Envy the Night

“That he’s a killer.”

She looked at him for a long time, while the coffee burbled on the counter and the wind picked up and buffeted the cabin.

“You mean he’s a murderer? Some sort of psychotic?”

“A professional.”

“A professional.” She echoed the phrase as if it were in a foreign language.

“Yes.” The coffeepot was full, and Frank turned and lifted it free and poured, held a cup out to her. When she shook her head, he took a drink from it himself.

“You’re serious,” she said. “I can see that you’re serious. That the guy who drove that Lexus is some sort of assassin.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t know if he is. In fact, after seeing him, I’d have to say he is very far from that. What I’m telling you is that the man who owns that cabin is. So if this guy with the Lexus, if he’s working with him or friends with him or whatever . . .”

“It’s not good for me,” she finished.

“Maybe it’s not. Like I said, Nora, I don’t know anything here except what I’ve told you. Whether this guy is someone for you to worry—”

“How do you know that about the owner, though? He just came over once to make some neighborly conversation and told you that he kills people for a living?”

He looked at her and remembered what she’d said about his grandfather’s medal—proud among other things, I suppose—and then he blew over the coffee cup and took another drink. “He worked with my father.”

Those cool eyes she had were beginning to falter. Beginning to let some fear in. “Your father.”

“Frank Temple,” he said. “Same name as mine. That doesn’t mean anything to you? Never heard of him?”

When she shook her head, he was surprised. Always was, when someone hadn’t heard of his father. In Frank’s mind, everyone had heard of him, talked of him, still did. In Frank’s mind, his family’s shame was still dinner table conversation across the country.

“All right,” he said. “I guess I’m glad about that. He made the news a while back. National news. Pretty big story.”

“For?”

“For killing people for money,” he said, and then he held her eyes and drank more of the coffee and neither of them spoke.

“I’m sorry,” she said eventually.

“You don’t need to be. I’m just telling you so that you’ll understand how I know these things.”

“So your father and the guy on the island, they both kill people for money? This is some sort of retreat for assassins?”

He set the coffee down on the counter, kept his eyes on the floor.

“My dad served in Vietnam, part of a pretty elite group, very good soldiers. He made some friends there. Ezra Ballard was one. A man named Dan Matteson was another. They were from three different parts of the country, but after the war, they wanted to stay in touch. Stay close. Dan had property up here, and Ezra moved up and then convinced my dad to build a cabin with him. Thought they could use it as a way to stay together as the years stacked up. Dan kept the island, and my dad and Ezra bought this place.”

“Is Ezra . . .”

“No.” Frank shook his head. “He’s not part of the mess, Nora. Don’t worry about that. He’s a good man.”

“But your father and the other guy?”

“Dan Matteson got into trouble right after the war. Essentially he was a mercenary. Went into corrupt, beaten-down countries and took a lot of money to fight for one side or the other. He got into something in Central America, I’m not sure what, but he made some contacts out there and got involved in the drug trade. When I say drug trade, I don’t mean street corner deals, either. I mean dealing in weight, smuggling planes and boats, not dime bags. Became a very big deal with some very dangerous people in Miami. When I was a kid, I got to know Ezra pretty well, but Dan was never around. I never actually met him.”

“Your father was working with him the whole time?”

“No. My father was a U.S. marshal. From every account I’ve heard, he was a good one for most of his career. An honest one.”

Frank lifted his eyes again, found hers. “When I was a sophomore in high school, Dan Matteson’s body washed up on the beach in Miami. They identified him through dental records, because he was missing his hands. His hands, and his eyes.”

It had to be so strange for her, so unnerving, to hear him explain this fun little family history. She took it well enough, listening silently and watching his face.

“Matteson had a son named Devin. By then he was working in the same world as his father. I think he’s about fifteen years older than me. After the body was found, Devin gave my dad a call. Made this pitch. This request for my father to help him avenge Dan’s murder. Find out who did it, settle up.”

“And he did it,” Nora said softly. Then, when Frank nodded, “That doesn’t sound so evil. I mean, the people he killed, they were the ones who’d murdered his friend?”

“Some of them were,” Frank said, “but he didn’t stop there. By the time they sorted that out, Devin’s boss made him another offer. My dad took it. And another after that. Last count I heard, he killed five people on contract. There might have been more. This while keeping his marshal’s badge. I’m sure he had access and information that was awfully appreciated by Devin and the rest of them.”

He paused, then said, “Eventually, the FBI got Devin into a jam, and to get out of it, he offered to trade some information. He gave them my father. Told them the information they needed to know to get the case moving, but Dad got wind of it, and he killed himself before there was an arrest.”

The refrigerator kicked on beside them; for a while the only sound in the cabin was the whirring motor. Then it switched off again, and Nora spoke as if it were a cue to end the silence.

“I’m sorry, Frank. The way you reacted last night when I asked about your father, it should have told me —”

“That he was a killer?” He laughed. “No, I don’t think it should have told you that. You’ve got nothing to apologize for. The only reason I’m telling you this is that I don’t like Vaughn having a connection to Devin Matteson. It appears that he does.”

When she spoke again, her voice was guarded and her eyes downcast. “And I’m supposed to believe that this connection between you and Vaughn is an honest coincidence. That you’ve never met him, don’t know anything about him, and somehow still manage to be involved with the cabin where he ended up.”

What should he tell her? That he’d come up here because Ezra’s message had made him suspect Devin was returning, that he’d caused the accident with Vaughn because he thought it was Devin in the car, that he’d reached for his gun as soon as the Jeep was at a stop? Not a real reassuring sort of explanation.

In the end, all he said was “Well, you can imagine I’m not real pleased by that little twist, myself.”

She was quiet, and he could tell from the set of her mouth that she didn’t like the answer. Well, fine. He didn’t like it, either, but that didn’t change a damn thing.

“What does that mean?” she said. “You don’t like the connection, and I understand your reason, but how does it change anything for me?”

“The people Devin runs with . . .” Frank swung his body off the counter and walked to the big front window looking out on the lake. She turned her head to follow him. “They’re dangerous, obviously. And what they do, Nora, it’s not penny ante. Whatever’s going on, there’s probably a lot of money involved.”

She forced a laugh. “Okay, I’ll let him keep the car. How about that? Just pretend I don’t know where it is, don’t know any of this.”

“That’s a good idea,” he said, still with his back to her. “It’s not the only problem, though. Vaughn’s not the only problem. There are the two guys from last night.”

She was sitting half turned in the kitchen chair, twisted to look at him, and he could see understanding begin to grow on her face.