So you told Merrick,” Bill said to Mike. “Let him take it from there.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s going to blow it off.”
“Sully, he said he’d look into it.”
“I’m not holding my breath.”
Bill went back to working a sudsy sponge over the hood of Patty’s new bright yellow Ford Escape. He wore shorts, flip-flops and a short-sleeve shirt that showed off the biohazard tattoo on each meaty bicep. The silk shirt was imprinted with hundreds of miniature covers of Playboy magazine.
It was closing on six, the sunlight fading but the air still warm. Mike had just returned from Merrick’s office. After touching down at Logan, Mike had gone straight to the police station to see Merrick, who had agreed to a meeting, Mike telling the detective everything except the part about playing a police officer.
“Nice color,” Mike said. “The pink ones all sold out?”
“Patty picked it out,” Bill said, his voice flat. “I had nothing to do with it.”
“That the reason you’re pissed off?”
“It’s been a long day. The twins.” Bill shook his head. “There are moments when I wish I had been sterile.”
“I’ll bet anything Margaret Clarkston had that procedure done in New Hampshire.”
The strained look on Bill’s face was the same one Merrick wore just moments ago: Don’t talk, just nod, and hopefully this person will shut up and walk away.
Mike put down his Coke on the driveway and walked over to Bill. “You don’t find it the least bit odd that all three women had abortions?”
Bill shrugged. “It happens more than you think.”
“And if all three women had it done at this same place?”
“Okay. Let’s say what you’re saying is true.”
“Let’s.”
“What’s the connection to Jonah?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I forwarded it to Merrick. It’s called a clue.”
Bill dropped the sponge in the bucket and picked up his bottle of Sam Adams from the hood.
“Say it.”
“I was just thinking back to Friday night when you came down to the kitchen all dressed to the nines. The next morning, Grace comes up to me and says ‘Uncle Michael’s smiling again.’”
“I didn’t ask for this.”
“Yeah, you did.” Bill pointed the beer bottle at Mike as he spoke. “You were the one who went to Lou and kept squeezing his cherries until he spit up this stuff about your mother. So now you got that bouncing around your head, and if that isn’t enough, you go to New York and dig up all this crap on Jess. Bottom line? It’s got nothing to do with nothing.”
“I think it’s worth something.”
“Yeah. It’s a nice distraction.”
“From what?”
Bill propped both forearms on the Escape’s hood. He picked at the beer label as raindrops of water dripped off the SUV.
“What I say, I say out of love. Let Sarah go. You want to cry, scream—you want to go and get drunk, fine, you name it and I’ll be there with you, if that’s what you want. But all this digging … it’s got to stop, Sully. At some point you’ve got to move on and enjoy your life.”
Mike lit a cigarette, turned his face away to the front lawn where Grace and Emma sat, playing with their Barbie dolls. Paula sat on the front steps, a cordless phone pressed against her ear, her free hand rubbing Fang’s belly, the dog on his side, passed out.
Paula saw Mike staring at her, waved hello. Mike waved back.
“She’s really grown up, hasn’t she?”
“I’m sorry, Sully. I know that’s not enough, but that’s all I can say.”
“I’m going to head out for a bit.”
“Stay for dinner.Patty’s making steak tips. No Alka-Seltzer needed.”
“Another time. Thanks again for watching the dog. Enjoy your night with your family,” Mike said and walked over to get Fang.