In the awkward silence that followed, Walt looked uncomfortable. He wasn’t the type for small talk or long good-byes. “I’d better get moving. You two kids don’t get up to nothin’ while I’m gone, tempting as it might be.”
While Melba shook her head, Walt picked up the small bag he’d packed for the ride, then went to the door. “Back before you know it,” he said.
As he walked out of the lake house, Tom felt the way an old bomber pilot he’d known had described feeling when the P-47s reached the limit of their range and peeled away, headed back for England, leaving the bombers alone for their final push into Germany.
“I guess it’s just you and me now, Mel. Let me give you a hand with those dishes.”
“Stay where you are,” she replied. “I’m used to doing dishes. We’re gonna be just fine, Doc.”
“I know we are,” he said, smiling. “Just like always.”
When Melba turned to the sink, Tom’s smile died, leaving dread and regret in its place. Something told him they were never going to see Walt Garrity alive again.
EIGHTY-FIVE MINUTES AFTER HE passed out, Henry Sexton began to stir in his bed. Caitlin’s heart began to race, and she rushed to finish the text she had been writing to Tom. She’d slept fitfully for much of the past hour, despite her intention to work on her master story. A steady flow of nurses and aides had cycled through the room, checking tubes, taking readings, and monitoring the catheter and drain bags. One had even gotten Henry awake enough to check his vital signs, but he’d fallen right back to sleep. Caitlin had hit the pain pump at least three times while he slept—probably not as often as Sherry would have done, but as cruel as it might seem, she hadn’t wanted to miss her chance to speak further with him alone.
She doubted Tom would even see her text message, since he’d probably switched his phone off, but she wanted to do what she could to prevent some cop from shooting him as a fugitive. Though no one else knew it, Caitlin had unique leverage over her future father-in-law, and she meant to use it. Her text read:
Tom. Whatever happened the night Viola died, you don’t have the right to sacrifice yourself, because I’m pregnant. Penn doesn’t know. I’m telling you because my child needs you in his life. It’s time for you to come home. This family can get through ANYTHING together. Caitlin Masters Cage ( your future daughter-in-law).
Henry started awake and called out for Albert Norris. Caitlin pressed SEND, then leaped out of her chair and took his hand, reassuring him that he wasn’t alone.
“Did you see him?” Henry asked through his teeth.
“Albert?” Caitlin asked hesitantly.
“No … no. The other guy.”
“What other guy?”
“The black guy.”
Caitlin looked around the room as though she might actually find an unexpected visitor. “Who was he?”
“He wouldn’t say.” Henry’s eyes looked dreamy with narcotics. “Just one of Albert’s boys, he said.”
“One of Albert’s boys?” Caitlin had read that phrase in Henry’s journals. “Like Pooky and Jimmy?”
“Yeah.”
“How old was he?” she asked, figuring Henry had hallucinated a teenager from his youth in Albert’s store.
“’Bout sixty.”
Caitlin blinked in puzzlement. “Was he here just now?”
“I don’t know,” Henry said groggily. “Maybe it was earlier. Maybe when Sherry stepped out.”
“What did he look like?”
“Just a black guy, you know. Had on a black baseball cap. An old one with a white D on it. For Detroit maybe? Yeah. The Detroit Tigers.”
“What did he want here?”
“He thanked me for all the good work I’ve done. That’s all. He said it didn’t matter who he was. It made sense to me.”
I’ll bet, with all the Dilaudid in your system. Caitlin made a mental note to check the deputy’s book for visitors.
“Hey,” Henry said. “Do you think he could have been the one who went to see Pooky’s mama before she died? ‘Huggy Bear’?”
Caitlin recalled Penn telling her about the anonymous caller who’d contacted Sheriff Dennis about the burning of the Beacon building. But the whole idea of that man sneaking in here with a guard outside seemed far-fetched.
“Maybe it was,” she said, deciding not to get Henry too excited with that story. “Henry, do you remember the photograph I showed you before you fell asleep?”
“What?”
“The one of Tom and Brody Royal in the boat. It has writing on the back. It reads ‘BT,’ and then ‘T. Rambin.’ It looks like your writing to me.”