Falling Light (Game of Shadows #2)(41)

“Whatever the reason, I’m grateful,” she said when her teeth were clean.

“I’m going to tuck you in the loft, I think,” Astra told her.

They made their way up the narrow stairs to a bedroom simply furnished with a double bed, a dresser, a battered armchair and a bookcase half-filled with paperbacks.

Astra drew back the covers and Mary fell onto the bed. She didn’t move as the covers were tucked around her.

She realized another truth. She whispered, “I have missed you.”

Astra echoed softly, “I have missed you.”

With a great effort, she managed to ask another question. “Is it safe?”

“It is safe, and you can rest,” the old woman told her, then added a warning. “But you need to count this safe time in days, not weeks.”

She couldn’t think ahead. She turned her face away. She had the impulse to say something else, but a small frail hand came down on her forehead. Something quick and deft and slippery happened. She lost what she was going to say. As she tried to pay attention to that slippery something, she fell asleep.

Chapter Fourteen

THERE WERE TWO ways to react to what had happened the previous evening. Was the glass half empty, or was it half full?

The half-empty glass held rage and frustration. Yes, he went there, but after a few hours, he calmed down and started to think.

The half-full glass was absolutely frothing with sharp interest. Why did Mary and Michael push so hard to get to water? They could have changed direction. They could have avoided all the major highways and gone to ground, so to speak. Instead they chose a risky, difficult path that had, by all accounts, cost them a great deal, and they did it just as a major storm broke.

What did these new puzzle pieces tell him?

He didn’t know yet. They could have gotten on the boat to go anywhere. They could even have used it as a convoluted feint. Maybe they doubled back to shore at another location on the Lower Peninsula, although that didn’t feel right. Not when his people told him that they had sustained multiple injuries and risked death to do it.

No, he thought they were heading somewhere else. The problem was, if they survived their injuries, and the storm didn’t sink them, there were so many choices open to them once they got on that boat—the Upper Peninsula, Wisconsin, even Illinois.

He needed to scare up a few more puzzle pieces and see how they all fit together. And by damn, he hoped they hadn’t yet met up with Astra.

As he mulled over the different possible reasons for Michael and Mary’s actions, he gazed out the window of a black SUV and Martin drove them to their destination.

Jerry Crow lived within walking distance of the Lake, in an older rural neighborhood with smallish ranch houses and acre-large yards. Newer housing developments with large, expensive homes bordered the neighborhood. Dawn had broken. Gold arced across the sky, and rosy pink topped the green trees in the distance.

He studied the elder Crow’s property with a critical eye as Martin drove up the gravel drive. The house was well kept but modest, with light blue aluminum siding and white shutters. The land itself was probably worth twice as much as the house, if the surrounding developments were anything to go by. A 2005 Ford truck sat in the driveway, along with a 1994 Chevrolet Impala. Both vehicles looked well maintained too.

Despite the early hour, he could tell that nobody was home before they even reached the end of the drive.

He murmured, “Where have you gone this early in the morning, Jerry? And why did you go there?”

A second black SUV followed theirs. It parked when they parked, and his two new FBI drones, Ryan and Alison, climbed out of the car to meet him and Martin.

“Canvass the neighbors,” he told the pair. “See if anybody knows where Crow has gone, or when he’ll be back.” He paused. “If anyone asks, tell them you’re investigating his son’s death and have a few questions to ask him. We want the right story to get back to him, in case any of his neighbors think to give him a call.”

They nodded and took off. He walked up the path to the front door, while Martin followed.

How did he want to play this? Stealthy or straightforward?

Sometimes he wished he had Michael’s aptitude for stealth. Someone might see him if he broke a pane of glass to get in the house. If they contacted Jerry, he might be scared off from coming home. This was the kind of neighborhood where folks looked out for one another.

He didn’t even know why he tried the knob.

The door was unlocked.

He chuckled. Guess it was that kind of neighborhood too.

“Keep watch,” he said to Martin after they stepped inside. Martin stayed obediently by the front door, looking out.

He strolled through the quiet, empty house. It was modestly decorated with older furniture, and neat without being fussy. The faint odor of cigarette smoke tinged the air, but he did not find it unpleasant. American Indian artwork hung on the walls. Good pieces too, not flea market cast-off stuff. Out the back, a round sweat lodge was tucked into a corner of the yard, covered with tarps.

There were three bedrooms, which was more than he would have guessed. One bedroom had been turned into an office. Clothes were strewn all over another bedroom.

He eyed that room with interest. They were clothes that a young male might wear, mostly jeans and T-shirts. The third bedroom was simple and tidy, with a double bed that was neatly made, two nightstands and a dresser.