Hemlock Bay
Page 86
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“Actually, Mr. Bullock, it’s very far from the truth. Someone has tried to kill me three times now.”
He just shook his head at her, waved the bottle of aspirin, and said, “You need something stronger than these, Mrs. Frasier. Something lots stronger. You’ll never live to be as old as I am if you don’t see to it now.”
“Why don’t you talk to Lieutenant Dobbs in Eureka?”
He just looked at her, saying nothing more. Lily didn’t feel like standing there arguing with the old man to change his mind, with the dozen other people in the store likely listening, so she just paid and left, knowing those people were thinking she was one sick puppy, no doubt about it.
“That’s it. Nothing much, really.” She waved the bottle of aspirin. “Thanks, Simon.” He handed her a bottle of diet Dr Pepper, and she took two of the tablets.
“Isn’t it interesting that no one wanted to speak to me,” she said, “except Mr. Bullock. They were all content just to hang back and listen.”
“It’s still a beautiful town. Tennyson, Mom, and Dad have been busy,” Simon said. “How about some lunch?”
After a light lunch at a diner that sat right on the main pier, Lily said, “I want to visit my daughter, Simon.”
For a moment, he didn’t understand. She saw it and said, even as tears stung her eyes, “The cemetery. After I leave, I know I won’t be back for a while. I want to say good-bye.”
He wasn’t about to let her go by herself. It was too dangerous. When he told her that, she simply nodded. They stopped at a small florist shop at the end of Whipple Avenue, Molly Ann’s Blooms.
“Hilda Gaddis owns Molly Ann’s. She sent a beautiful bouquet of yellow roses to Beth’s funeral.”
“The daffodils are lovely.”
“Yes. Beth loved daffodils.” She said nothing more as they drove the seven minutes to the cemetery set near the Presbyterian Church. It was lovely, in a pocket nestled by hemlock and spruce trees, protected from the winds off the ocean.
He walked with her up a narrow pathway that forked to the right. There was a beautiful etched white marble stone, an angel carved on top, her arms spread wide. Beth’s name was beneath, the date of her birth, the date of her death, and beneath, the words She Gave Me Infinite Joy.
Lily was crying, but made no sound. Simon watched her go down on her knees and arrange the daffodils against the headstone.
He wanted to comfort her but realized in those moments that she needed to be alone. He turned away and went back to the rental car. His cell phone rang.
It was Clark Hoyt, and he was excited.
21
Saint John’s, Antigua
There was nothing more for Savich to do in Antigua. Timmy Tuttle, with two healthy arms, had Marilyn, and Savich didn’t want to even think of what he was doing to her.
Or maybe two different people had her, one wild-eyed man with black hair and two arms, and a woman with one arm and madness and rage in her eyes.
Savich couldn’t stand himself. He’d set up Marilyn, gotten an FBI agent killed, along with a local police officer, and left chaos in his wake. He knew he’d see Virginia Cosgrove’s sightless eyes for a very long time, and that long red gash that had slit her throat open.
Jimmy Maitland had taken his arm, trying to calm him down. “Batten down the guilt, Savich. I approved everything you did. We faced something or someone that shouldn’t have been there. It happened. You’ve got to prepare to move on.”
Maitland shook his head, ran fingers through his gray hair, making it stand on end. “Jesus, I’m losing it. There’s nothing more we can do here. We’re going home. I’m leaving Vinny Arbus and his SWAT team in charge. They’ll keep looking for Marilyn and coordinate with local law enforcement. This confusion, Savich, it will unravel in time. There’s an explanation, there has to be.”
Savich didn’t let Sherlock out of his sight. He realized soon enough that she was different—more quiet, her attention not on any of them, and he’d look at her and know she was thinking about what had happened, her eyes focused, yet somehow far away.
There was so much cleanup, so many explanations to give, most omitting the inexplicable things because they didn’t help anyone to know the sorts of things that could drive you mad. And most important, there was no sign of the man who’d taken Marilyn Warluski from the Saint John’s airport.
When they got back to Washington, Savich left immediately for the gym and worked out until he was panting for breath, his body so exhausted it was ready to rebel.
He just shook his head at her, waved the bottle of aspirin, and said, “You need something stronger than these, Mrs. Frasier. Something lots stronger. You’ll never live to be as old as I am if you don’t see to it now.”
“Why don’t you talk to Lieutenant Dobbs in Eureka?”
He just looked at her, saying nothing more. Lily didn’t feel like standing there arguing with the old man to change his mind, with the dozen other people in the store likely listening, so she just paid and left, knowing those people were thinking she was one sick puppy, no doubt about it.
“That’s it. Nothing much, really.” She waved the bottle of aspirin. “Thanks, Simon.” He handed her a bottle of diet Dr Pepper, and she took two of the tablets.
“Isn’t it interesting that no one wanted to speak to me,” she said, “except Mr. Bullock. They were all content just to hang back and listen.”
“It’s still a beautiful town. Tennyson, Mom, and Dad have been busy,” Simon said. “How about some lunch?”
After a light lunch at a diner that sat right on the main pier, Lily said, “I want to visit my daughter, Simon.”
For a moment, he didn’t understand. She saw it and said, even as tears stung her eyes, “The cemetery. After I leave, I know I won’t be back for a while. I want to say good-bye.”
He wasn’t about to let her go by herself. It was too dangerous. When he told her that, she simply nodded. They stopped at a small florist shop at the end of Whipple Avenue, Molly Ann’s Blooms.
“Hilda Gaddis owns Molly Ann’s. She sent a beautiful bouquet of yellow roses to Beth’s funeral.”
“The daffodils are lovely.”
“Yes. Beth loved daffodils.” She said nothing more as they drove the seven minutes to the cemetery set near the Presbyterian Church. It was lovely, in a pocket nestled by hemlock and spruce trees, protected from the winds off the ocean.
He walked with her up a narrow pathway that forked to the right. There was a beautiful etched white marble stone, an angel carved on top, her arms spread wide. Beth’s name was beneath, the date of her birth, the date of her death, and beneath, the words She Gave Me Infinite Joy.
Lily was crying, but made no sound. Simon watched her go down on her knees and arrange the daffodils against the headstone.
He wanted to comfort her but realized in those moments that she needed to be alone. He turned away and went back to the rental car. His cell phone rang.
It was Clark Hoyt, and he was excited.
21
Saint John’s, Antigua
There was nothing more for Savich to do in Antigua. Timmy Tuttle, with two healthy arms, had Marilyn, and Savich didn’t want to even think of what he was doing to her.
Or maybe two different people had her, one wild-eyed man with black hair and two arms, and a woman with one arm and madness and rage in her eyes.
Savich couldn’t stand himself. He’d set up Marilyn, gotten an FBI agent killed, along with a local police officer, and left chaos in his wake. He knew he’d see Virginia Cosgrove’s sightless eyes for a very long time, and that long red gash that had slit her throat open.
Jimmy Maitland had taken his arm, trying to calm him down. “Batten down the guilt, Savich. I approved everything you did. We faced something or someone that shouldn’t have been there. It happened. You’ve got to prepare to move on.”
Maitland shook his head, ran fingers through his gray hair, making it stand on end. “Jesus, I’m losing it. There’s nothing more we can do here. We’re going home. I’m leaving Vinny Arbus and his SWAT team in charge. They’ll keep looking for Marilyn and coordinate with local law enforcement. This confusion, Savich, it will unravel in time. There’s an explanation, there has to be.”
Savich didn’t let Sherlock out of his sight. He realized soon enough that she was different—more quiet, her attention not on any of them, and he’d look at her and know she was thinking about what had happened, her eyes focused, yet somehow far away.
There was so much cleanup, so many explanations to give, most omitting the inexplicable things because they didn’t help anyone to know the sorts of things that could drive you mad. And most important, there was no sign of the man who’d taken Marilyn Warluski from the Saint John’s airport.
When they got back to Washington, Savich left immediately for the gym and worked out until he was panting for breath, his body so exhausted it was ready to rebel.
