The Sound of Broken Ribs(29)

Jenna returned to her car and used her cell to phone Robert Huntington.

He answered on the third ring. “Hey, boss.”

“Hey, Rob. How’re you doing?”

“Not so bad. Ready to be off for the day.”

“I heard that. Wife and kids all right?” Jenna knew her ploy at trying to care about her subordinates’ work lives was a little much, but old habits die hard.

“Michelle’s all right and the kids are kids. The boy is a handful, and the girl is a girl. I don’t understand girls. No offense, boss.”

“None taken.” Jenna smiled until she realized that Robert couldn’t see her. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to remember why you were out to the Walshes’ house this morning, would you?”

“Daniel and Belinda Walsh? On, um, Hampton Street?”

“Yeah. That’s them.”

“Sure. Yeah. Served the missus with an eviction notice. She was none too pleased.” Robert chuckled. Jenna didn’t find anything funny about a person losing their home, no matter the circumstances.

“The Walshes are being evicted?”

“Yes, ma’am. She seemed genuinely surprised, too. I honestly believe she didn’t know. Makes you wonder what kinda man keeps his wife in the dark, doesn’t it?”

Probably the same type of guy that laughs at the misfortune of others, but that’s just my opinion, Jenna thought.

“All right, Rob. Thanks for the info.”

“Hey, hold on. Something wrong out there? She didn’t kill her husband… or herself, did she?”

“No. Nothing like that. I know the husband, is all.” It was a poor excuse, but Robert seemed to accept it.

“Okeydokey. Well, call me if you need me. I’m on until seven. Ugh. Four more hours of this? Remind me why I ever chose to be a sheriff’s deputy in a rural county.”

“Because you wanted to change the world one hillbilly at a time.”

“This is Ohio. We don’t have hillbillies, boss.”

“You’d be surprised. Say hello to the wife for me.”

“Sure thing.” She knew he wouldn’t, but that didn’t really matter. At least she knew he knew she’d tried to be personable. Nowadays, that’s all people really expected. You didn’t have to care. You only had to pretend you did.

With the mental image of the shattered cell phone scattered about the tile of the Walshes’ kitchen, Jenna decided it wouldn’t be a bad idea to see what Daniel Walsh was doing. She glanced at the clock—3:16. His insurance office should still be open. After all, it was a weekday.

*

Belinda was on the couch in the living room, watching Sean Hannity on cable. A bologna and cheese sandwich on a decorative plate sat on her lap. She’d picked off and nibbled the crust, but had yet to take a bite of the actual sandwich. Even if she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten, she wasn’t hungry. Just the thought of biting into the white bread and mayo and mustard and into the squishy processed meat and pasteurized food product made her stomach churn nastily.

She put the plate on the cushion next to her. If she looked at it another minute, she’d start dry heaving.

The Boys—or what was left of them—were in the kitchen, gathered around the dining table. She could hear them talking but wasn’t paying attention to what was being said. Tony’s tone was obvious, though: do as I say or there will be consequences.

Fat Tom was the first one to leave. He actually tried to hug Belinda. She let him, but did not hug him back. It wasn’t like she could get her arms around him, anyway.

Carl and Frank left next. Neither man tried to hug her. Frank didn’t mutter any kind of reply. Probably because he couldn’t figure out how to put a farewell in a form of a question. Carl, however, said, “It was nice meeting you.”

All goodbyes said and company gone, Belinda joined Tony in the kitchen. He was rolling dough on a cutting board. This, Belinda hadn’t expected.

“Can we talk?” Belinda asked.

“Sure. He hitched his chin at the kitchen table but kept his back to her. She sat down. “Whatcha wanna talk about.”

“About Dan.”

“Your hubby? Why you wanna talk about him.”

“I’ve been thinking about what to do about him. I think I want to find him.”

“Do what? Why?”

“He… he owes me an explanation.”

Tony slugged the ball of dough he’d been kneading once, twice, then turned to face her. He wore a black apron, which was sprinkled with flour, and had a circle of white on one cheek, likely where he’d tried to scratch an itch without thinking about his flour-covered fist.

“Look, Bee,” Tony sighed, “he’s gone. The asshole is probably out of the country by now. Cowards like that don’t hang around after they do something bad. Dan, he ain’t got the sack to stay this side of the pond. You ask me, he’s in Sicily, eating pasta and fucking spic bitches. Let him go. But, I assure you, if he ever steps foot around The End again, I’ll cut his balls off, wrap ‘em, and give ‘em to you for your birthday. Deal?”

Belinda listened to all this, but she didn’t believe a word of it. Daniel was gone, sure, but he wasn’t a globetrotter. He didn’t even own a passport. That was not to say he couldn’t get one, but the reason he didn’t own one was because he was a xenophobe. Places outside of America scared him. Desert climes were full of radical extremists and deadly reptiles, and greener environs were home to nasty insects and cannibals. In that way, Daniel Walsh had only ever had a horror-movie concept of the world. Godzilla was likely the reason Dan would never visit Japan.