the kitchen clock. It felt later than it was. The soundtrack of the Disney movie was bothering him; too much laughter for his present conversation.
“I think you should try some of his friends.”
“You are his friend, no? Guillermo say what a good man you are.”
That stuck like a bone in his throat. “Listen, Mrs. Menquez, if I’m going to be honest with you, I would suggest you call his favorite taverns. My hunch is, that’s where you’ll find him.”
“But he said he was working for you.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that, I’m afraid. I haven’t seen or spoken to Gilly—Guillermo—in over a week.”
“Said you were looking for someone, that he could find him. My Guillermo, he can find anyone in the woods. Says you are almost as good as him.”
A bubble of laughter rose in Walt’s throat but he choked it back. “That’s what he said?” Walt asked. “That I was looking for someone?”
“He made a mistake, Sheriff. He know that. He told me. And I told him: ‘You make a mistake, you fix it.’ That is what he was doing in the woods today. He was fixing it.”
Then the collision happened, as it so often did for him. Like one idea can’t get out of the way of the other, so there’s nowhere to go but into each other. And suddenly two thoughts spawn a third. It was this—the Google image overlaid with the lovely, lilting speech of this woman—that drove Walt to sign off the call as politely as possible.
“Hit the record button,” he called out, advising his daughters. “You’re coming with me.”
He called Myra from the car, the girls strapped into the backseat, Beatrice’s tail smacking them both as it swished back and forth. “I’m heading up your way,” he told Myra, before his sister-in-law could get a word out. “I need to leave the girls with you for a few minutes. Can you handle that?”
“Walt? I—”
“Can you do that for me?”
“Of course.”
“Ten minutes.”
“Lock the door, and stay near the phone.”
“Walt?” Fiona said.
“Better yet, just get out of there.”
“I will not.” She paused, the telephone connection crackling. “We need to talk.”
“Later. Right now, you need to get in your car and get out of there. No, no. Stay. That’s good. But lock up tight. Do you have a weapon in there?”
“If you’re working on scaring me, you’re doing a fine job.”
“You do or don’t have a weapon?”
“I own a handgun.”
“But—” He caught himself. How had he never asked her this question earlier? Who went after a guy with a baseball bat if there was a handgun in the drawer? He couldn’t help himself: “Have you had training?”
“Walt, what’s going on?”
“I’m coming onto the property. On foot. I’ve called for backup, but there was a drowning in Carey. Anyway, for the time being, it’s just me. Do you know how to use that handgun?”
“Yes.”
“Then keep it close. And don’t do anything stupid: it may be me coming through your door.”
“Who else would it be?”
“That’s the point,” he said. “Anything out of place there recently? Anything missing? Clothes, maybe? Underwear?”
“What’s got into you?”
“Should I take that as a no?”
“I haven’t thought about it.”
“Well, think about it.” He guessed he was still five to seven minutes away. He liked keeping her on the phone, liked hearing her voice so close.
“I haven’t lost anything. Kira and I leave each other little gifts. You know: cookies. Wildflowers. It’s a girl thing.”
“Any lately?”
Her pause was far too long.
“Fiona?”
“You’re coming straight here? Come straight here, will you?”
“Fiona. Talk to me.”
“I’ll get the gun now, like you said. I’ve already locked up.”
“You were going to tell me something.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“I think you were.”
The mobile connection sparked and crackled. Reception wasn’t perfect on this stretch of the road. Walt’s Jeep approached and passed the area where Gale’s body had been found. Broken yellow police tape flapped in the light glow of the headlights.
“He is dead, right? With his face so badly—What if it wasn’t him?” Walt’s question about the gifts had in fact jogged loose yet another memory: Gale entering her cottage carrying flowers. She’d found them, withered and dry, on the coffee table after returning from the hospital, believing them to be from Kira. But she now knew Kira had taken off by then. They couldn’t have been from her. Only him. The idea of that monster bearing a gift of flowers was almost too much to take.
“We ID’d the body,” he said. “No worries. Sit tight. I’m on my way.”