10 - Trap Door, page 26
“Jemmy set Cory up,” I said. At the edge of the water, frogs emitted rhythmic bass notes and treble trillings. “There’s a lot more to it, though.”
“I see,” said Wade when I’d told him all the rest.
Almost all. Good thing Jemmy wasn’t here now; Wade sounded ready to rearrange my old pal’s new face for him, and his way was a lot faster than plastic surgery.
To the moon, Alice. The old situation comedy line echoed in my head along with the canned laughter that usually accompanied it. But this wasn’t funny. And a punch in the nose wouldn’t fix my buddy and savior Jemmy Wechsler.
Nothing would. “People change, I guess,” I said sadly. “My trouble is, I’m wondering now if maybe he didn’t.”
One of my troubles. “If maybe he was always that way and I just never caught on until recently.”
Or if I’d known all along and just wouldn’t look straight at it until I had my nose rubbed in it. After all, I’d agreed when Ellie said he was a sociopath, and what had I thought she meant?
Wade squeezed my shoulder. “All you did was take whatever help you could get back then. So if some of it was from a guy who wasn’t so decent in other ways? That’s no big crime.”
It wasn’t all I’d done. If it had been maybe none of this would’ve happened. “And if Jemmy’s not your idol anymore,” Wade added, “well, that’s what idols do, isn’t it? They break.”
We sat a while longer listening to the frogs. Bats swooped unseen in the darkness around our heads. Then:
“Anything else comes up, we’ll deal with it,” Wade said. “If it does.”
The weight of the world lifted suddenly off my shoulders, but I couldn’t quite let it go that fast. “Confession is good for the soul?” I hazarded, letting him hear the question in my voice.
Wade just laughed, bless his heart. “Only children believe the world works that way, Jake. And you know it.”
And that’s where we left it. He got up. “But listen, there’s something else you need to hear about. Sam’s gone.”
“What do you mean? Gone where?” A dozen possibilities raced through my mind, each worse than the one before.
“Rehab,” Wade said. “After you left here earlier, he came in off the lake and told us.”
“But how’d he get… ?” Anxiety seized me.
“He asked George to take him to the airport in Bangor,” Wade said. “George said he would, and they went.”
So that was what all that sitting on the lake in the kayak had been about: gathering his courage. “Do you think he might go through with it this time?”
Wade shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. But he had a funny look on his face when he told us what he had planned.”
A coyote yipped lonesomely in the darkness beyond the lake’s far shore, where people lived year-round and the pickings were better: chicken bones from trash cans, the last few french fries tossed out a car window, unlucky house pets.
“I think something’s made an impression on him; he’s heard or seen something that’s made him want to try again,” Wade said.
The lump in my throat felt as big as a fist. “He’ll call us?”
“George will. As soon as he gets there and he’s handed Sam over at the rehab place, he’ll leave a message for us at home.”
He put a hand on my shoulder. “And there’s an envelope for you, came in today’s mail. From that fellow in Orono you sent the old book to, I forgot to mention it.”
Exhaustion swept over me. “I can look at it tomorrow.”
Or next month. I had no expectation whatsoever that Sam’s latest effort would work, and I could already feel myself starting to cling to that attitude, not wanting to jinx my son.
“I’m going in,” Wade said. “Don’t sit here too long, you’ll get a chill.”
“Right,” I agreed, making my voice sound okay. But as soon as the screen door finished closing, I put my face into my hands. So it wasn’t until I looked up again that I realized someone else was there with me.
“Hi, Victor,” I managed, but he didn’t answer, only smiled sympathetically before vanishing again… almost.
A brownish him-shaped print remained as if he’d burned his outlines in the air.
Then it too was gone, maybe even for good.
From the Bangor Daily News:
ROBOTHAM, HORACE L. Suddenly at Orono, May 21, 2006. Mr. Robotham was founder and co-owner of Horace-Langley Rare Books & Papers in Orono. Born in Rhode Island and a graduate of Miskatonic University, he authored numerous scholarly papers on manuscript preservation. He is survived by his friend and business partner Langley B. Cabell. There will be no services.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SARAH GRAVES lives with her husband in Eastport, Maine, where her mystery novels are set. She is currently working on her eleventh Home Repair Is Homicide novel, Killer Driller.
ALSO BY SARAH GRAVES
The Dead Cat Bounce
Triple Witch
Wicked Fix
Repair to Her Grave
Wreck the Halls
Unhinged
Mallets Aforethought
Tool & Die
Nail Biter
Sarah Graves, 10 - Trap Door
