“Yeah,” Vince said, not sounding particularly grateful. “But things’ll get more complicated when your friends show up. I need to make sure you don’t get rambunctious.”
“Just do it,” Wyatt said to Reggie.
Vince tucked his gun into his belt and knelt down so he could tie her wrists, which she had now placed behind her back. He used only a short piece of rope, but he made it count. I wondered how many times he’d done this. With another short length, he secured her ankles together.
“Now you,” he said to Wyatt.
I could see the fear in his eyes as he craned his neck around, looked up at us from the floor. He believed this was a step on the way to execution. I felt I had to say something.
“It’s going to be okay,” I told him. “Like you said, you’ve done everything we’ve asked.”
Vince gave me a disapproving look as he bound Wyatt’s wrists behind him, then his ankles. He stood, with some effort, took a second to catch his breath, and said to me, “That takes the pressure off.”
“Tell them you’re not going to kill them.” Not whispering.
Vince said to the couple, “If I told you I’m not going to shoot you, would you believe me?”
Reggie said, “We’d want to.”
He nodded. “But you wouldn’t be convinced, would you?” She shook her head, as best she could with her face pressed to the carpet. “Well, then there’s not much point telling you.”
For the next few minutes the four of us just waited, saying nothing. It had been about fifteen minutes since Wyatt had called Logan and Joseph. If they were ten miles away, I figured we’d see them pretty soon. I didn’t know how Vince wanted to pull this off, choreograph it.
As if reading my mind, he said to our prisoners, “When they come into the house, they’ll probably call out. You tell them to come downstairs. Nothing else. You understand?”
“Yeah,” Reggie said.
“Yeah,” Wyatt said.
“They got a remote for the garage?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said.
“They in a Lexus SUV?”
“Yeah,” she said.
Vince said to me, “Upstairs.”
Up in the kitchen, he said, “I thought they might come through the front door, but now I’m thinking, since they’ve got a remote, it’ll be the garage.” It was large enough for two vehicles, so that made sense. “If they’re bringing in Jane, they’re not going to run the risk of anyone seeing her being brought into the house.”
I felt as though I’d had thirty cups of coffee. I was shaking.
“You okay?” Vince asked.
“No,” I admitted.
“This is almost over. They bring Jane, we take her back. Simple as that.”
“No one has to die,” I said.
“No one has to die,” Vince said.
I wondered whether he would feel that way when he saw her, found out how they had treated her. If I were in his position, how much restraint would I be able to show? Wouldn’t I want to kill these sons of bitches if they’d done something to Grace? Even if she hadn’t been harmed physically, wouldn’t they deserve to die for what they’d put her through?
I needed to keep a level head. Not just for myself, but to make sure Vince kept his.
Vince investigated the area by the door that led from the garage into the house. “I’ll stand there,” he said, pointing to where the wall was recessed back of where the door opened in. “They’ll be all the way in the house before they realize I’m behind them. I tell them to drop their weapons, and then you come through that door there, gun pointing at their heads. We’ve got them covered from both sides. We get Jane. But we take them downstairs, tie them up, give us time to slip away. We’ll take the woman’s car, go back to the cemetery, get my truck.”
Sure. What could go wrong?
“I guess,” I said.
Vince frowned. “No guessing. You need your head in the game. You can do this?”
“I can do this,” I said.
“Get in position. Tell me if you can see the driveway from there.”
I went around the other side of the wall, just beyond the door to the basement stairs. I was in the dining room, a few feet away from a window covered in white sheers — sheer enough that I could see outside. I had a view of the street and the bottom two-thirds of the driveway.
“I’ve got a good view,” I said.
“Soon as you see them turn in, tell me.”
“Like I’d keep it to myself,” I said.
And we waited.
“Anything?” he asked me after about five minutes. Like, maybe I’d seen the SUV pull into the driveway but it had slipped my mind to mention it.
I just said, “No.”
Seconds later I said, “Hang on.”
An SUV was turning into the driveway. One man behind the wheel, another in the passenger seat. It was hard to tell from here, but the front of his face appeared half covered in white.
“They’re pulling in now. They’re—”
We heard the garage door rattle as it began to roll up. A car coming into the building. Car doors opening and closing.
Murmurs. People talking.
I peeked around the corner, saw Vince in his hiding spot. He waved his hand, motioning for me to get back behind the wall.
“Gonna be fine,” he mouthed.
Sixty-eight
Nathaniel Braithwaite stood holding the vase in both hands. It struck Cynthia that he was spellbound by it, which struck her as odd. It was, after all, just a vase.
He looked at Cynthia and Grace, his expression a blend of confusion and guilt, and said, “I don’t know where this came from.”
Mother and daughter exchanged a quick glance. “Okay,” said Cynthia. “Neither do we.”
“It wasn’t here when I moved in. I’ve used all the drawers in this dresser.”
He gave his head one last shake, then decided it wasn’t worth worrying about one second longer. He set it on top of the dresser and turned his attention back to the suitcases. He’d stuffed as much as he could into all of them, threw down the lids that were still open, and zipped them up.
There was no way he could manage getting all the cases to his car in a single trip. But to start, he grabbed the smaller one Grace had been touching — making him very nervous in the process — plus one of the other bags that was full of clothes, and scurried down the stairs with them.
Cynthia and Grace followed him down to the first floor and out the front door, where Barney was still having a smoke, Orland still staring blankly.
“What’s up with him?” he asked as Braithwaite walked briskly down to the street and around the corner.
“I think you’re losing a tenant,” Cynthia said.
Grace asked her mother, “What do you think was in that bag he didn’t want me touching?”
Barney said, “You telling me he’s moving out? The son of a bitch didn’t give me any notice. He’s gone, just like that?”
“I think he’ll be back,” Cynthia said. “He’s got more bags.”
As if on cue, Braithwaite came around the corner in the Caddy. He pulled into the drive, killed the engine, locked the car, and came back up the porch steps.
Barney blocked the door and poked a finger into Nathaniel’s chest.
“What’s going on here?”
“Something’s come up. I’m moving out.”
“Well, just hang on a second, mister. People give notice when they’re moving out. I expect two months’ warning, my friend.”
“I’m not your friend, and get out of my way.”
Nathaniel shoved him aside and stormed back into the house. Barney nearly lost his footing and the cigarette slipped from his fingers.
“You okay?” Cynthia asked.
Barney ground out the cigarette with his work boot. “Yeah, I’m fine. If he thinks he’s leaving without paying next month’s rent, he’s got another think coming.” He took a breath, puffed out his chest, and went into the house, stomping his way up the stairs.