But then, that voice in his ear.
And now he was almost shitting his pants. Who the holy crap had come up behind him?
He could feel the person’s chest against him, actually feel them breathing. There was only one, and not that huge, but they must be doing some kind of martial arts hold or something, Bobby couldn’t fight back. How could some asshole rob him, like, not two blocks from the police station? Why would they think he had anything to rob?
He was gonna be so screwed. He couldn’t even comprehend how-
“Listen to me,” the voice was saying, all whispery and hissing. Bobby could smell cigarettes, and leather? And something else. What? But no time to think about smells. There was only time to, like, pray to whatever, that he come out of this alive.
“And listen to me good.”
And now he felt something at his side, sharp-like a… like a knife. At his side. Like the one that stabbed the guy in Curley Park. His knees buckled and the night went white and then black and his eyes were, like, on fire. What if he never saw anything again, not ever, and his mother would wonder where he was, and the cops would call and he would never-he slammed his eyes closed, kept them closed.
“I could kill you right now,” the voice went on. “I could stab your freaking eyes out, too, and then what would happen to your little career as a photographer?”
This person knew him?
“Have you talked to anyone about what you saw? Have you?”
“No.” Bobby managed to get the word out, it was true, thank crap. He hadn’t told the reporter anything. The lawyer woman hadn’t asked. He didn’t say anything to the cops either. That detective Brogan seemed, like, in a hurry to get out, and they’d set up the interview time for tomorrow morning. Would there even be a tomorrow? He opened his eyes, wide, looking for a way out. “No, nothing, no one, I promise, I haven’t talked to-”
“Lucky for you, little man,” the voice said.
Bobby opened his eyes, desperately trying to wrench himself away. They were right in the gloom, right where the streetlights didn’t reach. No one in sight. If he yelled, called for help, he could get stabbed in one second. He twisted again, frantic, then felt the threat of the blade through his thin T-shirt.
Good-bye. The thought floated into his consciousness, then settled in to stay. Good-bye.
22
Jane looked at her watch, calculating. The maître d’ at the Brookline Taverna had asked her when the other two guests would arrive. And no one knew the answer.
It was now nine P.M. They’d been here thirty minutes. It felt like three hundred. The not-missing stepfather and not-missing daughter had not appeared. Robyn clutched her cell phone, checking it periodically. The phone stayed silent.
How long could it take to fix a tire? What was taking them so long? Where were they?
Laughter from other tables of happy diners only underscored the gloom cloud looming over theirs. Jane was starving. She craved a glass of wine. And a fork to stab herself in the throat. First meetings were often awkward, but this one was Emmy-winning awful.
Melissa had told Jane that Daniel’s plane was still delayed, that she hadn’t told her fiancé anything about Gracie, and that she was freaking out. Not the most auspicious mental state for her sister to meet Jane’s boyfriend. Now Melissa’s “conversation” with Jake sounded more like a prosecutorial grilling. Jake was clearly distracted, his answers almost brusque. Lucky Daniel, Jane thought. More fun to be stranded in an airport than be sitting at this table.
There must be some kind of Heisenberg effect for families, Jane thought, some force that mutates a perfect beau into a perfect stranger. Real Jake, intelligent and thoughtful and warm, was nothing like this icily argumentative table Jake. She wondered if she had changed in Jake’s eyes, too.
They had to talk. Without family. She and Jake were sitting so close they could touch each other-but they couldn’t say an important word. Not about each other. And not about the dead man in Curley Park.
Robyn, red-eyed and fidgeting, was regaling Jake with a nostalgic anecdote about Gracie. Robyn’s cardigan, now unbuttoned, revealed an ice-blue silk blouse underneath. Also unbuttoned. Farther than Jane might have recommended.
“I mean, Jake, she’s the cutest!” Robyn had the fingers of one hand curled around Jake’s forearm, leaning in. Her other hand still clutched that phone.
Jake cleared his throat. Took an impossible sip from his empty water glass. Melissa looked as if she’d like to stab someone, anyone, even herself.
Stab. That was the second time she’d mentally used that word. Jane allowed herself to think, briefly, about Channel 2 and the Curley Park incident. What had been on the six o’clock news? She yearned to call Marsh Tyson, somehow make amends. She’d left four hours ago explaining her defection as a family emergency. At least what she’d thought then was an emergency. Tyson had seemed to be understanding, and they’d parted with the agreement that she’d talk to him tomorrow. Their new relationship had started auspiciously. Now it felt like a loose end.
“And then, I remember one time…” Robyn’s reedy voice, relentless and persistent, carried to Jane’s end of the table. Melissa escaped toward the ladies’ room. Jane escaped into her own thoughts, making sure her face was pointed, politely, in Robyn’s direction.
Loose ends. One, she should inform Marsh Tyson that Gracie was okay. He’d want to know, if only because a missing nine-year-old and her stepfather were a potentially headlining news story. Now, thank goodness, it wouldn’t come to that.
Two, what had happened in Curley Park?
And three, if Jane did start working at Channel 2, should she be having dinner with Jake in public?
She looked at him, now tête-à-tête with the just-returned Melissa, immersed in a verging-on-argument about a Supreme Court decision on life sentences for juvenile offenders. Lovely, Jane thought. This is a bad Lifetime movie.
She felt a touch on her thigh. Jake’s hand, hidden under the edge of the white tablecloth, gave her leg a surreptitious squeeze. She put a secret hand over his, silently reassuring, connecting. Okay, then, she almost smiled, they’d make it through this together. A wretched family dinner was almost a rite of passage.
Everything would be fine. As soon as Gracie and Lewis arrived.
The waiter appeared with a dripping pitcher of ice water, hovering behind Melissa. Jake’s cell phone vibrated on the table, moving, in infinitesimal jumps, across the tablecloth.
Robyn stopped talking. Her phone was ringing, too.
“You come back here, right now!”
Tenley heard her mother yelling behind her as she raced up the stairs to the second floor. She’d ignore her, she didn’t have to do what her mother said, she was eighteen and-
“Right now!” Her mother’s voice came closer, and Tenley could hear her bare feet slapping on the hardwood steps. Tenley could run faster than her mom, especially since she was fueled on coffee and not sauvignon blanc.
Tenley yanked open the door of her room, stared at the unmade bed. Her suitcase was in the closet.
“What on earth are you talking about, Tenley Rebecca Siskel? Moving out? You are not moving out, not as long as-”
Tenley whirled to see her mom, hands planted on hips, in the hall behind her. Mom’s blouse had come untucked from her skirt, a white silk tail hanging over the gray linen. Her hair had come out of its ponytail. One strand now straggled, limp, over one cheek. She looked all off balance, one-sided, and Tenley figured that was a pretty great metaphor for their entire lives.
“As long as what?” Tenley shot back. “You can’t make me do anything.”