The Kind Worth Saving (Henry Kimball/Lily Kintner, #2)(40)

“I’ll help you,” he said.

“Oh, good,” she said, and bounced a little in the chair. And he could see the high school student again. She had been queen bee. And the way she just acted was probably the way she’d acted when she’d talked one of her dimwit friends into helping out with prom decorations. “Do you remember Mr. Kimball, the English teacher?” she said.

“I never had him, but of course I remember him. He was there, in the classroom, during the shooting, right?”

“Yeah. He panicked, you know? I watched him when it was all happening, and you could tell he was frozen, and I remember thinking at the time that that had been a stroke of luck. It was probably a good thing that we didn’t have some Arnold Schwarzenegger type who pulled out a gun from his desk. Did you know that he quit teaching after that, and he became a policeman, which he must have done because of what happened?”

“No,” Richard said.

“He got fired because of stalking some woman.”

“That sounds vaguely familiar,” Richard said. “Did she stab him?”

“Yes. He was following a suspect in a murder case, and she became paranoid and stabbed him.”

“I remember that, but I never realized it was Mr. Kimball from our school.”

“I didn’t at first either, but I put it all together, and, the thing is, he’s now a private detective. And he’s going to be our witness.”

“Okay,” Richard said, nodding his head. Joan’s eyes were bright, and she had sucked her upper lip underneath her lower one, something she only ever did when she was very excited.

Lights were going out in the library, one after another. “Can we meet in a week?” Joan said. “Here. Same place, same time.”

“Yes,” Richard said, and Joan got up and left.

Richard stayed in his chair for a minute, in the suddenly dim light of the alcove, then got up and left the library too. Once he was outside, he didn’t want to go directly to his car. It was late September and there was a cool breeze, so he walked for a while down past the church, then past the small cluster of shops, all closed now, that made up the entirety of Fairview’s commercial district. A ragged dog emerged from between a gas station and a house with a mansard roof. It stood on a gravel driveway, and Richard realized it wasn’t a dog, but a coyote, its eyes reflecting yellow in the moonlight. He lifted his arms silently to make himself look bigger, and the coyote turned and trotted away. Richard felt a flush of power, and had a sudden urge to do something animalistic, or crazy, like howl at the moon, or get down on all fours. He stopped himself, knowing that even if no one saw him, it would still be a sign of some form of insanity.





Chapter 18





Kimball


David Kintner, Lily’s father, had made me a very stiff whiskey and soda, about twice as dark as the one he was holding, and we were sitting across from each other in the living room, a coffee table stacked with books between us.

“Remind me, Henry,” he said. “Last time you were here was right after . . . soon after Lily returned from . . . from . . .”

“From the hospital,” I said, at the same time as he said, “from Winslow.”

I liked David for a number of reasons, but one of them was that he had never questioned my visits to see Lily. It wasn’t entirely clear that he knew the whole story, but he must have known that Lily had attacked me with a knife because she had felt threatened. This was back when I was a police officer, back when I’d become convinced she had a lot more to do with the deaths of Ted and Miranda Severson than she was letting on. After I’d been suspended by the Boston Police Department, and subsequently resigned, one of the department lawyers told me that Lily Kintner had agreed to drop all charges against me and the department. I remembered reminding this particular lawyer—I picture an ill-fitting suit and a goatee—that I was the one who ended up with a knife in my side. He’d said, “About that. This is all contingent on you not pressing any charges against Ms. Kintner, of course.” I’d agreed, happy to let the whole incident slide into the past. But I couldn’t get Lily out of my mind, and on a whim I contacted one of her doctors at the facility she was housed in, and asked if I could visit. Since there was going to be no further legal action, the doctor and Lily both agreed.

I visited her late in the afternoon on a Friday. I didn’t know what to expect but I was brought through two sets of doors into a light-filled sitting room that felt more like the common area of a college dorm than a psychiatric ward. There were vinyl couches and a table with a partly finished jigsaw puzzle, and several patients watching television. Lily entered the room from the other side, and smiled across the room at me as though I were her oldest friend. She was wearing sweatpants and a white sweater and her red hair was tied back at the back of her head.

“Where do you want to talk?” she said, after coming across the room to meet me.

“Where can we talk?”

“Here. Or in my room. I’m not on restrictions right now.”

We ended up finding an alcove and sat across from one another on an uncomfortable couch. “I’m surprised you agreed to see me,” I said.

“I was a little surprised, as well, that you wanted to,” she said. “But I don’t know. Everything in my life is surprising right now.”