Sterling decided to take a long walk before he made a request to be transported somewhere else. An hour later, he had made his decision. He closed his eyes and whispered, I’d like it to be midsummer, and may I please get together with Nor and Billy?
Surely they’re not staying here, Sterling thought, dismayed. He was standing on the second-floor balcony of a rundown motel directly off a busy highway. Although it was blazing hot, the area was beautiful. Like Mama Heddy-Anna’s village, the landscape boasted magnificent mountain views.
Of the six vehicles parked outside the motel, four had Colorado plates.
He noticed a heavyset man with dark glasses sitting in an SUV. It seemed to Sterling that the man was staring at his rearview mirror, watching the door directly behind him.
Sterling turned and peeked in the window. Billy was standing inside the shabby room, hands in pockets. He was looking at Nor, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, a phone in her hand.
They looked different. Nor’s blond hair was medium brown, and she wore it in a prim knot at the nape of her neck. Billy had a beard, and his dark hair was cut much shorter.
Maybe this is where they make their calls home, Sterling thought. If they’re in the Witness Protection Program, they can only phone from secured lines. They both look worried sick.
He went inside, and taking off his homburg, put his ear to the receiver. I’m getting good at eavesdropping, he thought. He heard a familiar voice at the other end of the line and realized that Nor was talking to Dennis.
“Nor, I don’t have to tell you that this place is all about you,” Dennis was saying. “Sure, I can do drinks, and the guys are good waiters, and Al is the best chef we’ve ever had, but that’s not good enough. When the customers come in, they want to see you at your table.”
“I know. How big a loss this month?”
“Very big. We’re not a quarter full for dinners, even on Saturdays.”
“Which means, of course, that the waiters’ tips are way down,” Nor said, “Look, Dennis, this can’t last much longer. The minute the trial is over and the Badgetts are in prison, we’ll be able to come home. Figure out how much in tips the guys are losing, and let’s make up half of it to them in their paychecks.”
“Nor, maybe you didn’t hear me. You’re losing money hand over fist as it is.”
“And maybe you didn’t hear me,” Nor flared. “I know the restaurant needs me to be there. But you and Al and the waiters and the kitchen help and the cleanup crew are all part of what make it work. It took me years to put together such a good team, and I’m not going to lose it now.”
“Take it easy, Nor, I’m just trying to help you keep your head above water with this place.”
“I’m sorry, Dennis,” Nor said contritely. “This whole business is grinding me down.”
“How’s Billy?”
“How do you think? He just called Marissa and the recording company. Marissa absolutely refuses to talk to him-or to me either for that matter-and the recording company told him that unless this is over soon, they’ll have to cancel his contract.”
There was silence, then Nor said, “Dennis, you know that impressionist painting near the fireplace in my living room?”
“The pain-by-numbers one?”
It was an old joke between them.
“Yes. You have power of attorney. Go to my safe-deposit box and get the papers on it. Take everything to the Reuben Gallery. I know they’ll make an offer on it. It should be worth at least sixty thousand dollars. That will help.”
“You love that painting, Nor.”
“Not as much as I love my restaurant. Okay, Dennis, I guess that’s all the good news I can handle at one time. I’ll talk to you in about two weeks.”
“Sure, Nor. Hang in there.”
Her next call was to Sean O’Brien to see if there was any word about the trial date. There wasn’t.
They left the motel room in silence, went down the steps to the parking area, and got into the SUV in which the man in dark glasses was sitting. He’s got to be the federal marshal who looks out for them, Sterling decided.
He rode in the backseat with Nor. Not a word was exchanged on the twenty-minute drive. He spotted a road sign that indicated Denver was thirty miles away. I know exactly where we are, he thought. The Air Force Academy is near here.
Billy and Nor were living in a run-of-the-mill bi-level house, the sole virtue of which, at least as far as Sterling could tell, was its location. It was set on a large piece of property, shaded by tall trees that afforded privacy.
When the car stopped, Billy turned to the marshal. “Frank, come inside please. I’ve got to talk to you.”
“Sure.”
The living room furniture looked as if it had been purchased at the auction of a bankrupt moteclass="underline" Naugahyde sofa and chairs, mismatched Formica coffee and end tables, burnt-orange wall-to-wall carpeting. A groaning air conditioner labored to pump in cool air.
Sterling could pick out Nor’s attempts to make the room livable. Tasteful framed prints drew the eye away from the hideous furnishings. A vase of black-eyed susans and several large green plants helped alleviate the depressing atmosphere.
The living room opened into what was meant to be a dining area. Billy had turned it into a music room, furnishing it with a scarred upright piano piled with sheet music, a CD player, and shelves of CDs. His guitar rested on a club chair near the piano.
“What can I do for you, Billy?” the marshal asked.
“You can help us pack. I’m not staying here another night. I’ve had it.”
“Billy, this is not Frank’s fault,” Nor said, hoping to placate him.
“For all we know, this trial will never happen. Am I supposed to spend the rest of my life rotting in this house? Frank, let me explain something to you. I turned thirty years old last week. In the music business that’s old, you understand? It’s old. The ones who make it these days, start at seventeen, even younger.”
“Billy, calm down,” Nor begged.
“I can’t calm down, Mom. Marissa is growing up without us. She’s growing up hating me. Every time I talk to Denise she tells me how worried she is about Rissa, and she’s right. I’m taking my chances. If anything happens to me, at least it will happen while I’m living my own life.”
“Listen, Billy,” the marshal interrupted. “I know how frustrating this is for you and for your mother. You’re not the first one in this program who’s gone crazy. But you are in real danger. We have ways of finding out things. There was no reason to tell you this before, but there’s been a contract on you and your mother since January. And when the Badgetts’ personal goons couldn’t find you, they hired a hitman.”
Nor paled. “When did they hire him?”
“Three months ago. We know who he is and our men are looking for him. Now, do you still want me to help you pack?”