The Shop

okay.

She got into a rhythm. Not the one she was accustomed to. Harder won, as if the sand she ran on sapped the blood straight out of her legs. She thought about going over to the hard-packed sand. On her left, buttoned up, were Cockatoo’s Fine Seafood and Beach Ware Gifts. The Quik Mart across the highway. She came to the place where she had to jump a rivulet of brackish water. Shoes hitting the sand, one-two, one-two, one-two. New construction. Space. More new construction. The little park. Her mind going back to Amy, asking for a safe house. Amy was going to run. She might have taken off already. Jolie ran past more new construction, just a frame and poured foundation. Amy’s boyfriend, Niraj Bandhu, had been released from the hospital. Maybe Amy was there, or maybe she’d packed up the rest of the U-Haul and taken off. Jamaican Pete’s ahead, kayaks stacked on their sides. A surge of water crawled up the sand in a long curve. Jolie ran around it. The other night, she’d observed the way men reacted to Amy—like they wanted to eat her up. They’d acted guilty and embarrassed about their behavior, reminding her of her dad’s old dog when he peed on the carpet. Guilt didn’t stop the dog, and it didn’t stop them. The dog couldn’t help his incontinence. The men were helpless, too, in their way. All of them, Skeet included. The deputies who were there that night—smitten.

Jolie couldn’t see it, herself. Amy Perdue was no bigger than a flea. She had freckles and weak eyes. Her eyes were pale green and dull as grapes—nothing to them. Limp red hair parted in the middle. No boobs whatsoever. But she had something. It came off her person, silent as a dog whistle. Pheromones?

Amy’s talk of “something bigger.” Her belief that someone had hired a lawyer just to get her back out on the street. Maybe Amy was paranoid, but it was clear she was in some kind of trouble. Jolie didn’t know what it was, but she knew Amy was in way over her head. It didn’t take much of a leap to think it might involve her brother Luke and the standoff at the Starliner Motel. That was the biggest thing to happen around here in a long time.

Jolie turned around and ran back, reviewing the events at the Starliner Motel. Luke taking the woman hostage, Chief Akers trying to talk him out, the FBI sharpshooter’s bad shot.

Did Amy really think the FBI shot Luke on purpose? But Amy wouldn’t be in a position to know about that. No one would. It wasn’t like she could phone the FBI and ask. Try talking to the FBI! Impossible.

Amy might be prone to conspiracy theories. Her brother was killed, the FBI shot him, she didn’t want to blame her brother, so she conjured up a scenario wherein the FBI shot Luke to…what? That’s where it all broke down.

Over the little rivulet. Past the Quick Mart, the incandescent light white against the indigo sky. And Riley— Riley had Jolie on her speed dial, constantly calling and texting about her boyfriend’s missing phone. Strange, Gardenia PD having no record of a phone. But Davy’d told her that the FBI was involved, which made sense. They had the snipers. So maybe the FBI had the phone. Probably the FBI. She jogged across Highway 98. Slowed to a walk on Conch. Home. The cat in the window, his cries silenced by the glass. Leaning with her hands on her knees, Jolie’s breath came in sharp gasps.

The FBI.

First thing she’d do today: go and talk to Luke’s landlady, Mrs. Frawley.

As Jolie unlocked the front door, she thought of something else.

As far as she knew, even in all the media coverage of the standoff at the Starliner Motel, nobody had come up with a reason why Luke Perdue had taken Kathy Westbrook hostage.

Most everyone she’d talked to had thought he’d “just snapped.”

But no one, it seemed, wondered why.

“All I know is there was two sets of police that came here that day,” Mrs. Frawley said. They were standing on the porch outside her house. Mrs. Frawley rolled a stroller with a baby in it, back and forth. The doors to Mrs. Frawley’s Saturn were open, a child’s car seat on the walk. The little girl was skipping back and forth across the driveway. “I’m on disability, and with Luke gone, that’s seven hundred dollars less I get a month. These are supposed to be my golden years, and this is what I’m doing when I should be on a Caribbean cruise, meeting the man of my dreams. Babysitting.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Jolie said. “There were two sets of investigators? Are you sure?”

“Yup. And they came in twos. Two plus two.”

“Two plus two equals four!” called out Charly, who was now pushing the car seat down the walkway.

Jolie asked, “Did they identify themselves?”

“They said police. But they didn’t have to—I knew it by looking at ’em. All that black Velcro stuff they wear.”

“Did they give you their names and badge numbers?”

“Two of ’em did. Those were the regular cops. The first set, they were FBI.”

“Did they say FBI?”

“Can’t remember if they did or not.”

“You know what the FBI looks like?”

“Of course I do. I watch NUMB3RS, all those shows. Char, come here!” she bellowed. Charly came hopping up and turned her back so Mrs. Frawley could help her with her My Little Pony backpack. Little kid wasn’t seven years old, and already in a harness.

Jolie asked, “When did they come?”

“Mid morning? The first set. The FBI agents.”

“Did they have a warrant?”

“Didn’t ask ’em. Just handed them the key and stayed out of the way.”

“They say anything to you?”

“They said Luke was in trouble, he was a danger to himself and others. I heard it on the news right before they got here, someone taking that lady hostage. At the time I didn’t make the connection because I couldn’t see Luke doing something like that.”

“Did they take evidence?”

“Both batches of ’em did. Walked out with bags of stuff.”

“Did you see what they took?”

“I was in the middle of dyeing my hair. I didn’t want to leave it on too long.”

“Did they take a cell phone?”

“Could’ve been in one of them bags.”

“Granny?” Charly said, tugging on her grandmother’s sleeve. “When’s Luke coming home?”

“Sorry, baby, he’s moved on to a better place.” Mrs. Frawley rolled her eyes.

“Why doesn’t he come back? He just went on a playdate.”

Jolie hunkered down on her heels. “He went on a playdate? When was this, sweetheart?”

Charly chose that moment to turn shy. She pushed herself behind her grandmother and stared up at the trees.

“Charly!”

“It’s okay,” Jolie said.

Mrs. Frawley’s voice softened. “Sweet pea, answer the nice lady.”

“Do you know when Luke went on the playdate?”

“When he went away with that man.”

“What man?” Jolie asked gently.

“The one that…” She stopped, looking confused. “The one in the black car.”

“You mean the FBI car, honey?” Mrs. Frawley said. “Those men weren’t here then.”

“It was like a movie.”

“Movie’s her favorite word. Everything’s a movie.”

Jolie said, “Did Luke get in the car with him?”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded, fidgeting with the straps of her backpack.

“When was this?”

“Jeremy just came on.”

“Honey, that’s early,” said Mrs. Frawley. “There were two men, Charly. They came here later. Luke wasn’t here then.”