Linwood Barclay - The Twenty-Three

Cal was certain Lucy was dead, but he needed to be sure. He turned his head back toward the hall, took a deep breath, then entered the room and knelt next to her body. He put two fingers to her neck, just below the jaw, feeling for any sign of a pulse. There was none.

“Goddamn it,” he said.

He stood, looked into the toilet, which had not been flushed and was awash with what he guessed had been the contents of Lucy’s stomach. He glanced at the items on the countertop. Toothbrush, tube of Crest squeezed in the middle, an empty water glass with droplets still clinging to the inside.

Cal backed out of the bathroom and closed the door. Propped himself up against the wall for ten seconds to draw some fresher air into his lungs.

He thought immediately of Crystal. If the town’s water supply was deadly, had she had any? But she had sounded fine on the phone, and seemed fine-at least physically-for the moment. So he decided to take a couple of minutes and do a walkabout of the house.

His real focus was the kitchen. The coffeemaker light was still on, and there looked to be maybe half a cup still in it. There was a mug on the table, maybe half an inch of coffee remaining in it. On a plate, a half-eaten piece of toast.

More vomit on the floor.

Cal went back outside, sat down on the step next to Crystal.

“Do you feel sick?” he asked her.

“I feel sad.”

“I know. But do you feel sick in your stomach, like you’re going to throw up?”

“You think I caught what Mom got?”

“I just want to make sure you’re feeling okay.”

“I guess. My hands are a little itchy.”

“What have you had to eat or drink today?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing at all? Not even a glass of water?”

“Nope.”

Cal felt he could relax, a little, where the girl’s health was concerned. “Tell me what happened,” he said.

Crystal was shading the underside of a cloud. Without stopping, or looking at Cal, she said, “I heard Mom making funny noises, so I got out of bed. She was in the kitchen, saying she felt sick, but I should go back to bed. So I did, but then it was worse, so I came down again, and she was on the floor and she wasn’t saying anything and that was when I called 911.”

“Okay. Then what?”

“Nobody answered. So then I found Mom’s cell phone and I called you and then you came.”

“What happened between the time you called me and when I got here?”

“Mom kind of woke up, and crawled up the stairs. I watched her the whole time and told her that you were coming. And she went into the bathroom. Where she was sick again, but this time she tried to get it into the toilet.” Crystal stopped moving her pencil and became very still. “And then she just kind of sat back, and then she didn’t get sick anymore.”

Cal slipped his arm around the girl and held her tight. She allowed him to pull her into him.

“Did you close the bathroom door?” Cal asked her.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Did you see her?”

“I did.”

“Is she totally dead?”

“Yes,” Cal said. “I’m sorry.”

Crystal said nothing for several seconds. Finally, she turned her head toward Cal and said, “I don’t know how to pay the bills.”

“You what?”

“I don’t know how to do those things. Mom paid the bills, like for electricity and her Visa and stuff, online. I could probably figure it out, but I don’t know if she had passwords.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he said, tightening his grip on her.

“If I don’t pay the bills, I won’t be able to live here. Isn’t that right?”

“All that will get sorted out, Crystal. Your dad will help do that.”

“He’s in San Francisco. I think, anyway.”

“We’ll get him up here to help you.”

“Mom said he was hard to find.”

“Still, it can be done. Do you have other family, a little closer? Aunts or uncles or grandparents?”

Cal felt her head moving side to side. “Nope.”

“What about on your father’s side? What about his mother and father? Are they still alive?”

“I don’t think so. I never met them.” She paused. “I have an idea.”

Cal closed his eyes.

“Did you get to move back into your apartment again after that fire?” she asked.

“No.”

“Then you could live here and you could figure out how to pay the bills and then I wouldn’t have to move out of my house.”

Cal rubbed his hand on her arm. “Let’s just take everything one step at a time, okay?”

“Okay,” she said.

“But in the meantime, until your dad gets here from San Francisco, I’ll make sure you’re okay.”

“I don’t want to live here now,” she said. “I don’t want to go inside.”

“Of course not,” he said.

“What happens to my mom? Do you take her away?”

“No. But people will come.”

“Are you sleeping in your car?”

“What? No.”

“I thought you were sleeping in your car because of the fire.”

“No, sweetheart. I’m in a hotel.”

“Can I stay with you?”

Crystal would have to stay with someone until her father showed up, if he showed up. But Cal wasn’t sure of the appropriateness of her living with him at the BestBet. He thought of Celeste and her husband, Dwayne. He could be a bit of an asshole, but Celeste would take good care of the girl, and be tolerant of her eccentricities.

“I’ll make sure you have a place to stay.” Cal wondered if she’d ever set foot in her own home again.

“I guess there’s one good thing,” Crystal said.

“What’s that?”

“My mom won’t ever have to go to jail.”

Cal felt his heart skip a beat. “What’s that again?”

“I heard her talking to someone on the phone. That she might be in trouble. I was really scared she’d go to jail.”

A lawyer, Cal figured. Lucy had been talking to someone, just in case Cal finally decided to go to the police with what he knew.

A fire engine, blaring a warning from behind its grille, had rounded the corner and was slowly making its way up the street.

“Are you okay sitting here while I go talk to them?” Cal asked Crystal.

“I’ll draw.”

“That’s good.”

“When you come back, could you go into the house and get some things for me?”

“Yes,” he said, giving her a kiss on the top of her head before he went to talk to the guy behind the wheel of the fire truck.

VICTORRooney dialed 911 twice after finding his landlady, Emily Townsend, dead in the backyard of her house. But when no one answered the second time, he figured, what the hell, it wasn’t like they were going to be able to do anything for her anyway.

He turned on the radio in her kitchen and found the local news. Plenty of talk about what was happening in Promise Falls.

“That is some serious shit,” he said to no one in particular, reaching into the fridge for a carton of Minute Maid orange juice. He unscrewed the cap and drank straight from the container. That was the sort of thing Ms. Townsend frowned upon, but it was hardly going to upset her now.

Victor took the carton of juice with him as he stepped out the front door and dropped into one of the wicker chairs on the porch. Lots of activity for a Saturday morning, that was for sure. Neighbors helping sick family members into cars, racing off down the street. Others going house to house, banging on doors. People milling in groups, talking.

Judging by what Victor had heard on the radio, the hospital was the center of excitement.

He went back inside, leaving the half-empty carton of orange juice on the table just inside the door where Ms. Townsend left her keys, and went back up to his room. He was glad to have skipped his usual shower this morning. He wouldn’t have wanted any water to have accidentally dribbled into his mouth. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulled on a pair of sneakers, and grabbed the keys to his van.