Page 91 of The Newcomer
Vikki Hill chewed on the end of a breadstick. “No.”
“Does that mean you don’t know, or the feds don’t know, or you know but can’t acknowledge that you know where Rooney is?”
“Sometimes, Joe, a no is just a no,” she said. She glanced at her phone, which was sitting on the bar top beside her, then drained her wineglass and gestured to the bartender for her check. “Gotta go. See you back at the motel, right?”
“Maybe. You’ll call me as soon as you know something, right? I’m taking PTO for the next couple days, so I’ll be around.”
Lettyawoke with a start. It was still pitch-black outside. Ten after two in the morning. She got out of bed and checked on Maya, whowas still sleeping. She heard it then, a faint sound, like metal scraping on metal. Her heart thudded in her chest.
She crept into the living room, moved the curtain aside, and peeked out the front window. The breezeway outside the unit was empty. Beyond, in the parking lot, Midnight, the motel’s pregnant resident black cat, slunk into the shadows. She exhaled slowly and stood still, listening.
The faintskriiiiccchsound repeated, and her heart beat even faster. Letty stepped into the darkness and moved slowly toward the sliding glass door, her legs trembling so badly she was amazed she couldn’t hear her knees knocking together. It was nothing, she told herself, a leaf scraping against a window screen. The curtains were partially open, allowing a sliver of light to fall onto the floor, and she silently cursed herself for forgetting to draw them before she’d gone to bed.
Had she remembered to lock the slider? She took two steps forward and stopped in her tracks when she saw something move on the patio. She leaned forward again and peeked outside.
Someone was there! A dark figure, barely moving, reclining on one of the metal patio chairs, his long legs resting on the seat of the other chair. In the moonlight she saw that he had a baseball cap tipped forward, nearly covering his face. But she recognized the jeans-clad legs and the silhouette.
Damn Joe DeCurtis. He was determined to save her, one way or another. She exhaled slowly and felt her pulse drop back down to normal. Her fingers found the latch for the door. She fastened it, then walked briskly back to the bedroom.
Maya mumbled something inaudible, then turned and drifted back to sleep. Letty hesitated, then climbed in beside the child, spooning close to her comforting warmth. She closed her eyes, felt her shoulders relax, and then her neck, and then her legs. She grudgingly admitted that for the first time that day, she felt safe.
35
FRIDAY MORNING, LETTY SET THEmug of coffee on a table, unlatched the sliding glass door, and pushed it aside. She poked her head outside. The patio was empty. He was gone. The two chairs were pushed back into their original position. An empty can of Red Bull rested in a nearby flowerpot.
Mayawas sitting at her red table behind the reception desk, quietly placing stickers in the new sticker book Isabelle had given her. Letty was on the phone with the pest-control company when the office door chimed and Oscar Jensen raced inside, followed by Merwin Maples. “Where’s Ava?” Merwin demanded.
“Right here. What’s the problem?” Ava emerged from the store-room where she’d been spring cleaning. She had a bundle of threadbare beach towels under her arm and was holding a plastic bucket full of half-used bottles of sunscreen.
“There’s your problem,” Oscar said, pointing at Merwin. “He thinks he owns the place just because his wife uses a walker.”
Merwin’s voice shook with anger. “He parked in the handicapped space in front of our unit. That’s where we always park. I came back from the store with a trunkload of groceries—and he was parked in my space!”
“It’s not your space. Does it have your name on it? No, it doesn’t. It’s a handicapped space, and as of yesterday, I am handicapped.” Oscar held out a square white decal with a blue wheelchair stenciled on it.
“Your only handicap is that you’re out of your damned mind!” Merwin yelled. He snatched the decal out of his former pal’s hand and examined it. “This thing isn’t even real.” He waved it at Ava. “Tell him he’s got to move his damned car. Trudi’s out there in the van right now, baking in that hot sun.”
Maya looked up at the adults, her face puckered with concern.
Ava studied the decal, then looked up at Jensen, her expression dubious. “Oscar? Since when are you handicapped?”
“I told you, since yesterday. I have a very painful bunion situation and my doctor says I should try to stay off that foot if at all possible,” Oscar said.
“What doctor? Dr. Scholl’s? Dr Pepper?” Merwin grabbed the decal, ripped it in half, and threw the pieces onto the floor. “That handicapped sticker is as phony as your doctor.”
“Did you really just do that?” Oscar poked him in the chest, and Merwin slapped his hand aside.
“No fighting!” Maya whimpered. “I don’t like fighting.”
“Hey!” Ava said sharply, stepping between the two men. She patted the little girl on the shoulder. “She’s right. Cut it out, you two. No fighting in the office.” She picked up the torn sticker pieces and handed them to Jensen.
“Oscar, you and I both know this thing isn’t real.”
“It is real,” the old man insisted. “The guy at the flea market said it’s totally legit. He’s a doctor, and he should know.”
“The flea market?” Merwin cried. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You think a licensed physician sets up a booth at a flea market? What? Between the tube socks and eight-track tapes? Or is he over on the aisle with the discontinued Avon products and the voodoo candles?”
“Dr. Jerry happens to see patients in his space by the Asian produce,” Oscar said. “He’s a very gifted healer. He gave me some ointment and my foot already feels a lot better.”
