The Leaving Part 43

Scarlett sat outside, windows down in the darkness, listening to the surf and trying to make sense of the day, for a good long while.

Then, finally, she went inside, tapped on Tammy's door, found her in bed with her laptop.

"Did you pa.s.s the alien probe yet?" Tammy asked.

"Why do you want it to be aliens?" Scarlett plopped down at the foot of the bed.

Feeling so completely dra i n e d.

She'd tell her about the penny.

Just . . .

later.

Tammy looked at her over her reading gla.s.ses. "I don't want it to-"

"It's the least likely explanation," Scarlett cut in. "So just answer the question."

Her mother's whole body tensed.

Then she breathed out loudly through her nose.

Her voice was a few tones deeper, almost possessed-sounding, when she said, "Because I do not want to believe that another human being could have done this to you."

For a second, looking at the anguish on her mother's face under the golden glow of the bedside lamp, Scarlett could almost remember the deep hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm of a s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p.

Could almost remember a creature . . .

Its eyes in a V.

That w a l k e d on light.

She could almost remember . . . floating weightlessly up toward . . .

Scarlett's gaze found some crooked st.i.tching on a throw pillow on the armchair in the corner. "Do you have a sewing machine?"

Her mother was blowing her nose. "Sure, but I haven't used it in years. I was starting to teach you, you know. We were making little purses and stuff. Hemming curtains."

"Can you show me?"

Lucas

Chambers stood outside the precinct, holding a cup of coffee top-to-bottom between his thumb and middle finger. "I've got good news," he said. "The coroner has ruled your father's death an accident."

Relief, of course, but also: "I'm not sure I like your definition of good news."

"I should clarify. There's no evidence to support any theory that there was wrongdoing, nor is there evidence to vindicate you." He s.h.i.+ft ed his coffee to the other hand, took the lid off, blew on it. "But you won't be charged."

"Well, I guess I should be grateful, then."

"Your brother said your father wished to be cremated, so that's being arranged, and we'll have the ashes delivered."

Lucas nodded.

No family, no funeral.

It was easy that way.

"So." Chambers put the lid back on. "Tell me about the book."

"It's from the sixties. It's about a society that sends their kids away for their childhood. My father e-mailed with the author's son a few years ago and I tried to contact him, but he's dead. Brain cancer. Their e-mails mentioned that his father had a cult following. I don't know. Maybe there's a connection? Obviously, the Alzheimer's makes it impossible to get any information out of him."

Chambers sipped his coffee, winced. Took the lid off again.

Lucas said, "His research sounds relevant. It never came up before?"

"No." Blew on it again. "But, Lucas. You have to just let me do my job, okay."

"I wish you would!" Lucas wanted to knock the coffee out of his hand. "Did you even Google the words 'the leaving' back then?"

"Don't be a smarta.s.s. Of course. The book didn't pop! They're not exactly uncommon words."

"Unreal," Lucas said.

Chambers just shook his head and looked away, letting it go. "Come inside so I can take notes."

So Lucas followed him in and told him again about Orlean-and no, he didn't have the book, because he'd given it to Orlean-and went over the whole story of the nursing home and Scarlett's penny and the security guard.

When they were done, Lucas said, "Why were you asking about Max and the school shooting?"

Chambers seemed to be considering, like deciding on a chess move. His phone rang and he took the call. "Yeah?"

Then, "Okay. Be right there."

"I have to go," he said to Lucas. "Something's come up."

"Something to do with us?"

"When I can tell you," Chambers said, "I will."

"So that's a yes."

Chambers let out a loud breath. "That's a yes."

"Why were you asking Max's parents about the shooting?" Lucas repeated. "I was there, you know."

"I know."

"How do you know?"

"I asked your brother."

"Why?"

Chambers tilted his head, annoyed. "What did I just say about letting me do my job?"

AVERY.

Again with the landline.

Just ringing and ringing.

Why did they even still have the thing?

She got up from where she was sitting at the kitchen island and picked up: "h.e.l.lo."

"Avery?"

"Yes."

"It's Detective Chambers." The dishwasher dinged that it was finished.

"Hi."

"I need to speak to your father, please."

"He's not here." She opened the dishwasher door, and hot air pushed out into the room.

"I've tried his cell ten times," Chambers said. "I've left messages. Do you know where he is? Can you reach him?"

"I can try his cell, too. Or call his a.s.sistant."

"What's that number?"

She had to go get her phone and look it up to give it to him.

"Okay, thanks."

"No, wait, you can't expect-"

He hung up.

"You have GOT to be kidding me!" Avery screamed.

She called her father's cell, but it went straight to voice mail.

She texted him: CALL CHAMBERS! THEN CALL HOME!

He was no better than her mother, really: She was upstairs, in the bedroom, in bed, watching TV. He was hiding under his own pillow at work. Her phone rang.

"Sorry," he said. "Meetings."

"What's going on?" she said.

"It's-they got a tip that sounds reliable. But-"

"A tip about what?"

He breathed loudly. "The location of a body."

"Max's body?" She nearly screamed it. Then regretted her mother might have heard.

"They don't know, Avery. A body. That's all. Do not mention this to your mother yet. Understood?"