Linwood Barclay: Parting Shot

“Just be there. End booth, by the door to the kitchen.”

There was another pause. Had he figured it out? Did he know I wasn’t Kiln? I could feel blood pulsing in my temple.

“You there?” I asked.

Another three seconds passed before he answered. “Fine, I’ll be there.”

He ended the call. I closed my eyes, kept playing his voice back in my head, wondering if I’d heard it before.

Maybe. Then again, maybe not.

When I opened my eyes, I saw a woman running up the road toward me. She was waving her arms frantically. She had what looked like short lengths of rope trailing from her wrists.

She screamed: “Help me! Help me!”

As I ran toward her, I thought that Cape Cod was perhaps not the idyllic vacation spot I’d been hearing about all these years.

Gloria Pilford rolled over in bed and saw Bob sitting there, hunched over, his back to her. A sliver of light sneaking from the hallway of Madeline Plimpton’s house through the slightly opened doorway was enough to cast shadows.

Bob extended an arm and put his cell phone on the bedside table.

“What’s going on?” Gloria asked. “Is something going on?”

“No,” Bob said. “Go back to sleep.”

“What time is it?”

“Around one,” he said.

“I think I only just got to sleep,” she said. “I was awake for the longest time.” She sat up. “Who were you talking to?”

“Nobody.”

“You were on the phone. I heard you whispering. Were you on the phone?”

Bob turned and looked at her sharply. “For Christ’s sake, just go back to sleep.”

Gloria shifted her body toward the headboard so she could prop herself up against it. “I want to know what’s going on.”

“Nothing!”

Bob stood and walked across the room to the door and disappeared into the hallway. Gloria threw back the covers, grabbed a housecoat that had been draped over a chair, threw it around herself and went in pursuit.

She spotted Bob descending the stairs. When he reached the bottom, he turned in the direction of the kitchen.

“Wait,” she said, scurrying down the steps in her bare feet. “Talk to me.”

Bob kept walking. Once in the kitchen, he went straight to the cupboard where Madeline kept various kinds of liquor. He put his hand around a bottle of Scotch, grabbed a glass, poured himself two fingers’ worth, and knocked it back. He poured more Scotch into the glass and was about to drink it when Gloria reached up and grabbed his arm.

“Careful, goddamn it,” he said. “You’ll spill it.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the one with the drinking problem,” she said.

“I need a little something, is all. Is that a crime?”

“Tell me who that was on the phone.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. He’d freed his arm from Gloria’s grasp and downed the second drink. Before he could reach for the bottle again, Gloria grabbed it, then upended it in the sink.

“Oh for God’s sake,” Bob said wearily. “You think that’s the only thing to drink around here?”

She left the empty bottle in the sink, stood with her back up against the counter and folded her arms across her breasts. “I want to know what’s going on.”

“It’s just work,” he said to her. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“You’re up in the middle of the night, trying to drink yourself blind, and you tell me it’s nothing to worry about. Jesus, Bob, you think I’m not used to worrying about things?” Her face grew suddenly alarmed. “It’s not about Jeremy, is it? Is he okay? Was it him?”

He looked her straight in the eye. “It wasn’t Jeremy.”

“Was it Weaver? Did he call you?”

“No. He didn’t.”

“Then who was it?”

Bob gripped Gloria by the shoulders. “Believe me, it’s... it’s nothing. Just sorting some things out with work.”

“You get work calls at one in the morning?”

He gripped her harder, squeezed. “Let. It. Go.”

Gloria struggled to shake him off. “Get your hands off me, you son of a—”

“What the hell is going on?”

It was Madeline. Also wrapped in a robe, she walked bleary-eyed into the kitchen, blinked several times, then looked fiercely at Gloria and Bob.

“Nothing,” Bob said.

“That’s what he keeps telling me,” Gloria said. “But it’s definitely something.”

“For the love of God, it’s always something with you two,” Madeline said. “Is it Jeremy? Has something happened?”

“No,” Bob said quietly.

“I’ll call him,” Madeline said.

“He doesn’t have a phone,” Gloria said. “Not any more.”

“The detective. Weaver. I’ll call him and see if everything’s okay.”

Bob raised a hand. “Madeline, it’s one in the morning. Let the man — let Jeremy — have some sleep. We can’t go calling them every five seconds to see if they’re okay. You know where they are, you know they’re safe.”

Madeline appeared unconvinced, as did Gloria.

“So what if we wake them up,” Gloria said. “They can go back to sleep after. I need to know that my son is okay.” She stepped away from the counter and approached Madeline. “You’re the only one who has a number for the man. Call him.”

Madeline nodded. “My cell’s up by my bed. I’ll be right back.”

Bob was shaking his head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Madeline ignored him and kept on walking. Bob turned to make his case to Gloria. “You have to trust the man to do his job.’

It was Gloria’s turn to have a drink. She’d opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of white wine. She filled a glass nearly to the top and took a sip as Bob watched disapprovingly.

“Look what’s happening to us,” he said.

She eyed him with wonder. “Are you surprised? After what we’ve been through? After what I’ve been through? Letting the lot of you humiliate me on a world stage?”

She took a large swallow. Her eyes misted over and her lower lip trembled. “I’m so ashamed. I’m just so, so ashamed.”

“Gloria,” Bob said tiredly. “Go back to bed. Take your drink with you if you want.”

Madeline returned to the kitchen, cell phone in hand.

“Did you get him?” Gloria asked.

“I’m just trying now,” she said. She studied the screen, tapped it with her thumb, put the phone to her ear. “It’s ringing.”

Gloria and Bob went silent, stared at Madeline.

“Still ringing,” she said. “Maybe he’s got the phone muted.”

“Yes,” Bob said. “That makes sense.”

“No,” Gloria said. “That doesn’t make any sense. Not under the circumstances. Like, if the police had to call him, like the detective who was here. Mr. Weaver’d have to leave his phone on in case there was an emergency.”

“Then — that’s six rings — maybe they’re just sleeping through it,” Madeline said.

“I’m sure it’s been a very long day for them,” Bob said. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“That’s eight rings,” Madeline said. “Now it’s going to — Hello, Mr. Weaver? It’s Madeline Plimpton. Please call me the moment you get this. We’re desperately worried about Jeremy. Please call.”

She brought the phone down where she could see it, ended the call, and gazed hopelessly at Gloria and Bob.

Gloria put down her glass and placed both hands over her mouth. “Oh God,” she said.

Bob said nothing.

Cory Calder, on the floor, blinking blood out of his eyes, looked up at Craig Pierce and said, “Where’s the girl?”

“What girl?” Pierce said.

Cory put a hand to his temple, felt blood, then moved it to his neck. The pain was excruciating.