Think Twice

He debated calling the lobby of the Lock-Horne Building and telling security to follow the old woman, get a license plate, something, but how would that help his father? It wouldn’t. It might bring justice later, but for now that whole idea was something his brain didn’t even want to entertain.

So what should he do?

Call the Florida police? Call someone who worked at his parents’ retirement village?

It all felt so futile. Myron felt helpless and scared and vulnerable, and man oh man, he didn’t like that.

He sprinted into the waiting area. Big Cyndi wasn’t there. He could feel the panic in him rise to yet another level.

From behind him, Big Cyndi said, “Mr. Bolitar?”

“Where were you?”

“In the little girl’s room,” she said. “It was only a number one.”

He was about to tell her what happened when his phone buzzed.

The caller ID read MOM.

He hit the answer button with the speed of a gunslinger in an old Western. “Hello?”

“Guess what klutz broke his nose playing pickleball?”

Then he heard his father’s voice: “Oh stop it, Ellen, I’m fine.”

Relief flooded Myron’s veins.

“You were the one who insisted I call him right away, Al.”

“I didn’t want him to worry.”

“How would he worry? He didn’t even know you were hurt.”

“Mom,” Myron said, fighting to keep his tone even, “just tell me what happened.”

“Cousin Norman, that’s Moira’s boy. You remember Cousin Norman, right? We went to see him in Where’s Charley? when he was in seventh grade?”

“Mom.”

“Anyway, Cousin Norman is driving us to urgi-care, but your father is fine. Seriously, Myron, who breaks their nose playing pickleball? You know that new carpet in our living room? The one we bought at... Al, what was the name of that place?”

“I don’t know. Who cares?”

“I care. It was that home store off Central Avenue. Myron, you know the one. It’s next to that diner you took us to lunch at last time in February.”

“Ellen.”

“It begins with a D. Demarco Home and Carpeting? Deangelo? Anyway, that carpet. It’s covered in blood now. Like our living room is that shower scene in Psycho. Who comes back home when they’re still bleeding and, what, takes a nap on the floor?”

“I didn’t know I was still bleeding,” his father said.

“How could you not know? Anyway, he’s playing pickleball. Then someone — your father won’t tell me who—”

“Because it doesn’t matter!”

“—smashed the ball at your father. Your father, being a regular Jim Thorpe, used his nose instead of a paddle.”

Myron said, “Mom?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to catch the next flight down.”

“No, you’re not.”

That was his father.

“I’m fine,” Dad said. “You have work. You’re busy.”

“Oh, right,” Mom said. “We read about Greg Downing getting arrested. Did he really kill that pretty woman and her son?”

“Don’t ask him that, Ellen. You’re a lawyer. You should know better.”

“What, I can’t ask him mother-to-son?”

“Myron,” Dad said, “don’t come down.”

The voice left no room for argument. Myron got it. Dad didn’t want Mom to worry. If Myron flew down, Mom would know something was seriously wrong.

“Who were you playing with, Dad?”

Mom took that one. “He was playing with his new friend Allen. You remember him, Myron? He’s that big fan of yours.”

“I remember.”

“He’s gone,” Dad said.

“Oh, Myron?” Mom again. “We just pulled into the urgi-care. I’ll call you later.”

When Mom hung up, Myron realized that his entire body was shaking. He called Win and filled him in on what happened.

“They just suddenly backed off,” Myron said at the end. “I don’t get it.”

“I do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let me get people on your parents. I’ll be back at the office in fifteen minutes.”

“I thought you were flying down to Philadelphia.”

“I canceled.”

“Why?”

“Fifteen minutes, Myron.”

Win hung up. Myron took his phone and stared at it for a moment as though he were expecting it to ring again.

What now?

He called Terese. She answered on the third ring. “Hey, handsome.”

“Hey.”

“What’s going on?”

“I just wanted to hear your voice,” he said.

“Shit, what happened?”

He didn’t reply for a second.

“That bad?”

“Tell me about the story you’re working on.”

“I would say, ‘You first,’ but it seems you need a second.”

Myron couldn’t help but smile. “I love you, you know.”

“I do, yes. Ronald Prine was murdered by a contractor he ripped off. Her name is Jacqueline Newton. Tons of evidence. She swears she’s totally innocent. The only hiccup for the police is that her sick father is confessing.”

“Trying to take the fall for her?”

“Yes,” Terese said.

“Any chance he really did it?”

“I don’t think so, no.” Then Terese added, “We done stalling?”

“They went after my parents.”

He spilled it all — about the meeting with PT, his theory that a serial killer may have set up Greg, the walk back, the attack on his father, all of it.

When he finished, Terese asked, “Do you want me to come back up?”

Yes. “No,” he said.

“I can get someone else to cover this murder case.”

“Don’t come up. I’m okay.”

“Hmm,” she said.

“What?”

Myron’s phone buzzed, telling him another call was coming.

“Terese, it’s my father.”

“Go.”

He switched over. “Dad?”