No Time for Goodbye - Linwood Barclay [75]
“Terry, shut up,” Cynthia said.
I shut up.
“Something’s happened,” Cynthia said, her voice low, almost breathless. “I know where they are.”
25
“Sometimes, when you don’t call when I’m expecting you to,” she said, “I think I’m the one being driven crazy.”
“Sorry,” he said. “But I’ve got good news. I think it’s happening.”
“Oh, that’s lovely. What was it Sherlock Holmes used to say? ‘The game is afoot?’ Or was it Shakespeare?”
“I’m not really sure,” he said.
“So you delivered it?”
“Yes.”
“But you need to stay a little longer to see what happens.”
“Oh, I know,” he said. “I’m sure it will end up on the news.”
“I wish I could tape it here.”
“I’ll bring home the newspapers.”
“Oh, I’d love that,” she said.
“There haven’t been any more stories about Tess. I guess that means they haven’t found out anything.”
“I guess we should just be grateful for whatever good fortune comes our way, shouldn’t we?”
“And there was something else on the news, about this missing detective. The one my…you know…hired.”
“Do you think they’ll find him?” she asked.
“Hard to say.”
“Well, we can’t worry about that,” she said. “You sound a bit nervous.”
“I guess.”
“This is the hard part, the risky part, but when you add it all together, it’s going to pay off. And when it’s time, you can come back and get me.”
“I know. Won’t he wonder where you are, why you’re not going to see him?”
“He hardly gives me the time of day,” she said. “He’s winding down. Maybe a month to go. Long enough.”
“You think he’s ever really loved us?” he asked.
“The only one he’s ever loved is her,” she said, making no attempt to hide her bitterness. “And has she ever been there for him? Looked after him? Cleaned up after him? And who solved his biggest problem? He’s never been grateful for what I’ve done. We’re the ones who’ve been wronged here. We were robbed of having a real family. What we’re doing now, this is justice.”
“I know,” he said.
“What do you want me to make for you when you get home?”
“A carrot cake?”
“Of course. It’s the least a mother can do.”
26
I phoned the police and left a message for Detective Rona Wedmore, who’d given me her card when she’d asked me questions after we’d scattered Tess’s ashes on the Sound. I asked if she could meet me and Cynthia at our home, that we’d both be there shortly. Gave her the address in case she didn’t already know it, but I was betting she did. In my message I said that what I was calling about didn’t have to do, specifically, with the disappearance of Denton Abagnall, but it might, in some way, be related.
I said it was urgent.
I asked Cynthia on the phone whether she wanted me to pick her up at work, but she said she was okay to drive home. I left the school without explaining to anyone why, but they were, I guess, becoming accustomed to my erratic behavior. Rolly had just come out of his office, seen me on the phone, and watched as I’d run out of the building.
Cynthia beat me home by a couple of minutes. She was standing in the doorway, the envelope in her hand.
I came inside and she handed it to me. There was one word—“Cynthia”—printed on the front. No stamp. It had not gone through the mail.
“Now we’ve both touched it,” I said, suddenly realizing we were probably making all kinds of mistakes the police would give us shit for later.
“I don’t care,” she said. “Read it.”
I took the sheet of plain business paper out of the envelope. It had been folded perfectly in thirds, like a proper letter. The back side of the sheet was a map, crudely drawn in pencil, some intersecting lines representing roads, a small town labeled “Otis,” a rough egg shape labeled “quarry lake,” and an “X” in one corner of it. There were some other notations, but I wasn’t sure what they meant.
Cynthia, speechless, watched me take it all in.
I flipped the sheet over and the moment I saw the typed message, I noticed something about it, something that jumped out at me, something that disturbed me very much. Even before I’d read the contents of the note, I wondered about the implications