No Safe House

Sixty-eight

Nathaniel Braithwaite stood holding the vase in both hands. It struck Cynthia that he was spellbound by it, which struck her as odd. It was, after all, just a vase.

He looked at Cynthia and Grace, his expression a blend of confusion and guilt, and said, “I don’t know where this came from.”

Mother and daughter exchanged a quick glance. “Okay,” said Cynthia. “Neither do we.”

“It wasn’t here when I moved in. I’ve used all the drawers in this dresser.”

He gave his head one last shake, then decided it wasn’t worth worrying about one second longer. He set it on top of the dresser and turned his attention back to the suitcases. He’d stuffed as much as he could into all of them, threw down the lids that were still open, and zipped them up.

There was no way he could manage getting all the cases to his car in a single trip. But to start, he grabbed the smaller one Grace had been touching — making him very nervous in the process — plus one of the other bags that was full of clothes, and scurried down the stairs with them.

Cynthia and Grace followed him down to the first floor and out the front door, where Barney was still having a smoke, Orland still staring blankly.

“What’s up with him?” he asked as Braithwaite walked briskly down to the street and around the corner.

“I think you’re losing a tenant,” Cynthia said.

Grace asked her mother, “What do you think was in that bag he didn’t want me touching?”

Barney said, “You telling me he’s moving out? The son of a bitch didn’t give me any notice. He’s gone, just like that?”

“I think he’ll be back,” Cynthia said. “He’s got more bags.”

As if on cue, Braithwaite came around the corner in the Caddy. He pulled into the drive, killed the engine, locked the car, and came back up the porch steps.

Barney blocked the door and poked a finger into Nathaniel’s chest.

“What’s going on here?”

“Something’s come up. I’m moving out.”

“Well, just hang on a second, mister. People give notice when they’re moving out. I expect two months’ warning, my friend.”

“I’m not your friend, and get out of my way.”

Nathaniel shoved him aside and stormed back into the house. Barney nearly lost his footing and the cigarette slipped from his fingers.

“You okay?” Cynthia asked.

Barney ground out the cigarette with his work boot. “Yeah, I’m fine. If he thinks he’s leaving without paying next month’s rent, he’s got another think coming.” He took a breath, puffed out his chest, and went into the house, stomping his way up the stairs.

Cynthia and Grace were right behind him.

When Barney got to the open door of Nathaniel’s apartment, he positioned himself there and said, “You pay me next month’s rent, now, in cash, and we’re square.”

Nathaniel called out from the bedroom, “You’ll get it — don’t worry.”

Cynthia squeezed past Barney, stood just outside the bedroom, and said, “Nate, he’ll find you. Vince’ll find you. And if it’s not him, it’ll be the police.”

“I don’t give a shit about the police,” he said. “The police don’t grab you off the street and shove a goddamn power drill in your face.”

Barney came in from the hall, stood in the center of the room. “I need to check the apartment, because if you’ve done any kind of damage, you won’t be getting back your security deposit.”

Nathaniel, carrying his last two bags, charged out of the bedroom. “I don’t give a fuck. I just don’t.”

Barney said, “You just hang on a minute while I have a look around.” He stood there casting his eye across the kitchen area, walked over to the fridge, and opened the door. “You gonna clean this out?”

“Jesus Christ,” Nathaniel said, dropping the two bags so he could get to his wallet. He opened it up and started taking out some bills. “Here’s two hundred. I’ll mail you the rest.”

As Barney walked over to take the money, he took a quick peek into the bedroom.

Stopped.

Then he took three tentative steps to the bedroom door, stared, his eyes focused for several seconds on the vase. Then he turned on Nathaniel.

“Are you the detective?” he asked. “Is Braithwaite even your real name? Is your name Duggan? Have you been living here spying on me?”

Nathaniel said, “What?”

“You heard me,” Barney said. “Are you the detective? Quayle told me a detective had it. That it was being checked for fingerprints. My fingerprints.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at his former tenant.

“Didn’t my niece go and see you? Reggie told me she was going to see you. Answer me!”

Nathaniel slowly shook his head. “Mr. Croft, I swear, I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”

“I’m with ya on that one,” Cynthia said.