The Night Parade(77)

But it wasn’t really the car, was it? he thought now. He hadn’t been looking at the car; he’d been checking out the license plate.

“Goddamn,” David muttered, glancing up at the rearview again at the police car. It maintained its distance.

A Maryland license plate in Kansas was certainly unusual but not something overtly suspicious, was it? The guy had definitely been looking at the license plate . . . yet despite his friendly banter, he never once commented on the fact that David and Ellie were roughly twelve hundred miles from home. He’d commented on Ellie, though. That your boy?

“Back at the milk shake place, when you went to the bathroom, which restroom did you use?”

“What?”

“Which restroom, El? Do you remember? Men’s or women’s?”

“Oh, uh . . .” She just stared at him.

Back at the roadside joint, she’d had the baseball hat on, a boy’s shirt. She had been playing her role. The stranger had recognized her as a boy, and had said as much to David—That your boy? Yet he realized that Ellie had come out of the goddamn women’s restroom, and the stranger had seen it.

“I can’t . . . I think . . .” Her voice trembled.

“Never mind.” His eyes flitted back toward the cop car in the rearview. Suddenly his bladder felt heavy. His heart felt like a piston jackhammering against the wall of his rib cage.

Cooper’s gun was under his seat.

As they approached an exit, David decided to take it. He turned onto the ramp, silently praying that the police car would not follow them, would not follow them, would not follow them.

David Arlen held his breath.





39


Ten weeks earlier


Toward the end of June, Burt Langstrom stopped showing up at the college. At first, David thought nothing of it—it was summer, after all—but then he was notified by Miriam Yoleck, the head of the English department, that Burt had turned in his resignation a week earlier and that all his summer classes (which were to be taught online) had been canceled. When David pressed Miriam for additional information, she said she knew very little except that Burt had cited “personal reasons” for his departure. And while Miriam did a good job looking disappointed at this news, David couldn’t help but see through her act; if Burt Langstrom’s “personal reasons” were that he had gotten sick, Miriam was more than happy—relieved, even—not to have him around.

That evening, David detoured from his usual route home, heading instead to the breezy bayside neighborhood where the Langstroms lived. As he drove down Burt’s street, he began to wonder if Burt would even answer the door.

As he rolled up in front of the Langstroms’ split-level house, he was distraught to find that the shades in all the windows had been pulled and that there was an overall vacant look to the house that troubled him on some gut level. Had it not been for Burt’s champagne-colored Oldsmobile in the driveway, David would have suspected the family had picked up and left. For several minutes, David sat in the Bronco, listening to the radio—a classic rock station whose music was interrupted by occasional news and traffic reports. Then he got out.

He was halfway up the Langstroms’ driveway when Burt came around the side of the house. David’s presence must have startled the man; Burt paused in midstride, a slack expression on his face. He wore a pair of khaki shorts and a T-shirt from last year’s faculty bowling tournament. His bald head was shiny with sweat.

David smiled and raised a hand as he approached. At the back of his head, he was recalling what Miriam Yoleck had said about Burt resigning for personal reasons, and wondered now if Burt had, in fact, contracted the illness. Yet as David drew closer, Burt broke out into a wide grin. David couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Burt Langstrom smile.

“David. What are you doing here?”

“Hi, Burt. I heard from Miriam that you pulled the plug. Thought I’d check in with you, see if everything was okay.”

Burt shook his hand—the palm was clammy and hot—then pulled David closer for a one-armed hug. “Good to see you,” Burt said into his ear, then he pulled away. Rivulets of sweat trailed down the sides of Burt’s face. He smelled of perspiration. “But you didn’t need to come here.”

“I was worried about you. I never expected you to quit. You had summer classes.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Burt peered over at the front of the house, and David had the peculiar feeling that he was checking to made sure the shades were still drawn and that no one was looking out. “I’m done with that job.”

“What will you do for money?”

“I won’t need money. I’m putting the plan into action, David.”

“Renting the RV?”

“We’re heading off to the woods. I stopped by this morning and forked over the first payment. I’ll be picking the old girl up tomorrow morning. Then we take to the hills.”

“And Laura’s okay with it now?”

“She’s come around. Staying cooped up in the house hasn’t been healthy for her. She’s been so stressed.”

David recalled the way she had sounded that afternoon on the phone, when he’d called her to talk about her husband. She had sounded more than just stressed, David thought; she had spoken like someone under the influence of a hypnotist.