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“Yes, you did.”
“What’s to keep you from calling the cops and working out your own deal?”
“
That’s probably what I should do.”
Foster groaned.
“But I won’t. I swear to you that’s the one thing I will not do.”
Judging by the choppy sounds Foster was emitting, he was either retching or sobbing.
“Your time is running out,” Joe said with forced patience. “Where are you meeting Rusty?”
Sniff, sniff. “There’s a picnic area on the lake where he and I have met a few times to drink beer. It’s gone to ruin. Only a few wooden tables are left and they’re falling down. It’s off the beaten path. There’s a turnoff to it about a hundred yards east of that boat ramp with the bent flagpole.”
Joe knew the spot. Years ago, he and Marjorie used to take the girls there, before the area had become overlooked and overgrown.
“What are you going to do?” Foster asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Will you be there?”
“If I can get there.”
Foster sobbed for real. “We were all so stupid, weren’t we, to be sucked in by him?”
“Yes. Very stupid. But let’s try to salvage the situation before it gets worse. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Okay. Now listen. Starting now, we must be very careful. They check cell phone data. If we’re ever asked about this call, our story is that you called to tell me how bad you felt over Welch’s firing me, and to wish my family a happy Easter. Understand?”
“Yes, all right.”
“Now, go meet Rusty. Take a flashlight. You’ll need it out there. Keep it on as much as possible. Play along with whatever Rusty says for as long as you can.”
“Then what?”
Then watch your back, Joe thought. But what he said was, “We play it by ear. Good luck.”
He hung up before Foster could respond. He stared at the bottle of whiskey with bone-deep craving. Then he carried it into the bathroom and emptied it into the sink.
He took a dark-colored windbreaker from his closet and pulled it on over his white, short-sleeved shirt. He opened his bedroom door a crack and listened but didn’t hear a sound. He kept his footsteps light as he made his way down the hallway.
Being the coward that he was, he passed his daughters’ bedrooms without looking in on them. If Arden woke up, he could ease her back to sleep with a white lie and a reassuring pat.
But not Lisa. She would see straight through any malarkey he tried to put over on her. The truth would come out. And then what would he do? What would she do?
In any case, he didn’t risk an encounter. He descended the stairs, avoiding the treads that creaked, and left through the back door. He started across the field behind the house. It was a moonless night, sultry and still with the heavy scent of rain, which Lisa had forecast. He hoped it would hold off for a while longer.
The ground was uneven, and he wasn’t that sure-footed because of the whiskey he’d drunk, so the walk to the cypress grove took him longer than expected, and when he reached it, he was leaking sour-smelling sweat from every pore.
He was glad to have the cover of the trees, although their density, and the darkness it created, made him claustrophobic. He didn’t dare risk a flashlight.
Stumbling around in the marshland, feeling his way in the dark, he didn’t find the rowboat right away, and, ever aware of the time constraints, his search for it became frantic.
