A Noise Downstairs(21)

“Just keep it,” Paul said, and led Josh away from the truck.

Len offered no thanks, returned to the driver’s seat, and steered the Tastee Truck farther down the street, the jingle heralding his presence to the neighborhood.

“I haven’t seen that guy before,” Paul said.

“Yeah, he’s new this summer,” Josh said. “There was a different guy last year.”

“I don’t think he knew who I was.”

“What are you talking about?” Josh asked.

“Never mind,” Paul said. “Let’s go back and watch a movie.”

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JOSH HAD LONG WANTED TO SEE THE BATMAN FLICKS, WHICH PAUL felt were a bit too mature and intense for a boy of nine, not counting the Adam West version. All the ones made this century—well, they didn’t call him the Dark Knight for nothing—were violent and bleak and occasionally disturbing. But Paul was able to call up the 1989 one starring Michael Keaton, which, while bleak enough, was tamer than the more recent versions.

Josh was very quiet during the part where young Bruce Wayne’s parents were murdered in the alley behind a theater.

“I don’t think we should ever go out to a movie,” he said, leaning into his father on the couch as the final credits rolled.

“It’s okay,” Paul said, mentally kicking himself for forgetting that central part of the crime fighter’s backstory. “We don’t live in Gotham City. We live in Milford.”

“Bad things happen here,” he said. “A bad thing happened to you.”

He gave his son a squeeze. “I know.”

“I hope I don’t get nightmares,” he said.

Paul grinned. “You and me both, pal.”

Charlotte texted to report that she’d be late. Her clients had decided to put in an offer. Paul said he would say good night for her when he put Josh to bed. As he sat on the edge, about to turn off Josh’s bedside table lamp, the boy said, “I’m sorry about tomorrow.”

“That’s okay.”

“I don’t even care that much about basketball. But a lot of my friends do, and I wanted to be able to tell them I went to a game.”

“It’s okay. The next weekend, when you’re here longer, we’ll do something special.”

Josh reached for an iPhone and earbuds next to the bed.

“What are you listening to these days to help you get to sleep?” Paul asked.

“The Beatles.”

“Seriously?”

Josh nodded. “They’re pretty good. One of them’s about a walrus.”

“Don’t strangle yourself on the cords after you fall asleep.”

Josh put a bud into each ear, tapped the phone’s screen. Paul leaned in, kissed his son’s forehead, turned off the light, slipped out of the room, and closed the door.

As he came down the stairs to the kitchen he heard the front door open. Seconds later, a weary Charlotte appeared.

“Nightcap?” he said, opening the fridge.

“No, thanks,” she said. “I just want to go to bed.”

“Was the offer accepted?”

She shook her head, exhausted. “We spent nearly two hours on it, sorting out a closing date, inclusions, everything. And then, at the last minute, they got cold feet.”

He smiled sympathetically. “Run you a tub?”

She shook her head. “The second my head hits that pillow, I’m dead. How’s Josh?”

“We watched Batman.” He grimaced. “The part where Bruce Wayne’s parents die hit a little too close to home.” He hesitated. “A weird thing happened.”

“What?”

“We went out to the ice cream truck. Kenneth Hoffman’s son was driving it.”

“That’s Hoffman’s son? I’ve bought ice cream for Josh from him, too.”

“It just felt . . . strange. I don’t think he had any idea it was me. Not that he necessarily should have.” He looked down. “I tell myself I want to face this business head-on, but then I see Hoffman’s son and I can’t look him in the eye.”

“Coming to terms with what Kenneth did doesn’t mean you have to confront his boy. What do they say about the sins of the father shall not be visited upon the son?”

Paul grinned. “Actually, I think it’s the other way around.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “You get my point.”

“I do.”

Charlotte sighed, then trudged upstairs. By the time Paul had tidied the kitchen and climbed the stairs to the bedroom, Charlotte was under the covers making soft breathing noises.

Paul slipped under the covers stealthily, taking care not to wake Charlotte. He reached over to the lamp and plunged the room into darkness.

In seconds, he was asleep.

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IT WAS JUST AFTER TWO IN THE MORNING WHEN HE HEARD THE sounds.

He became aware of them while he was still asleep, so when he first opened his eyes, and heard nothing, he thought he must have been dreaming.

There was nothing.

But then he heard it again.

Chit chit. Chit chit chit. Chit. Chit chit.

He immediately knew the sound. It was a new one to the household but instantly recognizable. One floor down, someone was playing with the antique typewriter in his cramped office.