18

while angie packed an overnight bag, I called Paul's cell phone.

“Yeah?”

“It's me. You still at Andy's?” I could hear other young males goofing around in the background.

“Quiet, it's my dad!” he shouted. Then, more quietly, “Yeah, I'm here. I gotta come home already? You only dropped me off here like half an hour ago.”

“No, you don't have to come home. I was wondering how late you could stay there.”

“You want me to stay here?”

“Long as you want. Any chance you could sleep over?”

“On a school night?”

Since when did my children become so concerned about staying up late on a school night?

“Yeah, sure, it's okay. Angie's going to stay with somebody, and it only seemed fair to offer you the same opportunity.”

“Who is this, really?”

“It's your father, Paul.”

“So I get reamed out by my science teacher, and for punishment, I get to stay out all night? If I told you I'm failing math, too, would there be money for me and Andy to get hookers?”

“I was just telling Angie, it's your mother's birthday in a couple of days, and I think she's going to be home from work soon.” A lie. A total lie. “And I wanted to make her arrival extra special.”

There was silence for a moment on the other end of the line. Then, echoing his sister: “Oh gross.” Just how did teenagers think their parents brought them into the world, anyway?

“So do you think you can stay there?” I asked.

“Hang on, I'll check.” He covered the mouthpiece, and I could hear a muffled exchange in the background. Paul came back on the line: “Yeah, it's cool. But I didn't bring over any stuff.”

“What do you need?”

“Like, a toothbrush? And another shirt, but not something you'd like, but a T-shirt, just grab something that's on my floor. And could you grab my pillows? You know how I can't sleep on strange pillows. And my comforter. I'll probably be sleeping on the basement couch, and I don't know how many blankets they've got.”

I grabbed a pen by the phone and started to make a list.

“And my hairbrush? I don't want to use somebody else's hairbrush. Oh, and some toothpaste? I don't think Andy's family has mint toothpaste. And I guess some underwear. I don't need pajamas, though. I'll just sleep in my clothes.”

“Anything else?” I asked, trying to hold back the sarcasm.

“I don't think so. It's just the one night.”

“I'll drop this off in a while,” I said. “I have some other things I have to do first.”

“Okay. See ya later.”

Angie came into the kitchen and I handed her Paul's list. “Can you gather those things up for your brother?”

She scanned it. “His comforter? What about his teddy bear? Should I pack that, too?”

“Just do it, okay?”

I wanted her out of the house as quickly as possible. I didn't know where Rick had gone, or whether he planned to come back. Given that he'd left empty-handed, and with a nasty bump on the head, it seemed logical to assume that he might return to get what he'd come for, and exact a bit of revenge. When I glanced outside I saw that the police car was still sitting there, Officer Greslow making some notes with the inside dome light on. As long as she was there, I figured we were safe from another visit.

I made sure the patio door was locked, as well as the side and garage doors. And while I waited for Angie to pack her things and Paul's, I slid the bolt on the front door.

Nothing was making any sense. When I'd handed Rick those two envelopes of what I now knew to be counterfeit money, he was dumbstruck. The cash, it was obvious now, was not what he had come for.

There had to be something else in the purse.

“Okay,” said Angie. “I'm ready.” She had her own backpack slung over her shoulder packed with her things, and jammed under her arms were Paul's pillows and comforter, and a plastic bag filled with his toiletry items.

“Where's his backpack?” I asked, wondering why she hadn't used that instead of a plastic bag.

“It's already jammed with his crap. I wasn't reaching into it and taking anything out. He'll probably come by in the morning before he goes to school anyway to get his school stuff. It's on the way.”

Before I unlocked the front door, I looked out the window to make sure no one was lurking there. “What are you doing, Dad?” Angie asked. The police car's brake lights came on as the car was shifted into drive, and then it pulled away slowly from the curb.

I opened the door. “Come on, quickly,” I said, locking the door after Angie and hustling her to my old Civic. We tossed everything into the back seat, not wanting to soil Paul's linens with any potentially oily messes in the trunk.

Once the car doors were closed, I locked mine and ordered Angie to do the same. “What's with you tonight?” she asked. “You're more paranoid than usual.”

I decided to tell her something that, while not addressing the issue directly, was still true. “I guess I'm on edge. Your mom phoned from work tonight, said there was a murder not too far from here.”

“Really? Another murder? That's like, what, two in a week? In the suburbs, Dad? You told us these things never happened in the suburbs.”

I ignored that. “Some woman was found dead in a garage. Beaten to death.”

Angie decided that was not joke material, and said nothing. As we sped away down Chancery Park, I had to ask her for directions. “I don't know where this friend of yours lives.”

“Turn right at Lilac,” she said.

We drove on in silence, Angie speaking only to give directions. About five minutes later, we stopped out front of a two-story house with a couple of expensive cars in the driveway. Angie had her hand on the door handle when I reached out and touched her arm.

“I'm sorry, honey,” I said.

She shrugged, avoiding my eyes. “I guess there's no way you could know the money was fake.”

“No, not about that. I'm sorry about moving us out here. I know you haven't liked it out here, that you miss your friends downtown. I was only trying to do what I thought was best at the time.”

Angie looked at me now, trying to read between the lines. “I know that.”

“I'll talk to your mom. I don't know, maybe we need to reassess things.”

“It's not that bad,” she said. “I guess I'm getting used to it.”

I smiled. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

“Be careful,” I said as she gave my hand a squeeze and slipped out the door. I watched her run up the walk and ring the bell, and waited until she was safely inside the house before driving away.

 

next stop: andy's. he and Paul were already out by the end of the driveway, goofing around on skateboards, when my headlights swept around the corner and caught them. Paul grabbed his stuff out of the back seat and wasted as little time as possible on conversation. I think he was afraid I'd change my mind, tell him to get in the car and come home.

I was well over the limit heading back to our house, but I slowed the last half-block, looking for unfamiliar cars parked at the curb, people crouched in the bushes. I parked, locked the Civic, and scooted into the house, looking over my shoulder as I pushed the door in, expecting Rick to suddenly appear, leaping onto me like a wild beast.

But he wasn't there, and once I was inside I threw the deadbolt. And stopped, holding my breath, listening for sounds. Was he back in the house somehow? As someone who worked for Valley Forest Estates, did he have some sort of master key? Could he get into any house he wanted, any time he wanted?

All I could hear was the blood pounding in my temples. I shouted, “I know you're here, asshole! And that cop's back, right out front! So if you're smart, you'll get the hell out!”

Nothing.

Tentatively, I moved into the house, turning on every light switch I passed. The broadloom, with its upgraded underpadding, allowed me to roam about noiselessly. I peeked into the kitchen, the living and dining rooms, the family room where we watched TV. Then I eased the door of my study open, my crumbled Robot still on the carpet. So far, no guests.

I turned the knob on the door to the ground-floor laundry room where I had stashed Stefanie Knight's purse in the washing machine. I opened the lid, worked the purse out from around the agitator, and took it back into the study. There, just as Rick had done, I dumped its contents out onto the floor, just beyond the range of Robot debris. On my hands and knees, I started sorting.

I put the envelopes to one side. Ditto for makeup items, tampons, car keys, change, expired coupons.

And my eyes settled on the black plastic film canister. I gave it a shake to see that it wasn't empty. A roll rattled inside. I popped the gray plastic lid off and dumped the roll into the palm of my hand.

There was no strip of film extended from it, so it was clearly one that had pictures on it. It was high-quality, black-and-white film. Twenty-four exposures.

Time to go downstairs and develop some pictures.