Last to Know: A Novel(6)

Now, a couple of hours after she had left Paris, numb from being stuffed into a car seat too small and narrow for her long-legged five-ten frame, she had ended up here. In France. In the middle of nowhere.

Despite her vow not to think of him, she wondered what Harry was doing. Catching killers, she supposed. Oh where was Harry Jordan? Why had he not come after her? “Oh f*ck,” she said out loud, then remembered she was a lady. She should not even be thinking that word, except under special circumstances. Or about Harry Jordan.

But she was. So she called him.





4


Evening Lake


The 3 A.M. silence at the lake was broken by a muffled ringtone. Walking by the lake Harry shuffled in his pocket, found the phone, and stared stunned at the name of the caller. There was a joyous upward lilt to his voice as he said, “Mal, thank God, you’re back.” Then he saw the incoming call was from France. His phone was global but even so it was pretty good reception, somewhere in France to Evening Lake.

“You’re not back,” he said, flatly.

“I’m in France.”

“I can see that.”

“I ran away.”

“Why did you do that, Mal?”

The dog tugged at the lead, staring intently into the trees. In the distance a boat slid silently across the lake. Preoccupied as he was, Harry still had time to notice it was an odd hour for someone to be out and about. He thought it might be the boat belonging to the local oddball, Len Doutzer, though from where he was standing, on the sandy path just where it curved, he couldn’t be sure. It made sense though, because Len had lived here forever, and if anyone was out catching something at night, it would be him. Anyway, what did he care? He was on the phone with the love of his life.

“I’m in France because I needed some good coffee,” Mal said. “And a bottle of good red.”

Harry sighed into the phone. She sounded a million miles away, though in truth she was only hours by plane. He said, “You could catch a flight home first thing tomorrow.”

“It’s already first thing tomorrow here. Remember there’s a time difference. So what are you doing up in the middle of the night anyway? Do you have a woman with you?”

Harry’s sigh was exasperated now. “Mal, for God’s sake.”

“Oh no, of course you don’t, how foolish of me even to think that, all you have time for is finding criminals, no time for love and kisses and forever and ever…”

“Mal, I promise you, it is forever.”

“Then come to France. I’m lonely here without you, Harry. We can be together. I miss you, I miss your body next to mine in bed, naked the way we like to sleep, my leg over yours, your arm under my neck … I want to smell you, kiss you, taste you … dammit I want to lick every bit of you, you detective you…”

Harry no longer hesitated. “I’ll do it,” he said. “I came to Evening Lake to try to sort out my life and now you’ve just sorted it. I’m coming to France to get you. Where are you in France, anyway?”

“I really don’t know,” Mal said, laughing, surprised at her ignorance.

“Text me,” Harry said. “And trust me, I’ll be on a flight to Paris tomorrow.”

“I trust you,” she said. “Let me know the flight information, I’ll meet you at the airport. Don’t bring much luggage, my car is pretty small. Oh … and please, for God’s sake, Harry, don’t bring the dog.”

“Not this time, babe, I promise,” he said.

She rang off and Harry and the dog stood for a minute sniffing the fresh clean air, savoring the silence, the aloneness. He slipped the chain round the dog’s neck because he wanted to keep tabs on him and then they were off, leaves crackling underfoot on the sandy path that led around the lake.

Harry’s annoyance at being woken had disappeared. He was going to see Mal. He found he was enjoying this deepest, blackest part of the night, liking the rarity of being completely alone. At least he thought he was alone until he heard the squeak of oars on rowlocks; the faint splash of water.

He stood listening, the dog alert in front of him. Perhaps this sound was what had disturbed the dog. He wondered who else besides Len could be out on the lake at this time of night. Teenagers, he decided, looking for trouble and hopefully not finding it. Drugs didn’t seem to be a problem here at the lake, but you never knew. What Harry did know, though, was that if you wanted trouble enough you would find it.

A small boat slid into view, being rowed from the opposite shore. The rower pulled up to the Osbornes’ wooden jetty. A man got out, quickly stowed the oars, then slid the craft into the boathouse. Moments later, keeping to the shadows, he walked silently toward the house. Harry recognized Wally Osborne. And then, emerging from the woods, came his son, Roman, also keeping out of sight of his father, who he followed back to the house. Harry gave a soft surprised whistle. He wondered what Wally had been up to. And young Roman, though he guessed the teenager had been partying.

Suddenly, a pink glow spread across the night sky. Surprised, Harry glanced at the house across the lake and saw the young blond girl standing at the open door. Her face was distorted in a scream. Her hair was a ring of fire. And then she was running, plunging into the lake, just as the house behind her burst into an inferno. And Harry was thrown to the ground with the force of the ensuing explosion.