The Millionaires - Brad Meltzer [81]
Weaving past the overgrown shrubbery and around the classic blue Beetle that’s parked out front, I race up the front walk, open the humidity-rusted screen door, and jam an anxious finger at the doorbell.
No answer.
I ring it again, leaning against the open screen door and trying to look relaxed.
Still no answer.
Hiking myself up on my tiptoes, I crane my neck, struggling to peek through the diamond-shaped windowpane that’s set into the door.
“What’s in there?” Charlie asks.
I press my nose against the pollen on the glass, trying to get a better view… and then from inside… locks clunk open. The doorknob turns. I jump back. It’s already too late.
“Can I help you?” a young woman asks, opening the door. She’s got black ringlet hair, thin lips, and a tiny, pointed nose. My eyes go straight to her beat-up jeans and spaghetti-strap white tank top.
“I-I’m sorry,” I begin. “I wasn’t trying to… we were just looking for a friend…”
“We’re trying to find Marty Duckworth,” Charlie blurts.
I thank him for the save as the woman’s body language shifts—her brow unfurrows; her shoulders sag. “You’re friends of his?”
“Yeah,” I say cautiously. “Why?”
She pauses a moment, choosing the words carefully. “Marty Duckworth died six months ago.”
The statement floats in the air, and I stare up at it, mesmerized. It’s almost like I’m waiting for Duckworth himself to jump out and scream, “April Fool’s—I’m right here!” Needless to say, it never happens. I look around, but nothing’s in focus. I-It can’t be. Not after all this …
“So he’s really dead?” Charlie asks, already starting to panic.
“I’m sorry,” she offers, reading his expression. “I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s okay,” he says. “You couldn’t have—”
“Did you know him?” I interrupt.
“Excuse me?”
“Duckworth—did you know him?”
“No,” she stammers. “But—”
“Then how do you know he’s dead?”
“I-I just remember his name from the deed,” she adds. “It was an estate sale.”
“What about a forwarding address? Is there somewhere we can contact him?”
Unsure of what to say, the woman shakes her head, clearly overwhelmed. I don’t care—we didn’t come this far to not get answers. “I’m sorry,” she repeats. “There’s no forwarding address… he’s dead.”
The words don’t make sense. “It’s impossible,” I tell her as my voice cracks. “What abou—”
“He’s just upset,” Charlie says. He leans in and pinches the skin on my back. “We should get going,” he adds through gritted teeth. Fake-smiling at the woman, he gives her a quick wave. “Thanks again for all the help…”
“I’m really sorry,” she calls out as we walk away. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Yeah,” Charlie whispers as he shoves me up the block. “That makes three of us.”
* * * *
“What’s wrong with you?” Charlie asks as we cut back through our courtyard. He steps over the sprawling hose and ducks past the rotating sprinkler that’s spraying everything in sight. Checking to see that no one’s around, he makes a quick beeline for our new apartment. “Why’d you go after her like that?”
“She might’ve known something.”
“Are you really that delusional?” Charlie asks, racing inside. He watches uncomfortably as I pace back and forth between the living room and kitchenette. “Didn’t you see her reaction, Ollie—she was floored. Newsflash at eleven: Duckworth’s dead. End of story.”
“It can’t be,” I insist. As I say the words, I hear my own voice stuttering.
Charlie hears it too. “Ollie, I know you’ve always had more to lose, but—”
“What if there’s something we’re missing?”
“What could we possibly miss? They told us he was dead in New York… we came down here to see for ourselves… and she tells us the same thing. Duckworth’s gone, bro. Show’s over—time to find a new drummer.”
Still pacing, I stare down at the ground. “Maybe we should go back and talk to her again…”
“Ollie…”
“Duckworth could be hiding somewhere else…”
“Are you even listening? The man’s dead!”
“Don’t say that!” I explode.
“Then stop acting like a lunatic!” he shoots back. “The sun doesn’t rise and set on Marty Duckworth!”
“You think that’s all it’s about?