“You sure about this?” Duane said. His legs were slightly bent so that Joan was actually taller than him.
“Of course, I’m sure. I don’t think you think this is as cool as I do.” She took his jaw in her hands and bent and kissed him, opening her mouth so that their tongues touched. He tasted of salt, now. He gripped her harder around her sides, as though he were trying to hold on to her for safety. As he loosened his grip, and Joan stood to her full height, she saw Richard.
He had come out from behind the fallen rock, and was standing right behind Duane, wearing jeans and a dark, hooded jacket, both soaked by the spray. He had one hand still on the rock to steady himself. Their eyes met and Duane turned to see what she was looking at.
Joan said, “Fucking creep,” and shoved Duane as hard as she could, one of her sneakers losing its grip on the slippery rock so that she went down backward, landing on the base of her spine, while Duane only stumbled backward toward Richard. Joan, still sitting, watched Richard grab the reeling Duane from behind and pivot him toward the edge, shoving hard. Duane’s feet went out from under him, and he landed hard on his back, his head cracking on the edge of a rock. He made a noise somewhere between a scream and a moan and began to slide off the edge.
Joan got her legs under her and sprang up. Richard seemed frozen, watching Duane cling to the edge of the rock, one of his hands gripping at a fringe of seaweed, the other waving above him. Joan waited for Richard to do something, to kick at Duane and push him over the edge of the rock into the surging water, but a huge wave rolled in, completely covering Duane, knocking Richard back toward Joan, and soaking them both. When the water receded, Duane was gone.
Joan and Richard stood, holding on to one another, and looking at the rock where Duane had been. Joan hunted the surface of the ocean, now roiling as the lightning and thunder was getting closer, expecting to see Duane bobbing out there, or waving at them, but there was nothing.
“He’s gone,” she said.
“We should get back,” Richard said, as rain began to fall in stinging gusts. “It’s dangerous out here.”
“Okay,” Joan said, but neither of them moved for a moment. They stood clinging to one another, the rain coming in waves like the sea. “We did it,” she said into Richard’s neck, and turned to look at him, hoping that maybe he’d kiss her, but instead he pulled her toward him and they hugged. She pressed her face into his neck. It was damp and tasted of salt water.
Chapter 15
Kimball
The following day I had borrowed a different vehicle, a Ford pickup, from the upstairs neighbor in my building, and I was sitting half a block from the Blackburn offices in Dartford. I didn’t dare visit the coffee shop anymore, knowing that Pam went there. My spot down the street from the offices was not ideal, but I could just see the space between the buildings where Richard’s BMW would emerge if he left the offices.
I felt overtired and unprofessional. All morning I’d been telling myself I’d made a mistake by spending the night at Pam’s. All I hoped was that somehow she would meet with Richard today at some empty house or by-the-hour motel, and I could report it to my client and quit this job. Of course, it had occurred to me that sleeping with Pam might mean she would cancel her rendezvous with Richard. This was clearly something she was already hoping to do and maybe being with me would be the catalyst to finally make it happen.
If that was the case, if nothing happened today, then I was thinking that the ethical thing to do would be to step down from the case and not bill Joan Whalen. If she asked me why, I would tell her the truth.
My hope, however, was that something would happen today, and that was why I’d been sitting outside with a hat pulled down around my ears ever since following Richard from the intersection near his house. He’d passed by about ten minutes before nine and I’d followed him, at a large distance, to Dartford. After parking the truck as far away as I thought I could while still having a view of the office, I sat for about forty-five minutes. I did wonder if Pam was in the office, as well. I couldn’t see her Toyota on the street but knew that she sometimes parked it in the lot behind the building. I considered walking over to take a look, but decided it wasn’t worth the risk. I stayed put, slouched down in my seat, pretending that I was taking a nap, but keeping an eye on the street from under the brim of my hat.
At a little after noon Richard’s silver BMW nosed its way out from between the buildings and onto Colonial Road, heading away from where I was parked. I started up the truck, and just as I flipped on my turn signal I saw the nose of another vehicle emerging from the Blackburn lot. It was a blue Toyota. I stayed put, and watched as Pam pulled out onto the road, going in the same direction that Richard had. I waited thirty seconds and began to follow her.
There was one car, an impatient maroon Jeep, between us, and when the Jeep peeled away down Pope Road I hung back but didn’t worry too much about being spotted. If Pam looked in her rearview mirror she’d see a truck and a man in a bright red baseball cap. Unless we were stopped at a light I doubted she’d recognize my face.
We were headed west, and Pam exited from Colonial Road onto a side street called Barnum. She was driving slowly, and I hung back as much as I could, not happy with how rural and empty the street was. We wound past fields and old farmhouses, then Pam took a sharp left that brought her onto a narrow, rutted lane. There was a street sign, but it was shrouded by an oak tree that still had its leaves. I took my foot off the gas, letting Pam get out of sight, then drove slowly through the heavily wooded neighborhood, peering down dark driveways to look for either silver BMWs or blue Toyotas. I didn’t even know what town I was in, but it seemed solidly middle-class. The houses were either split-level ranches or modest Colonials.
I came to a fork and cursed at myself for not following closer. One way seemed to continue through the housing development, and the other way, at least as far as I could see, cut between farmed fields on either side. I turned left, staying in the wooded area, still peering down driveways. I was a quarter of a mile down the road when I saw the for sale sign, emblazoned with the logo for Blackburn Properties. I glided past the sign, turning my head and spotting Pam’s car at the end of the long gravel drive, her rear brake lights on as though she’d just stopped. She was parking next to a silver BMW. I kept going and about three hundred yards down the street found a small parking lot abutting some conservation land. I pulled in and parked.
I knew I needed to head back toward the house and try to confirm that Richard and Pam were there for nonwork reasons. It was obvious, to me, that they were, but Joan needed “a hundred percent confirmation,” her words when I’d checked in with her the day before. She’d also mentioned that if I got spotted spying on them it wouldn’t be the end of the world, that she would certainly let Richard know she’d hired me to find out the truth. I made a plan. I hadn’t gotten a great look at the house as I passed it, but it seemed like one of those single-story deck houses that had sprouted up in the 1970s, meaning there would be first-floor windows that looked into every room. I took out my compact digital camera with the telephoto lens from the glove compartment, even though Joan had told me that pictures weren’t necessary. If I had a chance to get a good shot, I’d take it. I also grabbed a different hat, a wool one, plus a pair of wire-rimmed glasses without prescriptive glass. It would change my look from a distance, at least.