Chapter Twenty
Inching his way through a long register line at Home Depot, he checks his email repeatedly on his phone.
Nothing yet.
He’s glad the store is so busy, filled with people shopping for air conditioners and fans, discounted end-of-season nursery plants, bags of charcoal, supplies for weekend home-improvement projects.
He’s thrown in a few outdoor patio cushions and tiki torch fuel, just in case the other items arouse suspicion.
But nobody gives him or his cart a second glance, not even the security guard hanging around by the registers.
Inch forward . . .
Check email . . .
Inch forward . . .
Check email . . .
He didn’t see the one she’d sent this afternoon until an hour after she sent it.
Hey, something came up and I’m running late so I can’t meet today after all. Sorry. Another time?
As if it were that simple to change plans.
After he’d gone to so much trouble, taken so many risks, to set the stage.
After he was already there, ready for her, waiting for her.
No problem at all, he’d typed, his hands trembling with rage. How about tomorrow?
She still hasn’t responded to that.
What if he never hears from her again? Maybe she got spooked. Maybe she knows, somehow, who he is, what he’s done, what he’s planning to do to her.
At last, it’s his turn at the register.
The cashier, a middle-aged woman with a tight perm and tattoos on her saggy, too-tanned skin, asks, “Hot enough for ya?”
“Plenty,” he says, forcing a smile.
One by one, she scans his purchases and returns them to the cart: cushions, tiki torch fuel, coiled rope, shovel, work gloves, a pair of coveralls . . .
They’re almost at the finish line when she stops to examine the final item, a large vinyl tarp.
“Leaky roof,” he says, thinking fast. “I heard it’s going to rain tomorrow.”
“Crap, is it really?”
Isn’t it? Maybe he imagined he heard that. Maybe she thinks he’s lying. Maybe that’s why she’s turning the tarp over and over, squinting at it.
“I bet it’ll hold off,” he says, hoping he sounds casual.
“I hope so. I’m off tomorrow.” She turns away from the register and looks around, toward the security guard.
Panic-stricken, he knows he’s trapped. He can’t get away. They’ve got him.
Either she figured out why he really needs the tarp, or that cop put out some kind of bulletin.
“Jess!” the cashier calls, waving the tarp. “I need a price check!”
Jess, it turns out, is the assistant manager standing near the security guard.
Five minutes later, pulse still racing, he’s back at the car with his purchases, for which he paid cash.
He checks his email again.
At last, she’s responded.
Tomorrow is great. Same time, same place?
He wants to say yes. It would be easiest to meet her in the church parking lot. Easiest, and most appropriate.
Theoretically, the place should be as deserted tomorrow as it was today.
But now? After what he did? After that lady cop was sniffing around, interrogating him?
Now there’s no way.
He writes back with a lie: There’s a barbecue at the church tomorrow. It will be busy. I’ll find another place and let you know where.
He hits send and pulls out of his parking spot. He’ll have to drive around and scout out a new location.
Damn that lady cop.
Church was perfect. As long as it’s not a Sunday morning, as long as there’s not something going on that will draw congregants. It’s easy enough to check the website calendar. That’s how he knew way in advance that Congregational would be all but deserted today.
Now he needs another place. It has to be public, where even the most cautious person would be comfortable about meeting a stranger.
Not a coffee shop or a restaurant. That would be too public.
Too many people around. Too much interaction with others.
It has to be suitably off the beaten path, but not obviously so.
The problem is, the town is crowded, and more people are arriving every minute, with a steady stream of traffic on Route 28. He might have to resort to a neighboring village that’s not as touristy as Mulberry Bay has become.
Which is a shock, because he remembers it as a run-down, forlorn town filled with empty storefronts, potholes, and For Sale signs.
Back then, the old people who lived here did nothing but complain and reminisce, most of the middle-aged ones who hadn’t left were contemplating it, and the young ones couldn’t wait to graduate and flee the area.
When he returned this past spring, he noticed that everything was spruced up and the business district was thriving. But that was ahead of tourist season. He hadn’t expected anything like this.
He hadn’t expected anything that’s happened today.