He knew what she was going to say next. He just knew it.
And she said it. She found a slightlykinder voice somewhere and she said it. “Mr. Collins, I respect your pain and your grief, but you can’t just sit around feeling sorry for yourself, it’ll give you a case of leadbutt, just sinking into the bottom of your chair in this big, empty house making nothing happen and going nowhere, whining about the good old days like some, some old man.”
If this was a delusion, it was stunningly accurate. He never liked it when Mandy got like this, and yet—
“Sure, grieve, but … May I sit down?”
He gestured to the couch and she perched on its edge.
“You think your wife would want that, after all that traveling and magic and adventure, you just chucking the whole thing and turning into an old raisin? I know what she’d say: buy some testosterone, get a motorcycle, do whatever it takes to get living again, but don’t waste the years God still has for you. You believe in God?”
“Yes.”
“Well, so do I, and I think you should give Him some credit. He mightknow what He’s doing.” Then, as if realizing her mouth had run off without her, she rolled her eyes heavenward in amazement and horror at herself. The deer-in-the-headlights look that fell over her face was so comical it amazed him. “Oh-oh. Big oops.”
And yet, when Mandy got like this, she was always right. As long as he had ever known her, and in some of the darkest times, even through tears, Mandy could find this jarring, “Get real” way to be right.
Eloise didn’t just have Mandy’s teeth.
She cringed, ashamed, and withdrew into her robe like a tortoise into its shell. “Guess I’m waking up now.”
All he could do was sit there, trying for the life of him to fathom what just happened.
She got up from the couch. “Like you said, my clothes must be dry.”
He wanted to laugh, and she made him feel that way. She was almost to the hall. “Could you let me think about it?”
She stopped. “Think about what?”
“The … whatever it was you wanted?”
She studied him, raised one eyebrow slightly, tilted her head, and then … there was that smile again.
chapter
22
Mortimer was driving the SUV. Stone sat in the passenger seat, bandage in front of his right ear, bruises darkening. They were heading for Vegas, driving straight through.
“We heard back from Kessler,” said the voice on the speakerphone. “She was ready to wring our necks—and I’m ready to wring yours. The subject is in the house, all right, no doubt talking with Collins, so instead of preventing any contact you’ve done exactly the opposite.”
Stone winced, in enough pain already. Mortimer tried to counter, “Sir, no one briefed us on what we were dealing with.”
“There was no need because you weren’t to have any physical contact with her.”
“But how else could we prevent them from contacting each other? She was at his gate.”
“And he turned her away.”
“Yeah, this time.”
“Watch your tone!”
“Sorry.”
“If you two had checked in before acting on your own you would have saved yourselves a beating. Orientation to the Machine is intuitive, and she’s figured things out. You weren’t up against her, you were up against tens, possibly hundreds of her, as many as she needed.”
Stone and Mortimer exchanged rueful glances.
“So tell me about the tire.” The tone of the voice was derisive. “Tell me no one’s going to find that bullet hole.”
“We have the tire,” Stone answered.
“You don’t think she’s going to miss it?”
“In any case, it won’t tell them anything,” said Mortimer.
“Fingerprints on the tire iron?”
“Wiped clean,” said Mortimer. He didn’t mention Stone’s blood on the tire iron being the initial reason they wiped it down.
“And what about the Hansons?”
“They’ll be back after they finish their week in Mexico. The house is back the way it was, like we were never there.”
“So what do we do now?” asked Stone.
“You guys better get out of the loop,” said the voice. “We’ll find something else for you to do—something less important.”
Thanksgiving Day. Twenty-eight degrees, four inches of snow on the ground, and light snow falling. The trees were white and drooping. The pastures lay under an undisturbed mantle, and the usual flitting, breezy, lowing sounds of the valley were muffled to a wintry quiet that made Dane stop and listen.
He got a fire going in the fireplace, put on some classical guitar music, and set the dining room table with a white cloth, formal silverware, and place setting, and a dinner wrought by his own hand: a small turkey that would provide plenty of sandwiches afterward; dressing, gravy on mashed potatoes, French-style green beans, a lavish salad he chopped, tore, diced, sliced, and anointed with his own homemade vinaigrette; two thick slabs of cranberry sauce, two wheat and sesame dinner rolls (they came from a bag), sparkling cranberry apple cider, and a glass of Pinot Noir. He would follow all that up with a dessert of pumpkin pie (store-bought) and fresh coffee he roasted and ground himself.
Mandy always served up Thanksgiving dinner at three in the afternoon, and he took his seat at the table right on time, spreading the cloth napkin across his lap. With Christmas card scenery outside the windows and a cheerful fire burning, he bowed his head and gave thanks.
The meal was so good it was emotional. He was tasting again, enjoying again, savoring the work of God and his own hands. What a concept. It wasn’t testosterone or a motorcycle, but it was working. He took it slow, imagining how a meal like this would taste in heaven, especially with Mandy sitting in that other chair. Twice he raised his glass to her picture on the walclass="underline" “Here’s to you, babe.”
Eloise was right. Mandy would have wanted it this way.
“Cadillac, purple, zebra,” Eloise said. “See? I still remember.”
Seamus smiled but still needed more explanation.
“Mr. Collins and I only found the spare tire. The flat tire was gone. Clarence and Lemuel or somebody else took it, I don’t know, but Mr. Collins was looking at me like I had a bad memory, so I just told him the three words Bernadette gave me.”
“Cadillac, zebra …”
“Purple.”
“Purple. Right. Was he impressed?”
“I think he believed me after that.”
“So then what happened?”
“He helped me put the spare on and then he followed me in his truck all the way to my apartment.” His silence and raised eyebrow made her add, “And then he saw me to my door and left and drove home.”
“But you showed him where you live.”
Well. He was Seamus. He was bred to look after her. “Well …”
“I’m just teasing you a little. For your own good.”
“He’s not that much of a stranger.”
“But how much do you know about him?”
He meant well, didn’t he? She didn’t want to get defensive. “He saved me from ‘Clarence’ and ‘Lemuel.’ When I was out on the street he gave me his hat and his sweater and he took the time to coach me with a card trick. He’s been a professional magician for more than forty years.”
“ Andhe’s a widower,” Seamus reminded her, “and he told you himself how he was going through some emotional issues.”
“Which was very honest of him, don’t you think?”
“Fair enough. But I’d be careful. As long as it’s business, fine, but I’d stay away from any personal conversations until you know him better.”