Killer Move

“At her office, on her cell, anywhere.”

“Oh,” she said, and I stopped regretting. There was a marked lack of irony in her tone. “That’s weird. You guys are attached at the hip, communication-wise.”

“Well, yeah. We are.”

“She mad at you?”

I hesitated. “She may be.”

“That means yes. You want womanly counsel on the matter? That what you’re hoping for?”

“No. I didn’t realize you even had womanly advice to dispense.”

“I don’t put everything on show, my friend. The good stuff stays in the drawer for special customers. For this phone conversation only, you qualify.”

“Okay.” I felt nervous, not knowing what she’d be likely to say, or how I’d wound up in a position where I was listening to Karren White’s opinion on anything.

“If she’s real mad, then she’s going to want to come back, slam the door, read you the riot act with the volume up. There is no point trying to circumvent this process, so just tie yourself to the track and wait for the rage train to run over you. Meanwhile gird your loins for saying ‘sorry’ about ten times more often than you think you can bear.”

“Then what?”

“After that, I got nothing. I know it probably seems like we chicks are all the same, but actually each of our kind is slightly different. It’s your job to know what Stephanie’s going to need to hear next.”

“No,” I said tersely. “I didn’t mean that. I meant . . . what if she doesn’t come back?”

It felt strange to be talking to Karren in this way, but less odd than I might have expected. Maybe because of the pictures I’d seen (with their fake but effective message of connection). A part of me was also aware, however, that if Steph did march into the house and find me on the phone with Karren, she’d be marching straight the hell back out again. This call needed to end soon, however helpful Karren was trying to be.

“She doesn’t come back by midnight, tell the cops,” Karren said. “Matter of fact, you might want to mention it early, give them a heads-up when they arrive.”

“What do you mean, ‘arrive’?”

“Crap, sorry—didn’t I make that clear? They’re on their way to your house. Right now.”

“You’ve been a great help, Karren. Thanks. I’ll have a talk with the cops, get everything straightened out.”

“No problem. I’ve—”

She probably said more, but I’d cut the connection. I walked back into the house. I poured a tall, cool glass of water from the fridge and drank it in slow, measured gulps. I put the glass in the dishwasher. Turned back to face the room. All that was fine.

But then I did the dumb thing. I’m not even sure why. Could be that waiting in the house for so long had put me on a hair trigger. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong. The prospect of having to explain that again caused a spasm of spastic motion—and the idea of sitting in the house waiting for cops to arrive is no one’s idea of a fun time. Either way, a section of my consciousness centered not in my head but in my guts said: Nah, not going to hang around for that.

I went to the den and got a pad. I wrote a message:

Steph—please call me! I’m really sorry. But I really need to talk to you—now. I love you, Bxxx

I put the sheet on the counter next to the phone.

Then I left the house.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Guess you thought that was real smart, huh.”

Warner is startled by the sound of Hunter’s voice. He’d been listening, alert for sounds, and yet here the bastard is, back again, unannounced. That’s worrying. It has become increasingly important to believe his senses are working correctly, that he can accurately discern between what is real and what is not.

He raises his head and sees Hunter leaning against the far wall, watching. He is motionless. It seems inconceivable that there can have been a process that brought him here from somewhere else. He must always have been here somehow.

“Is that you?”

Hunter just stands there with his totemic face. He does not look happy.

Warner looks wearily from Hunter toward the tarpaulins that have been his only windows for nearly seventy-two hours. At first he hated that they obscured the view, but he has come to realize that this enables him to see whatever he wants. The light they filter is fading again now. It’s beautiful what twilight does to the sky in Florida, the soft unfurling of the sunset as darkness wanders in from the ocean. The colors may be a little lurid sometimes, but what’s wrong with that? Life is lurid. Life is big.

Live it, do it, turn it up.