Linwood Barclay - Too Close to Home

“Oh yeah.”

“Can you believe it?”

I just shrugged. “The voters always get who they deserve, Delia,” I said.

“You want me to let him know you’re here?”

“No, that’s okay. I just wanted to know if he was in. If he is, I figure that means Lance must be around.”

“I saw him a few minutes ago. I think he’s down the hall in the coffee room.” Delia was reaching for the phone. “Want me to let him know you’re here?”

“No no,” I said quickly. “I’m heading down that way anyway.” I held up the can.

Delia reached out and grabbed my arm as I started to slip away. “I’m sorry about your boy. About Derek.” I nodded, grateful for her concern. “I don’t believe it for a minute,” she said, and let go of me.

As I strolled down the hallway I practiced my grip on the handle of the galvanized steel can. It was important that I have a good hold on it.

I pushed open the door to the coffee room. It was big enough for half a dozen tables, with some vending machines along one wall, a coffee machine on a counter next to a sink and refrigerator.

The room was empty but for one man. Lance was seated at one of the tables, his right hand around a paper cup of coffee, his left turning the pages of the sports section.

“Hey,” I said.

As Lance turned to look I brought the watering can back over my shoulder, then swung it full force across his face. There was a loud, hollow bang as it connected. He tumbled back across the table and collapsed in a heap onto the floor.

“You shouldn’t have spit in my ear,” I said, then turned around and went back out to the truck.

Drew didn’t need much instruction. Not that yard maintenance is, as they say, rocket surgery. But he knew what to do without being asked. At each of our stops, I took the Deere and Drew fired up one of the push mowers and went into the places I couldn’t reach with the lawn tractor. When he was done with that, he used the edger, then took the blower and cleared the walkways and driveways of grass debris.

I tossed him a bottle of water after our third house, and he downed it in one gulp. “Why don’t we break for lunch,” I said. There was a park along the river, just down from the falls, where we could find plenty of shade and, with any luck, some breeze. I drove down to it, found a spot along the curb long enough for the truck and the trailer, and invited Drew to follow me to one of the picnic tables.

“When you came out of city hall,” he said, “you looked kind of, I don’t know, funny. A kind of shit-eatin’ grin. Smug.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Smug sounds right.” I gave my head a scratch, tousled my hair to get rid of some lawn debris. “I’ve been under a bit of stress lately and was looking for an outlet.”

“Okay,” Drew said, and pursued it no further.

“So,” I said. “Your mother. You’re looking after her?”

Drew nodded, took a bite of his peanut butter sandwich.

“I got the sense she’s not well.”

He took another couple of bites and nodded. He waited until his mouth wasn’t too gummed up, then said, “She’s old. She’s got cancer.” Then another bite of sandwich.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

Drew Lockus had already finished one sandwich, and reached into his bag for a second. “I guess we all have to die of something.” He bit hurriedly into his second sandwich.

“Take your time,” I said. “We don’t have to rush. It’s good to recharge the batteries a bit, especially in this heat.”

“Sorry,” Drew said, chewing steadily. “I guess I eat kind of fast.”

“So what kind of work have you been doing?”

“Small engine repair, machine shop work, that kind of thing,” Drew said. “But like I said, I haven’t been working all that much lately. When my mom took sick, I came up here to look after her.”

“Your father, he still alive?”

“No, he died a long time ago. Heart attack.”

“That’s too bad. Brothers, sisters?”

“Just me.”

“That’s tough, when there’s no one else to share the load.” I drank some water. “Married?”

“Not anymore,” Drew said. “Long time ago. And we lived together. Not actually married.”

“Kids?”

Drew hesitated before answering. “Same deal. Not anymore.”

“Sorry,” I said again. “I don’t mean to pry. It’s none of my business.”

“That’s okay,” Drew said. “Fact is, I haven’t had a very happy life. And I don’t see it going in a direction where it’s going to get any better.”

At first I thought, great, I’ve found the perfect guy to cheer me up. But then I saw it from his point of view. With all the troubles he seemed to have, he had to go and get hired by the one person who might actually have, at least for the moment, even more.

Maybe my dilemmas would give him something to be thankful for. It could be worse. Or, I could end up bringing him down even further.

We both enjoyed the breeze for a moment without talking. Then Drew said, “How are things with your son?”

I took a sip of water. “They could be better,” I said. “I’m just hoping that, once we start gathering some more information, the police will realize they’ve made a mistake, drop the charges.”

“Prison,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s not a good place to be.”

“No,” I said, weighing the meaning behind his comment. “You sound as though you’re speaking from some experience.”

“Like I said,” Drew reminded me, “I haven’t had a very happy life. Sometime, maybe I’ll tell you about it, when you feel like being bored.” He paused, then said, “I notice you looking upriver a lot.”

“I was just looking at Promise Falls,” I said. Watching the water come down, the white foam and mist rising up from the bottom, bordered on hypnotic.

“Pretty,” Drew said.

“Yeah,” I said, picturing Brett Stockwell going over the railing that spanned the falls.

I could see it. The boy falling, his body hitting the rocks below.

That wasn’t all I saw. Back up there, on the bridge, I imagined Conrad Chase looking down, waving goodbye, a smile on his face, all his problems solved.

Driving out of the downtown, we passed by the Clover Restaurant, an upscale place where you could get a nice dinner for two if you had an extra hundred bucks, maybe lunch for half that. What caught my eye as we drove past the parking lot was a Mazda sedan, just like Ellen’s.

“Looks like my wife’s car,” I said, slowing. I glanced at the license plate, saw that it was indeed her car. “Maybe she’s having a meeting with Derek’s lawyer, maybe I should-”

I spotted another familiar car just as I was about to turn into the lot. A silver Audi TT, parked half a dozen cars down from Ellen’s.

I wrenched the wheel back, kept on going.

“What?” said Drew. “You want to pop in, I don’t mind waiting in the truck.”

“I was wrong,” I said. “Not her car.”

A couple of hours later, standing by the truck, getting ready to unload the Deere, my cell rang. I put it to my ear so quickly I didn’t have a chance to look at the readout and see who it was from.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Jimmy, I hear you were in the building. You should have dropped by and said hello.”

Mayor Randall Finley.

“Sorry,” I said. “Delia said you were in a meeting with your campaign strategist.”

“Yeah, Maxine Woodrow. She’s a real looker, plus she’s got brains. Not the sort of combination I’m typically attracted to.” He laughed.

“What can I do for you, Randy?”

“Listen,” he said, “Lance had to take a sick day because you knocked half his face off. It wasn’t that bad, I’m sure he’ll be back tomorrow, but Jesus, I really wish you wouldn’t do that kind of thing. Fucks things up for me.”