The front door sounded a chime when he opened it, but it wasn’t alarmed. Outside it was dark and cold and the snow crunched and squeaked underfoot. The frigid air stung his cheeks and earlobes as he walked along the shoulder of the road.
There was hardly any traffic, with the exception of a Jeep passing by, blaring a snatch of something hip-hop and unmelodic. Gung-ho skiers, probably, on their way to sample early-morning corduroy.
The walk to town took just over twenty minutes. Gradually the sky began to brighten.
Sweet Tooth was exactly as Danny had expected, a hipster coffee shop/bakery that offered chai latte and gluten-free brownies and organic fair-trade coffee roasted by hand in small batches. Something by Ray LaMontagne was playing on the speakers. The only patrons were an exhausted-looking young dad with a squalling baby in a stroller, and, sitting by himself on a beat-up leather couch, Philip Slocum.
Danny ordered a small black coffee, which set him back four dollars, and joined Slocum on the couch.
An idea had just occurred to him, and he took out his iPhone.
“Hold on,” he said, feigning annoyance at some dull task he had to get out of the way.
It wasn’t easy to snap a photo of Philip Slocum furtively. But he muted the phone’s volume and then held it up vertically as if trying to get a better view of something on the screen.
And hit the CAMERA button. No sound, no flash. Just a half-decent, fairly in-focus picture of Slocum’s face.
“Did anyone watch you leave the house?” Slocum asked.
“I doubt it. Everyone was asleep. Why?”
He slid a small black nylon pouch across the sofa toward Danny. “Because you didn’t leave the house with this, so you might not want to flash it around.”
Danny unzipped the pouch. Inside was what looked like just the lens for an SLR camera, a small black barrel. But on second glance he could see it was an entire camera, extremely compact, its body dwarfed by its lens.
“And where’s this meeting taking place?”
“We don’t know. Just that it’s going to be fairly remote. They’re concerned about tracking devices and surveillance.”
“I told you, I don’t have a car.”
“You don’t need a car. Galvin’s not taking a car. Too easy to be tracked.”
“So maybe they’re meeting at Galvin’s house.”
“Doubt it.”
“Then, what?-he’s walking?”
The baby let out an ear-piercing shriek. Danny sometimes missed having a little kid-Abby was a heart-meltingly adorable little girl-but he sure didn’t miss having an infant that age.
“Most likely it’ll be a location where cars can’t drive to-where you can’t park a van. Where you can’t point a parabolic microphone. And where the cell phone coverage is so unreliable, or nonexistent, that no concealed transmitters are going to work. It’ll have 360-degree visibility, so they’ll be able to see anyone approaching.”
“Including me,” Danny said. “So they can pick me off with a sniper rifle.”
“No,” Slocum said patiently. “You’re a friend. A houseguest. If for some reason you’re spotted, Galvin will vouch for you.”
“And when is this supposed to happen, this meeting?”
Slocum shrugged. “This weekend. Today or tomorrow. That’s all we know.”
“And it could be anywhere. Anywhere he doesn’t need a car to get to.”
“Right. So try not to leave his side.”
When Slocum had finished his instructions, Danny stood up.
“Hey,” Slocum said. “Buy some muffins and scones to take home to the Galvins. Be a nice houseguest.”
Danny jammed the camera case into the outside pocket of his down parka. He bought an assortment of scones and muffins. With a white paper sack in his hand-SWEET TOOTH printed on it in the same typeface the Grateful Dead used to use on their albums-he left the coffee shop.
The first thing he noticed was a black Suburban.
Standing a few feet from the coffee shop, smoking and watching the front door, was Galvin’s driver.
44
The Suburban passed Danny on his way back.
He half expected Alejandro to pull over and offer him a lift. There was no question they’d recognized each other. The chauffeur had looked away too quickly.
Of course, it was possible that the chauffeur genuinely didn’t recognize him. But if he did, and if he’d witnessed the transaction between Slocum and Danny, had seen Danny pick up the camera…?
By the time he got back, the Suburban was parked in front of the house, its engine block ticking and creaking as it cooled. He glanced around. Alejandro was nowhere to be seen.
And through the glass front door he saw a light on that hadn’t been on before. He stamped his boots on the welcome mat, unlaced and removed them when he entered. In stocking feet, he followed the light into the kitchen.
Galvin, in a white bathrobe, his back to Danny, sat at a high chair at a long granite island. Coffee had just been brewed.
Danny held up the Sweet Tooth paper sack by way of efficient explanation. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Galvin said heartily. He laughed and pointed to an identical paper bag on the counter by the coffeemaker. “Alejandro just got back from there.”
Had the driver gone into the shop right after Danny had left?
“Great minds think alike,” he said.
“You went all the way into town on foot to get coffee?” he scolded. “I told you guys to make yourself at home. Mi casa es su casa.”
“I guess I’m still on East Coast time.” He set the bag down on the island. “The terminally hip barista said their cinnamon buns are to die for.”
“Well, no one’s going to complain about seconds.”
“Amazing view,” Danny said, pointing at the enormous picture window. “You probably take it for granted by now.”
Galvin pushed back his chair and stood up. “That view is what sold us on this property. That and the fact that there’s a cross-country trailhead close by. We can just put on our cross-country skis and take off from the backyard if we want to. In town’s a lot more convenient-you can walk pretty much everywhere-but you don’t get the view.”
“What are we looking at?” Danny approached the window, and Galvin joined him.
“Snow,” Galvin said.
“Thanks.” The comfortable sardonic banter of a couple of buddies. “Is that Aspen Mountain?”
“Aspen Highlands Bowl.” He pointed. “Steeplechase. That’s upper Castle Creek valley.”
“Beautiful.” There was no backyard, really. No fence defining property lines. Just a few stands of birch trees jutting up from the snow and lines of scrub pines. And a blanket of snow that went on for as far as he could see. And no other houses in view.
“Anytime we’re not here, you guys are welcome to stay. Otherwise it just sits here empty.”
Danny nodded. “Thanks.” They both stood admiring the scenery.
“And when we are here, too, of course. Celina and your, uh, girlfriend look like they’re becoming fast friends. Abby and Jenna are inseparable. And you’re not so bad yourself.” Galvin clapped an arm on his shoulder. “Seriously, the first time I met you, I knew you.”
“Knew me?”
“Recognized you. Like you were a kindred spirit among all those phonies at Lyman, all those hoity-toity types.”
“I don’t exactly belong,” Danny said.
“Neither of us does.”
“Except you’re-”
“Rich?”
“You could put it that way, yeah. As long as you’ve got beaucoup bucks, Tinsley Thornton couldn’t care less where you come from.”
“Lally, you mean. Please.” A tart grin. “See, Danny, that’s where you’re wrong. She knows who I am and where I’m from. To her, and to everyone at that school, I’ll never be more than a blue-collar kid from Southie who got lucky. As far as they’re concerned, I’m no better than some jamoke who works at a gas station and just won three hundred million bucks in the lottery. I’ll always be, you know”-he extended a pinkie and mimed drinking a cup of tea-“below the salt, as they’d say. They’re happy to take my money, sure, but I don’t have any illusions about the kind of smack they talk about me at board meetings.”