I pushed myself off and got into my bedroom. Rudy was right. There were still lights up there, and two cruisers still had their blue strobes flashing. I dropped the cane to the floor and dropped myself onto the bed.
Even with the blue strobes reflecting off the flat white of my ceiling, I fell asleep right away.
It seemed like just five minutes had passed before my phone rang. I rolled over like a beached dolphin and grabbed the phone. It was 8:05 A.M.
“Yeah.”
“This definitely isn’t the charming and happy Lewis Cole I’m used to,” she said.
I yawned. “Dear me, Detective Sergeant Woods, do you know what time it is?”
“I do,” she said. “And I bet I woke you up.”
“You did.”
“Tough,” she said. “I haven’t gone to bed yet, but it’s about twenty minutes in my future, and I wanted to let you know about the little O.K. Corral reenactment that took place on your doorstep last night.”
“Please do.”
“The large gentleman found in your front yard was a Ramon Martinez, from Lawrence, Massachusetts. We also have two seriously wounded at Exonia Hospital, one Raul Gortez and Santiago Garcia, from Lowell. Plus we have one stolen Mercedes-Benz sedan with enough bullet holes to give passengers a nice shower if it were to rain. Other than that, lots of questions.”
“Any idea what triggered the gun fight?”
“Hah-hah-hah,” she said in a monotone. “You made a funny with a pun. Well, our friends in the Massachusetts State Police have told us that the guys from Lowell and the guys from Lawrence belonged to rival social organizations. It seems like they had a meet over at the Lafayette House parking lot last night when a disagreement broke out—along with the gunfire.”
“Over the chess club results, I’m sure,” I said. “Anything from the surveillance cameras from the Lafayette House?”
“If there is, the New Hampshire staties aren’t saying,” she said. “Usually we get along just fine with the boys and girls from Manchester, but now—just a lot going on. By the by …”
“Yes?”
“I’m still puzzling over young Ramon going to your house. Doesn’t quite make sense. Lots of nice places to hide in among all those rocks and boulders.”
“Maybe he panicked with all the shooting going on.”
“Or maybe he was coming for you. Or for something you have. You ever think of that?”
“I’m trying not to.”
“You have anything to tell me?”
What could I tell her? That Ramon and his boss Pepe were here earlier, about Felix’s missing silver, which was no longer missing, but was in one of my kitchen drawers?
“Not a word.”
She laughed. “Good. Time for this old broad to get some sleep.”
“Time for this old man to do the same.”
Just as I was falling back asleep and the whispers of dreams started to make themselves known, the phone rang once more. I fumbled some and a young woman’s voice said, “Mr. Cole?”
“That’s me.”
“This is Mia Harrison calling. The niece of Gwen Aubrey?”
Two unfamiliar names and I was rubbing my face when—“Oh, yes,” I said. “I wasn’t paying attention. Sorry about that.”
“Me, too. Did I wake you?”
I yawned. “Not really. Please, go on.”
“Oh, well, you remember the last time we visited? My Aunt Gwen said she knew a man who had served for a while at your house? When it was a training facility for the Navy and its corpsmen?”
My mind was clearing, like mist lifting off a sodden farmer’s field. “That’s right, that’s right.”
“Well, we can come by this afternoon. Would that be all right? Do you have the time?”
“Time is what I’ve got a lot of,” I said. “What time?”
“How does three P.M. sound?”
“Perfect.”
Then I said, “There was a shoot-out in the parking lot of the Lafayette House last night. Did you hear about it?”
“No, I didn’t. What happened?”
“It seems like rival drug gangs from Massachusetts had a disagreement. Lots of shooting. One dead. Two wounded.”
“Good,” she said.
“Good?”
“Sure,” she said, sounding cheerful. “That means investigators, reporters, nosy people stopping by … and more customers for the restaurant. See you later, Mr. Cole.”
I hung up the phone, checked the clock. Still plenty of time to catch up on my sleep. My drains would need to be emptied, but I could gamble. I settled myself in, brought the blankets up, and stared out the window, imagining all the ghosts and people who had been in this little house of mine, and how many of them had seen this exact stretch of ocean.
My eyes closed, my breathing slowed, and the whispers of dreams out there on the horizon began, and the phone rang once more.
I was getting the feeling that the gods of slumber had something against me, so I was a bit grumpy answering the phone for the third time, and I got a laughing voice in return that made me warm right from the start.
“Tsk, tsk,” Paula Quinn said. “Here I am, on the last day of my conference, feeling all jazzed up and frisky, and wanting to know if you were up for a visit after I get to work and straighten things out.”
“Always up for a visit,” I said. “How are you?”
“Fine,” she said. “Question is, what the hell happened in your neighborhood last night? One of my interns said there was a gun battle in the Lafayette House parking lot.”
I gave her what info I could, secretly quite pleased that she didn’t ask to quote me as a witness.
I didn’t feel much like a witness. Only a guy who happened to be around.
When we got through that piece of journalism, I asked her about the conference.
“A newspaper conference like this, it’s like a meeting of survivors from some sunken ship, making plans to go out on another cruise. Sounds silly but what else can you do?”
“Lots of possibilities,” I said. “None of which I should probably mention.”
“Probably,” Paula said. “You hear anything from your doctor? About the tumor results?”
“Nary a word,” I said. “It sounds like my tissue samples are touring the finest post offices in California.”
“Damn.”
“Double damn,”
