The Inn(39)

She rolled her eyes and threw her hands up. Now you tell me.





CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE





THE MALONE I approached in the forest in front of my house was much thinner and paler than the one I’d seen outside the commissioner’s office in Boston. He’d grown a beard, but the dark hair only accentuated the rings under his eyes. I stopped ten feet away, saving us both the awkward silent negotiation about whether to shake hands.

“Great place.” Malone nodded at the house. “Security system is a bit extreme, maybe.”

“I’m having some troubles with the locals,” I said. “Someone decided to use the house for target practice a couple of days ago. I’m expecting a slide in short-term rentals.”

I wasn’t showing any warmth, not in my body language or the tone of my voice, but I recognized that I wanted to. Despite what happened in Boston, what prevailed were the good memories of me and Malone catching babies falling off balconies and running through back alleys chasing thieves, sitting on the dock after the shift and watching the boats come in, talking about our wives and our houses, how lucky we were. He brushed the wood splinters off his shoulder and looked me in the eye for the first time since I’d approached.

“I know it was the anniversary of Siobhan the other day,” he said. “It got me thinking … ” He couldn’t find the words, shrugged. I understood. I crossed the no-man’s-land between us and hugged him, slapped his bony back. The walls crumbled like chalk. What we’d done seemed so long ago now, so unimportant. I felt him half laughing, half sobbing with relief.

“Come inside.” I led him toward the house, my arm around his shoulders.





CHAPTER FORTY-SIX





IT WAS SUPPOSED to be a quick trip into town, but Effie knew that nothing was quick when Angelica was involved. The two had jumped in the car after Bill’s friend Malone arrived to go get some supplies for a barbecue, but Angelica was treating the trip as an opportunity for some kind of philosophical lecture about writing. From the bright lights of the Stop and Shop, down the hill past the whale-watching and tourism stretch, and into the café on the edge of Harbor Cove, Angelica had droned on. Effie window-shopped, took in the sea air, and generally ignored her partner. Gloucester was settling down for the evening, pink light falling softly on the storm-blue sea. Angelica ordered coffees for the two of them, hardly pausing in her oration to address the waitress. A group of men came in and took the booth directly behind Angelica, big men who settled themselves loudly in the leather seats.

“I don’t know about you, but I can’t understand how the archetype of the muse has survived unaltered for as long as it has,” Angelica said. She didn’t wait for any gesture of an answer from Effie. “It diminishes the author’s accountability for the successes and failures of the written work, and besides that, it banishes the creative act to the realm of the spiritual conduit, and—oh my God!”

Effie had been staring out at the harbor light but she snapped back toward Angelica, who was sitting bolt upright in her chair like she had been zapped. Effie put her palms up—What?—but Angelica flapped her hands at her.

“Shh, shh!” Angelica said. “Be quiet.”

Effie sighed.

“These guys,” Angelica whispered, leaning forward and adjusting her sling, “in the booth behind me. They just mentioned Mitchell Cline.”

Effie discreetly leaned out of her seat, but all she could see were broad shoulders barely contained in expensive fabric. She pointed at her ear, the guys in the booth.

You heard them?

“I was eavesdropping,” Angelica whispered. “I’m terrible, I know. I listen to everyone. It’s in the writer’s tool kit. C. S. Lewis compared eavesdropping to spying on people by magic. See? More elitist mysticism.”

She listened. Effie waited. Both women looked out the windows of the café, and Angelica pointed sharply up the street.

“There,” she said. “Look. An Escalade. Vinny said the car that did the drive-by was an Escalade. And that one’s got a new windshield. You can see the plastic installation tab hasn’t been removed from one side. Nick said something about Bill smashing the windshield of Cline’s Escalade.” Effie raised her eyebrows. Angelica had transformed before her eyes from babbling author to armchair detective.

“What are we going to do?” Angelica asked.

Effie slammed her fist into her palm.

“I have a better idea.” Angelica looked at the car, the reflection of the men in the window beside them, the hillside, and the harbor. “Cause a distraction in exactly ten seconds.”





CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN





ANGELICA STOOD. EFFIE scrambled, thinking fast. She watched, counting mentally, as Angelica approached the next booth.

“Excuse me, gentlemen. Could I just borrow this sugar? We’re all out.”

She saw Angelica leaning over. Effie shoved her coffee cup and saucer off the edge of the table. The china shattered on the floor, coffee splashing on the legs of a couple at the next table. Everyone turned to look, including the men in the booth. Effie shrugged, made an embarrassed face, and got up to assist the waitress who came over to clean up the mess.

“You know what?” Angelica turned and smiled at the waitress. “We’ll just take our check, if you don’t mind.”