First Thrills - Lee Child [53]
“Your dad didn’t make it home last night, sweetie,” Mira said innocently.
“Where is he?” There was a plaintive note in Trisha’s voice that Mira had heard all too often. Trisha was obviously upset. Mira was unconcerned.
“Have you tried calling him?”
“I did. I left two messages. I failed the GMAT.”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry.” Mira unlocked the front door and got the burglar alarm shut off all in one practiced movement.
“I really need to talk to Dad.”
“Well, as soon as I see him or hear from him, I’ll make sure he calls you.”
There was a silence on the other end. Trisha knew all was not right with her father. He had a definite eye for the ladies. Mira was his fourth wife. And his last.
The shamus’s videos depicted Rob in a dark, shadowy Key West dive bar having cocktails with a healthy looking blonde young enough to be another daughter. She’d been identified as a grad student majoring in marine biology, and she was a member of the Coast Guard Reserve.
Trisha was speaking . . . “I need to see this in a different light.”
“See what?” Mira tried to pay attention. “Sorry, the connection went dead for a minute.”
“Yeah, the storm will be coming through there soon.”
“Storm?”
“Mom, you need to keep up and watch the news. Hurricane Damon. You need to follow the storm warnings. You’re in the Florida Keys, for Chri’sakes.”
Mira gave a little laugh.”We’ll batten down the hatches like we always do. And I’ll keep a lookout for your dad. Maybe he’s in poker game with his cronies.”
“I think I’m going to switch to law. Maybe the GMAT was an aptitude test.”
“Like in that movie with Melanie Griffith,” said Mira. “A mind for business, but a body for sin.” Mira felt she was blabbing, but Trisha actually laughed before she cut the connection.
She called me Mom, thought Mira. For the first time she felt the beginning of doubt about her actions. She had always hoped for a relationship with Trisha. She had always wanted a daughter.
The thought was quickly followed by another: No going back now.
The storm hit at four in the morning. It woke Mira from a troubled dream in which half-decayed humans chased her down an alley. In the nightmare, she had frantically scratched at her arm. When she rolled up the sleeve of her nightgown, she found an oozing bloody tattoo of zombies.
Still a dream . . .
Awake completely now, she lay on the sweat-dampened sheets with her eyes open wide, staring at walls alive with the wild shadows of palm fronds dancing in the storm outside the window.
She put her sleep mask on, but it didn’t help. It was as if she could still see the shadows. As if they were inside the mask.
Drenched in perspiration, she listened to the wind howl like banshees and the rain pound at the storm shutters. There was no going back to sleep without help. She climbed out of bed, plodded barefoot into the kitchen, and washed down an Ambien with two fingers of gin.
The last thing she was conscious of before sleep finally claimed her was the constant roar of the wind.
When she awoke again at daybreak, she looked outside. She blinked and looked again. The yacht was gone from its moorings!
The wind was still roaring and Mira felt like going back to bed. Maybe she could go back to sleep and when she woke again it would all be a bad dream. Maybe that was what life really was—dreaming, waking, dreaming, waking. Maybe none of it was real.
Wouldn’t it be nice if you could choose which dream was real?
She slipped back into the satin sheets and put her sleep mask back on. For good measure, she slathered on some neck cream. Possibly the storm would serve some type of purpose. She was getting her beauty sleep. And the boat, as she called it, was insured, after all
At one in the afternoon, utter silence awakened her. Yes, this was more like it. But when Mira looked outside for the second time that day, a worse sight greeted her. The yacht was still