Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Alden felt a little awkward about intruding on Craig’s private abode. The poor guy camped above the garage outside a lavish beach house. How did that feel? But he was living rent-free and doing a job he loved. That had to be worth something.
Alden found a side door to the building, on the south wall, and he tried the knob. Open. It led him to the bottom of a staircase. In front of him was another door, probably into the three-car garage—he’d love to check out Enolia’s wheels. But that wasn’t why he was here.
“Enolia?” came Craig’s voice from above.
“It’s Alden Knox. Enolia sent me over from the house.”
There was a long pause. Then Craig called, “Come on up.”
The stairs, boxed in by walls, climbed into a nice-size living space. The corner in front of Alden held a kitchenette, with a bistro table and one chair.
He pivoted left at the top where the railing ended and stepped into the room.
Farther in was a bigger table topped with a sprawling computer system, books and electronics.
A desk chair faced three monitors. From there, the user would have a view out the east-facing windows to Alden’s right.
They gave the place redeeming light—now tinged with the oranges of sunset—and the tiniest glimpse of the ocean where the view wasn’t blocked by Enolia’s house.
Cardboard boxes were piled under the table and all over the floor nearby. Every wall sported stuffed bookcases, though the one in the back of the room held a TV as well. So many books. Lots of thrillers, it looked like, mixed with nonfiction.
A simple soft chair sat in front of the TV-bookcase wall.
There was an alcove on the left with more doors.
It looked like a bathroom, maybe the bedroom and a closed door—possibly the storage room Enolia mentioned.
There were earth-tone rugs everywhere hiding most of the wood floor, making it a quiet, snug room.
Craig was still in his button-up shirt, open at the collar, nice trousers and shoes. Maybe he wanted to look good in case Enolia summoned him, as she was doing now.
“What can I do for you?” Craig asked, adjusting his wire-framed glasses, as Alden walked forward.
“Enolia asked if you could come to the house and bring her business records relating to her agreements with Wayne Vandershell, plus anything you have on her screen projects.”
Craig thought about it for a second. “All right. Wayne didn’t give us much of the latter, but I have folders I can dig up.” He stepped into the alcove and opened the closed door, revealing a small room packed with filing cabinets.
“Is she not big on computers?” Alden asked, wandering to the bookshelves.
Craig had a beautiful collection of Enolia Honeywood first editions next to the TV. Alden idly pulled out The Wentletrap hardcover and ran his fingers over the raised design on the slick dust jacket.
Craig’s voice was muffled from inside the file room. “It’s all on her computer, but she prefers paper copies, and she likes me to take care of the files.”
“Because you’re indispensable,” Alden said, echoing what Craig had told them before. He turned to the title page, where Enolia had signed it.
Craig chuckled. “That’s exactly right. Nobody is as good to her as I am.”
You’re so good to me, Enolia’s inscription said. I hope this is the first of many collaborations. You’re the researcher I never knew I needed. A big, flamboyant signature followed the message.
The Wentletrap. But Craig had told them he didn’t work with her until The Calico Killer, which Alden was sure came later.
“Here’s one.” Craig dropped a folder on the cluttered table behind Alden. “I’ve got one more in another drawer. Hang on.” He went back into the storage room.
A bell rang in Alden’s memory. He flipped through Enolia Honeywood’s book list in his mind.
Wait. He didn’t have to flip through the list. He extracted Conched Out from the shelf, one of her later books, and opened it to the back until he found her list of titles. It was a long list. He scanned until he saw what he was looking for.
The Wentletrap.
The Lightning Man.
The Calico Killer.
Jingle Shells …
He paused. The Lightning Man. A lightning whelk reference. But more than that. He remembered now. It was about a mad bomber. Very technical. Alden had been impressed by the detail.
He pushed Conched Out back onto the shelf, touched the spines between, counting back down to The Lightning Man. He opened the book to the title page and its lavish scrawl.
Craig, your expertise never ceases to amaze me. This was the book you were born to write with me. I’m glad you left the FBI bomb school.
You belong with me!
All my love, Enolia
So much to unpack. Did Craig actually do some of her writing? And how much did he belong with her?
More to the point—what the hell did she mean by the FBI school? And why did Craig lie about working on this book?
Alden feared he already knew the answer. He just didn’t want to know. Not when he stood in the man’s freaking lair. He eased the book about the bomber back onto the shelf and turned around.
Craig stood there by the worktable looking at him, eerily casual, holding a Walther PPK in one hand. Not quite aimed at Alden. But close.
Alden froze while trying to project a casual interest, as if a lethal weapon hadn’t just entered the chat. “James Bond fan?”
Craig looked down at the handgun and back at Alden. “Bond started out with a .38 Colt Police Positive before he picked up the Walther. I like this better.”
“Fine if you maintain it well. Unless it’s just a collectible.” Please let it be a collectible.
“Oh, I visit the range regularly. It’s in perfect shape.” Craig paused, searching Alden’s face. “You’re a fan of hers, aren’t you?”
Alden nodded.
“Know all her books, then?”
“Very well. Interesting inscription in The Lightning Man. I thought you said you started helping her with The Calico Killer.”
“Must’ve gotten confused. So many books. So many years together.”
Alden hesitated. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get out of this. But he’d like to know the truth, either way. “It was hard to watch her cozy up to Wayne, wasn’t it?”
“Hard?” Craig’s laugh was bitter. “She threw herself away on that slimy little man, when I was her muse. That’s what she used to call me. Yeah, it was hard to watch. Especially when she threw her money at him, too.”
“So you decided to do something about it.”
Craig shrugged, the gun carelessly flopping around with the movement. “He was bad news. And lithium batteries explode all the time. I just thought I’d help it along.”
“But the vape pen wasn’t fast enough for you. Or as sure. So you rigged up his car to blow.”
Craig’s eyebrows rose, and he smiled. “I wish I could’ve seen him explode, either way. I’ve been told I enjoy that sort of thing a little too much.”
Alden took a guess. “FBI school?”
“You know about that?” Craig had obviously forgotten the particulars of Enolia’s message to him in the book. Though he’d seen Alden looking at the titles, putting it all together. He must’ve guessed his goose was cooked.
And I’ve confirmed it, Alden thought. Why didn’t I just play dumb and walk out of here?
Because he had to know for sure. That was his nature.
“Washing out as a bomb tech was the best thing that ever happened to me,” Craig continued, “because I met Enolia.”
Alden pressed on, trying not to look at the gun. “Was it you who fought with him in the alley? Or Enolia?”
Craig scowled. “She spoke to him, and he upset her. She came into Mae’s office all flustered right before she had to speak. So I went out there to have a word.”
“Did you hit him with a book?”
Now Craig really looked surprised. “I happened to have Enolia’s book in my hand. It felt really good to hit him with it. It seemed fitting, you know? His nose started bleeding. He just put up his hands, begging me to stop. Didn’t even fight back. Coward. I got disgusted and left him alone.”
“And the pen exploded.”
“Not then, though I knocked it out of his hand.”
“Weren’t you worried it would explode? Since you’d tampered with it?” Alden wanted all the details. With luck, he would get to write about them.
Craig paused only a moment, then a note of pride crept into his voice.
“I was so furious, I wasn’t even thinking about the battery when I hit Wayne.
I’d tampered with it days before that. Or to be accurate, I swapped his battery with one I’d tinkered with while I waited for my chance.
It’s amazing how many vulnerabilities they have.
A little internal damage, a few copper particles inserted in the right spot, and you have a ticking time bomb—short circuit, thermal reaction, boom.
I was starting to think it would never happen until it did. ”
And the forensics team had spotted the tampering. Amazing.
Craig smiled, remembering. “I was lucky, really, that I wasn’t injured by my own handiwork. It must have exploded after I went back inside. Maybe when he tried to smoke it. The bookstore was so loud, nobody heard it. It was perfect.”
“Did you take the book with you?”
“I dumped the book in the recycling bin—is that where you found it? Enolia would’ve wondered why it was so beaten up. And I didn’t realize he’d die right then and someone would go looking.” Craig paused. “And now you know everything. So what am I going to do with you?”
Alden kind of wished he didn’t know anything. “You could let me leave, nice and quiet. I’m not the police.”
“No, but you know the police, don’t you? You and your friend Ms. Melander. I saw you two arrive. And of course, you’ll want to write about me, if what you do can be called writing.”
Zing! And on top of the insult, now Craig was talking about Roz. Alden didn’t like that at all.
“The vape pen could be written off as, I don’t know, vandalism,” Alden suggested, trying not to sound desperate. “A prank. And the car didn’t explode. I doubt you’ll get charged with much.”
His lie didn’t convince Craig, who shook his head.
“I can’t let Enolia suffer for what I’ve done.
The embarrassment. I have a real opportunity here to deflect attention.
And a chance to inspire her one more time.
And since I’d really rather you didn’t write about all the details, I think maybe the best thing is to take you with me.
The question is, how do you want to go? Bullet first? Or do you want to feel the burn?”
What in the cockleshells is he talking about? Alden looked around, his skin going cold and prickly. Craig stood by the worktable, between Alden and the stairs. And given the deranged look in his eyes, talking Craig out of whatever he was planning seemed like a long shot.
A poor metaphor. Alden was trying not to get shot.
“What do you mean, feel the burn?” Alden asked.
Craig looked around his mildly messy apartment with satisfaction. At all the boxes. “I had a little C-4 left over. And I’ve always been good at wiring things. I’ve read a lot of thrillers, seen a lot of TV and movies. Why not do it in real life?”
“Do what?”
“Go out with a bang. Enolia doesn’t want me anymore. I’ve been working on this for weeks. I’m dying to execute my exit plan.” He made an amused sound, a weird whimpery laugh. “Dying.”
Alden took in the boxes all around them and swallowed. “Are you saying all these boxes are filled with explosives?”
Craig smiled. “Don’t be silly. That would be overkill. Let’s just say what I have is well-distributed.”
Alden quelled a creeping panic and looked around for some evidence Craig was telling the truth.
That’s when he saw the yellow wires, here and there, in spots where the rugs weren’t covering the floor.
He had no idea just how much explosive there was, but Craig seemed to think it was enough to go bye-bye.
“Or,” Craig continued, “since you lack enthusiasm, and I don’t want you interfering, I’m inclined to show mercy.
End you fast. I’m a pretty good shot, and I can’t miss at this range.
” He moved behind his computer, tapped a few keys with one hand while casually holding the gun in the other.
An old-fashioned red spinner light leapt to life on the worktable, flashing its blood-red glow around the space, round and round and round.
“That’s the one-minute warning. What’ll it be? ”
Craig stood there, no more than five feet away, regarding Alden as a scientist might look at a grain of sand through a microscope—as if he were mildly interesting but not particularly important.
I have to do something. Now.
Then Alden caught a glimpse of movement in the well of the staircase, behind Craig.
Alden kept his gaze focused on the unhinged assistant while counting down in his head. “Can you stop it?”
“I could, but why would I?”
Alden took a step toward the desk.
“Oh no you don’t,” Craig snapped, lifting the gun into firing position.
Forty-nine … forty-eight … forty-seven …
And that was when Roz stepped up from the stairs at the other end of the room and called, “Craig?”