The Kind Worth Saving (Henry Kimball/Lily Kintner, #2)(78)

It hurt that it turned out Richard had betrayed her. She suspected he had his reasons, but that would never change the facts. But she didn’t want to think about Richard anymore. Now she was interested in Addie Logan, who’d told her she wanted to be a friend. It was interesting. Not that she trusted this person who had come out of nowhere, but not trusting her now didn’t mean that she couldn’t trust her at some point in the future. Maybe she was for real. And if she really wanted to help her out, maybe she’d be dumb to turn that down. Because Joan did have a problem, and that problem was Henry Kimball. She’d been thinking how nice it would be if he never regained consciousness, and now she was wondering if there was a way to ensure that happened, and if Addie Logan might be an asset in that particular situation.





Chapter 35





Lily


Before returning to Henry’s apartment I parked my car in the Summer Shack lot again, then walked until I found a restaurant that seemed busy enough I wouldn’t be noticed too much. It was a Cuban place on the line between Cambridge and Somerville and I sat at the bar, ordered wine and empanadas.

I wondered how Henry was doing. The last time I’d done a Google search on him nothing new had come up, which told me that he was probably still alive.

My wine arrived, delivered by a heavily tattooed bartender who had hair almost as blond as mine, although hers was down past her shoulders. “Here you go, hon,” she said, and I could see myself through her eyes, how my appearance—dyed hair, nose ring, thrift-store cardigan—somehow made me more approachable than I usually was. I sipped my wine and wondered what Joan Grieve Whalen was thinking about me right now. I’d upset her, as I’d known I would, but I didn’t know yet if my upsetting her was going to bring her closer to me or not. My plan was to wait a few days, to see if she tried to get in touch with me. I thought she probably would, just to find out how much I really knew, and to find out if I was serious when I’d told her I wanted to be her friend.

The question now was where I should wait for her. It was increasingly risky for me to be staying in Henry Kimball’s empty apartment, although I liked spending time with Pye. But the longer I hid there the higher the chances that someone would see me. And it was possible it would be someone who would recognize me. I was thinking specifically of Detective Roberta James, Henry’s ex-partner, and someone who I suspected was taking a keen interest in what had happened to Henry in recent weeks.

So I was thinking of returning home, shocking my parents with my new hair, but figuring that I could cover up the temporary tattoos with a pair of jeans. I decided to think about it tomorrow, that it would be fine to spend one more night at Henry’s place.

It turned out I didn’t need to make a decision about where to go next. The following morning at seven my burner phone rang while I was getting ready to leave Henry’s apartment to go seek out coffee and breakfast.

“Hi,” I said into the phone, finding myself naturally using the same nervy voice that I’d given Addie the day before when I’d met with Joan.

“It’s Joan.”

“I know,” I said. “Thank you for calling me.”

“I thought maybe we could continue our conversation from yesterday. I’d like to know everything Richard said about me.”

“You were really important to him.”

“Well . . . we can talk about that.”

“Okay. Where do you want to meet? I could come to that same place again.”

“No. Let’s go somewhere where we can sit and talk for a while. Where do you live?”

“I live in Allston but I can meet you anywhere you want to meet,” I said.

“So there’s a library in Fairview.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Let’s meet there at two this afternoon. I’ll find somewhere to sit where no one can hear us talk. Just wander around until you find me.”

“Okay,” I said, “I’ll see you then.”

I sat for a moment thinking about the phone conversation then left the apartment and walked back to my car, driving west toward Fairview. I didn’t know where the town library was, but it wouldn’t be too hard to find. I wondered why she’d picked a library for our meeting place. I suppose she wanted someplace public but also private, a place where we could sit and talk, and other people wouldn’t necessarily see us.

It was another nice fall day and as I took back roads across rural Massachusetts I thought about the years I’d spent here, as an archivist for Winslow College. I’d loved so much about that time in my life. I had a sense of purpose, and a small house of my own. When I had free time I would either read or walk in the woods. It was ideal, in a way, but thinking back on that time now it was all a blur of interchangeable days. I thought much more about the times in my life when I was changing the world around me and not just existing in it. I thought about what I’d done to that predator named Chet who had stayed at my parents’ spare apartment the summer I turned fourteen. I thought about my first and only love, Eric Washburn. And I thought constantly about the events of just a few years ago when I’d met Ted Severson and agreed to help him murder his wife. Nothing good had come of it, any of it really, except for the fact that it led me to Henry Kimball, and the strange relationship that we now shared.