browns, plus two coffees. I pulled ahead into a parking slot, reached into the bag, and tossed a breakfast sandwich into Clayton’s lap.
“Here,” I said. “Gum this.”
I needed some air and to stretch my legs for two seconds. Plus, I wanted to call home again, just in case. I took my cell out of my jacket, opened it up and glanced at the screen.
“Fuck,” I said.
I had a message. I had a goddamn voicemail message. How was that possible? Why had I not heard the phone ring?
It had to be after we got off the Mass Pike, when we were driving south of Lee, down that long, winding stretch of road. Cell reception was terrible through there. Someone must have called me then, couldn’t get through, left a message.
This was the message:
“Terry, hi, it’s me.” Cynthia. “I tried to call you at home, then I tried your cell, and God, where are you? Look, I’ve been thinking of coming home, I think we should talk. But something’s happened. Something totally unbelievable. We were staying at this motel, and I asked if I could use the computer in the office? To see if I could find any old news stories, anything, and I checked my mail, and there was another message, from that address, with the date? You know. And this time, there was a phone number to call, so I decided, what the hell. So I called, and Terry, you’re not going to believe what’s happened. It’s the most amazing thing. It’s my brother. My brother Todd. Terry, I can’t believe it. I’ve talked to him! I called him and I spoke to him! I know, I know, you’re thinking it’s some crank caller, some kind of nut. But he told me he was the man at the mall, the man I thought was my brother. I was right! It was Todd! Terry, I knew it!”
I was feeling dizzy. The message continued:
“There was something in his voice, I could tell it was him. I could hear my father in his voice. So Wedmore was wrong. That must be some other woman and her son in the quarry. I mean, I know we don’t have my test in yet, but this tells me something else happened that night, maybe some kind of mix-up. Todd said he was so sorry, that he couldn’t admit who he was at the mall, that he was sorry about the phone call, and the e-mail message, that there was nothing I had to be forgiven for, but that he can explain everything. He was working up his nerve to meet with me, tell me where he’s been all these years. It’s like a dream, Terry. I feel like I’m in some sort of dream, that this can’t be happening, that I’m finally going to see Todd again. I asked him about my mom, about Dad, but he said he’d tell me all about it when I see him. I just wish you were here, I always wanted you to be there if something like this ever happened. But I hope you understand, I just can’t wait, I have to go now. Call me when you get this. Grace and I are heading up to Winsted to see him now. My God, Terry, it’s like a miracle has happened.”
47
Winsted?
We were
I started doing the math. There was a very good chance Cynthia and Grace were already in Winsted. They could have been here as long as an hour, I guessed. Cynthia probably broke every speed limit on the way up, and who wouldn’t do the same, anticipating a reunion of this nature?
It made some sense. Jeremy sends the e-mail, maybe before he even left Milford, or maybe he’s got a laptop or something, waits for Cynthia to call his cell. She reaches him while he’s en route, and he suggests Cynthia head north for a rendezvous. Gets her away from Milford, saves him having to drive all the way back.
But why here? Why lure her up to this part of the state, other than to save Jeremy a bit of driving?
I punched in the numbers for Cynthia’s cell phone. I had to stop her. She was meeting with her brother, of course. But not Todd. It was the half brother she never knew she had: Jeremy. She wasn’t on her way to a reunion. She was walking into a trap.
With Grace along for the ride.
I put the phone to my ear and waited for the call to go through. Nothing. I was about to redial when I realized what the problem was.
My phone was dead.
“Shit!” I looked around for a pay phone, spotted one down the street and started running. From the car, Clayton called out wheezily, “What?”
I ignored him, reaching for my wallet as I ran, digging out a phone card I rarely used. At the phone, I swiped the card, followed the instructions, dialed Cynthia’s cell. Not in service. It went immediately to voicemail. “Cynthia,” I said, “don’t meet with your brother. It’s not Todd. It’s a trap. Call me-no, wait, my phone’s dead. Call Wedmore. Hang on, I’ve got her number.” I fumbled around in my pocket for her business card, found it, recited the number. “I’ll check in with her. But you have to trust me on this. Don’t go to this meeting! Don’t go!”
I replaced the receiver, leaned my head against the phone, exhausted, frustrated.
If she’d come to Winsted, she might still be around.
Where would be an easy place to rendezvous? The McDonald’s, where we were parked, certainly. There were a couple of other fast-food joints. Simple, modern, iconic landmarks. Hard to miss.
I ran back to the car, got in. Clayton hadn’t tried to eat anything. “What’s happening?” he asked.
I backed the Honda out of the spot, whipped through the McDonald’s lot, looking for Cynthia’s car. When I couldn’t find it there, I got back on the main road and sped down the street to the other fast-food outlets.
“Terry, tell me what’s going on,” Clayton said.
“There was a message from Cynthia. Jeremy called her, said he was Todd, asked her to meet him. Right here, in Winsted. She probably would have gotten here an hour ago, maybe not even that long.”
“Why up here?” Clayton asked.
I pulled into another lot, scanned it for Cynthia’s car. No luck. “The McDonald’s,” I said. “It’s the first big thing you see when you come off the highway coming north. If Jeremy was going to arrange to meet anyplace, that would have to be it. It’s the most obvious choice.”
I spun the Honda around, sped back down the street to the McDonald’s, jumped out of the car with the engine running, ran over to the drive-through window, cutting in front of someone trying to pay.
“Hey, pal, you can’t be there,” the man at the window said.
“In the last hour or so, did you see a woman in a Toyota, she’d have had a small girl with her?”
“You kidding me?” the man said, handing a bag of food to a motorist. “You know how many people go through here?”
“You mind?” said the driver as he reached for the bag. The car sped out, the side mirror brushing against my back.
“What about a man with an elderly woman?” I said. “A brown car.”
“You have to get away from this window.”
“She’d have been in a wheelchair. No, there might have been a wheelchair in the backseat. Folded up.”
A light went on. “Oh yeah,” he said. “Actually, that does kind of ring a bell, but it was a long time ago, maybe an hour. Kind of tinted windows, but I remember seeing the chair. They got coffees, I think. Pulled over there.” He pointed in the general direction of the lot.
“An Impala?”
“Man, I don’t know. You’re in the way.”
I ran back to the Honda, got in next to Clayton. “I think Jeremy and Enid were here. Waiting.”
“Well, they’re not here now,” Clayton said.
I squeezed the steering wheel, let go, squeezed again, banged it with my fist. My head was ready to explode.
