Linwood Barclay - The Twenty-Three

SUPERFAST PRINTING, it said. Orders large and small. Business cards, letterhead, envelopes. Some work, the window sign promised, could be done while one waited.

Was the driver a customer, or an employee?

Cal parked the car and walked back to the storefront, but when he tried the door, it was locked.

He made a visor of his hand and peered through the glass door. A counter separated the waiting area from where the work was done. Cal could see several high-end, oversized copying machines, several desks with computers, and stacks of packages wrapped in plain brown paper. The place went back a long way, maybe sixty feet, and there was what looked like a garage door on the back wall.

Near that door, the man Cal had seen give money to Dwayne was moving some packages. He looked up, saw Cal, and waved him away. Shouted something that sounded like “Closed!”

So Cal knocked.

The man shook his head, stopped what he was doing, and walked all the way to the front. He unlocked the door and opened it a foot.

“We’re closed,” he said. He was wearing a small name tag that read HARRY.

“Sorry,” Cal said. “I just saw you go in, so I thought you were open.”

“It’s Saturday of a holiday weekend,” Harry said. “So we’re closed.”

“But you’re working,” Cal said amiably. “Listen, have you got, like, ten seconds to help me out? My company’s moving to a new location soon, so we’re going to need all new cards, letterhead, invoices, the whole nine yards. I was wondering what something like that would run me.”

Harry seemed to be weighing whether it would be easier to just help Cal out or close the door in his face.

“Fine,” he said, opening the door wider. “Ten seconds.”

Harry took a position behind the chest-high counter as Cal approached and rested his elbows on it.

“Did you get your earlier stationery with us?” Harry asked. “If so, it should all be in the computer. We just change the address and print it all out. It saves you a little, because we don’t have to do any designing for you, but most of the cost is in the actual printing.”

“No, it wasn’t done here.”

“Well, like I said, it doesn’t make that much difference anyway,” Harry told him. “How much you need? Five hundred of everything? A thousand? Two thousand? Gets a bit cheaper as the numbers go up. And then, maybe you need more invoices than business cards, or letterhead. We can accommodate what you need.”

“Five hundred of everything would be what? Invoices, letterhead, envelopes, business cards.”

Harry did some scribbling on a notepad. “You’re looking at around four fifty.”

“How long’s it take? I could wait for it.”

Harry shook his head. “Not for an order like that. You’re looking at about a week or-”

Two loud metallic bangs echoed out from the back. Someone had pounded on the metal garage door.

“What’s that?” Cal asked. “Just about gave me a heart attack.”

“Delivery,” he said.

“Everybody’s working on Saturday,” Cal remarked.

“Why don’t you come back on Tuesday? We open at nine.”

Another bang on the door, louder this time.

“Hang on,” Harry said, and bolted for the back of the shop. He punched a big red button on the wall and the garage door began to rise.

There was a pickup truck backed up to the door. Cal recognized it immediately as his brother-in-law’s.

As Cal turned to look out the front window, he heard the truck pull in, the garage door slide back down. Then hurried footsteps as Harry returned to the counter.

“Sorry, mister, but you really need to come back on-”

“That’s fine, no problem. I’ll do that,” Cal said, turning long enough to offer up a smile of thanks. He headed for the door.

• • •

Cal made the decision not to follow Dwayne at this point. From the industrial park he went back to his hotel, packed up his things, and checked out. By the time he got back to Dwayne and Celeste’s house, Dwayne’s pickup was there, backed up tight to the garage. Crystal was at the living room window, looking out.

Cal parked on the street and as he went around to the trunk to grab his bag, Crystal came out the front door with a slice of pizza in her hand.

“You’re missing dinner,” she said.

Cal glanced at his watch. It was a few minutes past five.

“Looks good,” he said. “What kind is that?”

“Hawaiian,” she said. “With pineapple on it. But there’re other kinds, too.”

“Really?”

“There’s a pepperoni one. And a veggie one. And wings. He brought home lots of stuff,” Crystal said.

“You mean Dwayne?”

The girl nodded. “I forgot his name.”

“That’s okay. How are you doing?”

“I want my dad to come.”

“I know,” Cal said.

“Dwayne didn’t want to watch the Weather Channel.”

“Not everyone finds it as interesting as you do,” he said. “And it is Dwayne and Celeste’s TV.”

She moved in close enough that her shoulder was touching the side of his waist, but she was looking down and beyond him.

“What happened to my mother?” she asked.

“The police came. They’ll take your mom out. They’ll look after things.”

“Was she still dead?”

“Yes.”

“I knew that. It was a stupid question.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Cal said.

“I want to know what happens next,” she said.

“I don’t know, exactly. That’ll be up to your dad, mostly.”

“I mean, like right away,” Crystal said. “Do they cut my mom open and stuff like on TV?”

Cal rested a hand tentatively on her shoulder. When she didn’t flinch, he held it there more firmly.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “There’ll be an autopsy to be sure of the cause of death. You know what that is?”

“Yes.”

“So, yes, they might have to do some of that.”

Her shoulder pressed into him a little harder. “You don’t talk to me like I’m a little kid.”

“You deserve the truth,” Cal said. “I don’t know any way to get through this without being honest with you.” He patted her. “Believe me, if I could find a way, I’d try.”

“My mom said your wife died. And that you had a son and he died, too.”

“That’s right.” He paused. “It was a few years ago. Before I moved back here.”

“Are you sad anymore?”

Cal tightened his grip on the girl’s shoulder. “Every minute of every day,” he said.

Crystal thought about that for a few seconds, saying nothing. Then, abruptly, she moved away from him and walked back into the house.

Cal followed. Dinner was being presented in the living room, in front of the television. There were three open pizza boxes and a container of chicken wings with hot sauce crowding the coffee table. The TV was tuned to baseball. Dwayne was on the couch, holding a gnawed wing between thumb and forefinger. When he saw Cal, he said, “Just missed the end of a Toronto-Seattle game.”

“Don’t watch much baseball,” he said.

“Hey, grab a beer and have some pizza!” Dwayne said amiably. “We got your veggie, which I got for Celeste, and Hawaiian and another one here with sausage and shit on it. Didn’t know what the kid liked, but she seems to like the one with the pineapple. And there’re wings, too, but they’re kinda messy.”

“Looks great,” Cal said. “Where’s Celeste?”

“In the kitchen,” he said, and went back to watching the television.

Crystal was eating her pizza at the kitchen table with a can of ginger ale. Celeste was at the fridge, taking out a beer for herself. She cracked the top, took a swig.

“Oh, hey,” she said, a smile on her face. “Did you get some pizza?”