Stealth Moves (12 page)

Eric breezed in. Snatching his sandwich from the plate Holly held, he stopped to greet Mike. “Can’t expect Holly to make introductions. She’s Socially Challenged.” With a wicked grin, Eric added, “Thanks for the fuel, Hol. Are you coming to the brewery to hear us play?”

Holly looked at Mike. He shook his head. “Liv’s too young to go to a bar.”

“It’s a micro-brewery and restaurant, so yes, she can,” Holly told him. “I’ve been going there since I was little. My dad bought into the place when they were just starting out. It’s kind of our hang out.”

“Maybe we should go back to Boston,” Mike said. “Come back for the dog tomorrow. I have work, and—” He stopped when Holly crossed her arms again. “Okay, okay. This place have good beer?”

“The best,” Eric assured him.

Eric drove into town with his equipment, but Holly suggested a walk to Mike and Liv. Exercise lifted spirits; they all needed a boost.

Their route for the half-mile trek into downtown took them along the Piscataqua River, past Strawbery Banke’s ancient cottages and into modern Portsmouth where New-Age boutiques and wine bars faced disapproving churches. A few blocks farther and Holly pointed to a spot across the street. “There’s the brewery.”

They entered a narrow space with rustic tables and a wide bar. Bypassing the mostly middle-aged crowd, Holly led on toward an interior staircase, saying, “Lower level’s where we’re going.”

Another long, narrow room lay below, but this one held their generation. After being carded and hand-stamped, Mike grumbled, “Thought I was past all this.”

“Butch—” Holly smiled at the bouncer. “Cards everyone. You should see how happy that makes the oldies who venture down here. And he watches who’s drinking what,” she added for Liv’s sake.

“Isn’t that your designer friend, Jessica?” Liv asked, waving toward the far end of the room where Eric and his group were testing their instruments.

“Uh huh. Jess and Eric are tight, so no surprise she’s here. Go talk to her about your costume.”

Liv looked uncertain. “Are you coming?”

“Only if you want me to know what you’re wearing.”

“Stay here.” Liv moved off toward Jess.

Surveying the half-filled room, Holly said, “Ah, my favorite spot’s still open.” She plopped down on a worn leather couch at the back of the room.

“You want to be here, away from the band?” Mike sat next to Holly, sinking into the marshmallowy surface. “Oh! It’s like a crash couch.”

“With some bands, this is the best seat in the house, but Eric’s group isn’t deafening. They do an R&B-folksy-rock thing. Eric says the sound is popular in Europe just now.”

“You spend a lot of time here, I take it.”

“Income from this place kept our family afloat when my father died and my mother was just learning to be a chef. I used to wait for her while she picked up checks or whatever.” Holly pointed at a shrouded pool table. “Weeknights, they have the game tables open, so, yeah, I’ve clocked hours in here.”

“If your family was short of cash why didn’t you sell the house?”

“Can’t. It’s indentured.”

Mike frowned. “Indentured means it’s a bound servant.”

“Oh. Well, something like that,” Holly answered airily. “Anyway, the house passes from generation to generation for a dollar. I’m next in line.”

“What if you leave Portsmouth?”

The question surprised Holly. “Who would want to live anywhere else?”

“Me,” Mike said. “I’ve never been out of New England, not counting business trips. Oh, I did make it to California to check on my sister and Liv once for my mother’s benefit. She won’t fly, so she sent me. At school, I had friends from all over, but there was never any time to visit them.”

“Why not?”

“Work came first. I started in Dad’s law firm when I was sixteen. Every break and summer, I was there.”

“So that’s how you got your job?”

“No. The firm has a nepotism rule. Family members can’t work there full time. After I passed the Bar, I had to job hunt like everyone else. When I was hired, I rushed home to tell my dad. He said, ‘Well, of course. You’re my son.’”

“He was that important?”

“He thought he was.” Mike stood. “I’ll spring for some drinks. What do you want?”

“Order me a Holly Special. Get one for Liv, too.” Mike tilted his head. “It’s ginger ale with lots of maraschino cherries. I’m working.”

“So you are.” A grin spread across Mike’s face. “For once, I’m not!” Holly watched him walk toward the bar with a lighter step.

Eric’s band started playing. Mike delivered Liv’s drink and a plate of nachos, ducking back to the bar to get the other fare. Back at his seat on the couch, he told Holly, “Liv likes it where she is.” Holly watched one of the Howard boys edge in beside her. The Howards seemed to have an endless supply of sons. This one was near Liv’s age, so that was okay.

And so was the music. People danced to the fast songs, but stood still through the slower, melancholy ballads.
Does anyone write happy love songs?
Holly wondered as the room filled up.

“Gl’ock—interesting name for the band,” Mike said during a break.

“It’s a contraction of Glasscock.”

“Good call.” Mike smiled. “God, he must hate his name. I mean, glass…cock? Got teased much?”

“
You
should talk, Mr. Small…wood! Nothing funny about
that
name, is there?” Holly wagged a warning finger in his face. “And just so you know, I am never going to marry you.”

Mike’s head jerked back. “
What
?”

Holly nearly lost it at the look of horror on his face, but she forced herself to say gravely, “Because the wedding announcement would read: Glasscock-Smallwood Nuptials.”

“Oh.” Mike exhaled relief. He’d caught on. “Right. And there’s this: The newlyweds exchanged vows in a tiny, intimate ceremony at… at…”

“Marblehead!” Holly crowed.

Not to be outdone, Mike added, “The happy couple will honeymoon in Micronesia.” And Holly gave in to noisy, snorting guffaws, prompting Mike to silly laughter.

His phone buzzed. Mike turned serious in an instant. Holly heard him say, “Okay. Thanks,” before he clicked off. “The dog,” Mike reported. “They’ve released him.”

“Let’s get Liv.”

Holly did a breaststroke through the crowd. Breaching near Liv and Jess, she told them the news. Jess offered a lift to the Humane Society, saying, “My car’s just around the corner in the parking garage.”

“You’re okay about leaving Eric’s concert?” Holly asked.

“I’ll see him later.” Jess blew a kiss toward the stage, and then led the way upstairs and outside. Liv was so eager to get to Jess’ car that the two were strides ahead of Mike and Holly.

As they disappeared around the corner of the alley toward the parking garage, Holly felt a twinge of alarm. Liv was out of sight. She sprinted after her.

And then she felt hands on her shoulder, shoving her hard toward a shop window. As she staggered to catch her balance, something dark shadowed the streetlight. There was a thud. Mike yelled and spun into a brick wall while a van jumped the curb to careen around the corner.

Holly glanced at Mike. He was on his feet. She raced around the corner to find Liv and Jess pressed tightly against the building, staring down the alley, Jess shaking her fist. Liv cried, “Holly! A van nearly hit us. Did you see it? Did you—”

“Get away from there!” Holly shouted. “Run!”

Once Liv and Jess were beside her on the sidewalk, Holly went to Mike, who was leaning against the wall, clutching his left arm. “Damned drunks,” he growled. “Side mirror got me. Arm’s broken. I heard it crack.”

Day 8—Saturday

“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?” Stealth screamed at his twin. In the van, Brandon almost took shape, almost looked solid. Normally, Stealth enjoyed these times together, but now he was furious, angrier than on the day Brandon died. His brother was nonchalant, half-turned toward the driver’s side, grinning and ignoring his seat belt as always. “Don’t ever take the wheel like that again!” Stealth raged. “You don’t know how to drive.”

So teach me, Brandon said.

“No way in hell! You nearly crashed us into a wall. You could’ve killed the guy on the sidewalk or those girls in the alley.” Stealth gripped the wheel tighter. His hands were shaking, slippery with sweat. He had to stop somewhere, dry his hands, change his gloves. Had to have clean hands.

Don’t stop. Cops could be after us.

“Because of you, you stupid tool!” Stealth felt his heart pounding. Crawling through Portsmouth until they reached the highway and fled to Boston was torture. Home! If they could only get home…stash the van in the garage…leave it there until no one was looking for it…. But what if someone in Portsmouth took a picture of the license plate number?

Calm down,
Stealth told himself. He had to stop the rising panic, not make driving mistakes and be pulled over, ignore everything until they were safe at home. But he couldn’t block the question. He had to know. “Brandon, why
did you grab the wheel?
Why
?”

I wanted to scare the redhead.

“What redhead?”

The one who hurt us in Boston—the one who elbowed us on the T.

“That was her? How do you know?”

I remembered her ass. Brandon laughed. Thought I’d get back at her, have some fun.

“Fun?” Stealth choked out. “You risk it all—everything we’ve worked for—for
fun
?”

Brandon lifted his chin. I have to have fun while I can. I won’t be around much longer.

“Don’t say that!” Stealth cried. “We’ll finish the weapon, sell it, and get the money to buy the house. Then we can stay together forever.”

Your way is too slow. Karina won’t wait. She’ll will get rid of the house, and you’ll have to move out. I’ll disappear. We need ransom. And we need to drive faster. Let me do it.

Stealth felt the dreamy, sleepy state coming on, the one that meant Brandon was taking over their body. He fought his brother, forcing him back, pushing him deep into their brain. Brandon thrashed and swore at him, but Stealth won.

Alone on the interstate,
Stealth drove carefully, doing nothing to attract attention. The damp gloves bothered him, and something else, too. Brandon had always been careless, but now he was reckless. His recklessness cost them the first girl. Brandon was acting crazy…

…And he was getting stronger.

Day 8—Saturday night

Liv imagined a hospital emergency room to be a frantic place with nurses running beside gurneys of gory accident victims or maybe there’d be a knot of doctors surrounding a patient, jumping back when one shouted, “Clear!” That wasn’t what she found.

There was only a waiting room where no one moved except two little boys fighting each other, their mother sagging in a chair, looking too sick to stop them. A nurse took her uncle through a doorway for treatment. While Liv and Holly waited, a cop came by to interview them about the accident. He went away looking discouraged because neither of them caught the plate number of the van.

Holly said, “We should call your grandmother. I just wish it weren’t
more
bad news. And it’s getting late. Maybe you and Mike should spend the night at my house. He can go straight to bed, and in the morning, you can pick up your puppy. I’ll drive us all back to Boston in Mike’s car tomorrow if he’s not up to it.”

“I thought Sunday was your day off,” Liv said.

“Guess not.” Holly shrugged. “Oh, I just thought of something: Will your grandmother be all right by herself?”

“She’ll hire someone to stay with her. She’s done it before. I’ll bet she says yes.”

Mrs. Glasscock was nice, Liv decided. She was small and dark-haired and pretty; she looked nothing like Holly. When the three of them showed up at her house, she acted like she couldn’t think of anything more wonderful than unexpected guests. She fussed over Uncle Mike and his cast until she put him to bed in the guest room, saying, “Poor thing. He needs a good night’s rest.” Warning “I don’t want to hear any noise tonight, not from anyone!” she warmed up dinner, a yummy pasta.

When it was time for bed, Liv got Holly’s room. There were a lot of trophies from Tae Kwon Do. Checking the dates on the awards, Liv saw Holly had been at it since she was little. Liv wished she’d done sports when she was a kid, but her mother was always busy, got home late. Liv mostly watched T.V. and snacked. She felt like having a snack now.

In the kitchen, Liv met Cameron, who frowned at her. “Uncle Jim called. He wanted to know how everyone was doing. I can’t believe you found a body and didn’t tell me!”

Liv felt a lump in her throat. Over the last hours, she’d almost—
almost
—forgotten about this morning. Now it all rushed back. “We’d just come from the police station. I couldn’t face a replay. Is your uncle all right? Did the police believe him?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cameron said. “They don’t think he’s involved. But, I mean, there I was, rolling on about cars and work, and you’d found a
body
. Man. Had to be rough.”

“It was. It was gross and scary and angrifying all at once,” Liv said. She shuddered. “I couldn’t process. Talking about it made it worse.”

“And now?”

“Now I can deal. Is it on the news?”

“Nothing but. We don’t have murders in Portsmouth, leastways not ones like this.”

“Do they know who she was?” Liv asked.

“They’re saying it’s the girl from Boston, the first one kidnapped. What’s going to happen to the ‘Be a Hero’ plan now? Is it over?”

“Absolutely not. We’ll have to work harder, faster. Ari and Kyle are still out there. We can’t let what happened to Natalie happen to them.”

So the world knew Natalie Porcini was dead. Her family and friends knew. Liv didn’t have to guard the secret any longer. She felt deflated, hollow, needed something to make her feel better. “Any pasta left?” she asked.

Cameron searched the refrigerator. “Here. I’ll heat it up for you.”

“Want to join me?”

He shook his head. “I’m maxed out on carbs.”

Liv studied his handsome face, his trim body. “You’re worried about gaining weight?”

“Spent my whole life fat. Not going there again.”