Parting Shot

Forty-eight Cal

“Give me some names,” I said to Jeremy.

“What names?”

We were sitting in the upstairs living room, gazing out over the bay as the sun started going down. The clouds were streaked with orange and yellow. Another tanker ship could be seen near the horizon.

“People at the party,” I said. “The night it happened.”

“I don’t know. Lots of people.”

“Think.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I might want to talk to some of them.”

“What for?” he asked.

I sighed. “I have some questions.”

“You’re going to stir things up,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

Jeremy frowned. “I don’t know. You’re going to cause all kinds of trouble if you start asking people things.”

“Don’t you want to know what happened?”

“I know what happened. I ran over Sian McFadden and killed her. I don’t know how I did it. But I did. You’re making me crazy.”

“Sorry,” I said.

He shook his head. “We should watch some TV or something. Or go somewhere. Go to a movie maybe. This place is pretty and all but it gets boring real fast. There’s sand, and there’s water, and that’s about it.”

I pointed to the remote on the coffee table. “See what’s on.”

He snatched it up and pointed it at the TV. I hadn’t seen a non-flat screen in some time. This one was about a thirty-six-incher, which made it nearly two feet deep.

“That thing must weigh five thousand pounds,” Jeremy said. “It’s not HD or anything.” He paused. “Do you think they’d have had TV in prison?”

“In your own cell?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know. Was that the thing that scared you most about going to jail?”

“God, no,” he said. “I figured I’d get killed there. Or worse.”

“Something worse than being killed?”

“I’ve seen movies and stuff. About guys being raped and everything. There were nights, during the trial, I couldn’t sleep at all. I couldn’t stop thinking what they’d do to a kid like me.”

“It can be bad,” I said.

“That’s why I don’t want you messing around with this. If you start stirring up shit, they might reopen the whole case, and this time they’ll send me away for real.”

I saw that fear again in his eyes. I decided maybe I should lay off this for a while. I pointed at the TV. “See what’s on.”

All that came up on the TV was static.

“Aw, man,” Jeremy said. He started flipping through channels, but they were all the same.

“I guess Madeline didn’t pay the cable bill,” I said. “Maybe she doesn’t hook it up until the busy season.”

“Can we go out or something? What if we drove into town and got some ice cream? I saw a place when we went for groceries.”

I thought about it. As pretty as this place was, I did feel like a change of scenery. “What the hell, let’s do that. I wouldn’t mind hitting a bakery, if there’s one open. They’ve got these things called whoopie pies.”

“Whoopie pies?”

“They kind of look like a hamburger, but the bun part’s chocolate cake, with whipped cream in the middle.”

“I want ice cream,” Jeremy said.

I nodded. “Meet me at the car in three minutes.”

I hit the bathroom, grabbed my jacket, made sure I had some cash and my car keys — I thought of something my late father used to say when he was heading out: “Spectacles, testicles, wallet and keys” — and went outside, where I found Jeremy standing next to the Honda. I locked up the beach house, got in behind the wheel and said, “Shit, I forgot my phone.”

“Oh yeah, so I’m not even allowed to have one, but you can’t go five minutes without yours.” Jeremy pointed a finger at me. “You’ve got a problem. You know that? You can’t deal with your problem until you admit you’ve got one.”

I grinned. “Shut up.”

“You’re just mad ’cause I’m right.”

“Fine,” I said. “I can quit any time I want.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve heard that one. That’s what my mom says about booze.”

It was meant to be funny, but he suddenly went very quiet.

“The hell with the phone,” I said. “How long does it take to get ice cream? Someone wants to reach me, they can leave a message.”

“That came out wrong,” he said as I backed the car down the narrow driveway. “About my mom.”

“It’s okay,” I said.

“I mean, she’s kind of messed up, but I love her,” he said.

“Sure,” I said. “Everyone loves their mom.”