But that was just it. His focus would be on me. Helping me. Protecting me. Catering to me. I didn’t need that. I didn’t need all that pressure. I had a job to do, and I wanted to concentrate on that.
“I need you to stay here,” I said.
“Who is this guy?” Dan asked. “He just shows up. He’s doing all this Sam Spade stuff. Who is he?”
“He’s a student of mine,” I said. “And he works doing this type of thing.”
“What type of thing? Stalking?”
“I don’t really know what he does, but I asked for his help. And he provided it. The police haven’t done it. I needed someone to step in.”
“Why don’t you want me to go?” Dan asked.
I stepped closer to him. I raised my right hand and brushed it along his cheek. He had shaved that morning, and his skin felt smooth and new. “I need you to do me a favor,” I said.
He didn’t return my affection. He averted his eyes. I saw a vein twitch in his neck. I knew he was mad. Once I was gone, he’d gear up for an epic sulk, which is why I gave him a job to do.
“I need you to go to St. Vincent’s for me,” I said. “Go there and find Paul. He’s expecting me to show up and see Ronnie. They’re going to be moving him to a regular room soon if everything is okay. Just go there and tell Paul that something came up. Don’t tell him any details so he doesn’t worry. But let him know I’m fine and see if he needs anything.”
Dan’s eyes moved back to mine, but he didn’t speak.
“Do you mind?” I said. “I’ll call you when I know something.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“I am. It has to be this way. I’ll be fine. Really.”
He reached out and took my hand in his. “Do me a favor,” he said. “Keep in touch. Text me as much as you can so I know you’re okay. Or have Encyclopedia Brown out there do it for you.”
“I will,” I said.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll go see your uncle.”
“Thank you.”
We stood close to each other for a long moment. I leaned up and kissed him.
He didn’t let go of my hand. I squeezed his hand back. Hard. I liked the feel of it in mine.
“I have to go,” I said. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Chapter Forty-five
“How far is it?” I asked.
Neal sat behind the wheel of a surprisingly new Lexus SUV. It didn’t seem to match his dirty hair and army jacket, but I didn’t point that out. It made me wonder about the kind of clients his father represented.
“You’ve never been there?” he asked.
“Never.”
“Aren’t you from Dover?”
“I am. But what would I go to Reston Point for? What’s there?”
“Jesus,” he said. “They’ve got Murray’s, the best steak place in the state. They’ve got Fieldstone Farms, where they raise turkeys and serve them in their own restaurant. You never went there for Thanksgiving?”
“We never went anywhere for Thanksgiving.”
“You should go this year,” Neal said. “Get your boyfriend to take you, unless it’s too… what would he call it? Beaujolais?”
“Do you mean bourgeois?”
“I guess so.” He fumbled around in the glove compartment, reaching across me with his long right arm while he steered the car with his left hand. “We’ll be there in about forty-five minutes.”
“Is that all?”
The car swerved. “Shit,” he said.
“Do you want my help?”
“Got it,” he said. He held a shiny CD, which he slipped into the car’s player. “Driving music.”
I looked out the window. We were on a two-lane road passing through harvested cornfields. In the dying light I could see that everything had been hacked to the roots. A thin band of red glowed along the horizon, but the sky was darkening above. My hands were folded in my lap. I balled my right fist up inside my cupped left hand. I felt nervous and twitchy.
“You like this song?” Neal asked.
“What?”
He pointed to the radio. “The song? You like it?”
I hadn’t been paying attention, so I listened. It sounded slightly familiar. A man sang a slightly poppy, slightly country song in a twangy voice.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” I said.
“Fine? Fine? That’s Glen fucking Campbell you’re listening to. Glen fucking Campbell.”
“It sounds good.”
“Sheesh, Teach. You need an education. You don’t know Ohio. You don’t know music. What are you learning in graduate school?” He must have sensed my anxiety. “You know, this woman’s probably not dangerous. Most people aren’t. And her record says she isn’t. It’ll be fine.”
“Thanks.”
“When we get there, I think it’s best just to play it straight. Just go up to the door and tell her who you are. None of this sneaking around shit. Like you said, you have a legit reason for showing up.”
“And you’ll be right there, so that will help.”
“Negative, Teach.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t go to the door with you,” he said. “A dude—a tall dude—showing up and asking questions? Too intimidating. Best to keep it woman to woman. I’ll be around. I’ll have your back.”
I let out a long breath. Neal’s presence brought me comfort, but I had imagined him being right next to me, not waiting in the car. My fears ran deeper than simply the physical. Deeper and, yes, scarier.
Neal must have understood. He asked, “What are you really worried about, Teach?”
I stared out the window. “I guess I’m just scared of what I might find out.”
On the outskirts of Reston Point, we turned onto a county road, one that took us west. The sky was fully dark by now. A few stars and a sliver of moon shone above, and at the horizon line I saw the scattered lights of the town. A cluster of bright yellow globes indicated a factory of some kind, and past that the dimmer lights of the downtown. If Elizabeth Yarbrough was really my sister, if we really shared blood and a relationship to Mom, then what was her life like here in Reston Point? Where did she work? What did she do? Was there a damn thing we shared in common besides the woman who gave birth to us?
Neal made a couple of turns, and we ended up in a working-class neighborhood. The houses were small and close together. In the glow of the streetlights, I saw yards full of cars, and people lounging on their small porches smoking and drinking beer from bottles. Neal’s car stood out, and the eyes followed us as we passed.
“It’s right up here,” Neal said.
He made a last turn onto a side street. The sign read CAMELOT LANE, and I wondered whether anyone saw the irony. He slowed the car halfway down the street. He checked his phone, then looked up at the house numbers.
“That’s it,” he said, pointing to the right.
The house looked the same as all the others. It was white and compact. The yard looked well maintained. There were no cars in the driveway. A dim porch light illuminated the house number.
“It doesn’t look like anyone’s home,” I said. I hoped no one was.
“No, Teach—look.” Neal pointed again. “See that glow back there?”
I followed the line of his finger to a window at the back. The blinds were closed, but the glow from a television leaked around the edges. Someone was there, watching TV.
“Shit,” I said.
“This is what you’ve been looking for,” Neal said. “Take out your phone.”
I did.
“Make sure it’s ready to call my number. If you have any trouble, just hit the call button. I’ll come running. Okay? I’ll be right out here.”