Linwood Barclay - Trust Your Eyes

“You really want to give that another shot?”

Julie smiled. “I thrive on danger.”

I walked her back to her car, gave her a kiss through the open window, and watched until her car had disappeared down the road. When I got upstairs, Thomas was exploring Stuttgart. I said, “I don’t know what the hell to make for dinner. I was thinking maybe bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches.”

“I don’t care,” he said, his eyes focused on the monitor.

I got the bacon, lettuce, tomato, and some mayonnaise out of the fridge, and was just about to start frying up the bacon when I noticed we were down to one slice of bread and a heel.

“Nuts,” I said, and wondered whether there was a pizza place in Promise Falls that would deliver this far out.

That was when someone started banging on the front door.

“God,” I said under my breath. “Just don’t let it be the FBI again.”

Lewis’s flight got in ahead of Nicole’s, which gave him time to arrange the rental of a white panel van. Two seats up front with an empty cargo bay. When Nicole got off the plane she said she needed to hit a Home Depot on the way. She couldn’t take ice picks on a plane, and had to buy them as she needed them. Lewis grabbed a roll of duct tape and some moving blankets.

They pulled up in front of the house. It was still daylight.

“So we’re just bringing him back,” Nicole said.

Lewis, behind the wheel, nodded at all the empty space behind them. “Yeah. My boss has some questions for him.”

Nicole nodded. Neither of them spoke for a few seconds. Finally, she said, “I know you’re not happy with how this went down.”

“No shit,” Lewis said.

“But once we bag this guy, take him back, that takes care of things,” she said.

“Hope so,” he said. “Depends on what kind of answers we get from him.”

Nicole glanced across the road to the house. “Either way, I’m done at that point.”

“Well, after he’s been questioned, we’re going to have to deal with him. This isn’t like when you’re fishing and do catch and release.”

Nicole shot him a look. “But after that, we’re square.”

“Sure,” Lewis said.

Nicole looked back at the house. “How you want to play this? You want to knock on the front, I’ll come in around the back?”

“I don’t see why we don’t both go to the front door. Do we look threatening?” He grinned at her. “We look like a nice couple. We need directions. We need the phone. Listen, once he opens the door, we’re walking right in.”

Nicole reached down, gave the top of the ice pick that was tucked into her boot a reassuring tap. Lewis rooted around between the seats for a backpack that contained a few things he might need, including the tape.

“Let’s go,” he said.

They got out of the van, crossed the street, and walked up the drive. Lewis went up the porch steps first, but waited until Nicole was standing next to him before he knocked.

It wasn’t the FBI.

It was Marie Prentice. She was standing there with a dark blue soft-sided bag the size of a picnic hamper. It looked insulated. I wondered whether she’d come alone, or if Len was in the car, waiting for her. I glanced out, saw that the car sitting next to mine was empty.

“If I can’t get you boys over for dinner,” she said, her body listing to the side that was holding the bag by a broad strap, “the least I can do is bring something over for you. I can’t believe it’s taken me this long, but sometimes I don’t have as much energy as others.” There was a warm aroma wafting upward. Spices, cheese.

“Marie,” I said, “you really shouldn’t have.”

“It was no trouble at all,” she said.

“Let me take that from you,” I said. “It looks heavy.” I took hold of the bag’s strap and eased it out of Marie’s hand. “It smells wonderful. Come on in.”

While I didn’t like Len much, I didn’t have the same feelings of animosity toward his wife. I didn’t want to offend her, and what the hell. I was hungry.

“I was just thinking about ordering a pizza,” I told her.

“Oh, you don’t want to do that,” she said.

I put the bag on the kitchen table and unzipped it. “What is this, Marie?”

“It’s my own recipe,” she said, sounding slightly out of breath. “Well, not exactly. I mean, it sort of started off as a recipe from the Barefoot Contessa? But instead of using tuna steaks, I used tuna from the can, because that’s the only kind Len will eat, and she threw in all kinds of things like lentils and wasabi powder and I put in some peas and noodles, and I guess when you get right down to it there’s really nothing the same about them except both recipes have tuna in the title.”

“It looks great,” I said. “The pan’s still hot. Did you just take it out of the oven?”

“I did. Where’s Thomas? Is he upstairs?”

“He is, Marie,” I said, but did not offer to get him. Given his run-in with Len, I was worried that finding out his wife was here might be troubling to Thomas.

“Do you think he’d like to come down and try the casserole?”

“If it’s okay with you, I’m just going to leave him be for now,” I said. “But I’ll tell him you’re the one to thank for dinner.”

“There’s some buns in the bag there, too,” she said, but her voice was suddenly less cheery. “You see, part of the reason I came by is, I just wanted to apologize to him. And to you. For Len’s behavior the other day.”

“Len and I already spoke about this,” I said. “It’s okay.”

“I heard the two of you talking in the basement and he really shouldn’t have said those things to you, about your brother. Even if Thomas is a bit off, Len shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

“And Thomas shouldn’t have hit him,” I said. “Lots of blame to go around.”

Marie said, “Len was just trying to do a good thing. It was my idea. I was the one who suggested he try to get Thomas to go out, for lunch, or to come back to the house. Actually, he’d come here to invite you both, but you were gone for the day.”

“That’s right.”

“Where’d you go? To the city?”

“Yes, Marie.”

“Len just doesn’t understand why Thomas has to be the way he is. You have to forgive him for that. Len thinks everyone should just buck up, you know? I don’t think he gets that some people are different. That they can’t help being the way they are. He figures if he can do something, everybody should be able to do it. Sometimes he’s even that way with me. He says to me, ‘Just stop being so tired. It’s all in your head. Come with me when I go on a vacation.’ But it’s not in my head. I have a disease. You can look it up on the Mayo Clinic’s Web site. Can I sit down? I get tired when I stand too long.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, and pulled out one of the kitchen chairs for her. She sat, letting her arms hang down straight at her sides.

“I’ll be fine in a minute or two,” she said. “In my kitchen at home I’ve got a chair right there by the stove. I can sit anytime I want, even stir things while sitting.”

“I’m going to put this in the oven to keep it warm,” I said, taking the casserole and putting it on the center rack.

“He doesn’t even understand that I can’t do everything he wants to do,” Marie said, and then, realizing her comment might be taken any number of ways, blushed. “I mean, you know, like traveling. He’s up to it, but I’m just not. But I tell him, if you want to go away, you go. You have a good time. The first time I said that, I didn’t think he’d actually go, but off he went once he found somebody else to go. And he had such a wonderful time over there, I didn’t see how I could say no when he wanted to go back.”