Clarence stepped in front of the girl and began to tickle her playfully. “ Hey, Monique.”
She giggled. “ Hey, Cee.”
“Leave her alone, Cee,” Chantal ordered him.
“I’m just funning with her.” Clarence tickled the girl some more. “She don’t mind, do you, Monique?”
Des heard a strange noise next to her. Turned to discover it was the sound of Tyrone Grantham breathing in and out very hard and very fast. A vein was throbbing in his forehead. “Don’t you disrespect my mother!” he roared at Clarence, his eyes bulging with fury. “Don’t ever do that!”
In all of her years of law enforcement Des had never seen a man flare so hot so fast.
Clarence backed down at once, cowed by fear. “I-I didn’t mean nothing, cuz. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize to me! Apologize to Moms!”
“Sure, sure…” Clarence moistened his lips with his tongue. “Sorry, Moms.”
“It’s okay, Clarence,” she assured him.
And with that Tyrone relaxed instantly. Seemingly, the man was an emotional roller coaster. His gaze fell on Des now. He seemed to be measuring her. “You have family?”
“I’m an only child. My mom lives in Georgia. My dad’s with me right now. He just had some surgery.”
He processed her answer carefully, nodding his shaved head. “You’re taking care of him?”
“Just until he gets back on his feet.”
“That says a lot about you. Your folks must be real proud of you.”
“I’m proud of both of my sons,” Chantal pointed out. “They’ve come so far. You got yourself a man, Trooper Mitry?”
“Of course she does, Moms. She goes with that movie critic’s on the TV all of the time. Jewish guy with those funny eyebrows.”
“Wait, she who?” Clarence was aghast. “Why you want to be doing that for when there’s a fine available brother right here?”
Tyrone let out a laugh. “Give it up, Cee. She’s too smart for you.”
The patio door opened now and a middle-aged black man stood there gaping at Des in horror. Or, more specifically, at her uniform. He was quick to recover, grinning as he strolled on in. But he was too late. Des already smelled yard on him.
“Trooper Mitry, this here’s my father-in-law, Calvin Jameson,” Tyrone said. “He came up from Houston as soon as Jamella got pregnant. Lived with us in Glen Cove over the summer. Now he’s staying out in the pool house.”
“Pleased to meet you, miss,” said Calvin, who was in his late forties or early fifties. Hard to tell exactly because he dyed his hair an inky black. And wore a half-jar of pomade in it. He was a bit of a peacock. The sports shirt and slacks he had on were loud and louder. His cowboy boots were snakeskin. He was not very tall. And he was for sure not very fit. His gut hung way out over the waistband. He fetched himself a can of Bud from the fridge, popped it open and took a long drink, smacking his lips. “You get my smokes, Chantal?”
“Get your own damned smokes,” she responded, her face tightening.
“Chantal, why you all of the time got to be busting on me?”
“Because you’re no good freeloading trash. Don’t do nothing all day but sit around drinking beer and watching porn.”
Calvin shook his head at her. “Can’t we just get along?”
“I don’t get along with punks.”
“I’m no punk. I’m a grown man with two grown daughters.”
“You’re still a punk.” Chantal turned her attention back to Des. “I hope you’ll watch out for my Tyrone. The people don’t like him, you know.”
“Which people?” Des asked her.
“I worry about him day and night. Pray to the good Lord that no harm will come to him.”
Des glanced at Tyrone. “Have there been any incidents or threats I should know about?”
“Not a thing,” Rondell interjected. “We’re fine.”
“Moms is just being Moms,” Tyrone agreed. “Pay no attention.”
“No, pay attention! I ain’t no crazy person. I know what I know.” Chantal reached over and clutched Des by the wrist. She had a powerful grip. “I have nightmares every night. Keep dreaming that something awful’s about to happen.”
“Lighten up, Moms,” Tyrone said. “You’re freaking everybody out.”
“Do you keep any weapons in your home?” Des asked him.
“I have a Glock 19 for my personal protection. It’s the preferred pistol of the NYPD. I’ve got a permit for it.”
“In Connecticut?”
His face dropped. “New York. Why, is that a problem?”
“Now that you’ve established your residency here you’ll want to swing by Dorset Town Hall and apply for a local pistol permit. Once you get that you can apply for one from the state-if you want to be in complete compliance, I mean.”
“Oh, he does,” Rondell assured her. “Absolutely.”
“Are there any other weapons around?”
“No, ma’am,” said Clarence, who would not go down in history as one of the world’s great liars.
Chantal still had not let go of Des’s wrist. Des’s fingers were getting numb. “ Promise me you’ll watch out for my boy!”
“There won’t be any trouble, Mrs. Grantham. Not if I have anything to say about it.” Des smiled at her reassuringly. “And it just so happens that I do.”
CHAPTER 4
Bond’s Auto Mall, the state’s highest volume General Motors dealership-“ Just ask Justy! ”-was a mammoth cluster of airplane hangar-sized showrooms surrounded by acres and acres of sleek, shiny new cars and trucks. Mitch felt like a member of the Joad family when he pulled in there in his old Studey. Everywhere he looked rows of digital-age rides were gleaming in the Indian Summer sun. American rides, Japanese, German, Swedish-you could find pretty much anything at Bond’s Auto Mall.
Except for customers. Mitch didn’t see a living soul anywhere.
His cell phone rang as he was parking.
“Hey, hey, Boo Boo!” a familiar voice hollered in his ear. “I tried you at home. You weren’t there.”
“Yeah, I’m out running errands, Pop. What’s going on?”
“Wanted to let you know we’re all set to head out there tomorrow. I’m picking up our rental car this afternoon.”
“Why don’t you just take the train out? I can pick you up at the station and drive you to your bed and breakfast.”
“Nah, we like to come and go as we please. Do you mind if we get an early start in the morning? I’d like to beat the traffic.”
“Not a problem. I’m always up early.” Mitch reached across the seat for the open bag of Utz potato chips and stuffed a generous handful in his mouth. “How did your appointments go?”
“My what?”
“You said you had appointments.”
His father fell silent. Which was not like him. “We can talk about it when we get there. We… have a lot to talk about.”
“Sure thing, Pop,” Mitch responded, feeling his chest tighten as he hung up. Grapefruit-sized tumor. There was now zero doubt in his mind that he’d be hearing those words tomorrow. The only question was which one of them had it.
He calmed himself, or tried, and went looking for June Bond. Tried two different showrooms but couldn’t
