Knock Out (7 page)

“I think we can start with that. I think he’s also a lot more—he’s out of control.”

Glenda ran her tongue over her lips. She was scared, and that was good.

He had no idea what Blessed would do next. “Keep alert,” he told them at least twice.

When he called Dr. Spitz, he told Ethan it appeared that Ox was going to be all right. His headache had lessened in the past hour. Dr. Spitz said he’d never seen the like, but this deal about hypnotism, he couldn’t swallow that. Maybe it was drugs or some sort of psychotic episode. Even with all Ethan’s assurances that it appeared to be some sort of powerful hypnotism, Dr. Spitz remained skeptical.

All Ethan was sure of was that Ox would have shot Joanna Back-man without a moment’s pause.

Who was Blessed Backman? Who was the mad old woman?

He stepped back inside and stared down at Joanna, a woman he hadn’t known existed four days before, and her little girl. Autumn suddenly twitched in her sleep—probably a nightmare, and no wonder. Should he wake her? Before he took a step toward the sofa, Joanna began rubbing the little girl’s cheek, soothing her. From what he could tell, she was still asleep. It was an instinct, he supposed, and he wondered if you just did that when you had a kid.

Autumn stopped moving. She sighed deeply,

pushed back against her mother’s stomach.

Joanna Backman.
Who was she, really? Why did Blessed Backman want Autumn so badly?

“Meow.”

Ethan looked down to see Mackie rubbing his face against his jean leg. He scooped him up and, out of long habit, smoothed his whiskers. It was then he noticed Lula tucked in tight against the little girl’s stomach.

Beneath the coffee table, Big Louie snorted in his sleep, crossed his paws over his nose. He opened one eye to stare at Ethan a moment, then closed it again.

He wasn’t more than two feet away from the sofa.

Ethan picked up one of his grandmother’s afghans off the back of his big TV chair and covered them with it. Just before the cover went down, Lula stared at Mackie, gave him the fish eye, and scooted closer to Autumn.

Ethan looked out to see Harm and Glenda talking in the front seat of the patrol car.

He went downstairs to the basement, turned on the single hundred-watt lightbulb, and fetched a piece of plywood from behind an ancient rattan patio set dating from the fifties. He boarded up the window in his bedroom, Mackie padding at his heels, not making a sound, his ears forward. Mackie was on alert, rightfully so.

Ethan didn’t think he’d sleep with all the questions ricocheting around his brain, and the gnawing concern that Blessed might still be nut there, waiting, but he did, Mackie curled up against his neck, his whiskers twitching against his ear.

10

Sunday morning

Ethan smelled coffee. For a moment it surprised him because he never programmed the coffeepot before he went to bed. Was he imagining it?

He sat up in bed. No dream; it was coffee he smelled, real and rich and sinful.

Then he remembered. He leaped out of bed,

dislodging Mackie, who gave a pissed-off meow, and ran toward the door. He realized he was wearing only boxer shorts, grabbed his jeans, and jerked them on.

He stopped to pull on a sweatshirt and paused in the kitchen doorway. He saw Joanna standing in front of his brand-new Kenmore stove, an egg carton, a quart of nonfat milk, onion remains, and a depleted bag of four grated cheeses he used to sprinkle on his tacos lined up on the counter next to her. He watched her whip the mixture with a fork, then pour it into a heated skillet. The sound of the sizzle, the smell of the butter, made his stomach growl. He realized he hadn’t eaten since lunch the previous day—well, not counting the pizza slice with Autumn. He smelled the turkey bacon microwaving and inhaled deeply. Big Louie and Lula sat on the floor, staring fixedly at the microwave, not moving, waiting for the ping. Mackie threaded through his legs to join his sister and Big Louie in their vigil. Autumn was setting the table. She was saying, “I like these plates, Mama, they’re cute.”

They were a Mexican motif, bright and cheerful, presented to him by his mother three years ago when he’d moved back to Titusville. He’d packed his own very nice Italian service away, and thanked her.

“Don’t forget the milk for the coffee, sweetie.”

Autumn lifted the carton of nonfat milk from the counter and set it on the table. She began folding paper napkins, placing them care-fully beside each plate.

It was such a domestic scene, so very normal. It reminded him of years ago when there were three yelling, laughing children banging around the kitchen, ready to eat every scrap their mother served up. It was remarkable. He said from the doorway, “I hope you made three extra slices of turkey bacon for my anorexic pets.”

Joanna dropped the wooden spatula and made a frantic grab for Ox’s Colt, six inches from her hand.

He held out both palms. “It’s okay. It’s me, please don’t shoot me in my own kitchen.”

“Not a problem,” Joanna said. “The clip is empty.”

Autumn froze at the sound of his voice. Then she gave him a huge grin. Big Louie barked, Lula meowed, and Mackie never looked away From the microwave, which pinged a half-second later.

“Good morning, Sheriff,” Joanna said. “I hope you don’t mind our taking over your kitchen.” She opened the microwave door, pulled out the covered plate of bacon, dabbed off the extra grease with a paper towel, and looked down at the animals. They were talking nonstop, at full volume. Ethan took down paper plates from the cab-inet and crumbled a single crispy bacon slice on each plate, set them in a straight line on the floor. The barks and meows died, the silence instant.

Her fear was still palpable. How was he to get information out on a woman who was still so scared, still so on edge she’d have shot him? He said, “I’m tempted to join my varmints. Everything smells great.”

“I took coffee and peanut-butter toast out to Glenda and Harm, What a name, where did it come from?”

“Her dad really liked
The Wizard of Oz,
but her mom insisted on the normal spelling.”

A laugh spurted out. “No, Harm’s name, not Glinda the Good Witch.”

“His granny was always preaching at him to never get ‘In Harm’s Way/ always spoke it with capital letters. It stuck when he was about twelve. He doesn’t use his real name. Thank you, Joanna, for feeding them.”

She nodded and picked up the spatula, went back to the eggs while Ethan opened cans for the animals.

He petted each of them. “Okay, guys, you’ve had your dessert, now go over and eat your main course. That’s a nice name you’ve got, Joanna. Where’d it come from?”

She was weighing how much to tell him; he saw it clearly on her face. He’d love to get her in a poker game, she’d lose her knickers.

“Joanna was grandma’s name,” Autumn said,

carefully placing a knife beside a plate Ethan saw was chipped. “I never met her; she died when I was little.

Remember, I told you, Ethan. She died of the big C.”

“I remember. I’m sorry,” Ethan said to her.

Joanna shrugged. “She was actually my great-grandmother, and she was ninety-four.”

Ethan watched her spill out the last capsule from a prescription bottle and hand it to Autumn.

“Down the hatch, sweetie. Last one.”

“You gave her one last night?”

Joanna was nodding when Big Louie raised his head from his now empty food bowl and barked. Both Ethan and Joanna went on instant alert.

A moment later, Harm’s face appeared in the kitchen door’s window. Ethan opened the door and stepped back. “What’s up, Harm?”

“I left the house last night without my aloe vera, Sheriff, and my face hurts something fierce. Glenda told me Faydeen said you probably had some.”

Joanna was staring openmouthed at his burned face, quite clear in the bright morning sunlight. She hadn’t noticed when she’d delivered their toast and coffee. Autumn asked, “What happened to your face, Mr. Harm? What’s aloe vera?”

Ethan said, “Harm was trying to get himself ready for a Myrtle Beach vacation. He wanted to look like a tanned hunk before he leaves, you know, to hit the beach looking like a local dude.”

Harm grinned. “Unfortunately, I didn’t listen to Mylo at Golden Tan. I insisted on going the full time three days in a row on his three-sixty tanning bed, and I didn’t keep my face covered.”

Ethan laughed. “Hold on, Harm. I’ll get the aloe vera.” He heard Joanna telling her daughter, “Aloe vera’s a slimy green gunk that takes the sting out of a bad sunburn.”

Autumn stared up at Harm. “I thought you were dark like my best friend Timmy Jeffers. Now I see you’re dark red. That must hurt. I’ll bet your mama really yelled at you.”

That was all it took for Joanna to spurt out a laugh.

Big Louie jumped up on Harm’s leg. Ethan just shook his head as he walked to his bathroom to fetch the aloe vera Faydeen had bought for him after the blistering hot Fourth of July parties six weeks ago when he’s roasted himself but good. He wondered again how he was going to pry any information out of her, wondered how he could make her believe he could help her. He didn’t want to spook her, make her run away. He had to be patient, had to try to gain their trust. He didn’t think he had a choice. There was something really bad going on here He knew in his gut he had to know what was going on to keep them safe.

11

GEORGETOWN, WASHINGTON, D.C.

Sunday

Mr. Maitland said, “She’s gone.”

Savich pulled his cell phone closer to his ear.

“Who’s gone?”

“Melissa—Lissy—Smiley. You remember, Savich, the sixteen-year-old-girl bank robber you put in the hospital six days ago for repairs? I just got a call from Agent Daugherty guarding her at Washington Memorial.”

“What do you mean she’s gone? She died?” Savich said, half an eye on Sean and his buddy Marty, who were shooting baskets at the hoop set beside his garage door. Both children were pretty good if you took into account their combined ages barely reached ten and the basket hoop was three feet lower than usual. They had a lot of misses. He’d painted the garage door three months before. Time to give it another coat.

“No, no, a guy walked up smooth as silk to our agent sitting in his chair outside Lissy Smiley’s room, pulled his FBI creds out of his jacket pocket, let Daugherty see his SIG clipped to his waist in the process, and told him he was there to take a shift, give Daugherty some rest. Daugherty had no reason to question what he said, and, I will admit, it’s Sunday after all, and the Red Sox and Yankees were playing. It did occur to Daugherty to check with his supervisor during the seventh-inning stretch to ask when he was expected back, since he hadn’t been notified about any change, and his supervisor proceeds to tell him there was no replacement sent and he was an idiot. He topped it off by not remembering the agent’s name.

Long and short of it was Ms. Smiley was long gone with the guy by the time anybody got back to the hospital. The guy was the getaway driver for the Gang of Four.”

“Pretty impressive. I wonder where he got the fake ID,” Savich said.

“I don’t know that yet, but I will know soon. I’ll tell you, Daugherty will be cleaning toilets on the fifth floor of the Hoover Building until Christmas. This isn’t good, Savich.”

Sean shouted, “Did you see that, Papa? I made two free throws in a row!”

Marty Perry, Sean’s best friend since they were both two, yelled over him, “Mr. Savich, Sean wasn’t behind the free-throw line! He’s cheating. You give me the ball, Sean, or I won’t let you play my sax. It’s my turn!”

“Well, I won’t let you play my piano.” Sean ran away with the ball, Marty ran after him, and the two of them went at it. At least they rolled around in the thick summer grass rather than on the concrete driveway.

The basketball—kid-sized and bright orange—went rolling out into the street, hit a fire hydrant, and came to a bouncing stop against the curb.

Astro, Sean’s Scottie, and Marty’s big golden retriever, Burma, were dancing around them, barking as loud as they could, tails wagging furiously.

Savich said into his cell, “Excuse me, sir, but I’ve got to separate two warring basketball factions and rescue the ball. I’ll call you back with Sherlock in a couple of minutes.”

“I had four warring factions in my house, in any sport you can name. Call me back when you can,”

Maitland said, laughed, and hung up. He had four grown sons, all bruisers.

Since it was safer to let both children pummel him rather than each other, Savich soon had both kids climbing on top of him, trying to hold his arms down on the grass. Marty’s mom, Lucy, trotted up, stared down at Savich, and grinned. “Ah, I think they might have you pinned, Dillon. Tell you what, let me take these ferocious wrestlers off your hands. Come on, Marty, let go of Dillon’s arm,” she said to her daughter as she peeled her off Savich. “As for you, Burma, stop licking faces. Come on, boy. That’s it. You too, Astro.”

She said to Savich, “I can see I owe you or Sherlock a favor here for physical distress. Okay, Marty, Sean, how about both of you come with me. The magic genie sent some fresh lemonade and chocolate-chip cookies, extra walnuts.”

Sean and Marty instantly forgot their wrestling match with Savich and their own disagreement, and jumped to their feet, yelling together in victory. Savich hoped she’d made a couple dozen cookies, since both kids had hollow legs.

“I’m the champ!” Sean yelled. “Extra walnuts?”

“Yep, I asked the genie especially for extra walnuts, just for you, Sean.”

Marty was torn. “I don’t know, Mom. Mr. Savich was saying he’d play with us, you know, show us some moves.”

Burma, tongue lolling, barked, Astro joined in, and the two children laughed.

“You’ll need your strength,” Savich said. “Cookies first.”

Lucy said, “You might have to fight those mighty dogs for the cookies. You’d best hurry now, guys, chocolate chips don’t last forever, you know.”

The little boy and little girl went whooping across the front yard and next door to the Perry house, the dogs racing beside them. Lucy gave Savich a hand up, patted his shoulder, and took off after them. She called over her shoulder, “I’ll bring Sean and Astro home in an hour or so.”