The Accident

THIRTY

I could have gone back and knocked on Joan Mueller’s door and asked her what the hell was going on, why she was playing me this way, whether she’d simply lost her mind, but I had a better plan. Stay as far away from her as possible.

When Kelly was eating her frosted flakes, I said, “After you get back from staying with your grandmother, you won’t be going to Ms. Mueller’s house after school anymore.”

“Why not?”

“She’s got enough kids to look after.” And I wasn’t so sure she should be looking after them, but I had my own problems right now. “We’ll check into an after-school program or something.”

“If I’m even at that school anymore,” Kelly reminded me.

I called Sally Diehl at the office.

“I don’t know when I’m going to make it in today,” I said. “I’m taking Kelly to her grandparents’ place.”

“Nice,” Sally said. “She’s getting a day off school.”

“She’s going to be off for a little while,” I said. “Change of scenery. I want you to call Alfie over at the fire department.” Alfred Scranton was a deputy chief, and the point man on investigations.

“Sure,” Sally said. “What’s up?”

“I was talking to someone last night about bogus electrical parts. Stuff from China or wherever, looks legit but inside it’s nothing but shit.”

“Daddy,” Kelly scolded me.

“Is this about the fire?” Sally asked. A tender spot for her, considering her Theo wired the house that went up in flames. But there was no shielding her from this. She worked in the office and everything went through her desk sooner or later.

“Yes,” I said. “I want to know if they had a close look at the parts that came out of that breaker panel. I want to know if they were the real deal.”

“Come on, Glen, Theo wouldn’t put stuff like that in one of your houses.”

“Sally, just make the call, okay?”

“Got it,” she said, but she didn’t sound happy. “You haven’t just got it in for him, have you?”

“How well do you know me, Sally?”

“Okay, I take it back. I’ll make the call.” Wanting to get off the subject, she said, “So what’s with Kelly? She okay? You pulling her out of school?”

Kelly got up, rinsed her cereal bowl in the sink, and left the room.

“Truth is, we had a bit of an incident last night,” I said.

“What?”

“Someone took a shot at the house.”

“What? God, Glen, what happened?”

I told her.

“I just can’t believe it. She okay?”

“Yeah, she’s fine, considering everything. First her mother dies, then her friend’s mother, and then this. She needs a break from Milford. So, tell Doug he’s the main guy today. Any problems, you can always reach me on my cell.”

Sally promised she’d be in touch, and said to give Kelly a hug for her.

Kelly was standing at the bottom of the stairs with her travel case. “Sally says hi,” I said.

“Can you put this in the truck?” she asked. “I want to go check to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything.”

That reminded me I had to call her school, let them know she was going to be away for a while. She’d already missed the start of class today, and we were likely to be getting a call any moment since I hadn’t phoned her in absent. I put in a call to the office, left a message on the machine.

I took Kelly’s case, went out the front door and around to the back of the truck. I dropped the tailgate, tossed in the case, and grabbed a three-foot two-by-four scrap that was lying in there. I had a collection of bits and pieces in the garage, and thought this a worthy addition.

I was headed back into the house when a black Chrysler 300 came to a stop across the end of the driveway. I didn’t know the car. But when the driver got out, I recognized him, even though we’d never met before.

I stepped into the front hall, leaving the door open a crack.

“Kelly!”

She appeared at the top of the stairs. “Yup?”

“Listen carefully. I’m going outside to talk to a man. Lock this door when I leave. Watch from the window. If something happens, call 911."

“What’s going-”

“Have you got that?”

“Yes.”

I turned and she scooted down the stairs. Once outside, I listened for the sound of the deadbolt turning into position behind me.

I was still holding the two-by-four.

The driver, a tall dark-haired man in a leather jacket, black pants, and well-shined shoes, came around the front of the Chrysler and leaned against the passenger door. He was wearing sunglasses he didn’t bother to take off.

“Can I help you?”

He looked up at the second-floor window that I’d covered over with a sheet of plywood. “Somebody throw a ball through your window, Mr. Garber?”

“Don’t leave your car there. I’m backing out.”

“I won’t be long. I’m just here to pick up something.” He folded his arms across his chest. He glanced at the two-by-four in my hand, then disregarded it.

“Pick up what?” I asked. Crossing his arms had brought his sleeves up on his arms, revealing an expensive watch.

“A package your wife was supposed to deliver for her friend. Belinda Morton.”

“My wife is dead.”

He nodded. “As it turns out, she died the day she was supposed to make this delivery.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But I was thinking about the envelope, the one Belinda had given to Sheila.

He rubbed his chin with his right hand, like he was mulling over how to deal with me. When he did it, his sleeve pulled back some, revealing a tattoo. An ornate chain design encircled his wrist.

“Looking at my Rolex?” he said.

“A fake?”

He nodded, impressed. “You got a good eye.”

“Not really. But that’s your specialty, right?”

He eyed me curiously but said nothing.

“You’re Sommer,” I said. “At least, that’s one name you go by. You’re in the knockoff business.”

That got his attention. I could see his eyes blink behind the shades. “Mr. Twain told you about me.” It wasn’t a question. I got the sense this was his way of letting me know he’d been watching me, or Twain, or both.

“Why’d my wife call you the day she died?” I asked.

He took his weight off the car, flexed his hands. I tightened my grip on the two-by-four.

“She left a message to say she couldn’t make it,” he said. “Why do you think that was?”

“I don’t know.”

“My theory is, she changed her mind. Or had it changed for her. Maybe you had something to do with that.”

“You’ve got that wrong.”

Sommer smiled. “Look, Mr. Garber, let’s not bullshit each other. I know how it is. You’ve had money troubles lately. Your wife suddenly has a nice chunk of change in her possession. You think, Hey, that could take care of a few of our problems. How’m I doing?”

“Not very well.”

Something had caught his eye. “Your neighbor lady always watch everything that goes on out here?”

“Neighborhood Watch,” I said.

Sommer’s gaze had switched from Joan Mueller’s house to mine.

“Seems that everyone’s watching us,” he said. “That must be your little girl, peeking through the curtain.”

Trying to keep my voice as even as possible and gripping the length of wood tightly, I answered, “You threaten her and I’ll beat you to death.”

He held out his hands, as if bewildered by my tone. “Mr. Garber, you’ve totally misinterpreted my intentions. Have I threatened you? Have I threatened your daughter? I’m just a businessman, eager to complete a transaction. And here you are, threatening harm to me.”

I took a moment to think about how I wanted to handle this. “This money, this package, you say Belinda gave it to my wife to deliver to you.”

Sommer’s head went up and down a fraction of an inch.

“Why don’t you check in with her later today,” I suggested. “Maybe she’ll have some news for you.”

Sommer considered that. “All right then.” He pointed to the two-by-four. “But if she doesn’t, I’ll be seeing you again.”

He turned and got back into his car. He sped off so quickly I didn’t have a chance to take note of the plate number. Seconds later, the Chrysler turned the corner at the end of the street and was gone.

“I didn’t call 911,” Kelly reported cheerfully when I came in. “It looked like you guys were just having a nice chat.”