dead. I couldn’t live with myself if I just sat back and let him get killed. I mean, Good Lord, in a few hours, by the light of day, I’ll have a hard enough time trying to rationalize sleeping with a married man. My guilt plate is already full.”
Ben leaned over and kissed the side of her cheek. “Jennifer and I are more or less separated, if that’s any help.”
She shrugged. “I guess it helps—more or less. So what are we going to do to prevent this son of a bitch from getting blown to bits?”
“We’ll have to get in touch with him,” Ben said. “I know Ronald Craig worked for a place called Great Lakes Investigations. I’ll call them, for starters. Do you still have your in-laws’ phone number?”
Hannah frowned. “You want to call my in-laws?”
“Yeah, if the detective agency won’t help. In fact, I might try your in-laws first. I’ll call from a pay phone, of course. We need to find out if he’s here in town and how to get in touch with him.”
Hannah was shaking her head. “I don’t like this. A call from a Seattle pay phone? They’ll know I’m here.”
“Well, they probably already know that, Hannah. Don’t you think?” He put his arm around her shoulder. “Listen, if we can get in touch with Kenneth—or his private detective, we might be able to straighten some things out, maybe even persuade them to drop the charges.”
She rolled her eyes. “Huh, dream on.”
“Well, at least we might get a description of our video-killer. They’re sure to have seen him.” He kissed her again. “I’ll figure out how we can do this, Hannah. We’ll come up with a plan in the morning. C’mon, let’s get back under the covers.”
“I want to check on Guy first,” she said, kissing his shoulder. She put on her robe and crept out of the bedroom.
When Hannah peeked into Guy’s room next door, she could see him curled up in bed, sucking his thumb. But his eyes were open, and he looked back at her.
Hannah sat on the edge of his bed. There were still little abrasions on his face. She felt his forehead. “Can’t you sleep, sweetie?”
“I heard Ben talking,” Guy said. “Is he awake?”
“Oh, he’s just gone back to bed. But you’ll see him in the morning.” She smoothed back his blond hair.
“Can Ben be my dad?” he asked.
Hannah tried to smile. “I don’t think that will happen, honey. But he’s our friend, and that’s important.”
He yawned. “My dad’s in heaven, isn’t he?”
Hannah hesitated. “Um, yes.”
“Joyce says he’s watching over us. Is he?”
Hannah kept stroking his head. “Yes, honey,” she said, swallowing hard. “Your father is watching us.”
Eighteen
They were using the pay phone by the abandoned little grocery store a few blocks from Hannah’s apartment, the same pay phone from which she’d called the Green Bay police department a few nights ago.
But this time, Hannah wasn’t alone. And the surroundings seemed a lot more innocuous on this crisp, sunny Wednesday morning. Though she wouldn’t be talking to anyone, Hannah still had a lot of trepidation about this call.
Ben had stepped out earlier and bought a phone card. He’d been gone most of the morning, then returned with Starbucks coffee and a cinnamon roll for her, as well as a coloring book for Guy.
An hour later, as they’d left her apartment building together, Ben had taken hold of Hannah’s hand. She’d told herself it shouldn’t matter if anyone saw them, but it did. Someone was watching and judging, maybe even getting a little angry that she was happy with another man. Before they were halfway down the block, Hannah muttered, “Excuse me.” Then she causally pulled her hand away to move her windblown hair out of her eyes. She didn’t take hold of his hand again.
She felt extra anxious about leaving Guy and Joyce alone—especially today. There was no reason for the increased apprehension on this particular morning. Maybe it was the Catholic schoolgirl in her. She almost expected to be punished for giving in to her desires last night. Whatever the rationale, she dreaded being away from Guy today.
She would be working alongside Seth at the store. It was a chance to talk with him more about Paul Gulletti—and about certain theories on film directors and their leading ladies.
For now, Ben would be doing the talking. Hannah had mixed feelings about this whole venture. Part of her wished she could hear what was said on the other end of the line. Another part of her hated making any kind of contact with her in-laws. The idea of reconnecting with them—even through a third party—made Hannah sick to her stomach.
As Ben punched in the Woodleys’ number, then the phone-card code, Hannah stood behind him, wringing her hands. With the receiver to his ear, Ben smiled reassuringly at her. Then, he suddenly looked away. “Yes, hello,” he said into the phone. “Is Mr. or Mrs. Woodley there, please?”
Biting her lip, Hannah stared at him.
“They don’t know me. This is in regard to their grandson,” Ben said. “I think they’ll want to talk to me…. Yes, thank you. I’ll wait.”
He covered the mouthpiece. “I got the maid.”
Hannah nodded. “Sylvana. She’s very sweet. She—”
Ben turned his back to her. “Yes, Mrs. Woodley, hello,” she heard him say. “Yes, that’s right. I have information regarding the whereabouts of your grandson. I need to get in touch with your son, Kenneth, but I can’t reach him. Do you have a number I can call?”
Ben paused and shot a look toward Hannah for a moment. “My name wouldn’t mean anything to him—or to you…. Uh-huh. Well, Mrs. Woodley, I don’t have time for a lot of nonsense, either. I need to talk to Kenneth about your grandson, Kenneth Woodley the Third. I know where the boy is, but I don’t know where Kenneth is. So here’s what I’m asking you to do, Mrs. Woodley. Do you have paper and pencil handy?”
Ben sighed. “Yes, I can wait—for about fifteen seconds; then I need to hang up…. Oh, really? Well, I could hang upright now. Then you can forget any chance of ever finding your grandson, lady. I’m just trying to help here…. Yes, well, I thought so.”
He covered the mouthpiece, and frowned at Hannah. “God, what a pain in the ass.”
“I had two years of her,” Hannah whispered. “And compared to her husband and son, she’s Mother Teresa.”
“Yes, Mrs. Woodley,” he said into the phone. “I’m still here. Tell your son to contact me at this e-mail address. Are you ready? Ralph-at-eight-oh-nine-oh-three-dot-net.”
Hannah listened to him repeat and spell it out. She wondered whose e-mail address he was using.
“Tell your son to contact me today,” Ben was saying. “Because after tomorrow, he won’t be able to get ahold of me at all. Do you understand, Mrs. Woodley? Fine, then. Good-bye, Mrs. Woodley.”
Ben hung up the phone and let out a long sigh.
“Where did you get that e-mail address?” Hannah asked. “What if they trace it?”
“Just a second,” Ben said, glancing at a scrap of paper with notes scribbled on it. “I want to get this other call out of the way.”
Hannah stood by while Ben dialed the second phone number.
