Linwood Barclay - The Twenty-Three

The entire country knew all about Promise Falls.

One of the networks had turned us into a backdrop headline: THE CURSE OF PROMISE FALLS. They’d folded in material on the drive-in collapse, a look back at the Olivia Fisher case.

Sometime later, I felt someone nudging me in the shoulder.

“Barry,” Maureen said. “Barry.”

I had fallen asleep. “Shit,” I said, stirring suddenly. “How long was I out?”

“It’s okay. I didn’t want to bother you. You needed to rest.”

“What time is it?”

“Nearly ten thirty,” Maureen said. “Trevor asked me to say good-bye for him. He was pretty tired, too, and left about half an hour ago.”

“Jesus,” I said, pushing myself out of the chair. “I have to go.” She didn’t argue.

She’d spent enough years with me to know there was no point.

I slipped on my jacket, grabbed my keys, and was out the door. Once I was behind the wheel and had the engine going, I gave myself a minute. Heading out of the house so quickly after waking up hadn’t given me time to gain back my equilibrium. I was woozy.

But I was fine.

I headed for Victor Rooney’s house. Save for one light over the front door, the place was in total darkness when I got there.

I knocked on the door anyway. Hard.

“She died.”

I turned around. A man was standing on the sidewalk, watching me.

“Pardon?” I said.

“The lady that lives there. She was one of the ones what died this morning.”

I didn’t know, but there was no reason to be surprised that Victor Rooney’s landlady-it took me a moment to call up the name: Emily Townsend-would be among the dead.

“The water,” I said, since it was always possible she had died of something else. A heart attack, a fall down the stairs.

“Yep. They found her in the backyard.” He pointed to a house down the street. “Mr. Tarkington didn’t make it, either. His wife’s probably going to live, but their daughter says she could have brain damage.”

“Awful,” I said.

The man pointed to the house north of the one I was standing in front of. “I live next door. Me and the wife heard the warnings before we drank anything. Ms. Townsend wasn’t so lucky. They came for her late this afternoon. She was lying out there for hours.”

I said, “My name’s Duckworth. I’m with the police. I was actually looking for the man she rented to. Victor Rooney.”

“Oh yeah,” the neighbor said. “I’ve seen him around. But I guess he’s not home.”

“I guess not,” I said.

But I tried banging on the door one more time, just in case. There was a part of me that was grateful. Anything I wanted to ask Victor tonight I could just as easily ask him tomorrow morning.

I went home. I had nothing left. I went up to bed and slipped into that coma I’d promised myself.

CRYSTALfound Celeste up in the main bedroom where she slept every night with Dwayne, folding clothes on the bed, putting things into drawers.

“Where’s Cal?” she asked, clipboard and paper in her hand as always.

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” Celeste said. “I haven’t seen him in a while. He’s probably in the living room watching TV with Dwayne.”

“No, he isn’t.”

“Well, I’m not sure. Look around. I’m sure he’s somewhere.”

Crystal went back downstairs. The television was still on, tuned in to some sports channel that Dwayne had wanted to watch. But Dwayne was not there watching it. She went into the kitchen, then down into the basement. She looked in the furnace room, and a dingy rec room with a Ping-Pong table that had no net, and a small workroom where Dwayne kept his tools and had a workbench.

Crystal went back up two flights and entered the main bedroom again, but Celeste was not there. She found her in the bathroom, putting up fresh towels.

“I still can’t find Cal,” Crystal said.

“Darlin’, it’s been two minutes since we last talked, and I haven’t seen him in that time. Didn’t you look in the living room?”

“Yes. And I looked in the furnace room and the workroom and the kitchen and the other bathrooms and a room with a lot of tools in it and I didn’t find him anywhere.”

“Did you ask Dwayne?”

“I didn’t see Dwayne,” Crystal said.

“How could you go in every room of the house and not see Dwayne?”

Crystal said, “I don’t know.”

“Maybe they’re both outside.”

“It’s dark now.”

“Well, if it’s dark, just turn on the outside lights. They’re right by the door. I just want to finish a couple of things up here and if you haven’t found Cal by then, I’ll help you.”

Crystal turned around and left without saying anything.

She went to the front door, looked outside, where Cal’s car was still parked at the curb. She turned on the light, took one step out onto the porch, and looked around.

No Cal. No Dwayne.

She walked through the house to the back door and turned on that light, too. She saw Dwayne, standing by his pickup truck, talking on his cell phone, but there was no sign of Cal.

Crystal went outside, headed directly to Dwayne, and even though he was in the middle of a conversation with someone, she asked, “Where’s Cal?”

He raised an index finger toward her and turned away ninety degrees. Crystal changed position so that she was in front of him again and asked, “Where’s Cal?”

Dwayne looked angrily at her and said, “I’m on the phone.”

“Where’s Cal?” she asked.

“Are you deaf? I am on the phone .”

“Where’s Cal?” Crystal asked.

“Do you see him? I don’t see him. Go look in the house.”

He turned his back to her and continued his phone conversation, speaking in low tones.

Crystal raised her voice. “I looked all over the house! He’s not there.”

Dwayne spun around. “Goddamn it, I’m trying to do some business here. Maybe he went for a drive.”

“His car is here.”

“Maybe he went for a walk.”

“Where would he walk to?”

“How the hell should I know? Around the block maybe.”

“Why would he walk around the block? He didn’t even finish his pizza. He didn’t finish his beer, either.”

“Go ask Celeste,” Dwayne said. He walked toward the middle of the yard, waving his free arm behind him, as though trying to ward off a swarm of mosquitoes.

Crystal followed and pulled at his shirtsleeve. “I asked Celeste. She told me to ask you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m telling you to go ask her again because I don’t know.”

Crystal stood there a moment, as though pondering whether this was a sound strategy. Then she started heading for the back door.

“No, wait. Hang on,” Dwayne said. “Hang on, kid.”

“My name is Crystal.”

“Yeah, okay, Crystal. Just hang on.”

Dwayne spoke into the phone. “I’ll call you back in a couple of minutes. It’s the kid.” He shoved the phone down into the front pocket of his jeans, let out an enormous sigh, and said to Crystal, “Okay, fine, you have my undivided attention.”

“I just want to find him.”

“Sure, of course, yeah. Okay, well, let’s have a look at the street. Maybe he’s out there having a smoke.”

“I don’t think he smokes.”

“Well, if he quit, having to look after you might have driven him to take it up again.”

“Why?” Crystal asked.

“Huh?”

“Why would looking after me make someone smoke?”

“It was just a joke.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Never mind. Come on.” He led her away from the garage, toward the street. “He had a pretty stressful day, you know? He might have come out here just to have a few minutes to himself.”