Winter Break (14 page)

‘That?’ Evan’s eyebrows rose.

‘No one would miss it. If they did, they’d just assume it finally got junked. I’ve measured it. The interior space is ample: seven feet four inches tall by forty-two inches wide. We load it up, strap it to the top of my car, and dump it as planned.’

Sty led the way across the sitting room, Evan followed and, even grunting and straining, the two were unable to lift the bulky armoire. Finally, they tilted it and, after moving sofas and tables out of the way, inched it into the hall. There, they opened it, lifted Sebastian and managed to stuff him into one side, leaning him against a bar that divided the thing into two parts, pressing against the doors until they clicked securely shut, closing Sebastian into what was now his casket.

For a moment, they stood, winded and recovering. Evan eyed the armoire cautiously, as if expecting it might hurl out its occupant.

‘Should we load it onto your car?’ He wiped sweat off his forehead.

Sty stretched his back. ‘Not yet. Let’s finish up here.’

Evan cocked his head.

‘Put the furniture back where it was. And move your mattress into Rory’s room.’

Really? ‘My mattress? Now?’ Evan didn’t relish the idea of sacrificing it.

‘Of course, now. We need to be thorough. Everything has to be completed, calmly, neatly and efficiently before we leave campus. Let’s get this done.’ Sty started up the stairs.

Eyes narrowed, lips pursed, Evan watched him. ‘Then that includes you giving me your inflatable.’

‘Tsk tsk. Fear not, little Evan. You will have it by bedtime. I’ll even read you a story.’

Evan’s jaw tightened. He had to take a moment at the base of the stairs to quell the urge mounting in him. By the time Evan quieted down and got to his room, Sty had pulled the sheets off the bed and lugged the queen-sized mattress to the door.

Together, under the dim hall security lights, they managed to push, twist and drag it up one flight of steps, over the railing and across the hall to Rory’s room. Once inside, though, Sty caught his foot on the bed frame and stumbled into his end of the mattress, shoving it into Evan, who was knocked off his feet against the window.

‘Christ,’ Evan struggled with the mattress, shoving it aside, standing again and righting the curtain.

For a few seconds, Sty held his shin, wincing in pain. Then, wordlessly, they lifted the mattress, shoved it onto the box springs, in place of the one they’d disposed of. When it was done, Evan stormed out and headed down the stairs. But Sty took a moment at the door, checking the room one more time, making sure that they’d thought of everything, that the place looked untouched.

Harper didn’t want to work on her dissertation, didn’t want to read or watch television or sleep. Her body ached from lack of use; it wanted to work out, to move and stretch and jog and lift. Longed to get on her Ninja and roar through town, along the highway, around the lake. Anywhere out of the house.

But she couldn’t. Instead, she put her hands on her baby bump, gently patting it, remembering why the doctor had ordered her to rest. Picturing the baby – a chubby miniature Hank. Imagining holding it, smelling its hair. Feeling its little toes and velvet skin.

‘You comfy in there?’ She pictured the baby curled up tight inside her belly. ‘Or are you claustrophobic like your mom?’

Of course it wasn’t. The baby felt secure and warm, not trapped; her womb wasn’t a prison, confining like her house. She gazed at her bedroom walls. Four more months, she thought. Four more months of sitting down, lying down, staring at walls. Lord. Her muscles whined, longing to work. Begging to.

Stop it, she told herself. She would see the doctor, talk about her restrictions. Maybe they’d be eased; she hadn’t had many contractions lately. Just a few. Maybe she could at least take walks.

Harper sat up, fluffed her pillows. Turned onto her left side too fast; pain shot from her left hip down her leg. Damn. She flipped onto her back, letting the pain subside. She needed exercise; her left leg was weakening from too little use. The war injury was flaring up again. Never mind. She couldn’t complain. At least she was alive, unlike the rest of her patrol. Again, she saw them at the checkpoint; the flash of light, the sense of flying through hot white air—

No. She would not revisit those memories; they sucked her into a useless endless vortex of sorrow. She lay back, resisting the spiral. Reminding herself that she had more pressing issues to deal with. Like Lou, his case of money. His gun.

Carefully, she rolled onto her right side. Maybe she should call Detective Rivers and tell her about Rita’s phone call. About Wally and the hit that he’d supposedly taken out on Ed. Then again, she had no proof of what Rita had said. No proof that Lou was actually Ed. Didn’t even know who Wally was. And wasn’t eager to raise havoc with Vivian by calling police on her boyfriend.

Still, she had to do something. Didn’t trust Lou. The package with the rat, his late-night wanderings, Rita’s phone call, his fake IDs, the gun and money – Lou was trouble. Might be endangering her mother and her – and the baby, and that was inexcusable. She’d give him the night to think about their talk. But in the morning, she’d tell him to get his affairs in order or she’d call Detective Rivers and let him explain himself to her.

Her decision wasn’t satisfying, but it was the best she could do for the moment. Harper reached over and turned out the lamp on the nightstand, lay in the dark, staring out the window. Her eyelids were growing heavy, and she was about to shut them when, in a window of the fraternity house, the curtains slid to the side, and something – a man’s head? A mattress? Something fell against the windowpane. Arms reached out, yanking the thing away, quickly straightening the curtains again.

For a moment, she stayed there, trying to deny what she’d just seen. This was the second time she’d seen the curtains move. Which meant that someone was definitely in the fraternity house, which was supposed to be closed and empty. Oh God. Was it the hit man watching for Ed? Or maybe it was the naked guy? The missing kid from Elmira – could he be in the house? Hiding there? Or being held prisoner?

Ridiculous. She was overreacting, putting things together that didn’t fit. Maybe the curtain hadn’t moved. Maybe she’d invented that scenario out of boredom. The same thing often happened to prisoners of war – when they were held in seclusion many began hallucinating because of sensory deprivation. Harper wasn’t that far gone, wasn’t hallucinating, but the same principle could apply. Her mind might be compensating for the unbearable monotony of her doctor’s ordered bed rest – might be creating its own stimulation. Imagining movement. Connecting unconnected events. Exaggerating the significance of details. Distorting.

She was still considering those possibilities when, careful not to alert Vivian and Lou, she snuck outside into the darkness. And she was still contemplating them when she stood on her front porch, shivering, toying with the key in her coat pocket, waiting for Detective Rivers to arrive.

‘Tell me again what you saw?’ Detective Rivers was tired. She’d pulled a double shift twice that week because Boschi was out with the flu. She was beginning to wonder about Harper Jennings – was she off balance? Her pregnancy affecting her? Her husband was away, and her mother visiting. Still, she’d been a reliable – if too independent and daring – source in the past. Rivers owed it to her to come out personally to follow up on her call.

Harper described what she’d seen. A man falling against the window. And maybe a mattress. ‘It’s not the first time I’ve seen that curtain move. I think someone might be in there who shouldn’t be.’ She held off voicing her suspicions about the missing boy. Stuck to the facts.

‘So you think someone’s trespassing?’

‘Maybe. Someone was in there.’

Rivers sighed, eyeing the fraternity. It hunkered dark and silent, slumbering in the snow. ‘Okay. I’ll go check it out.’ She stepped off Harper’s porch, into the snow.

Harper hustled, going with her.

‘Mrs Jennings, I can handle this—’

‘Please, Detective. I won’t get in your way – promise.’

‘It’s not protocol for a civilian to come along—’

‘Okay – I won’t actually come along.’ Harper waited and let Rivers move ahead through the snowy yard. ‘I’ll stay way behind you.’

Rivers didn’t bother to argue. The call, after all, was trivial, the danger level nil. No doubt the disturbance would turn out to be nothing. Some fraternity boys sacking out in the house when they shouldn’t be. Maybe with some girls. Small stuff. She climbed the front steps, rang the doorbell, heard it chime inside. Waited. Got no answer.

‘You wait here,’ she told Harper. She stepped off the porch, took a hike around the perimeter of the building, flashing her light left, right, up, down. Behind the house, by the back door, she saw some disturbance in the snow, as if someone had tried to brush over footprints. Large green trash bags were lined up beside the kitchen door with the trash cans, waiting for pickup. Something bothered Rivers about that; the house had been empty for almost a week. Shouldn’t the garbage have been picked up? She’d have to check the sanitation schedule – possibly it was different during the holidays. She kept walking; saw no tire tracks in the driveway. Went to a window and flashed her light through, saw a dining-room table lined with chairs. A dim glow coming from the hall – probably a security light. But no sign of life inside. She moved on. Looked into the kitchen, games room, sitting room. Came back around to the front of the house, saw Harper waiting for her at the front door. Which was now wide open.

Evan and Sty sprawled on a plush leather sofa in the shadows of the sitting room.

‘What did you tell Phil about why we needed his truck?’

‘To move a senior’s furniture out. But he didn’t seem to care, just said go ahead and take it.’

Evan eyed the armoire. ‘But we can’t lift that thing,’ Evan reasoned. ‘So how are we supposed to get it into the bed?’

‘Are you serious? It’s obvious. We drag it out the kitchen door. I pull the pickup over to the porch, and we tilt it onto—’

Chimes suddenly rang out, interrupting him. Evan and Sty froze, mouths open, mirroring each other. Who was at the door?

‘Who is that?’ Evan whispered.

Sty put a finger to his lips. ‘Shhh.’

The chimes peeled again.

‘Who the fuck . . .?’ Evan’s blood had stopped pumping; he slipped off the sofa and scuttled backwards into the corner.

‘Stop, you imbecile,’ Sty growled. ‘Hold still.’

For a moment, they sat motionless, waiting. Then a light flashed from the porch into the dining room.

‘Shit,’ Evan breathed. ‘The cops?’

Sty said nothing.

‘We’re screwed.’ Evan hugged his knees.

The flashlight moved away, shining in again through the next window.

‘Christ,’ Evan got to his feet, hugging himself. ‘They’re going around the house? The garbage bags. They’ll find the mattress—’

‘Shut up,’ Sty’s voice deepened, rumbled a threat. ‘Just for once stop yammering and use your brain.’

‘Use my brain? Why? You’re the genius. You’re the one with all the plans. What are we supposed to do—?’

‘I will tell you again, Evan.’ Sty stood slowly. ‘Your panic is counterproductive. Panic is the enemy, the opposite of thought. We will have to improvise, yes. But if we think carefully and follow a rational plan, we will not fail. Just calm down and go along with whatever I say.’ He moved through the shadows to the foyer, noticing a shape – a face pressing against the glass, steaming up a sitting-room window. Sty ignored it, proceeding directly past the armoire and across the old Oriental rug.

‘What are you doing?’ Evan’s voice was an octave too high.

Sty didn’t reply; he simply pasted a smile onto his face and unlatched the heavy carved wood double door.

As Detective Rivers walked away, Harper rang the bell again. For a moment, she stood waiting. Then she set out in the opposite direction, moving from window to window, pressing her face against the glass, trying to see inside. Dim light from the foyer spilled into what looked like a living room, filled with leather sofas and easy chairs, portraits on the walls. Nothing moved. She went to the next window. From there, she could see into the foyer where there was some light. At the bottom of the staircase, she saw a lumbering oversized cabinet standing awkwardly out of place. And movement – a silhouette skirting the cabinet, heading for the door.

Harper straightened up, cleared her throat, hurried back to the front door, just as it swung open, wide.

A young man smiled a greeting. ‘Are you here to sing carols?’ His hair was perfectly gelled; he wore a red Polo sweater and khakis.

Another guy stood behind the first. Paler, skinnier. Dark pants, white shirt, untucked. Harper checked over her shoulder for Detective Rivers.

‘I live next door.’ She said it as if it explained her presence.

The guy’s smile broadened. ‘Yes. Of course. You’re the Ninja lady – you recognize her, don’t you, Evan?’ He turned to the second guy. Evan. Even in the dimness, Harper could see that Evan had bruises on his face. Had he been in a fight? An image flashed to mind: a naked guy getting beaten up in the snow. Could the assailant have been Evan?

‘Harper.’ She extended a hand. ‘Harper Jennings.’

‘I’m Sty, and this is Evan. Come in?’ He shook her hand.

Harper didn’t move.

‘Okay, look. I bet I know why you’re here. We aren’t supposed to be in the house. It’s officially closed. And you noticed someone was here, am I right?’

Harper nodded. ‘I was concerned—’

‘As you rightly should have been, Ma’am. It’s reassuring to know that people in the neighborhood are looking out for our property, keeping an eye on what’s going on in the area.’

Harper’s gaze moved to the armoire.

Sty followed her gaze. ‘Oh, that?’ Sty laughed, gesturing to Evan. ‘She likes our armoire, Evan.’

Evan didn’t move, didn’t speak.

‘You want it? If you outbid our customer, it’s yours. We sold this online and – actually, that’s why we’re here. We’re delivering it to our customer.’

Harper nodded. ‘I saw someone upstairs. In the window . . .’