Secluded Cabin Sleeps Six(93)

“My dog?”

“West, the private detective you have asking questions.”

Henry hadn’t talked to West in a while. The last he heard, he hadn’t come up with much. Most of the cases were closed, deaths declared natural, accidental, or the result of suicide. The tech guy in Fort Lauderdale was deep in debt with the wrong kind of people; his murder was a presumed organized crime hit. West had been digging around, talking to investigating officers, chatting with a landlord here, a neighbor there. So far, he hadn’t come up with anything solid to connect the deaths to Cat.

You know, Henry, there are high-risk people and low-risk people.

What does that mean?

So, take your Piper for example. A nice girl from a good family. She buckles her seat belt, doesn’t drink and drive, is careful with herself and her life. Low risk.

Okay.

Then there’s someone like—

Like me.

Okay, yeah. Your mother is murdered. You don’t know your father. You get sent into the system. You manage to find your way, to turn yourself from high risk to low risk. Another person in the aftermath of such a loss develops an addiction, PTSD, or depression. High-risk behaviors could result.

So you’re saying my half siblings might be those kind of people.

It’s a loose theory. None of them were making particularly good choices.

So not genetics. Circumstances.

Or a little of both.

“He’s not my dog,” said Henry. “He’s just a friend. I didn’t hire him if that’s what you mean.”

It was interesting that she knew about West. Not interesting. Worrisome. How? What did that mean?

“Look,” she said. “Can you meet?”

From where he stood, he could see inside the house. Piper was in the kitchen making her nightly cup of peppermint tea, hair up, sweats on. She came to the glass door and peered out. He knew he couldn’t be seen from where he stood; he lifted a hand anyway. It wasn’t a secret. She knew about Cat, that he still talked to her from time to time. She didn’t interfere, but it was one of those things—like the Thursday night poker game his colleagues organized, or his buddy Tim’s yearly Cigar-B-Q which were debauched evenings of red meat, good bourbons, and fine cigars. Every once in a while was okay; but anything that veered into the unhealthy, the dangerous, and Piper would speak up. Like West said, she was a low-risk person. Likely she was the reason Henry was, too. There was no suggestion that Cat be invited for dinner. She was not on the Christmas card list.

“We’re talking now,” he said. “What’s up?”

“There are things I want to talk about but not on the phone.”

“Okay.”

“I found him, Henry. I know who he is.”

Henry didn’t say anything. He felt a hard tug to her, a strong connection. He cared about her even though he was starting to think she might be not just a little unstable as he’d said to West, but actually diagnosable. Henry had suggested that she let all of it go, build a life, stop digging into the past. But it was clear that she couldn’t do that.

“Who is he, Cat?”

“Meet me.”

“Are you in Florida?”

“I am,” she said, and it gave him a little chill. “Not too far from you, Henry.”

Piper had planted herself on the sectional, flipped on the television. She looked small and vulnerable on the big couch, under the plush blanket. He felt a swell of protectiveness—for Piper, for Luke, for their life.

Cat—she was dangerous.

“Let’s talk one last time,” she said. “After that, I’ll leave you alone, okay? I know that’s what you want. You’re a good guy, Henry. One of the few.”

“Okay,” he said. “Where and when?”



* * *



He half lied to Piper the next day, told her that he was meeting West after work. Those forensic detectives, he said, had turned up some new information on his mother’s murder.

“Have him here,” she’d suggested on the phone. “I’ll cook.”

“I’d rather not,” he said. “I want to keep the past and the present separate. You know?”

It wasn’t fair to say that, using her words against her. She sighed, unable to argue with her own logic.

“Okay,” she said, sounding worried. “Do you want me to come? My mom can take Luke.”

“No, don’t do that,” he said on the phone, lowering his voice.

He was climbing the ranks fast in the cybersecurity firm where he worked in Tampa; he’d been promoted twice since he started three years ago. But he still sat in a cube when he was in the office.

Around him the office was bright, windows looking out onto Tampa Bay and the glittering waters. The office hummed with conversation, ringing phones, pinging emails. Usually, he was in the data center among the rows and rows of servers and wires, the hum of electricity, the dark and refrigerated space. But today there were meetings. He was happier with machines than people. His degree was in computer engineering; computers made logical sense. People were confusing. This had never stopped being true for him.

“I’ll tell you everything, I promise.”

“Henry,” Piper said. “What’s going on?”

He’d been distracted since his call with Cat, restless last night, not sleeping well in general. Piper had noticed, kept pressing him to talk. He hadn’t told her about the Miami murder, or that West had been casting around for more information on the deaths of his other half siblings. Henry had mentioned that he’d talked to Cat, but not that they’d planned to meet.