Dovetail: A Novel(84)

“You brought your gun?”

“Of course. It was your idea.” Frank smirked. “You wanted me to scare him, right?”

“Scare him, yes, but not do anything to him.”

“Pearl, you’re talking like a girl. Men like me take care of our women. Getting shot will run him out of town faster than any threats.”

“You can’t shoot him,” Pearl said. “You’ll get in trouble. You’ll go to jail.”

“I won’t get in trouble if I catch him attacking Alice. I’d get an award for saving her.”

“Well, now you’re just being silly. John would never attack Alice. You don’t need to shoot him.”

He shrugged. “I’d let him off easy. If I can shoot a squirrel in the eye at a hundred yards, I can aim at Robinson and hit him somewhere it won’t kill him. A warning shot. Just a graze.”

Pearl crossed her arms. “And what if you miss and it’s more than that?”

“I’m not gonna miss, Pearl. I’m a crack shot.”

“What if you shoot near him, just to scare him? That would send the message, I think.”

“Just scare him?”

“Fire it in the air or at the ground. The noise alone would scare a city boy like that and send him packing.”

“If you say so, Pearl.” Frank shrugged and stuck the gun in his waistband. “Let’s keep searching. We can start by walking around the barn.”

He strode away so quickly she was barely able to keep pace with him. After they’d rounded the barn, she was relieved to see that Alice and John weren’t romancing in the dark in the back of the building, something that would have set Frank off and made Alice the talk of the town if word got out. She said, “Let’s go back inside. Maybe they’ve returned by now.”

Frank waved a dismissive hand. “You do what you want. I’m heading down to the lake. That’s where all the lovers go. That’s where he’d take her.”

She couldn’t really leave now. Frank had a gun and was going to confront Alice and John, maybe even shoot John and wound him. The idea struck Pearl as unthinkably awful and also oddly thrilling. Things like this only happened in radio dramas. She’d never dreamed she’d see it happen in real life.

Pearl stumbled down the path after him, silently cursing the dirt that must be covering her good shoes. She’d be a wreck by the time this was all over. Not as bad as Lorraine Whitt, though. There was no way she’d ever look that bad. The thought brought her some comfort.

When they got to the edge of the water, Frank pointed and said, “Right there. In the boat.”

By the light of the moon, Pearl could barely make out the two people rowing toward the island. She squinted. “Are you sure it’s them?”

“Looks like.”

As they watched, the boat reached the island. The man got out first and pulled the bow onto shore before helping the lady out of her seat and onto dry ground. He actually lifted her by the waist and swung her around. Across the water skipped the unmistakable sound of Alice’s laughter.

“Come on,” Frank said, gripping her sleeve and pulling her toward one of the other rowboats.

“Where are we going?”

“To the island, of course. We need to save Alice from that bastard.”

Frank helped Pearl into the rowboat and climbed in himself. In a minute, he’d unknotted the boat from its moorings, pushed off, and they were on their way.





CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE





1983


Standing outside the barn, Kathleen took a deep breath. “It was so crowded in there,” she said, lifting her hair off the back of her neck. “I don’t know about you, but I imagined it differently.”

“Me too.” Joe glanced back at the door. “I thought it would be more elegant. It reminded me of a high school dance.” His dreams, he knew, had influenced his expectations. Even though none of his dreams were set at the Barn Dance, he’d inhabited John’s skin often enough to sense the man’s world and form an idea of what might have been. As John, Joe had seen Alice’s upswept hair as she sat at the piano at the Victory Theater. He’d felt the styles of the day, the way things were back then. Going to the Barn Dance in 1983 was like experiencing a broken promise. The music, the clothes, the decorations—all of it just seemed wrong.

“So John and Alice went to the dance,” Kathleen said. “We know that much. And then she was shot and died. But where did this happen?”

“Somewhere outdoors. The same evening as the dance,” Joe said thoughtfully. “The dreams were separate, but I always got the feeling that the Death Dream happened after the Rowboat Dream.”

A car turned into the parking lot and pulled into a space, the headlights veering as it turned. The laughter of giddy teenagers accompanied the sound of the car doors opening and closing. “The Rowboat Dream.” Kathleen mulled over the words. “You know we’re close to the lake?”

Five minutes later, they were at the metal pier, looking at rowboats dipping and bumping against each other in rhythm with the soft waves. “Was the rowboat in your dream like these?” she asked.

He shook his head. “My boat had a different kind of thing where the oars were attached. And inside the bottom of the boat were support pieces that looked like a rib cage.” He spread out his fingers and touched his fingertips together to illustrate.