“Saul’s gotten really withdrawn the last couple of days. Skipped dinner last night, and those plans were made weeks ago, and blew me off again for lunch today. I talked to Rachel and she says he’s acting weird at home, too. He’s all paranoid, jumps at his own shadow. I just think something’s wrong with him.”
“You think he’s sick?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say he was more scared than sick, and believe I know the signs and symptoms.”
“Scared? Of what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe he’s seeing ghosts, too,” Crow said.
Terry shot him a look. “That a joke?”
“No—hard as it is to believe. At Henry’s funeral Saul asked me if I believed in ghosts.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“Just what you’d expect me to tell him, that of course I believed in ghosts. Let’s face it, big mon, I kind of believe in everything.”
“All this seems to have started around the time the whole Ruger-Boyd thing got going. Did he say why he was asking about ghosts?”
“No. Not yet, anyway. Maybe this is not about ghosts, bro. Maybe this is like some kind of mass hysteria. Like a town wide case of post-traumatic stress disorder. With the blight, the Ruger thing…everyone’s genuinely freaked, and for good reason. Happy suburbia doesn’t really prepare folks for this kind of stuff.”
“No kidding. Really?”
Crow grinned. He sipped his tea and said, “Terry…there’s something else I want to talk to you about. You know that reporter, Newton from Black Marsh? The one you hate?”
“How could I forget?”
“Well, he’s working on a feature piece about the town’s haunted history, hoping to sell it to one of the Sunday color supplements like
Terry dropped his teacup and it shattered on the floor, spattering his trouser cuffs.
(6)
“How’d he take it?” Val asked.
Crow was stretched out on his couch, alone in his apartment. Through the door he could hear Mike talking to a customer, but inside the room was quiet. Muddy Whiskers was curled into a warm ball against his hip. “It could have gone better. First he just sat there in stunned silence for like a minute, minute and a half—and then he started yelling. Called me stupid, called me an insensitive asshole, called me a few other words that a week ago I would have bet a thousand dollars that he didn’t even
“Smooth,” she said. “They should send you to the Middle East to see if you can work your magic there. Is he even speaking to you?”
“He’ll get over it.”
“I guess. Before that happened, he was opening up about his dreams and all that. He’s a mess, Val, but at least he’s seeing a doc, and he’s able to discuss it with me. He said that when the season is over he’s going to take Sarah and the kids to the islands for a long vacation.”
“At least that sounds hopeful rather than crazy.” She sighed. “Everyone’s under a lot of pressure right now. Mark is still acting like a jerk and Connie spends half the day crying. I’m embarrassed to say it, but they’re both starting to get on my nerves. I’d rather be alone here than have to babysit them. I do have my own stuff to deal with right now.”
“I know you do, babe. Which is why I have something planned for tonight.”
“Tonight? I told you that I had a Growers Association meeting tonight. I won’t be getting home until after eight.”
“Eight’s good.”
“What’s the plan? And don’t tell me there’s a
“Nope, but it is a secret. You go to your meeting and I’ll see you at home.”
After she’d hung up, Crow folded his phone and laid it on his chest as he stared at the ceiling, thinking about Terry and Weinstock, Mark and Connie. And Val. Always about Val.
“Jesus Christ,” he said.
Chapter 21
(1)
