“But I’m not giving up.”
“I don’t want you to give up,” Colin said. “I’m enjoying the game.”
“Sooner or later, I’ll find the right setup. I’ll find someone for us to kill. You better believe it.”
For a while they took turns watching Sarah Callahan through the binoculars.
Earlier, Colin had been eager to tell Roy about Heather. But now, for reasons he couldn’t quite define, he felt the time wasn’t right. For the moment Heather would be his little secret.
When Sarah Callahan finished sunning herself, Colin and Roy went down to the garage and passed Monday afternoon with the trains. Roy engineered elaborate wrecks and laughed excitedly each time the cars plunged off the tracks.
That night Colin telephoned Heather, and she accepted a movie date for Wednesday. They talked almost fifteen minutes. When Colin finally hung up, he felt that his happiness was a visible light, that it was radiating from him in a golden nimbus; he was glowing.
20
Colin and Roy spent part of Tuesday at the beach, getting tanned and watching the girls. Roy seemed to have lost interest in his macabre game; he didn’t say a single word about killing anyone.
At two-thirty Roy stood up and brushed sand from his bare legs and his cut-off jeans. He had decided it was time to go back into town. “I want to stop by your mother’s gallery.”
Colin blinked. “What for?”
“To look at the paintings, of course.”
“Why?”
“ ‘Cause I’m interested in paintings, dummy.”
“Since when?”
“Since always.”
“You never mentioned it before.”
“You never asked,” Roy said.
They rode their bicycles back to town and parked on the sidewalk in front of the gallery.
A few browsers were in the shop. They moved slowly from painting to painting.
Weezy’s business partner, Paula, was sitting at the big antique desk in the far right comer of the room, where sales were written. She was a wispy, freckled woman with lustrous auburn hair and large glasses.
Weezy was circulating among the browsers, offering to answer any questions they might have about the paintings. When she saw Colin and Roy, she headed straight for them, smiling stiffly. It was clear to Colin that she thought a pair of sandy, sweaty, bare-chested boys in cut-off jeans were definitely not conducive to business.
Before Weezy could ask them what they wanted, Roy pointed to a large painting by Mark Thomberg and said, “Mrs. Jacobs, this artist is terrific. He really is. His work has a lot more depth than the two-dimensional stuff that most current painters are turning out. The detail is really something. Wow. I mean, it almost looks like he’s trying to adapt the style of the old Flemish masters to a more modem sort of viewpoint.”
Weezy was surprised by Roy’s observations.
Colin was surprised, too. More than surprised. Stunned. Depth? Two-dimensional? Flemish masters? He gaped at Roy, amazed.
“Are you interested in art?” Weezy asked.
“Oh yes,” Roy said. “I’m thinking of majoring in art when I go to college. But that’s still a few years away.”
“Do you paint?”
“A little. Mostly watercolors. I’m not really very good.”
“I’ll bet you’re being modest,” Weezy said. “After all, you apparently have quite an understanding of art-and a very good eye. You went right to the heart of what Mark Thornberg is trying to achieve.”
“I did?”
“Yes. That’s astounding. Especially for someone your age. Mark is attempting to take the meticulous detail and the three-dimensional techniques of the Flemish masters and combine those qualities with a modem sensibility and modem subject matter.”
Roy looked at other Thornberg canvases on the same wall as the first, and he said, “I think I detect a trace of … Jacob DeWitt.”
“Exactly!” Weezy said, astonished. “Mark is a great admirer of DeWitt. You really do have a knowledge of art. You’re quite remarkable.”
Roy and Weezy moved from one Thomberg painting to another, spending a few minutes in front of each, discussing the artist’s merits. Colin tagged along behind them, left out, embarrassed by his ignorance-and baffled by Roy’s unexpected expertise and brilliant perception.
The very first time that Weezy had met Roy, she had been favorably impressed by him. She had told Colin as much, and she had suggested that a fine boy like Roy Borden was a much better influence than the few bookworms and social rejects with whom he had previously established tenuous relationships. She had seemed unaware that he, too, was a bookworm and a social reject and that her words stung him. Now she was intrigued by Roy’s interest in fine arts. Colin could see the delight in her eyes. Roy knew how to be charming without ever seeming phony, insincere. He could win the approval of virtually any adult-even those he secretly despised.
In a flash of jealousy, Colin thought: She approves of him more than she does of me. The way she’s looking at him! Has she ever looked at me like that? Hell, no. The bitch!
The intensity of his sudden anger surprised and disconcerted him. As Weezy and Roy looked at the last of the Thornberg paintings, Colin struggled to regain control of himself.
A few minutes later, outside the gallery, as he and Roy were climbing on their bicycles, Colin said, “Why didn’t you ever tell me you were interested in art?”
Roy grinned. “Because I’m not interested in art. It’s a bunch of crap. It’s too damned boring.”
“But all that stuff you said in there-”
“I knew your old lady was dating this Thornberg and handling his paintings at the gallery. I went to the library to see if I could find out anything about him. They subscribe to several art magazines at the library. California Artist ran an article about Thornberg almost a year ago. I just read it for background.”
“Why?” Colin asked, perplexed.
“To impress your mother.”
“Why?”
“ ‘Cause I want her to like me.”
“You went to all that trouble just to make my mother like you? It’s that important to you?”
“Sure,” Roy said. “We don’t want her getting the idea I’m a bad influence on you. She might forbid you to see me any more.”
“Why would she think you’re a bad influence?”
“Grown-ups can get funny ideas sometimes,” Roy said.
“Well, she’d never tell me not to hang around with you. She thinks you’re a good influence.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Well then, my little act was just more insurance.”
Roy pedaled away fast.
Colin hesitated, then followed him. He was certain there was more behind Roy’s “little act” than the boy was willing to talk about. But what? What had Roy really been up to?
21
Weezy couldn’t come home Tuesday evening; she had dinner with a business associate. She gave Colin money to eat at Charlie’s Cafe again, and Colin took Roy with him.
After cheeseburgers and milkshakes, Colin said, “Want to see a movie?”
“Where?”
“There’s a good one on television.”
“What is it?”
“The Shadow of Dracula.”
“Why do you want to see junk like that?”
“It’s not junk. It’s gotten good reviews.”
“There’s no such thing as vampires,” Roy said.
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“No maybes. Positively not. Vampires… that’s bunk.”
“But they make for scary movies.”
“Boring,” Roy said.
“Why don’t you give it a chance?”
Roy sighed and shook his head. “How can you be scared of something that doesn’t exist?”