Echoes From the Moon (The Token Book One), page 9
“When you’re back, maybe we can… have lunch again. I’m in the mood for a… bowl of soup,” she said.
“Soup? Is that what I… Have a good night.” He ended it and shook his head, laughing at their banter. He’d screwed up by sleeping with her. It complicated things, and Waylen preferred his life to be straightforward.
Waylen sat on the wooden chair facing the lake and settled in, eager for one of Peter Gunn’s relatives to come home. It was after dinner time when he fell asleep.
When he woke, the sky was dark, the last hint of dusk vanishing from the lakeside. He’d overdone it on the coast, with weeks of no sleep, and rushed to Loon Lake for this case without realizing how burnt out he was. He touched his brow and realized he was also sunburnt. How fitting.
The house was still empty, the lights off. It looked menacing in the moonlight. The large A-framed windows reflected the stars onto the deck.
Waylen was about ready to give up for the night and come back in the morning when he heard glass shatter, followed by a woman’s scream. He didn’t hesitate to gather his gun from the locked car and chase the direction of the noise. It came from the neighbor’s place, and he cut through the dense forest separating the properties.
According to the files he’d been reading today, her name was Carol, and she lived alone. He barreled into twigs, spiderwebs clinging to his cheeks, and he scratched at them, emerging from the trees on the other side. A truck was in the drive, blocking a van in. The taillights were aimed at the porch, backed in for a quick exit. Waylen noticed a guy in the driver’s seat, and a second large, shadowed figure beyond the blinds of the home’s living room.
When another muffled cry escaped the front door, Waylen had to make a choice. He ensured the driver didn’t see him and circled to the house, pressing against the wall. The window was open, and he peered into it, finding an old woman clutching a yipping dog.
“Where is it?” the man demanded.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” the woman claimed.
“I hear you and Peter Gunn were friends. Do you want to end up like him?” The man’s voice was even, as if he was just having a conversation with his local butcher about the cut of beef he needed.
“Y… You murdered him?” She backed up, and the guy raised his gun.
Waylen’s issued 9MM Glock 17 filled his right hand, ready to burst in and defend this woman. It wasn’t often he’d pulled it while on duty, being in the Financial Crimes division, but he kept up with his required training, and found the act of firing it at the range soothing after a trying week on the job.
“I’ll kill you too, if you don’t tell me where it is.”
“What are you looking for? Peter never gave me anything, I swear!”
“You have one more chance.”
The dog scrambled from her arms and ran at the guy, biting his pant leg. He shoved the dog off and fired a shot at the animal.
“Bitsy!” the woman shouted.
That was enough. Waylen rushed to the door while the driver got out of the truck, clearly noticing his sidekick might need help. Waylen aimed his Glock from the shadows. “Don’t come any closer!”
The guy was skinny, wearing a black baseball cap, and had a light blond mustache. Waylen expected him to shoot, but he surprised Waylen by running.
Carol screamed again, and the barking stopped. Waylen entered, ignoring the escaping culprit, and saw Bitsy lifeless by the fireplace. Carol was a mess, sobbing on the floor, and Waylen took aim, ducking when the gun fired. He dove behind the couch, and instead of moving forward with the momentum like the shooter would expect, he circled back and rolled to the right, using the handgun as he’d been trained. The bullet struck the stranger in the chest, and Waylen tapped the trigger again when the man didn’t let go of his weapon. Waylen hadn’t tried to make a kill shot, but he’d just reacted, trying to save Carol and himself.
The truck tore down the driveway, gravel flying into the porch, and Waylen climbed to his feet, still focusing his 9MM on the perp. He stood over the body while Carol continued to cry, but it was quieter now. She muttered about not knowing what he was after, that she barely knew Peter. Carol clutched the dog to her chest, rocking back and forth.
Waylen crouched, finding a pulse, then used his phone to call the local dispatch.
Deputy Gail Hunt answered, and sounded shocked when he called for backup, describing the truck. “We’re on the way!”
“Carol,” Waylen whispered, reaching for her hand.
Bitsy bounced her head up, shaking her neck, and her tongue stuck out. “You’re alive!”
Waylen guessed the dog had been knocked unconscious, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He’d saved a woman, but for the first time in his long career, he’d pulled the trigger at something other than a paper target.
“I’ve called the cops!” a voice shouted from outside. “Carol, are you okay?”
Waylen stepped through the door and saw a man arrive, with a woman at his side. They looked half cut, their hair messy, the female in pink flip-flops.
“Are you staying at Peter Gunn’s house?” Waylen asked them.
The man raised his arm. “Yes. I’m his grandson, Silas.”
13
Rory transferred the last of the boxes and appraised her work. Why did her parents cling on to all this junk? She recalled ditching her belongings on the trip from Boston to Woodstock, and relished in the feeling it gave her afterward. All Rory desired was her laptop and some privacy.
The guest house was the perfect space for her, and she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it earlier. It had its own kitchenette, and a spacious bathroom with a soaking tub. When they’d built it, her father had the notion that either his parents or Kathy’s would retire and move in to stay closer to their family, but it hadn’t happened. They’d offered it to visitors, but soon it became a graveyard for discarded clothing, photo albums, and apparently, Rory’s old school assignments.
She’d hefted out three fake Christmas trees, along with a handful of containers filled to the brim with kitschy Halloween decorations. Rory almost asked if she could call one of those junk companies to get rid of it, but that would end up being a fight she didn’t want, so she shoved the bins into the second bedroom, stacking them floor to ceiling, and covered the queen-sized bed.
The cuckoo clock chimed, and the bird darted from the small wooden doors, announcing the hour change. That might be annoying during the night, but the sound was comforting. It had been her grandfather’s, and he’d given it to Oscar, his son, years ago. Her mom didn’t like it, so it had ended up in the guest house the moment Colin had died. Rory couldn’t believe it was already midnight.
She remembered the ticking of the clock in Grandma and Grandpa Swanson’s house and pictured their beautiful dwelling on the shores outside of Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Rory distinctly thought of a time she’d gone to their house for a couple of weeks in the summer, probably when she was eight years old.
Grandma was a saintly old woman to her then, but now, Rory knew she’d only have been around sixty. She was vibrant, her hair always dyed bright red, her dresses full of patterns most people would have avoided. On her, they were marvelous. Rory spent her days in coloring books, listening to Grandpa talk about his time in the military, or his adventures training for the Helios mission. Sometimes he’d stop mid-sentence, his eyes glazing over, and Grandma would have to poke him, bringing him home with a simple touch.
Rory realized those had been the first hints of dementia, the disease that eventually killed him.
Her phone rang, and she didn’t recognize the number. She clicked ‘ignore’ and waited, but no voicemail came. When it started again, she answered, “Hello. You know it’s after midnight, right?”
The voice on the other end sent shivers down her spine. “Rory…”
One word, and it all flooded back. “Why are you pestering me, Kevin?”
“Is that any way to talk to your husband?”
“We’re not married, you jerk.”
“Look who got a backbone. We’re not married yet.”
She lowered the phone from her ear and moved to hang up with a shaky finger. When she heard his voice continuing, she sighed and decided to finish this once and for all. “Why did you call me?”
A slight hesitation. “I miss you.”
Rory actually laughed. “Miss me? You’re a loser, and I will never— ever— set foot in the same room as you, let alone the same city.”
“It’s too late for that,” he said, and she noticed a light near the street. Rory turned the lamp off and crept to the window, flicking the blinds an inch. Someone was on the sidewalk, beside a black sedan.
“Is that a threat? Are you in Woodstock?”
“Maybe.”
She looked at the number and realized it was the local area code.
“Just meet me. Tomorrow. In the daylight, for breakfast at whatever passes for a diner in this podunk town,” he said.
Woodstock was about as far from insignificant as Rory had seen, but she kept her opinions to herself. “No.” She gathered her courage and hung up. She wouldn’t deal with his crap any longer. She was a new woman, distanced from a cruel relationship. He’d spent her money and played every possible mind game to make her feel worthless. He’d even gone as far as hitting her. Once. The final straw.
Rory kicked on her sneakers and hurried from the guest house, racing across the yard. “Get out of here! Leave me alone!”
The man near the car held a camera, and he lowered it, his jaw dropping. “I…”
“Who are you?” She peered around, trying to see if Kevin was in the area.
“The name’s Jack.” He offered his hand, but she just scowled.
“Why are you at my parents’ house in the middle of the night”—she pointed at the camera—“with that?”
“I…” Jack stuttered, but finally found his voice. “I’m doing an article on the Helios 15 mission.”
Rory’s hackles were raised. The light on the back porch flashed on, and her father came out with a baseball bat. “What about it? Why are you here? You didn’t answer my question.”
“Rory, who’s this?” Oscar asked, the bat still up.
“Sir, I apologize for any missteps. I work for a digital media company, and we’re running an article about the crew from Helios 15 in time for the last member of the crew’s funeral next week. I knew that you were his godson, sir, and we decided to take some photos of the house Colin Swanson stayed in when he visited. He was the lunar module pilot, after all.”
“I know what my father did on the Moon, junior.” Oscar checked his watch and shook his head. “Go home.”
“Sir, would you be willing to discuss—”
“No.”
Jack looked dejected, and Rory couldn’t help but sympathize with the guy. He was kind of cute, the polar opposite of Kevin in almost every way. Shorter, with a thin build and blond hair.
“I could come back… tomorrow?”
“No.”
Rory smiled at her father’s insistent tone, and Jack flipped a business card from his pocket, handing it to her. “If you change your mind?” He said it like a question and got into the car, driving away.
“I should have called the cops,” her dad muttered. “Come on, Pumpkin. How about a nightcap?”
“Sure.” Rory didn’t want to, but she also didn’t want to be alone, not after the ominous call from Kevin. She thought about telling her father, but he was already worked up. If she mentioned it, he’d drive to the hotel, or the bed-and-breakfast, and do something stupid. She hadn’t told her parents just how bad Kevin had been, but she suspected they were reading between the lines.
She glanced at the guest house and ran back to it, locking the doors before rejoining her dad.
“Was that necessary?”
“Can’t be too safe,” Rory said.
“We’re in Woodstock, Vermont. This is as safe as it comes. Short of nosey wannabe journalists with bad timing,” he joked, and held the door for her.
“Where’s Mom?”
“She fell asleep reading. I left her up there.” Her father cut an imposing figure and managed to look mayoral in his sweatpants and white t-shirt. He headed to the bar. “Wine?”
“Okay.” Rory accepted the glass of red and saw the French label. He had a basement filled with rare vintages, and she’d always gone down there as a young girl, running a finger over the dust-covered bottles, pretending they held secret messages from across the seas.
“Do you miss him?” Oscar sat in the leather chair, and she took the one facing it.
“Kevin?”
Oscar nodded.
“Not at all. Why…”
“I ran into him at the market,” Oscar said.
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” She’d only been apart from her parents for a few hours while working in the guest house.
“He seems remorseful.”
Rory took a sip and felt the walls shrinking. Her vision grew fuzzy, and a piercing noise reached her ears. She set the glass down and rubbed her temples.
“Pumpkin, are you okay?”
“This can’t be happening.”
Her dad came over, grabbing her hand. “What is it?”
“Kevin’s a dangerous man.” She was supposed to be safe at her parents’ house. They were hundreds of miles from Boston. Rory had only wanted to escape the relationship and visit for the summer to write a novel in peace. She’d hoped to be surrounded by flowers and sunshine, but the darkness had crept back into her life.
“Then I’ll tell him to pack his things and get right back to Boston,” he said adamantly.
The noises subsided, her eyesight improving, and she breathed, trying to calm herself from the impending panic attack. “Thanks, Dad.”
He walked to the edge of the room, turning the speaker on. He linked his phone, and jazz played softly. “I wish you would have come home sooner.”
“I know.”
“And I’m sorry we’ve been hard on your… career choice.”
“I have to do it,” she said.
“I understand.” He plunked into the chair, taking another drink. “I’m going to drive everyone nuts when I retire.”
“You should do something on the side,” she suggested. “You’re too young to be finished working.”
“That’s what your mother says.”
Rory looked at him. He was the same age as her grandparents had been in her memory, but he didn’t seem it. A full head of hair, a glint in his eyes. “What ever happened to their house?”
“Whose?”
The topic was changing on a dime, which wasn’t unusual in their conversations. They were both used to it. “Grandma and Grandpa Swanson’s.”
“It’s still there.”
“Yeah, of course it is. But who bought it?”
“No one.”
“What are you saying?” Rory drank a mouthful of the wine and melted into her seat. The adrenaline from the phone call and the stranger on the street had faded, and she was plain tired.
“I kept the house,” he told her.
“You have their house in Portsmouth?”
“Technically, it’s in Rye, New Hampshire. But yes, I haven’t sold it. I pay a company to cut the yard and spray for weeds. Another guy checks the property every week for insurance purposes. Otherwise, it sits empty.”
“Why? It’s probably worth a fortune.”
Her father sighed, and she finally saw his age creep through the visage. “I can’t bear to sell it. I loved my parents, and they were nothing but great to all of us. Without them, I wouldn’t have this.” He gestured at the luxurious room. “Your mother couldn’t have stayed home to raise you, and you couldn’t have gone to an Ivy League school. The house is just a house, but I grew up in Rye, and it’s special to me.”
“Does anyone else know it’s yours still?”
“Maybe. The deed is under a corporate name, but,” he shrugged, “it’s not a secret.”
Rory took it in. “Can I visit it this summer? Maybe spend a while to write?”
“It’s a two-hour drive, and you remember how touristy it gets in the summer,” he said.
“I need to focus, and clearly I won’t be able to do that while I’m being stalked by exes and journalists.”
“Okay.” He picked up his phone. “There’s a lockbox on the door. I’ve texted you the code. But promise me you’ll come to the funeral beforehand.”
“Deal.” Rory had no desire to head inland to a stuffy funeral for a man she’d barely known. But her parents were being super generous, and she wanted to support them, like they’d done for her. She stood, leaving an ounce of wine at the bottom of the glass, and peered out the window.
“I’ll walk you back,” he said without needing to be prompted. It was the first time in her entire life that she didn’t feel protected on her own property.
When she closed the guest house doors, she flipped the bolt, then saw the text message from her father. A notification appeared, and it was from Kevin. She’d already blocked his cell number, so now he was resorting to social media. She rarely used it, to the chagrin of her publisher and agent, but there were more important things in life than pumping your followers. Rory opened the app, typed the password, and quickly deleted the message from Kevin without reading it.
With the press of a button, he was removed from her friends list, and eternally denied to the application. She smiled and was about to close it when she noticed the friend request.
Silas Gunn wants to be friends! Confirm/Ignore/Deny.
Rory pictured the brooding young man at Grandpa Swanson’s funeral and clicked Confirm.
PART TWO
THE SECRET
1
The clock blinked over from 4:59 to 5:00 A.M. The sun rose in the east, marking a new day, but Silas had yet to sleep. The crime scene next door was still active, but they’d left an hour earlier after the police excused them.
Special Agent Waylen Brooks had asked Silas to stick around the house, saying he wanted to speak to them privately when he finished filling out the paperwork. Brooks had killed a man. Silas couldn’t imagine what that must feel like. The FBI agent seemed to take it in stride, but Silas doubted it was ever that easy.
