Linwood Barclay - Parting Shot

Some of the stains looked like blood.

What particularly caught his attention were the four short lengths of rope attached to each corner of the bed.

Next to the bed, at one end, stood a red folding chair made of metal and plastic. Its newness made it stand out.

Every bit as interesting as the four lengths of rope was what Duckworth found sitting on the chair. It was a small item, with an electrical cord at one end. He noticed an extension cord on the floor that led to an outlet above the workbench.

He hadn’t seen a lot of these devices in his lifetime, but he’d seen one at Mike’s in the last day, so he now knew a tattoo gun when he saw one.

The easiest way to get to the Cape from Kingston was to head back north toward Albany until we hit I-90, take it east all the way to 495, about half an hour this side of Boston, then work our way southeast. When I looked it up on my phone, I figured it would take us the better part of four hours.

Jeremy didn’t have much to say, and I didn’t try all that hard to draw him out. He seemed to be doing a lot of thinking.

At one of our pit stops along the interstate, I studied the directions to the East Sandwich beach house Madeline Plimpton had sent me in an email. I entered them into the GPS gadget that normally sat in the glove box, but which was now to take a prominent position atop the dashboard, with the aid of a suction cup device.

“You should have a nav system built right into the dash,” Jeremy said, coming out of his self-imposed vow of silence.

“I don’t think they knew what a nav system was when they built this car. I’m just happy it has a radio.”

“How long are we going to this place for?” he asked, not for the first time.

“We’re taking things a day at a time, pal,” I said.

I was pretty good with my trip estimate. Three hours and fifty-eight minutes after we’d left the restaurant in Kingston, we were turning off Old King’s Highway, also known as 6A, onto Ploughed Neck Road, heading for North Shore Boulevard. Grey shingled beach houses dotted the horizon. We turned onto North Shore and Jeremy helped me look for the number Ms. Plimpton had given me.

“There it is,” he said.

I hit the brake and cranked the wheel to turn into the driveway. The tires crunched on a mix of gravel and seashells. We parked at the back of a two-story house with a set of steps going up the side. I found a key under a mat where Ms. Plimpton had told me in her email the rental agent would leave it. While I opened the first-floor door, Jeremy disappeared up the outside flight of open-backed stairs.

The first floor consisted of two bedrooms, a decent-sized kitchen, a living room and a bathroom. There was the usual Cape Cod kitsch one might expect. Ship models on shelves and atop the fireplace mantel, paintings of the sea, a fisherman’s net artfully hung on one wall. Bookshelves were jammed with old paperbacks and board games. There was a circular metal staircase at the other end that led up to the second floor, where I found another bedroom and a sitting area with sliding glass doors that opened onto a spacious deck.

That was where I found Jeremy. He’d accessed it from the set of steps that ran up the outside of the house.

I unlocked and slid open the doors and felt the cool breeze from Cape Cod Bay blow over my face. About sixty feet of tall grasses separated the house from the beach, and beyond that, blue water that seemed to go on forever.

“The ocean is beautiful,” Jeremy said, hands on the railing taking in the view.

“Not technically the ocean,” I said, “but definitely beautiful. The Atlantic’s on the other side of the Cape.” I made my arm into an L, like I was trying to show off my muscles. “If this is the Cape,” I said, and pointed to where my arm met my shoulder, “we’re about here. All this is the bay, and out here is the ocean.”

He nodded. He pointed into the distance, slightly to the right. “That looks like land there.”

“Yeah. Way, way up there is Provincetown. You can almost see it.”

We looked up and down the beach at the neighboring houses. “Doesn’t look like anybody is up,” I said. “I don’t think we have to worry about being spotted around here.”

He nodded.

“Have a look around inside,” I said. “You get first pick of bedroom. Then I think we should go into town and get a few groceries. We don’t need to go out for all our meals. There’s a pretty good kitchen.”

“Okay.”

He went inside to check the place out while I went back to the car to bring in our stuff. I made up a list of things we needed at the store, calling out to Jeremy as I wrote.

“What do you want to make for dinner?”

“Huh?” he shouted from the upper floor.

“We’ll take turns making meals. I’ll do tonight. You do tomorrow.”

Silence. Then, “I could do hot dogs.”

“Something better than that.”

Another brief silence. “I guess spaghetti?”

“Great. Tomato sauce?”

“Yeah. And meatballs?”

“Got it.”

I checked the cupboards to see if there were any basics left behind by previous guests. We were good for salt and pepper and sugar, and there was even some coffee for the coffee maker. I now knew we could survive anything.

Jeremy came down the spiral metal staircase to find me sitting at the kitchen table. “Can I have the upstairs bedroom?”

The first-floor bedrooms, and the kitchen, only offered a view of the grass between the house and the beach. From upstairs, you could see the bay.

“Sure,” I said.

“Do you have cookies on the list?”

“No. You want some?”

“Oreos.”

“Done.”

I finished the list, folded it and tucked it into the front pocket of my jeans. “Let’s head into town.”

“Okay.”

We got in the Honda and I backed us onto North Shore Boulevard. Then I put the car in neutral and applied the parking brake.

“I’ve got an idea,” I said.

“What?”

“Why don’t you drive? I’ve been driving all day.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah. Take the wheel.”

“I can’t,” he protested.

“Why not?”

“They took away my license for, like, forever.” He glanced down between the seats. “Anyway, I can’t drive a stick.”

“Okay,” I said. “But some day, you’ll get that license back, and you don’t want to lose your skills. As for the stick, that’s no big deal. I can teach you in seconds.”

I could see fear in his face again.

“I don’t know.”

“Look,” I said, pointing down the road. “It’s deserted. There’s no one around. It’s the perfect place for a lesson.”

He bit his lip, still thinking it over. “I’ve never really been into cars. I mean, I liked it when I could drive one, but I’m not some guy who wants to go tearing around a race track or anything.”

I wasn’t going to force him to do anything he didn’t want to do. “Okay.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “If I’m not into cars, why’d I want to mess around with that Porsche?”

I said nothing.

“I was just goofing around. In fact, it was Sian who said, like, wow, what a neat car. So I kind of went along, like I was interested. It’s not like I’m blaming her or anything. I’m just explaining.”

“Sure,” I said.

I put the Honda in first and was easing off the clutch and giving it some gas when Jeremy said, “Okay.”

I stopped the car. “Okay?”

He shrugged. “I guess I could give it a try.”

“Great.” We opened our doors. He walked around the front of the car as I walked around the back. Having traded seats, we closed our respective doors. I buckled my seat belt and waited for Jeremy to buckle his.