that one either."
Thibault arched his brow as Ben leaned back.
"I'm just telling you," he added.
"What should I do?"
He shrugged, looking and sounding like the ten-year-old he was. "Whatever you want."
"Except move the bishop and the rook?"
Ben pointed to another piece. "And your other bishop. Knowing you, that's what you'll try next, since you're trying to set up your knight. But it won't work either, since I'll sacrifice the bishop for mine, and move my queen in to take the pawn over there. That freezes your queen, and after I castle my king, I'll move my knight there. Two moves after that, I'll have you in checkmate."
Thibault brought his hand to his chin. "Do I have any chance in this game?"
"No."
"How many moves do I have left?"
"Anywhere from three to seven."
"Then maybe we should start over."
Ben pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Maybe."
&nbs
p; "You could have told me earlier."
"You seemed so serious about the game. I didn't want to bother you."
The next game was no better. If anything, it was worse because Elizabeth had decided to join them and their conversation proceeded in much the same way. He could see Elizabeth trying to stifle her giggles.
Over the last week and a half, they'd settled into a routine. After work, with overpowering rain coming down continuously, he'd come up to the house to play a few games of chess with Ben and stay for dinner, where the four of them would sit at the table, chatting amiably. After that, Ben would go upstairs to shower and Nana would send them outside to sit on the porch while she stayed in the kitchen to clean up, saying things like, "Cleaning to me is like being naked to a monkey."
Thibault knew she wanted to give them time alone before he left. It still amazed him that she was able to stop being the boss as soon as his workday was done and shift so easily to the role of grandmother of the woman he was dating. He didn't think there were many people who would be able to pull that off.
It was getting late, though, and Thibault knew it was time to leave. Nana was talking on the phone, Elizabeth had gone inside to tuck Ben into bed, and as Thibault sat on the porch, he could feel the exhaustion in his shoulders. He hadn't been sleeping much since his confrontation with Clayton. That night, unsure how Clayton would respond, he'd gone back to his house and made it appear as though he planned to spend a normal evening at home. Instead, once he turned out the lights, he'd climbed out the window in his bedroom at the rear of the house and trotted into the woods, Zeus by his side. Despite the rain, he'd stayed out most of the night, watching for Clayton. The next night, he'd watched Elizabeth's; on the third night, he'd alternated between his house and hers. The endless rain didn't bother him or Zeus in the slightest; he'd rigged a couple of camouflaged lean-tos that kept them dry. The hard part for him was working after sleeping only the last few hours before dawn. Since then, he'd been alternating nights, but it still wasn't enough sleep for him to catch up.
He wouldn't stop, though. The man was unpredictable, and he looked for signs of Clayton's presence when he was at work and when he ran errands in town. In the evening, he took different routes home, cutting through wooded areas at a run and then watching the road to make sure Clayton wasn't following. He wasn't afraid of the man, but he wasn't stupid, either. Clayton was not only a member of the First Family of Hampton County, but also in law enforcement, and it was the latter that most concerned him. How hard would it be to plant something--drugs, stolen items, even a gun that had been used in a crime--in Thibault's home? Or claim that Thibault had them in his possession and arrange to have that evidence discovered? Not hard. Thibault was certain that any jury in the county would side with testimony provided by law enforcement over a stranger's, no matter how flimsy the evidence might be or what genuine alibi he had. Add to that the deep pockets and influence of the Claytons, and it wouldn't be hard to line up witnesses fingering Thibault for any number of crimes.
The scary part was that he could imagine Clayton doing any of those things, which was why he'd gone to see Clayton and told him about both the disk and the videotape in the first place. Though he had neither--he'd cracked and tossed the disk soon after taking the camera, and the motion-activated recorder had been an inspired invention--bluffing seemed to be the only option he had to buy him enough time to figure out his next step. The animosity Clayton felt for him was dangerous and unpredictable. If he'd been willing to break into Thibault's house, if he'd manipulated Elizabeth's personal life, the man would probably do whatever he thought necessary to get rid of Thibault.
The other threats--about the newspaper and the sheriff, the hint about informing the grandfather--simply reinforced the bluff. He knew that Clayton was searching for the disk because he believed Thibault could use it against him. It was either because of his job or because of his family, and a few hours researching the illustrious family history in the library on Sunday afternoon had been enough to convince Thibault that it was probably a bit of both.
But the problem with bluffs was that they worked until they didn't. How long would it be until Clayton called it? A few more weeks? A month? More than that? And what would Clayton do? Who could tell? Right now, Clayton thought Thibault had the upper hand, and Thibault had no doubt that was only enraging Clayton even further. In time, the anger would get the better of him and Clayon would react, to either him, Elizabeth, or Ben. When Thibault didn't follow through in the aftermath and produce the disk, Clayton would be free to act as he pleased.
Thibault still wasn't sure what to do about that. He couldn't imagine leaving Elizabeth . . . or Ben and Nana, for that matter. The longer he stayed in Hampton, the more it felt to him like this was the place he belonged, and that meant he had to not only watch out for Clayton, but avoid the man as much as possible. He supposed his hope was that after enough time, Clayton would simply accept the matter and let it rest. Unlikely, he knew, but for now, it was all he had.
"You look distracted again," Elizabeth said, opening the screen door behind him.
Thibault shook his head. "Just tired from the week. I thought the heat was hard, but at least I could dodge some of that. There's no avoiding the rain."
She took a seat beside him on the porch swing. "You don't like being drenched?"
"Let's just say it's not the same as being on vacation."
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay. And I'm not complaining. I really don't mind it most of the time, and it's better me getting wet than Nana. And tomorrow's Friday, right?"
She smiled. "Tonight I'm driving you home. No arguments this time."
"Okay," he said.
Elizabeth peeked in the window before turning her attention to Thibault again. "You weren't lying when you said you could play the piano, right?"
"I can play."
"When was the last time you played?"
He shrugged, thinking about it. "Two or three years ago."
"In Iraq?"
He nodded. "One of my commanding officers was having a birthday. He loved Willie Smith, who was one of the great jazz pianists of the 1940s and 1950s. When word got out that I knew how to play, I got roped into doing a performance."
"In Iraq," she said again, not hiding her disbelief.
"Even marines need a break."
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I take it you can read music."
"Of course," he said. "Why? Do you want me to teach Ben?"
She didn't seem to hear him. "How about church? Do you ever go?"
For the first time, he looked at her.
"I'm getting the sense there's more to this conversation than simply the two of us getting to know each other better."
"When I was inside, I heard Nana talking on the phone. You know how much Nana loves the choir, right? And that she just started to sing solos again?"
He considered his response, suspicious of where this was going and not bothering to hide it. "Yes."
"Her solo this Sunday is even longer. She's so excited about it."
"Aren't you?"
"Kind of." She sighed, a pained expression on her face. "It turns out that Abigail fell yesterday and broke her wrist. That's what Nana has been talking about on the phone."
"Who's Abigail?"
"The pianist with the church. She accompanies the choir every Sunday." Elizabeth started to move the swing back and forth, staring out into the storm. "Anyway, Nana said she'd find someone to fill in. In fact, she promised."
"Oh?" he said.
"She also said that she already had someone in mind."
"I see."
Elizabeth shrugged. "I just thought you'd want to know. I'm pretty sure Nana will want to talk to you in a few minutes, but I didn't want her to blindside you. I figured it would be better if I did it."
"I appreciate that."
For a long moment, Thibault said nothing. In the silence, Elizabeth put a hand on his knee.
"What do
you think?"
"I'm getting the sense I don't really have a choice."
"Of course you have a choice. Nana won't force you to do it."
"Even though she promised?"
"She'd probably understand. Eventually." She placed a hand over her heart. "Once her broken heart healed, I'm sure she'd even forgive you."
"Ah," he said.
"And most likely it wouldn't make her health any worse, either. What with the stroke and all and the disappointment she'd feel. I'm sure she wouldn't end up bedridden or anything."
Thibault cracked a smile. "Don't you think you're overdoing it?"
Elizabeth's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Maybe. But the question is, will you do it?"
"I suppose."
"Good. And you know you're going to have to practice tomorrow."
"Okay."
"It might be a long rehearsal. Friday rehearsals are always long. They really love their music, you know."
"Great," he said, and sighed.
"Look at it this way: You won't have to work in the rain all day."
"Great," he said again.
She kissed him on the cheek. "You're a good man. I'll be silently cheering for you in the pews."
"Thanks."
"Oh, and when Nana comes out, don't let her know I told you."
"I won't."
"And try to be more excited. Honored, even. Like you couldn't imagine that you'd ever be offered such a wonderful opportunity."
"I can't just say yes?"
"No. Nana will want you to be thrilled. Like I said, it means a lot to her."
"Ah," he said again. He took her hand in his. "You do realize you simply could have asked me. I didn't need the whole guilt-inducing story."
"I know," she said. "But it was a lot more fun to ask the other way."
As if on cue, Nana stepped outside. She flashed a quick smile at both of them before wandering to the railing and turning toward him.
"Do you ever play the piano anymore?" Nana asked.
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