We didn’t have to pack. His backpack and my suitcase were still in the beach house, burned by now to a crisp.
Jeremy woke up somewhere around the exit to Lee, almost to the Massachusetts — New York line.
“What do you think happened to that Calder guy?” he asked. “Who killed him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe it was that woman he’d kidnapped.”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Maybe Kiln?”
“Possibly,” I said. “Right now, I’m happy to let the East Sandwich police figure it out.”
About a mile later, he said, “I’m kinda glad to be going home.”
“I can’t take you straight there,” I told him.
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s like I told you last night, we’re going to fly under the radar for a few more hours.”
“Radio silence, under the radar. Where do you get these phrases?”
“I watch a lot of movies,” I said. “Let me put it another way. We keep our mouths shut. I don’t want anyone to know we’re back in town, that we’re alive.”
“What, like, including my mom?”
“Everyone,” I said.
“Yeah, right, my mom sent someone to kill us. That’s what you think?”
“No. But your mother has a history of being a bit careless with information. That’s why we’re not telling anyone we’re back. Not for a few more hours.”
“I don’t get why,” he said.
We passed the sign that welcomed us to New York state, and were delivered from the Mass Pike to the New York Thruway system. “I don’t think what happened last night had anything do with Just Deserts or any other social-media outrage.”
“Then what?”
“If and when I have something confirmed, I’ll lay it all out for you. And your mom.”
“Is it the stick-shift shit?”
“You’re gonna have to wait. I’m going to drop you at my sister’s.”
Jeremy shook his head. “No way.”
I gave him as stern a look as I could muster. “It’s not up for debate.”
I called ahead to my sister’s house and got her husband Dwayne. I said I had a favor to ask of them, and Dwayne, being somewhat in my debt from a previous incident, told me to name it.
I dropped Jeremy off and then made one last phone call to see if things were good to go.
They were.
It was five minutes to ten when I parked half a block down from Kelly’s Diner. As I reached the door, I did a scan of the street in both directions.
Nothing out of the ordinary caught my eye.
I pushed open the door and went inside. The morning rush was over. Only about half the tables were busy. There was a line of booths down the right wall, and the high-backed seats made it difficult to see who was occupying them.
But at the last booth, right ahead of the door to the kitchen, I could make out half a body. A leg, part of a shoulder, an arm on the table.
I walked past the other booths, and when I got to the last one, I offered up a smile.
“You still thinking of selling that Porsche?” I asked.
Galen Broadhurst looked too stunned to answer.
Sixty-three
Cal
Galen Broadhurst’s body language told me he was seriously considering slipping out of the booth and making a run for it.
“Don’t even think about it,” I said, sliding in across from him. “You might be able to outrun me in your Porsche, but on foot, you haven’t got a chance.”
Broadhurst resignedly shifted his butt back to the center of the bench. The table between us was bare.
“You didn’t order anything?” I said. “The coffee’s very good here.” I gave a wave to the waitress, who shuffled down our way. “Hey, Sylvie, how’s it going?”
“Good, Cal,” she said. “You?”
“Just great. Two coffees, I guess.” I glanced at Broadhurst. “Or are you a tea man?”
“Coffee,” he said quietly.
“Anything to eat?” Sylvie asked.
I pursed my lips. “I think we’ll just start with coffee and see where it goes from there.”
Sylvie nodded and slid away.
I turned to look at Broadhurst. “In the movies, this is where you’d say you thought I was dead.”
“I’m not saying a fucking thing,” he said. “You’re probably wired for sound anyway.”
“Would you like to check?” I asked, and held out my arms, inviting him to pat me down.
“Open your shirt,” he said.
I smiled and as I undid the buttons said, “A little musical accompaniment would be nice.”
I opened my shirt wide to reveal my chest and stomach. No wire, no eavesdropping devices.
“Satisfied?” I said.
Broadhurst made a grunting noise. I did up my buttons quickly. Didn’t want to give Sylvie heart palpitations.
“You know who I thought you were going to be?” I said.
Broadhurst waited.
“Grant Finch. Your lawyer friend, who did such a standup job defending Jeremy. Because it was him I raised my concerns with. So I guess then he talked to you to discuss our phone call. And you got very, very scared. Sound about right?”
Broadhurst remained silent.
“You want to know what tipped me first that something just didn’t fit right? And this was even before I found out Jeremy couldn’t drive a stick to save his life. That bullshit story that you left the keys in the car. Even after you found a drunk Jeremy and Sian McFadden sitting in it, trying to start it. That, as they say, beggared belief. You initially left your keys in the ashtray. Okay, I can buy that, since the car was right out front of your house, and the house is set way back from the road, so the risk of theft is minimal. But then Jeremy finds the key, tries to start the beast. You intercede. Then we’re supposed to believe you still left the keys in the car. And you love that car. Who wouldn’t?”
I lowered my voice conspiratorially, leaned in. “I have to be honest here. When I called about the car, like I was interested in buying it? I’m not. I’m sorry if I got your hopes up.”
I sat back up. “Anyway, I believe you held onto the keys. So, if you had ’em, stands to reason that when that car started up, you were behind the wheel.” I studied his face, looking for a reaction. “Am I boring you?” I asked.
Sylvie showed up with two china mugs of coffee.
“Oh, this is great,” I said. “I don’t know when I’ve needed a coffee more. There you go, Galen.”
We each had our mugs in front of us.
“Cream and sugar’s right there,” Sylvie said, pointing to the far end of the table to the chrome holder that also contained ketchup and mustard, salt and pepper.
“Allow me,” I said, reaching for the glass jar of sugar and a small metal jug of cream.
“Not really thirsty,” Broadhurst said.
“Suit yourself.” I took a sip of coffee and smiled. “Thanks, Sylvie. It’s just what the doctor ordered.”
“You’re so full of it,” she said. “If you boys get hungry, let me know. We got a pancake special.”
“Ooohh, let me think about that,” I said.
Sylvie understood that she was being dismissed, and left.
“So, where were we?” I said to Broadhurst. “You got in the car. You drove it. You ran down Sian McFadden. But I guess I’m getting ahead of myself. How’m I doing so far?”
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Ah, he speaks,” I said. “I’ve come to do you a favor. I’ve already done you a solid.”
“What’s that?”
“Your friend Gregor Kiln.”
Broadhurst blinked. “I don’t know—”
I held up a hand. “Please. Don’t embarrass yourself. And you didn’t let me finish. I’ve got good news.”
Broadhurst eyed me like a mouse waiting to hear the cat’s deal. “What?”