Haunted Page 19

  Anthony said, “I ought to call the FBI and ask them to look at how the police department is run here. We never should’ve brought in an NYPD detective to run operations. And she never should’ve brought you in on anything they were doing. The whole thing stinks.”

  Then I let my instincts run wild. I leaned in a little closer to him and said, “No offense, but if I were you, I would never mention the word stinks. There’s nothing like a fat guy in an old shirt during the summer to remind me why people should shower every day.”

  That didn’t sit well with the big man, and he balled his right fist.

  It was like a neon sign saying, “Watch out—this guy is about to swing at you.” Then he did. A wild, looping haymaker.

  I ducked easily and brought my right hand hard into his solar plexus, then twisted and hooked my left elbow into his chin. He spun, bounced off a wall, then tumbled off the sidewalk onto the muddy street.

  He landed so perfectly, with just the right amount of mud on his face, that I took a quick picture with my phone.

  He was slowly working his way to his feet by the time I pulled away in our big passenger van.

  Chapter 92

  It was our final full day at the Ghost House. With the sun shining, the house looked anything but haunted. A breeze from the east was blowing, and the storm felt like it had washed away a year’s worth of crime. Everything seemed fresh. Including me. I felt renewed somehow. Sadie was safe, and Dell Streeter was secure in jail.

  Mary Catherine and I sat on the edge of the porch with our feet dangling down as we watched the kids play on the dock and in the water. Parents understand how special days like these are. I was just glad I realized it, too, before the days ran out. The kids seemed like they were growing up awfully fast.

  We watched as Ricky ran down the dock and launched himself over the side. He was now able to perform a fairly spectacular atomic cannonball. He may not have carried as big a payload as I did, but he still splashed Jane and Juliana as they attempted to act sophisticated. They had been lying on blankets, away from the other kids. Slowly but surely they were distancing themselves from childish activities.

  After the wall of water fell on top of them, I was worried about a spurt of acrimony. But these were my girls. They exacted revenge by jumping into the water on top of Ricky. Everyone appreciated their spirit.

  Seamus felt well enough to stand on the shore and watch. He still wouldn’t wear shorts. Instead his pants were rolled up almost to his knees. That exposed his white Irish legs, which almost glowed in the sun.

  The entire picture showed all I could ever want out of life. Almost.

  It was time.

  I turned to Mary Catherine and said, “Let’s go for a walk.”

  “Who’ll watch the kids?”

  “Seamus and Juliana. It’ll be fine.”

  We took the path that wandered away from the lake a little. There was more shade there, and it was cooler. The heat and my nerves had made me start to perspire. I needed a little shade and a slight breeze. I looked around us as we walked. It was beautiful. The deep green of the trees, the sound of the birds.

  It’s rare in life when everything you want lines up just right. This was perfection.

  Mary Catherine held my hand and chatted as we strolled along slowly. It was always easy to talk to Mary Catherine.

  She said, “What a fine vacation.”

  I turned to see if she was being sarcastic. As usual, she had no bitterness or alternative meaning in her words. She really had seen the best of the trip.

  She looked out over a meadow and said, “Our last full day in Maine.”

  “Paradise, for a while.”

  She laughed. “A short while.”

  I faced her and took her hands in mine. “Look. We need to talk.”

  Mary Catherine said, “Michael, I understand why you helped Sandy. I’m proud of you.”

  “That’s not what I want to talk about.” We had taken another path and were winding back toward the lake.

  She started to ask me more questions, so I just stopped. She stopped with me, realizing how serious I was.

  I eased down on my left knee, because my right knee was sore—either from kicking in the door or from some other crazy shit I had done. I reached in my pocket. It took longer than I expected. Then I pulled out the small square box I’d bought the previous day. Just before I had to punch that loudmouth Anthony.

  I hadn’t prepared anything. Typical. But looking up at that beautiful face, I was scared. Terrified is probably more accurate. Why on earth would she say yes? I just stared. Speechless.

  She knew what was coming. She had to. It felt like I’d been down there on one knee for two hours.

  “Mary Catherine,” I began. I was trying to think of the perfect phrase.

  Once again she saved me. A smile erupted on her face as she said, “Yes, Michael.”

  I just stared at her in stunned silence. Finally, I regained my wits and said, “I love you. I love you more than my own life. You mean everything to me, and I can’t imagine my life without you. Will you marry me and grow old with me and…”

  I had run out of things to say. It didn’t matter. She said, “Yes. Yes, Michael. I’ll marry you.”

  I thought, Whew, am I a lucky man. She gets me.

  Then I was startled by cheering. Loud cheering.

  When I looked up, I realized we had walked back along the lake, and the kids had joined us. They’d seen us from the dock and wanted to be part of this incredible event.

  Chrissy did a cartwheel.

  Fiona looked like a cheerleader as she jumped up and let out a loud whoop.

  As I stood I said, “How’d you guys sneak up on us?”

  Seamus stepped forward. “Are you kidding? You were focused. Finally. We’ve been waiting for this for a long time.” Seamus stepped over to Mary Catherine and said, “You’ve always been part of this family. This just makes it legal.”

  When he hugged her I could see streams of tears running down her cheeks.

  Mary Catherine hugged each child. Then she got around to me. It was worth the wait.

  We kissed.

  Then the kids closed in. We were surrounded. It was the greatest hug ever.

  Chapter 93

  The van was packed. That’s no small accomplishment with thirteen—sorry—I mean twelve people plus luggage. I took a last look at the Ghost House. Somehow it looked like a comfortable home now instead of a foreboding Victorian spook house.

  Mary Catherine stood at the edge of the van and said, “Good memories.”

  “The best.”

  Mary Catherine said, “Then why do you still have that guilty look on your face? I hope you’re not sorry about working and missing time with the family.”

  I shrugged. “A little.”

  She said, “Don’t be. You changed the world. At least for this town and certainly for Sadie. That makes this vacation a win all around.”

  Her smile captivated me. It had such subtleties. Like a diamond. No two were exactly the same, but they were all brilliant.

  Our one stop on our way out of town was in a nice residential neighborhood. Some of the houses were older than others, but they had character. There was nothing superficial about the houses. This was genuine Maine.

  I pulled the van over in front of a neat one-story home. Before we all filed out of the van, which sometimes took more than ninety seconds, Sandy Coles had opened her front door and met us on the path.

  Sandy and Mary Catherine embraced. The first thing Sandy wanted to see was the ring.

  Then Sandy took Seamus by the arm and led him into the house.

  I noticed his walk was a little more steady. He was still recovering, but I was confident he’d be back to his old self soon.

  Inside the bright house, I envied her backyard and view into thick woods.

  I said, “This place is perfect.”

  “We think so.” As she said it, Sadie came out of her bedroom.

  Chrissy
said, “You’re living here?”

  Sadie said, “For now.”

  We all had a great little chat in the living room of my former partner’s house.

  Around ten minutes later, as I stood on the back porch, looking out into the woods, Sadie joined me.

  She said, “Thank you for all you did.”

  I just hugged her.

  Sadie said, “Sandy says I can stay with her as long as I want.”

  “Good.”

  “She on the level?”

  “Levelest person I ever met.”

  We both laughed.

  Sadie said, “She worried someone might try to hurt me one day?”

  “Maybe. A little. But she worries about everyone. That’s what makes her a good cop. She invited you to stay here because she sees something in you.”

  “Not much to see in me.”

  I wrapped an arm around her. “I think you’ll see what we all see soon enough. Just be happy and spend some time with Sandy.”

  “I am. I never had my own room or nice clothes like this before.”

  “It’s a lot to get used to. Maybe you can come visit us in the fall. We can watch the Thanksgiving Day parade.”

  She hugged me, and I had a flash of worry about whether she would still be here in the fall. Just a little anxiety. You never know what might happen.

  Chapter 94

  On the way home we made a detour. More of an entirely separate trip. We visited Niagara Falls. Both sides of it. We stayed in a nice hotel that had a Ripley’s Believe It or Not museum just outside the front entrance.

  And we did all the tourist stuff. Took the Maid of the Mist tour, stood under the Horseshoe Falls, and ate tough prime rib at a rotating restaurant on top of a tower. It was wonderful. The kind of thing we didn’t do too often.

  The next day we left early for our real destination.

  The Gowanda Correctional Facility.

  This visit wasn’t quite as startling as the first one. We knew to expect bars and barbed wire and guards and guns. We took it in as we drove up along the access road.

  Once again we were able to visit Brian and sit across a glass partition from him with a corrections officer standing in the corner of the room.

  Brian looked tired. He had a hint of a fading black eye. His hair was buzzed short, like that of most prisoners. It was easier to take care of that way. And it broke my heart.

  I sat while everyone filed in two at a time.

  Mary Catherine and I shared our good news. Brian tried to be excited. It was clear he had other things on his mind.

  The boys kidded with him, as boys do. Ricky asked about sports on the inside.

  Brian said, “I play basketball and soccer twice a week.”

  “What about baseball?”

  “No. They don’t want us to have bats. We can’t even have cleats on our shoes. We play everything in these.” He raised his foot to show off a cheap Keds knockoff.

  Ricky and Eddie seemed fascinated that someone could play a sport without proper equipment.

  Later Fiona listened as Brian explained the crafts projects that were available.

  He said, “The idea is to keep us occupied and see if we have a particular talent. Two guys got out and became printers. Another works in Albany as an auto-body mechanic. He writes us to show how well things are going.”

  As I listened, I recalled thinking a few years ago that Brian would have his choice of colleges. Maybe on scholarship. Now I just wanted him back home. Free. Part of society. It was humbling to have my expectations lowered so drastically.

  It also made me think about Diego, the teenage hit man. He’d never have a chance to have any kind of life. And I still couldn’t help but feel like it was my fault. If I had gone by the book, maybe I’d have avoided the gunfight in the library.

  On the other hand, Diego might have murdered someone else. Doing the right thing was never easy. Sometimes it wasn’t even necessarily clear what the right thing is.

  When all the kids were done visiting, Seamus huddled with Brian. They had always been close, and Seamus was clearly passing on advice and wisdom. But it was not something he wanted me to hear. I understood that.

  Finally I was alone with Brian for a few minutes. It felt weird. Awkward. Which was different for us. We’d always had an open and easy bond. It hurt to feel like a void had opened between us. I hoped we could rebuild that bond.

  Brian asked me about the trip. He’d seen something in the newspaper about the little town in Maine. Bodies, drugs, and kids were something the media couldn’t pass up. There were too many elements to sensationalize and too many subjects to explore and fill space with.

  I filled him in on what had actually happened. It wasn’t as interesting, but at least he knew the truth. After what he’d seen back home and the people he’d dealt with, nothing surprised him. Drug dealers were everywhere, and most people had no idea how ruthless they were.

  I didn’t know whether they were ruthless because being in the business changed them or whether they were willing to do that kind of thing because they were ruthless in the first place.

  Brian looked serious as he leaned in close to the speaker built into the partition. “Dad, I need to tell you something.”

  I leaned in, too.

  He said, “I think there’s a big problem coming to New York City.”

  “What kind of problem?”

  “I didn’t talk about the people I worked for because I was afraid for the family’s safety, but now it seems like someone might get hurt no matter what.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I heard the man I worked for, Caracortada, complaining about some Canadian mob guys trying to work their way into the drug business in the city. They had meth and X and needed distribution. Sounded like Caracortada wanted to do something violent to scare them off. He told me to tell him if they approached me.”

  I nodded. “That’s good to know. I’ll keep my eyes open at work.”

  “That’s not all. Since I’ve been here, I heard about how tough the Canadian mob can be and that they are expanding down into the United States. They mean business and have a lot of cash.”

  I thought about the two bodies buried behind Dell Streeter’s barn. This could get ugly.

  Brian continued. “There are a couple of French Canadians here who are having a beef with Mexican cartel members over it. They think there’s going to be some kind of gang war. I just want you to be prepared.”

  I looked at my son. The little boy who lost his way. I knew how hard it was for him to tell me this kind of stuff. I knew no one could ever find out.

  “Thanks, Brian. I’ll be careful.”

  I placed my hand on the glass, and he put his hand against the other side.

  I’d worry about drug wars when the time came. There was always enough to keep cops busy. No matter what the state of the economy or world politics or religion, there would always be murders. If they happened in Manhattan, I’d be ready.

  For now, I was content to spend a few more minutes with my son.

  This time it’s Alex Cross on trial…

  For an excerpt, turn the page.

  I looked in my bedroom mirror and tried to tie the perfect necktie knot.

  It was such a simple thing, a ritual I performed every day before work, and yet I couldn’t get it right.

  “Here, Alex, let me help,” Bree said, sliding in beside me.

  I let the tie hang and said, “Nerves.”

  “Understandable,” Bree said, coming around in front of me and adjusting the tie.

  I have a good six inches on my wife, and I gazed down in wonder at how easily she tied the knot.

  “Men can’t do that,” I said. “We have to stand behind a guy to do it.”

  “Just a difference in perspective,” Bree said, snugging it up against my Adam’s apple and then tugging down the starched collar. She hesitated, looked up at me with wide, fearful eyes, and said, “You’re ready now.”

  I felt q
ueasy and said, “You think?”

  “I believe in you,” Bree said, getting up on her tiptoes and tilting her head back. “We all believe in you.”

  I kissed her then and hugged her tight.

  “Love you,” I said.

  “Forever and ever,” Bree said.

  When we separated, she had shiny eyes.

  “Game face now,” I said, touching her chin. “Remember what Marley and Naomi told us.”

  She got out a Kleenex and dabbed at her tears while I put on my jacket.

  “Better?” Bree asked.

  “Perfect,” I said, and opened our bedroom door.

  The three other bedrooms off the second-floor landing were open and dark. We went downstairs. My family was gathered in the kitchen. Nana Mama, my ninety-two-year-old grandmother. Damon, my oldest son, down from Johns Hopkins. Jannie, my high school junior and running star. And Ali, my precocious nine-year-old. They were all dressed for a funeral.

  Ali saw me and broke into tears. He ran over and hugged my legs.

  “Hey, hey,” I said, stroking his head.

  “It’s not fair,” Ali sobbed. “It’s not true what they’re saying.”

  “’Course it’s not,” Nana Mama said. “We’ve just got to ignore them in the meantime. Sticks and stones.”

  “Words can hurt, Nana,” Jannie said. “I know what he’s feeling. You should see the stuff on social media.”

  “Ignore it,” Bree said. “We’re standing by your father. Family first.”

  She squeezed my hand.

  “Let’s do it then,” I said. “Heads high. Don’t engage.”

  Nana Mama picked up her purse and said, “I’d like to engage. I’d like to put a frying pan in here and clobber one of them with it.”

  Ali stopped sniffling and started to laugh. “Want me to get one, Nana?”

  “Next time. And only if I’m provoked.”