Harlan Coben - Play Dead

‘What are you saying?’

‘Stay out.’

Laura’s voice was nearly a whisper. ‘I can’t.’

‘For your sake.’

‘I don’t care – ’

‘About yourself?’ T.C. interrupted. ‘Well, David would. David wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. He loved you, Laura. He made me promise to watch out for you.’

Laura closed her eyes, trying to silence him by turning away.

‘And what about your family?’ he continued. ‘Are you willing to put them in danger too?’

Laura remembered the note taped to the television. ‘Do you really think the killer would…’

‘Go after them? These guys play for keeps, Laura. They kill people as easily as they say hello.’

‘But why? Why did they kill David?’

T.C. thought for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t know, Laura. But I intend to find out.’

Graham Rowe clicked on the fan. Damn, it was hot. Living in Palm Cove, you get used to hot but today was one for the record books. The humidity was thick enough to coat your skin.

He sat back in the chair and glanced around the office. There was paperwork to do and Graham hated paperwork. He glanced at his guns, the empty cell, anything as long as it would help him avoid doing that damn paperwork for another minute and a half.

He felt sticky, his shirt pasted to his skin. He pulled the front of it away from his body for a second and then let it drop back. Yuck. He was in desperate need of a shower. Maybe he should run home and quickly shower and change. That would make him feel better. Then he could come right back and be ready to really get down and do the entire week’s paperwork with no worries. Yes, that’s what he should do. No worries.

He started to rise, stopped, sat back down, smiled. You are one major procrastinator, Sheriff Rowe. You should be ashamed of yourself – trying to sneak out of here like that to shower and change clothes. You know very well that in this friggin’ heat your fresh clothes will be as sopped as these before you finish the walk back to the car.

With a sigh, he reached for the stack of fishing licenses. He began to thumb through them when the phone rang.

‘Sheriff’s Office.’

‘Graham? Is that you?’

Graham recognized Gina Cassler’s voice immediately. ‘How’s it going, Gina?’

‘Answering your own phone, Graham?’

‘This isn’t a hotel, luv. I don’t have a receptionist. What’s up?’

‘We should have the passport cards in another day or so,’ Gina began, ‘but my nephew came through already. I have the phone bills right here.’

The sheriff felt a jolt of excitement race through him. ‘Any calls to America late that night?’

‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘And they were made from the lobby phone at right about the time you expected.’

‘Sweet Jesus,’ Graham said softly. He cradled the phone on his shoulder and reached for his car keys. ‘I’m on my way over there now.’

Hordes of Celtics fans beset the entrance ramps of the Boston Garden for the long-awaited opening game. They scrambled through the stairwells, the concession stands, the long aisles. Wealthy season-ticket holders with their courtside seats greeted the long-time ushers like old friends at a reunion. The masses in the upper deck stared in familiar awe at the championship banners and retired numbers that hung from the rafters. At halftime of tonight’s game, two new banners would be added to this historic collection: the 1989 Championship and David Baskin’s uniform.

Six months had passed since David had led the Celtics to that NBA championship flag. Six months had passed since White Lightning had been awarded the league’s Most Valuable Player Award. And six months had passed since David Baskin had drowned off the coast of Australia.

The mood was ambivalent. The fans were in a quiet and yet frenzied state. A slight hush glided across the parquet floor, for things were not the same on this cool November evening:

White Lightning would strike no more.

Laura and Serita stood by the court-level entrance. From this spot the players would soon sprint out to the deafening ovation (Celtics) and boos (visitors) of the fans. Tears prickled Laura’s eyes as she peeked out at the familiar arena. She had not been here since the championship series last season, but nothing had changed. The paint was still chipped, the climate still unbearably stifling.

Two security guards stood next to her. Serita took her hand. ‘Ready?’ she asked.

Laura nodded. The two guards whisked them out of their protective hideaway and into the bright glare of the Garden’s spotlights. Laura and Serita tried not to move too quickly, tried not to look too conspicuous. No one seemed to have noticed them, or if they had they did not say anything. Laura proceeded forward without turning her head to the left or right. She could sense rather than hear the crowd quieting, but she dismissed that as a byproduct of her overactive imagination. Still, something was strange. No one was staring at them. No one was catcalling. No one was pointing.

When they reached their seats, Laura saw that Stan and Gloria were already there. Stan stood and smiled brightly. ‘Ah, Laura, how nice to see you again.’ He took her hand and kissed it lightly.

Laura closed her eyes to avoid Stan’s customary smirk. Not now, she told herself. Not tonight. For one night, pretend he is David’s brother and not some maggot. ‘Thank you, Stan. This is my friend Serita.’

Stan turned his attention toward Serita. ‘Another lovely creature,’ he said, taking her hand and kissing it. ‘Sitting with three such ravishing beauties – I will surely be the envy of every man in the arena.’

Serita choked back a laugh. She and Laura exchanged kisses with Gloria and then took their seats. Serita leaned over and whispered, ‘Is he for real?’

Laura shrugged.

Stan hopped out of his seat and into the aisle. ‘I’m going to grab some popcorn. Would you ladies care for anything?’

‘No thank you,’ Laura said flatly.

‘Nothing for me,’ Gloria added.

Serita said, ‘Can you get me a soda?’

‘Sure,’ Stan replied. ‘What kind?’

‘Diet Coke.’

‘Diet?’ Stan repeated, his smile on automatic. ‘Why would someone with your figure need diet?’

Serita rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and held back a chuckle. She waited until Stan had headed out of ear-shot before leaning toward Laura. ‘Another good line,’ she said in a whisper dripping with sarcasm.

Laura shushed her and turned toward her sister. ‘How are you, Gloria?’

‘I’m doing great,’ Gloria said. ‘How was your trip?’

‘Productive, I guess. Where are Mom and Dad?’

‘They were going to pick up Aunt Judy at the Sheraton, ’ Gloria answered. ‘They should be here any minute.’

‘Good.’

‘Laura,’ Gloria continued, ‘I want to ask you a favor.’

Laura’s eyes met her sister’s, knowing what Gloria was going to say and wondering what she should say in return. ‘Name it.’

‘It’s about Stan.’

‘What about him?’

‘I know you two have your trouble,’ she began. ‘I don’t know what it’s all about, but I love him, Laura, really love him. Can’t you give him another chance? For me? Please?’

Laura took a deep breath, a maneuver she used frequently to stall for a little extra time. It worked. When she finally opened her mouth, her reply was interrupted by the arrival of her parents and her aunt. Laura, Gloria and Serita greeted James, Mary and Judy. Everyone busily exchanged embraces and kisses. Laura hugged each one of them tightly, holding on for a few extra moments as though she were gaining strength from each embrace. It felt nice.