“Lemme check.” I heard fingers on a keyboard. “According to the Yellow Pages, only about six hundred. But that might include some overlaps.”
“Search for Zd and 2d.”
“Searching. A million hits on Zd. Wine. Digital cameras. Nothing pops out. For 2d, got two hundred million hits. Looks like a lot of computer tech stuff. Lemme try to cross-ref with Lance’s name, motels, Milwaukee, and so on. Maybe a combination of terms will give us something. I’ll call you back.”
Harry hung up. My stomach rumbled, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten anything. That made me remember the steaks I owed Herb. While waiting for Harry I put in a call to 1-800-MEATS4U and their twenty-four-hour customer ser vice representative suggested the Meat Lover’s Package, which included assorted steaks, burgers, chicken filets, and a Turduckinlux. I opted for the BBQ flavor over the savory garlic and rosemary.
Phin pulled into an oasis, up to the station. He parked, switched off the truck, and unbuckled his belt. But rather than get out and pump gas he sat there, staring straight ahead, fingers drumming the steering wheel.
“Harry going to turn me in?”
I nodded. “I’m surprised. I thought you guys had that macho code of honor thing. Death before betrayal and all that.”
“McGlade doesn’t owe me anything.”
“So you would betray him too?”
“If I had to.”
“Would you betray me?”
Phin stared at me, his blue eyes hard.
“No.”
Which made me feel even worse about almost shooting him. He opened his mouth to say something more, probably to explain himself, and I didn’t want to hear it so I put my finger over his lips to silence him. His mouth parted slightly, my fingertip brushing against the top of his teeth, and I pulled away and got out of the car before I gave in to all the dirty things I was thinking.
“Fill it up, I’ll pay inside.”
I walked into the mini-mart, and was assaulted by the cloying smell of hot dogs cooked way too long. It made my stomach rumble again. I’m proud to say that I’d never indulged in gas station cuisine, but I was almost hungry enough to start.
First things first, though. There was something weighing on my mind more than food. Something that had been troubling me for hours.
I wandered the short aisles, found the one with birth control. The store had the average assortment of jellies, foams, and condoms. I found what I needed and took it to the counter, breaking down and also getting a bag of tortilla chips and a jar of salsa. I grabbed a twelve-pack of bottled water, a box of granola bars, and a handful of beef jerky as well.
“This and what ever is on pump five,” I told the attendant. He was young, scruffy, wearing a greasy baseball cap with an unnaturally curved rim that he must have spent some serious time shaping. He smirked at me when he saw my purchases, and then looked out the window at Phin and smirked again. I had an urge to slap him.
“Might want to check the expiration date,” he said. “Those things expire.”
He wasn’t referring to the chips. And embarrassing as it was, he had a point. I turned over the package, found the date on the side panel. Still good for another six months.
Phin was still pumping, so I asked Smirking Boy where the bathroom was, and took the box with me.
As expected, the bathroom looked like a swamp creature blew up in there while engaging in every possible bodily function. I triple-plied the toilet paper on the seat, dropped my sweatpants, and sat down, staring at the three letters on the box.
EPT.
Latham and I practiced safe sex. I was in my late forties, but still a fertile Myrtle, and we weren’t sure having a kid in college while we zeroed in on seventy was the way we wanted to spend our golden years.
But condoms were only 98 percent effective, and by my math, that meant condom use resulted in pregnancy one out of fifty times.
Latham and I had sex more than fifty times.
Still, it was virtually impossible. There hadn’t been any breaks. Hadn’t been any oops. My late period was the result of stress, not pregnancy.
It had to be.
I put a hand to my belly, overwhelmed by feelings. Fear, anxiety, depression, anger, worry, and something else. Something I wasn’t expecting.
Hope.
Jesus, part of me was hoping I was pregnant.
I read the box.
Opened the package.
Peed on the stick.
Waited.
Waited.
Waited.
Looked.
Read the box again.
Cried. Cried so hard I couldn’t catch my breath.
I must have been in there too long, because someone began to knock on the bathroom door.
“I’ll be right out,” I said, but through the sobs it sounded more like “Abeeiooud.”
“Jack?”
Phin.
I unrolled some toilet paper, swabbed my face.
“Jack? You okay?”
I wrapped the pregnancy test in paper, held it over the toilet, and stopped. I realized I didn’t want to throw it away. Instead I stuffed it into my purse.
“Jack? I’m coming in.”
“I’m fine,” I said, more in control now. “I’ll be right out.”
I washed my hands, avoided looking in the mirror because it wouldn’t have improved my mood, and unlocked the door to Phin standing there, all sympathetic and concerned.
This annoyed me. I wondered if the real reason he’d never betray me was because I had two X chromosomes, and the little woman needed to be protected by the big strong man, which was BS because I’ve beaten up bigger guys than him.
“I’m fine,” I repeated, pushing past him.
I threw some money at Smirking Boy, who hadn’t bothered bagging anything. I tucked beef jerky into my pockets, and shoved the granola bars under my armpit.
Phin grabbed the water.
“I got it,” I told him.
He spread out his hands and backed up. As he should have. I didn’t need him. I didn’t need anyone. I was perfectly capable of carry ing a few lousy items. I crammed the bag of chips under my other arm, grabbed the salsa in one hand, the water in the other, and gave Phin a look that said he better not try to hold open the goddamn door for me. He didn’t, giving me a wide berth, and I shuffled past and bumped the door with my hip, and the salsa slipped and broke on the floor like a gunshot, splattering red.
Phin didn’t say anything. Neither did Smirking Boy. I continued out the door, piled everything onto the hood of the Bronco, and began stuffing it into the backseat. Then I sat down and waited for Phin.
He climbed into the driver’s seat without comment and we got back on the expressway, and I tried to focus on the case instead of my personal life.
Big Z, small d. Big Z, small d. What the hell did that mean? Why did Alex burn that into David Strang’s chest?
No ideas came. And the harder I tried to think, the more my mind kept drifting back to the pregnancy test in my purse, which I clutched in both hands like a life preserver on a sinking ship.
CHAPTER 26
ALEX DREAMS.
She’s ten years old, in a cornfield in Indiana, in the center of a wide circle that she made with Charles. They stomped down all of the dry stalks around them and are sitting Indian style, face-to-face, knees touching. The corn is taller than they are, so no one can see them from the road or from the farm house. This is their private spot. Their special spot. No one can hurt them here. Not bullies. Not Father. Not anyone.
A wind blows through the corn, making a rustling sound. All around them, the corn ripples like a golden sea. Alex smells fresh earth and clean air. The sun is shining, bright overhead, and she turns up to feel it on her face.
But she doesn’t feel it. All she feels is cold.
She looks at Charles, wondering if he’s cold too. His eyes are closed.