What Lies in the Woods(59)

“Fine,” I said. I’d already drawn too much attention. I retreated, but I didn’t get inside my car, just stood outside the open door.

The security officer tapped on the window of the Camry. Instead of rolling it down, the driver opened the door, which blocked my line of sight. The driver shifted in his seat to talk to the security officer, putting one foot on the ground. A man’s shoe. I caught a glimpse of medium-brown hair, no gray in it—but then the foot was retreating, the door closing. It might have been the man from Chester. It might not.

The security officer walked back my way with that Here we go gait of somebody not sure of their reception. There were still a few phones pointed in my direction. I couldn’t give them a show. It would take about thirty seconds to identify me if I did something wild enough to end up on the internet and then all my attempts at a thin fa?ade of anonymity would be out the fucking window.

“The gentleman in the other car says he isn’t following you. You’re just heading in the same direction,” the security officer said. “He’s sorry about the misunderstanding. Do you think we can all move on?”

“He was following me,” I said, keeping my voice low. The family in the minivan next to me had rolled down their windows and were watching without an ounce of shame. “Every time I switched lanes, he was right behind me. He waited past a rest stop for me. I’m not imagining this.”

“I can see that you’re very concerned, but I spoke with the gentleman and he’s quite insistent that he has no idea who you are and has no reason to be following you,” the security officer said. “What we can do if you’re still worried is have you pull out of line after things clear out, and you can wait for the next ferry. He can go on ahead, and that way you can be sure that he isn’t following you.”

He didn’t suggest that “the gentleman” be the one to wait, I noted. It was clear who was the suspicious one in this situation. “Did he give you his name?” I asked.

“Ma’am, I think it’s best if you wait in your vehicle.”

So I wasn’t even going to get that. “Okay,” I said. Surrender was easier. I slid back into my seat, closed the door. Locked them. People were still staring, but soon they lost interest. I fidgeted. The ferry drew closer, and I watched the Camry in my mirror. Predictably, nothing happened.

Nothing happened, and I was stuck, and I was going to start tearing my hair out in a minute. I grabbed for my phone, pulled up my recent calls. Mitch was at the top—I’d called to let him know I’d be dropping by to grab my gear. Ethan’s number was right below, and after a moment’s hesitation I stabbed at it.

It rang long enough that I imagined he was deciding whether or not to answer, but finally he picked up. “Naomi. Have you made it home yet?” His voice was devoid of inflection.

“I’m waiting for the ferry,” I said. Silence. “I’m sorry about earlier. About freaking out.”

“I don’t blame you at all for freaking out. It’s a lot to take in.”

“I shouldn’t be taking it in. I should have faced this a long time ago.”

I watched the ferry pulling ponderously up to the dock. They still had to unload. The Camry lurked in the rearview mirror. “What do you know about Stahl’s son?” I asked.

“Is this about the letter again?” Ethan asked.

I chewed my thumbnail. “He knows I lied. What if he doesn’t just blame me? If he thought that Liv—”

“I don’t know, Naomi. It’s a big leap from wanting to know the truth to killing someone,” Ethan pointed out.

“If his father was violent, wouldn’t he be predisposed to violence, too?”

“And you’re just like your father.”

I grunted, conceding the point. Except that I was, more than I liked to admit. Terrible at relationships. Self-destructive coping habits—mine just involved emotionally damaged men instead of a bottle, except for the times it involved both. Who knew what version of his vices Alan Stahl had left his son. “Still. Who is this guy?”

Ethan sighed. “His son’s name was Alan Stahl, Jr. He was twelve years old when his father was arrested. Because he was so young, he wasn’t even named in most of the contemporaneous news coverage. He’s never spoken publicly about his father.”

“Do you know where he’s living? What he does?” I asked. The man following me was the right age, but so were a lot of people.

“No,” Ethan said. “I don’t.”

“So you’ll hassle me for an interview, but not him?” I asked, needling him a bit. Cars continued to trundle past. Not long now. If I could just stay on the phone with Ethan, I could keep my heartbeat from racing, my adrenaline from spiking. I could keep from just ramming my way through this line of cars to get out, to get free, and damn the consequences.

“I can only hassle the people I can find,” Ethan said. “You sound … I don’t know. Are you okay?”

“Just feeling a bit on edge,” I said with a manic lilt. “Have you ever thought about how ferries are basically just big floating prisons, and if anything went wrong you’re basically fucked?”

“I’m pretty sure they have lifeboats on ferries. And very strict safety codes. Is something else going on?”