Tuesday
I drove home, astonished at my chutzpah. Where had my courage come from? True, Stokes was arrogant and aggressive, the type I instantly dislike. But his cold belligerence had teased out something similar in me. Did he have that effect on others too? Maybe he cultivated it, counted on the fact that he’d rile people up so much they’d say or do something reckless. No. I was giving him too much credit. He couldn’t be that Machiavellian. And while I realized there might be consequences later, I was proud of my gutsy conduct.
Until Luke arrived. While I heated up the lasagna I’d picked up earlier, I told him about my meeting with Stokes.
“So you basically told him to fuck off,” Luke said.
“I couldn’t help it. He’s the kind of creep you want to punch in the nose.”
Luke ran a hand through his hair, which didn’t take long. He was mostly bald. “Tell me his name again?”
“Warren Stokes. Said he’s head of security for Delcroft. He tempted me with the possibility of reviving the videos when he called.” I plated the lasagna and set it down on the table. “But at the meeting he zeroed in on the flash drive.”
Luke didn’t say anything for a moment. “Okay. I’m not going to tell you what a stupid thing you did. Or dangerous. Particularly with Hollander gone. And the reason I’m not going to tell you that is because I have a feeling you already know.”
“Actually, I don’t. It didn’t feel stupid when it was happening. It felt—I don’t know—like the right thing to do. I mean, what choice did I have? I couldn’t let him walk all over me.”
“Except now you’ve pissed off Delcroft’s head of security.”
“What’s he going to do? He’s already tapped my phone, hacked into my computers, planted a bomb. For all we know, he could have had something to do with Hollander’s disappearance.” I opened the fridge, pulled out a beer, popped the tab, and set it down in front of Luke. “I asked him if Hollander was dead, by the way.”
“What did he say?”
“He said not that he was aware of.”
Luke ignored his beer. “What happened to the frightened woman who just wanted to give the drive back to Hollander?”
I took a swig of his beer. “I think I’m just tired of being pushed around. Look, I get that he’s not a good guy. I know what I’m getting myself into. But I need to see this through. At least until we know what happened to Hollander.”
Luke reached for his cell and punched in numbers. “Who are you calling?”
He shook his head. A few seconds later he said, “Griz? Luke here.”
I took another pull on Luke’s beer. He obviously thought I’d overplayed my hand. I wondered if he was right.
While Luke was on the phone, I went out to fetch the mail, which I usually do only once every few days. In years past, it was because of bills that I could barely pay. Now I get most of my bills online, but stacks of junk mail still clog the box. I was standing over the recycling bin tossing the flyers, pseudo-news weeklies, and coupon sheets when I came across a white business envelope with my name on it. It bore no postmark or return address. Someone had delivered it by hand.
I dumped the rest of the junk mail, closed the recycling lid, and tore open the envelope. No salutation and no signature. Just a typewritten note:
Please meet me Wednesday at 1 pm at the Dragon Inn North restaurant.
I have information about Gregory Parks.