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Gibson sucked in his breath.
“And a marvelous announcement.”
“Okay.” His heart stopped and restarted.
“The awful news is that I had my fingerprints taken.”
“What?” It skittered another beat.
“For my new position,” Katherine squealed, oblivious to her husband’s heartbeat. “At a bank. Actually, several branches. As a relief assistant manager—”
“That’s the bad story?”
“Don’t fret, my prints won’t be run. They’re put on file for reference. Not that it matters. I haven’t killed anyone lately.” She giggled.
Gibson thought life was so bizarre.
“Do you require the good news?”
“Yes.” Gibson detected a note of enormity in her tone. The twitter of her zebra finches played in the background.
“We’re going to have a baby,” Katherine said. After a protracted hesitation, she asked, “Are you still there?”
“Oh, my god,” Gibson answered. Blinking lashes heavy with dampness unleashed. Tears rolled from his smoky eyes, down his cheeks and stuck onto his trembling chin. A sobbing escaped from his throat and reached down the line to his wife. He fingered the screen. “I love you Katherine. I can hardly wait to see you.”
“Me, too. Tomorrow then,” Katherine said and hung up.
Gibson’s heart crashed into a rib. He held the phone to his chest. There’s no place like home. He stepped into the shower and spun the dial to its hottest. He pressed his forehead against the frigid tiles, letting the steamy rivulets trickle down his back. The water ran chilly as he stood in a daze. He let the spray pummel his muscles as his mind whirled and clicked. Craving to get the day done, he dressed hurriedly and left the motel. He skipped down the sidewalk. A sparrow soared by his nose and docked on the same hanging basket as the days before. The peeping of chicks caught his awareness. He watched three tiny mouths stretch high to capture food from mom’s beak. Or maybe it was dad? He produced a two-step on the pavement and floated to the café, his loose-fitting shirt already clinging to his back from the heat. Gibson glanced at his watch. It was just seven. The sun would hammer down with unforgiving devilry today. The Expedition came to a halt across the street. He hopped in and sent Eckhart a quirky smile. All was perfect in his world.
She gave him a sidelong glare, her pale lips dipped into a sulky pout. “Lawsons Lane here we come. You never know.” She was totally annoyed with the investigation going in circles.
“Work the case until nothing is left behind,” he replied.
Gibson leaned back to relish the final ride to the crime scene. He looked out the window as they whizzed by sports fields, two high schools, blocks of houses and apartments. The tires crossed silently over a railway track. As they neared the canal, a sequence of siren blasts sounded.
“Oh, shit,” Eckhart said. She slowed and halted in front of the striped barriers that had dropped down to block access to the bridge. Red lights blinked across the hood in a hypnotic cadence. “About an hour,” she acknowledged the unasked question.
“I see.” A blue labyrinth of metal rose skyward, the counterweight bearing down on them.
“Don’t worry, it won’t strike us,” she said.
The gears wound slowly until the deck stood vertically in the air. A siren blared. The lock swung open wide. The ship passed by, rust stains running down the empty hull standing tall in the water. Gibson wanted to reach out and touch the foreign entity. Another outburst of the signal and the gates locked behind the stern. The bridge made its plunge earthbound, hitting the ground with a thunk that jolted the truck. Whoa.
“Haven’t witnessed that in a while,” Gibson said.
Eckhart drove faster than usual to make up for the squandered time. As she shifted into the lane, a Range Rover sped toward the beach ahead of them, dust drifting in vast arcs around the vehicle. Gibson squinted after it. Was that Reggie? Eckhart pulled into Jacobs Landing with a crunching of tires and flung the gears into park. “Okay. Made it.”
Gibson frowned at the increasing amount of graffiti on the store walls. Across the weathered boards of the porch, someone had callously painted, ‘Fattie.’ The red lettering stood out on the dark wood. He was perturbed not only at the damage but by the poor taste of words. He stepped out of the vehicle and relished the gentle breeze from the lake. Although it beat the temperature back a few degrees, it wasn’t enough to check the sweat rolling down his neck and soaking his collar. They walked along the pathway, sensing the emptiness of the house. He knocked on the door, but there was no answer.
“Should we try Grandma’s house?” she asked.
“Yup. We might be offered a frosty drink even if she has nothing more to tell us,” Gibson answered as he wiped the glisten from his forehead.
Sparrows, finches and towhees darted across the road as Eckhart crept down Lawsons Lane. Their offbeat clatter warned of further warmth to develop. In the meadow between the two houses, a hawk sat stationary in a towering maple. With a sudden swoop, the raptor plummeted through the pasture and pounced on an unsuspecting prey. He flew back to the tree with a mouse in his large beak. Eckhart steered into Grandma’s yard. She was on the veranda relaxing in the shade.
“Wasn’t expecting to see you again,” Grandma said. She waved a palm to the wicker armchairs. “Looks like you could use a lemonade.” She scuttled inside without waiting for a response.
Eckhart slumped onto a bench, stretching her bare legs over the cushion. The rattling of glasses and banging of doors drifted from the kitchen. Grandma pushed on the screen door with her shoulder, her hands engaged with a tray of drinks and biscuits. She deposited it on the side table and plopped back into her rocker. Her skin had a reddish hue from working in the sunlight—a farmer’s face marked with sharp creases. She fastened her untamed hair into a messy bun. Her laughter captivated, so generous of personality. Gibson transferred his chair over to Grandma and settled in for a chitchat.
“Gregory is a decent lad,” Grandma said out of the blue.
“He’s fortunate to have your loyalty,” Gibson replied.
“He wanted to be a schoolteacher like his dad.”
“Felton was a teacher? I assumed he retired from farming.”
“Oh, no. He taught for twenty-five years,” she replied. “Gregory planned to follow in his footst
eps until the rape thing.”
“What grade did Felton teach?”
“College. He adored it. When he first started, they took his fingerprints. Boy, he was livid. He said it made him feel like a common criminal,” she answered. Her soft, stooped shoulders jerked with amusement.
“What school was that?” Gibson shifted his chair in tighter and leaned forward.
“Niagara Peninsula.”
Gibson pushed back in his seat. What had Katherine said? They would hold her prints on file. He let his mind flit to the probabilities as he quaffed the refreshing drink.
“We should get moving. Thanks for the snacks. Take care,” Gibson said as he squeezed Grandma’s arm. Her eyes twinkled as if she knew his secret.
They hopped into the truck. Eckhart fired it up and carried out a three-point turn.
“We should find Felton’s prints. It’s a lead. What do you think?”
“Sure. As you once said, leave no rock unturned.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well, it was something like that,” she replied.
* * *
Reggie glanced in his rear-view mirror. He was positive that was the Expedition pulling into the store. No matter. He peered at Savannah and gave her a lopsided grin.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.” She grew rigid, the truck bouncing down the lane.
Reggie swung right and lined up next to Gregory’s Honda. He vaulted out of the Rover. Savannah remained suspended in her seat. He bent back down at the window and stared at her.
“Aren’t you joining me?”
“Felton and Margaret don’t like me.”
“They will after they find out what I have to say.”
Savannah wet her lips and made a jerky bob of acknowledgment. She gripped the handle and thrust the door open after a moment’s doubt. Her hand passed along the fender as she rounded the vehicle, booting up dust with her canvas sneakers. Reggie turned and signaled her up the stairs.
