Nothing moved under the shadowed brow of the Myrtle Street shops.
Nicholas walked toward Plow & Vine Health Foods with one wrist in the duffel bag and his hand on the shotgun grip. The Miroku had been just where Laine had said it would be. As his finger found the trigger, it occurred to him there was no good way for this to finish: at best, he’d go to jail for the murder of an unidentified old woman; at worst … well, there were thirty-one flavors of worst. One of the least unappealing was emulating Gavin before Garnock’s extended family had a chance to do a thorough job on him.
The shop’s door was locked. A sign hung in the glass: Closed due to sickness. Sorry!
He shielded his eyes and pressed against the window. The shop within was dark and still. He let out a slow breath, guiltily relieved. He could move to Plan B.
There was hope now: he could take the fight into a remoter place where, perhaps, no one would hear the shotgun blasts. The downside was that it would be her place. The woods.
Movement caught his eye.
A house spider jumped from its hiding place atop a wooden rafter of the awning. It abseiled down on the silk it spun out behind and landed soundlessly on the ground. It scurried around the corner and started down the footpath toward Carmichael Road.
Nicholas was about to chase after it and squash it, but stopped himself. Let her know, he thought. Let her know something’s after her. Even if she got me, he figured—and God forbid, Laine and Pritam and Suze—at least she’d get a taste of being hunted. She’ll realize that things can turn. Things don’t always go her way. Not anymore.
He got in the car and steered it toward Carmichael Road.
Suzette watched her son carefully. Her heart was racing.
Nicholas’s call that morning had made her feel sick; after he’d rung, she’d gone to the bathroom and lost all her breakfast. But then the excitement of his one piece of good news had carried her into Nelson’s bedroom on swift feet.
Her fingers had been shaking when she drew the paring knife over the skin of his thumb—she didn’t want to hurt her boy. But he didn’t so much as wince as the steel bit in and red droplets rose around the blade. She quickly opened his pajama top, dipped her index finger in the blood, and painted that ugly symbol above his heart.
That had been two hours ago. Now, he was sitting in front of the television, hungrily chewing toast as he played Need for Speed.
She and Bryan exchanged glances.
“You know what I think,” said Bryan. She could tell he was unhappy: his voice dropped an octave and his words were clipped.
“I have to go.”
“You don’t.”
She shrugged. “I can’t leave him up there.”
“Then let’s all go—”
“No!” she said loudly. Nelson looked up from the Xbox game. Suzette waved him back—it’s fine. “No way in hell,” she continued. “You keep them here.”
“Suze …” began Bryan.
But she was already on her feet and reaching for the White Pages.