Linwood Barclay - The Twenty-Three

“You think you know what goes on between him and me, but you don’t know anything.”

She opened a drawer quickly enough to make the contents rattle, grabbed a knife, and began slicing a tomato.

“What don’t I know?” Cal asked. “Is there something I should know? Something you want to let me in on?”

She had her back to him as she sliced. The knife was hitting the cutting board with a thwack! each time it came down.

“Shit!” she said, dropped the knife, and grasped the hand that had been holding the tomato. Blood was dribbling from a cut on the side of her index finger.

“Here,” Cal said.

He grabbed some paper towels, wrapped them around her finger.

“I can’t believe I did that,” Celeste said.

“Just hold it for a minute, then we’ll have a look.”

Celeste held both hands to her chest, her head down, as though trying to fold in on herself.

“You need to talk to me,” Cal said.

“ I need to talk to you ?” she said. “How many times have I tried to get you to open up about Donna and Scott?”

“That’s not what we’re doing right now,” Cal said. “We can get into that another time.”

“That’s what you always say. But aren’t you hurting? Aren’t you hurting more than any of us? You keep everything bottled up inside. I can feel this anger coming off you all the time, like you’re on a low boil.”

“There’s nothing I can do about what’s happened,” Cal said. “It’s over. Donna and Scott are gone and I can’t bring them back. But we can deal with whatever’s going on with Dwayne, between the two of you. But if you want to avoid facing that, then by all means, keep bringing up my wife and son.”

Celeste needed a moment. Then, “He’s… he’s not the same.”

“What do you mean? Since he stopped getting work from the town?”

A nod, but then a shrug. “I think it started even before that. He’s been getting-I don’t know… more distant. We don’t even… we’re not close like we used to be. We hardly ever…”

“Okay.”

“He’s, like, ‘everyone’s all against me.’ Thinks everyone is taking advantage of him. It’s always everybody else’s fault. He didn’t use to be this negative about everything.”

“It’s gotta be work,” Cal said. “That has to be getting him down. If I was in his shoes, I’d be worried sick. Things’ll turn around sooner or later.”

“It’s not just… I can’t talk about it.”

Cal pulled Celeste toward him, hugged her. “Come on. This is me. When have we ever not been able to talk about stuff?”

From the living room, Crystal shouted: “Rain Tuesday!”

Celeste said, “It’s hard for me to say the words.”

“Just say them.”

“I… I wonder if he’s seeing someone.”

Cal loosened the hug to put some space between them. He looked her in the eye and said, “What are you talking about?”

“He’s away so much. He says he’s going out and I ask him where and he just says ‘out.’ Like to the bar or something. And he’s gone a long time.”

“Maybe that’s all he’s doing.”

“I don’t think so. One time, he said he’d been out drinking, but I didn’t smell anything on his breath at all.”

Cal smiled. “First time a guy’s been in trouble for coming home sober.”

Celeste allowed herself a short laugh, and sniffed. “Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I’m imagining it. But he’s so tense. Not just about not working, but he just seems more secretive. I get this feeling that he’s hiding something from me. What’s he going to hide if not an affair?”

“You’re jumping to conclusions. Unless there’s someone you actually suspect.”

“No, there’s no one I’m aware of. I mean, Dwayne had a girl working for him at the office, where he keeps the trucks and the paving equipment and everything, but he had to let her go, and honestly, if he’d want her instead of me-she’s got a face like a train crash-I wouldn’t know what the hell to make of it. But if he’s not fooling around on me, then where the hell is he going?”

“Have you talked to him? Have you sat him down and hashed it out?”

“I’ve tried, but he just brushes me off. Says he’s working through some stuff.”

“Maybe he is.”

Celeste forced a laugh. “I don’t suppose I could hire you?”

“What?”

“You know, to follow him around, see what he’s up to.”

“That’s a joke, right?” Cal said.

She nodded. “Of course it’s a joke.”

“Because that’s just wrong on so many levels.”

“Of course it is,” she said. “I’m sorry I even said it. As a joke.”

“It’s okay. You’re just under-”

Cal’s cell phone started to ring. He dug into his jacket, pulled it out. “It’s him,” he said.

“Who?”

Bringing his voice down to a whisper, he said, “Crystal’s dad. I’ll take it outside.”

He tapped the phone, held it to his ear, and, while heading out the back door, said, “Hello?”

“This Mr. Weaver?”

“Is this Gerald Brighton?”

“Yeah. Who are you?”

“I did some work for Lucy and in the course of things got to know her and Crystal,” Cal said, standing in the driveway along the side of the house.

“This about Lucy’s dad getting killed in that drive-in thing? That was terrible, and I meant to get up there, but I just wasn’t able to get away. You a lawyer or something sorting all that stuff out? Because if there was something left to Lucy, I think I may be entitled to some of that.”

Cal said, “I have some bad news for you, Mr. Brighton. Have you been watching the news today?”

A pause. “Not really.”

“We’ve been dealing with something of a catastrophe here in Promise Falls. The water supply’s been contaminated.” Cal took a breath. “I’m afraid Lucy is dead.”

A beat, then, “What?”

“Lucy died this morning,” Cal told him. “I’m sorry.”

“What about Crystal? Is Crystal okay?”

“Crystal didn’t consume any water and did not require medical treatment. She’s not sick. But she was in the house with her mother when she died. I think she’s pretty traumatized by what’s happened.”

“Oh Jesus.”

“When can you get out here?” Cal asked.

“Uh, well, let me see…”

“Crystal needs you.”

“Sure, I know. I’m just trying to get my head around this news, you know? Are you totally sure about this? The police haven’t called me or anything.”

“I’m sure, Mr. Brighton.”

“Where’s Crystal now?”

“She’s in my care.”

“And who are you again?”

“I’m a licensed private investigator, Mr. Brighton. If you need some references or reassurances about me, I can provide-”

“No, no, that’s okay. So she’s with you.”

“That’s what I said.”

“And she’s okay.”

“Yes.”

“Thing is, I might have a little trouble coming up with the airfare. I’m kind of maxed out on my cards. I mean, I want to be there. I do. I want to look after Crystal. I just don’t know how fast I can get there. You know what I’m saying?”

“Find a way,” Cal said.

“I’ll have to ask around, see if I can scrape up the cash. But Crystal’s okay, right? I mean, she’s not in any immediate danger.”

Cal used his free hand to make some space between his collar and neck. It was feeling hot.

“Mr. Brighton, forgive me for sticking my nose in where it might not belong, but your daughter just lost her mom, and she’s a very special little girl who needs all the support she can get right now, and if you don’t get your ass on a fucking plane and get out here and take some responsibility for this situation, I will personally fly out there and dangle you off the Golden Gate Bridge. Are you hearing me?”