it. “Actually, this is her son-in-law. Her house is empty, and she isn’t answering her cell. I got this number from the sale signs. Can you tell me what’s going on?”
“ You’re her son-in-law, you say? ”
“That’s right.”
“ Well, Mr. Son-In-Law, how is it that you didn’t know she was moving, huh? Your wife is her daughter, no? You expect me to believe that she doesn’t know when her mother is moving? And if she does know this, then I have to wonder why she hasn’t told you, no? How do I know you aren’t some crazy stalker person looking to cut Viki’s throat? How do I know she didn’t move to get away from you? You could be a serial killer, no? ”
“What? No. What the—”
The accented man continued. “Well, I own the house. Your so-called ‘mother-in-law’ was only renting it from me. ”
The statement slapped him with surprise, its handprint lingering. “How long?” he stammered.
“ How long? ”
“Did she rent from you?”
“ Goodbye, Mr. Son-In-Law. I suggest you speak with— ”
“She’s dead,” he blurted.
The man on the other line didn’t hang up, but silence occupied the line for a few seconds. “And when did this happen?” he finally asked.
“A few days ago. We were on a cruise. She went overboard. Viktoriya was watching my son, Joseph, at our house. When I got home, they weren’t there. So I came here. Wherever she went, she took my son.”
“ Even if I did believe you were not a serial killer, I couldn’t help you anyway. I do not know where she went. I was going to sell the place, but now someone else is stepping up to rent.”
“Did she give you notice?”
“Yes. About one month .”
“Thanks.” Then, in an attempt to validate his claim, he added, “The FBI may be in touch.” He tossed the phone on the seat, and it settled next to the gun. He stared past the windshield. Everything was incomprehensible, the rain, like the gathering clues, splashing off the glass and distorting his view.
The cell rang again, cutting through the storm’s rhythmic beat tapping against the roof of the car.
“Yeah?”
It was Ivan. He was waiting for him.
“I’ll be right there.”
* * * *
The 9mm left behind in the glove compartment, Jack splashed through the puddles that spotted the parking lot, not caring to spend the extra time avoiding them. When he opened the heavy glass door, the smoky smell of Starbucks’ strong coffee greeted him, as did a warm and cozy environment that was sure to be lost on someone just in a shootout. He spotted Ivan at a table in the back corner. No line of coffee vampires stood shouting out their blood orders in paragraphs, and he was able to order without delay. A bold venti seemed to be what he needed, and as he handed over a five-dollar bill, he couldn’t keep his hand from shaking.
“Thanks,” he said to the friendly face handing him his drink. He took it to Ivan.
“So what’s all this about?” Ivan asked before Jack could even sit down.
Letting the backpack slip off his shoulder as he sat, Jack looked around the small shop. Only three other people were present, all positioned at tables and engrossed in their own private worlds. One was on a laptop, one was reading a paperback—which, Jack was relieved to see, was the newest King novel and not another episode from that Ryne Douglas Pearson series—and the last was hiding behind an opened newspaper. “Have they been here long?” he whispered.
Ivan looked confused. “Before I got here.” He laughed nervously. “Jack, if this is about that GMO rice with the human DNA I told you about…”
“It’s not.” He brought the backpack up and retrieved its contents, placing them on the table between them.
“What’s this?” Ivan asked.
“It’s all in Russian. Can you read them?”
He picked up October’s Ghost and began flipping through it. “This is English, buddy.”
Jack didn’t smile. Instead, he snatched the book and promptly opened to the
“ You’re her son-in-law, you say? ”
“That’s right.”
“ Well, Mr. Son-In-Law, how is it that you didn’t know she was moving, huh? Your wife is her daughter, no? You expect me to believe that she doesn’t know when her mother is moving? And if she does know this, then I have to wonder why she hasn’t told you, no? How do I know you aren’t some crazy stalker person looking to cut Viki’s throat? How do I know she didn’t move to get away from you? You could be a serial killer, no? ”
“What? No. What the—”
The accented man continued. “Well, I own the house. Your so-called ‘mother-in-law’ was only renting it from me. ”
The statement slapped him with surprise, its handprint lingering. “How long?” he stammered.
“ How long? ”
“Did she rent from you?”
“ Goodbye, Mr. Son-In-Law. I suggest you speak with— ”
“She’s dead,” he blurted.
The man on the other line didn’t hang up, but silence occupied the line for a few seconds. “And when did this happen?” he finally asked.
“A few days ago. We were on a cruise. She went overboard. Viktoriya was watching my son, Joseph, at our house. When I got home, they weren’t there. So I came here. Wherever she went, she took my son.”
“ Even if I did believe you were not a serial killer, I couldn’t help you anyway. I do not know where she went. I was going to sell the place, but now someone else is stepping up to rent.”
“Did she give you notice?”
“Yes. About one month .”
“Thanks.” Then, in an attempt to validate his claim, he added, “The FBI may be in touch.” He tossed the phone on the seat, and it settled next to the gun. He stared past the windshield. Everything was incomprehensible, the rain, like the gathering clues, splashing off the glass and distorting his view.
The cell rang again, cutting through the storm’s rhythmic beat tapping against the roof of the car.
“Yeah?”
It was Ivan. He was waiting for him.
“I’ll be right there.”
* * * *
The 9mm left behind in the glove compartment, Jack splashed through the puddles that spotted the parking lot, not caring to spend the extra time avoiding them. When he opened the heavy glass door, the smoky smell of Starbucks’ strong coffee greeted him, as did a warm and cozy environment that was sure to be lost on someone just in a shootout. He spotted Ivan at a table in the back corner. No line of coffee vampires stood shouting out their blood orders in paragraphs, and he was able to order without delay. A bold venti seemed to be what he needed, and as he handed over a five-dollar bill, he couldn’t keep his hand from shaking.
“Thanks,” he said to the friendly face handing him his drink. He took it to Ivan.
“So what’s all this about?” Ivan asked before Jack could even sit down.
Letting the backpack slip off his shoulder as he sat, Jack looked around the small shop. Only three other people were present, all positioned at tables and engrossed in their own private worlds. One was on a laptop, one was reading a paperback—which, Jack was relieved to see, was the newest King novel and not another episode from that Ryne Douglas Pearson series—and the last was hiding behind an opened newspaper. “Have they been here long?” he whispered.
Ivan looked confused. “Before I got here.” He laughed nervously. “Jack, if this is about that GMO rice with the human DNA I told you about…”
“It’s not.” He brought the backpack up and retrieved its contents, placing them on the table between them.
“What’s this?” Ivan asked.
“It’s all in Russian. Can you read them?”
He picked up October’s Ghost and began flipping through it. “This is English, buddy.”
Jack didn’t smile. Instead, he snatched the book and promptly opened to the
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