Merritt’s eyes took in a collection of tiny figurines. Animals mostly. White porcelain. Very meticulously crafted. He particularly liked the elephant.
He made his way silently toward the kitchen, where the woman was humming a pleasant tune. It was familiar, from a Broadway show, but for the life of him Jon Merritt couldn’t place it.
52
Standing at the massive raw-oak front door of the large contempo house, Allison Parker rang the chime. Melodic tones, three of them, sounded from inside, reminding her of the note made by running a moist finger around the rim of a glass.
The angular, glassy place was impressive and she nearly asked Hannah what she thought of it. Then remembered she was mad at the girl.
Bitch...
Footsteps, a shadow. The slab of wood swung open and Frank Villaine was filling the doorway, looking down at mother and daughter. He was smiling. The man was very much as she remembered: huge, bearlike, bearded, brown hair thick and with a few gray strands, but no more than when they’d known each other years ago.
“Well, hello.”
“Frank,” Parker said and they embraced. The same cologne, after all these years. “This is Hannah. Mr. Villaine.”
His was a broad smile; the girl’s muted. No physical contact. Hannah was cautious. Understandable. He was a stranger and he towered. And, then too, their life had descended into nightmare.
“Come on in.” Frank picked up their bags and ushered them inside, looking out over the hundred-yard driveway that led here from an unpaved country road. His eye squinted slightly and this was probably the look he affected when scouting for game. His permanent residence was in Chicago. This was his getaway home and hunting lodge.
He closed and locked the door and directed them through a large living area and into the kitchen, which like in many homes seemed the heart of the place. He moved slowly by nature, not physical limitation. He’d been working and the island, of dark green marble, was strewn with engineering diagrams, charts, graphs, notes. Two computers sat open.
The interior of the house featured walls of bird’s-eye maple and plank floors and oak doors that swung on and latched with wrought iron fixtures. Wide windows, curtains open, looked out on rolling hills to the east and, opposite, the imposing forest that dominated this portion of the state.
Only now did she notice that a rifle sat muzzle-up behind the door.
He’d been fully apprised of the Jon Merritt situation.
“I don’t know what to say, Frank.” She sloughed her jacket and he took it and hung it on a peg by the back door. Hannah kept hers on — as if ready to make a fast exit. Parker continued, “I racked my brain to think of somebody Jon didn’t know... And somebody who’d be crazy enough to let us stay for a day or two.”
“As long as you like.”
“It won’t be long. They have to be close to catching him.”
Did Hannah glare at this? Possibly.
“I checked the news,” he said, “there’s nothing about it. And I didn’t call the police or prison to find out.”
She’d asked him not to, only to monitor the press. “Thank you. He’s still got his connections.”
She was afraid someone at the FPD or detention would see the number, trace it to Frank and eventually here.
“My lawyer’s monitoring it. I’ve called but he hasn’t gotten back to me.”
“I’ll show you your rooms.”
“Hannah and I can share.”
“I’m your Airbnb. Whatever you like.”
Hannah said, “Maybe if you’ve got, like, another one.” Her polite smile was utterly fake.
He glanced to Parker, who gave a shallow nod, deciding it was probably a good idea to give the girl some space. Good for herself too. Her fury about the selfie ebbed and flowed. Yes, she hadn’t been honest about the risk her father posed, but the girl had blatantly ignored her instructions. Not acceptable.
Carrying their bags and backpacks as if they were pillows, Frank led them down a long dark corridor.
“Here you go.” He nodded to two bedrooms, next to each other. They were spacious, each with its own bath. The sheets on the beds seemed new and at the feet rested neatly folded towels. Parker took the first one they came to, Hannah the next.
“Han,” Parker said, standing in the girl’s doorway, “take your jacket off. Wash up.”
The girl took her backpack from Frank and dropped it onto the bed, then pulled out her computer, opened the lid.
“Han?”
“I will.”
Frank set Parker’s bags inside her room. He said, “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
A whispered “Thank you,” and a firm hug.
She stepped into her bathroom and scrubbed her hands and face. She looked pale and haggard and if anyone needed makeup, she did. But she didn’t bother. Then too most of the jars and bottles and tubes were on the floor of the Sunny Acres motel. Her hair was a mess. She finger-smoothed the curls, and let it go at that.
Returning to the kitchen, she found Frank at the back door, once again scanning slowly. His shoulders were raised slightly. It brought back a memory of a time they’d camped. A cold September in the mountains. One morning they’d both gazed out over a stunning dawn. She’d been swept away by the beauty of the light on dewy foliage. He had been entranced with a 10-point buck.
She now asked, “You have open internet?”
“Open? Oh. No, the router’s passcoded. I’ll give it to you.”
“I don’t need it. Can Hannah get the code?”
“It’s on the router. There.”
The black box sat in the corner.
“Can you hide it?”
He moved the device to a closet and closed the door. “Why?”
“Hannah doesn’t get how much we’re in danger. I’m afraid she’ll post something.” Her heart clenched. “She already did. Jon could have found where we were staying. She was trying to tell him where we were.”
He frowned. “Why on earth would she do that?”
Parker’s eyes too now scanned the property. “She wants her father. Well, the father she remembers from the old days. Thinks he’ll apologize and we’ll be a happy family again. She doesn’t see who he is now.” A shrug. “She’s happy to forgive. And thinks I should too.”
There was much more to say, almost too much.
But Allison Parker let it go at that, though she added, “I’m sure he’s drinking again.” She continued to stare out on the expanse of grass and scrub. “That’s a match and gasoline.”
“Well, you’ll be safe here. It’s a fortress. There’re druggies, meth, in this part of the county. Jon can’t get in once I seal it up. I’ve got a central station panic button. And then...” He nodded to the dark corner where the rifle sat. She knew he was quite the shot.
“Really, only a day or two. If they don’t get him by day after tomorrow, I’m going to Indianapolis. One of my old roommates lives there. I’ve never mentioned her to Jon.”
And then it was time — past time — for the subject of Jon Merritt to go away.
She studied him with a faint smile. “You seeing anyone these days?” Frank had been a widower for years. They had dated after his wife passed away.
“Nothing serious. Too old for that nonsense.”
She scoffed.
“Well, too busy.”
“That’s more like it.” She shook her head. “Sixty-hour weeks, I’ll bet. Like me.”
“The modular reactors. That’s exciting work. What’re yours called again? Interesting name, right?”
“Pocket Suns.”
“That’s clever. You in production yet?”
“Next year. And how are Frank Junior and Ella?”