Mariah Stewart - Cold Truth

“Almost to Plainsville.”

“What’s there?”

“A meeting I-we-have tomorrow morning. I’ll tell you about it outside,” he told her, as the elevator car filled when they reached the third floor. “In the meantime, would you like to go straight to the Inn for dinner? Or is there something else you’d rather do?”

“As much as I’d love a walk on the beach, I think I’d like to go back to the Inn.” She followed him out of the elevator when it stopped at the lobby. “And you can fill me in on this meeting.”

He took her arm and steered her in the direction of the parking garage. Neither of them noticed that of the seven people who stepped out of the elevator after they did, one trailed behind them, all the way to level B.

He drove leisurely, just another car that had been parked along Maple Avenue near the municipal building. He could have been coming from the public library, which was located in three rooms on the second floor. Or he could have been leaving the police station, having paid a ticket-or the borough clerk’s office, having purchased new tags for his dog.

Of course, he had been doing none of those things. But, to the casual observer, the man driving the Chrysler sedan was just another citizen, going about his afternoon business.

He stayed several car lengths behind the black Camaro that carried his prey, just far enough to stay under the radar of the driver, who had to be a Fed. God knew he’d known enough of them in his day. He knew how to tail the best of them without being noticed.

The Camaro turned right on Brighton, and he followed casually. But when the driver turned into the parking lot of the Brighton Inn, he went straight, at the same steady pace he’d maintained since he began his surveillance. He hesitated only briefly before reaching for his mobile phone. He dialed the number and waited, and was only mildly annoyed when voice mail picked up instead of a live voice.

“Hey, hi, it’s me. Listen, I just had an idea. I know we all agreed to meet at Bowers Diner for dinner, but I’ve been having a craving for seafood since I got up this morning, and it won’t go away. I was wondering if we could change our dinner plans to meet at the Brighton Inn instead. Back in the day, they had the best baked bluefish on the Jersey coast. And I worked there a few summers, you know, so I was thinking it might be nice to stop in, see how the old place has held up. Think it over, and if it sounds good to you, give me a call and I’ll get in touch with the others. You have my number… I’ll wait to hear from you.”

He disconnected the call and made a turn into the parking area right off the beach. No point in going anywhere until he heard back from his friends. He didn’t think there’d be a problem with the change in plans. The guys liked to get together and talk about the old times, it wouldn’t matter where.

Glory days, indeed.

If they only knew.

Not that any of his old buddies would ever suspect. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, imagining their reactions should the truth ever come out. He could almost hear their shocked words.

No, no, I don’t believe it. Not a word of it… I won’t believe it until I hear it from his own lips. I’ve known him all my life-went to school with him since fucking kindergarten… No, no, there has to be some mistake. He’s like a brother to me…

A firm shake of the head would follow as denial dug in its heels. No, I’ll never believe it…

Believe it, buds. Believe it…

He took off his shoes and socks and slipped the phone into his pocket before locking the door and heading off over the dune. This late in the afternoon, this early in the season, there were mostly older kids on the beach, the littlest ones having gone home with their mommies to start dinner. Kids-teenagers, anyway-didn’t bother him. He had no interest in them whatsoever. He skirted around their volleyball net and walked until he reached the surf. At low tide, the sand wore a thick layer of broken shells, forcing him to walk above the waterline. Still, the cuffs of his pants were water-marked, and he’d have to change before dinner. He shrugged it off. After all the years he’d been away, a quick trip back to his rented cottage to change his clothes was a small price to pay for a walk along the beach. His thinking had never been clearer, his focus never sharper, than when he was doing just that.

Like today. All had fallen into place with his first step upon the dune. Now, turning back, he knew exactly what he needed to do, and how he would accomplish his goal. Wasn’t that lesson learned long ago, drummed into his head over and over by his father?

“You can’t accomplish a damned thing without goals,” the old man had lectured time and time again. “You want to succeed at something, you set the goal, you pursue it with everything you have.”

Well, that was probably the only thing the old man had ever said that had made much sense to him, and had thus been worth remembering.

The ringing of the phone shook him back to the present and the situation at hand. He answered on the second ring. Of course they could meet at the Brighton Inn. The others had already been contacted and they all agreed. Meet at seven, first one there gets the table and orders and pays for the first round. Just like old times.

Now he had his goal, he had his plan. Buoyed by optimism, he turned back and walked across the beach until he reached the dune. Without so much as a backward glance at the ocean he’d missed so much for so many years, he returned to his car and dusted the sand from his feet. He had less than thirty minutes to run home and change before meeting the guys for dinner.

He was looking forward to more than just a good meal.

“I’m glad you decided to join me,” Rick said after the waitress had served their entrées. “You look a little worn-out. My gram always used to say that the best cure for that kind of weariness was a good meal and a good night’s sleep.”

“Well, with luck, tonight I’ll have both.” Cass rearranged her napkin on her lap for what Rick thought might be the fifth or sixth time.

“Luck shouldn’t have to factor into it. You ordered a great dinner, and as soon as you’re finished eating, you can go back up to the second floor and crash for as long as you need to.” He remembered his conversation with Mitch. “Or at least until it’s time to get up tomorrow morning to make our ten o’clock meeting.”

She frowned. “Are you sure you need me along?”

“Would I rather leave you here alone?”

“I’ve been looking out for myself for a long time, Rick.”

“And God willing, the day is near at hand when you’ll be looking out for yourself again.” He lowered his voice. “But until we have this guy in lockup or on a table in the ME’s office, my time is your time.”

“It can’t happen soon enough for me. I want to get back to work.” She picked at her plate of scallops. “Besides, it seems as if everyone is waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s been three days since he attacked Lucy. That’s the longest he’s gone between attacks since this started.”

“How likely is it he’s left town?” He appeared about to say something else, but stopped as the waitress led a well-dressed man to a nearby table for four.

“Anyway, let’s hope we can put this together soon, before he makes his next move.”

“What are the chances we’ll be able to do that?” She put her fork down. “Realistically.”

“Mitch says he’s got a number of DNA matches, coast to coast. We’re waiting for the DNA results on the blood that was swabbed from your back door. I’m betting it’s a match, all the way around.”