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Back Parting Shot Save as PDF
Chapters (68)
  1. Dedication
  2. Title Page
  3. Contents
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Thirteen
  16. Fourteen
  17. Fifteen
  18. Sixteen
  19. Seventeen
  20. Eighteen
  21. Nineteen
  22. Twenty
  23. Twenty-One
  24. Twenty-Two
  25. Twenty-Three
  26. Twenty-Four
  27. Twenty-Five
  28. Twenty-Six
  29. Twenty-Seven
  30. Twenty-Eight
  31. Twenty-Nine
  32. Thirty
  33. Thirty-One
  34. Thirty-Two
  35. Thirty-Three
  36. Thirty-Four
  37. Thirty-Five
  38. Thirty-Six
  39. Thirty-Seven
  40. Thirty-Eight
  41. Thirty-Nine
  42. Forty
  43. Forty-One
  44. Forty-Two
  45. Forty-Three
  46. Forty-Four
  47. Forty-Five
  48. Forty-Six
  49. Forty-Seven
  50. Forty-Eight
  51. Forty-Nine
  52. Fifty
  53. Fifty-One
  54. Fifty-Two
  55. Fifty-Three
  56. Fifty-Four
  57. Fifty-Five
  58. Fifty-Six
  59. Fifty-Seven
  60. Fifty-Eight
  61. Fifty-Nine
  62. Sixty
  63. Sixty-One
  64. Sixty-Two
  65. Sixty-Three
  66. Sixty-Four
  67. Sixty-Five
  68. Copyright

“Let me give you the name of the real-estate agent who manages it for me.”

“I’m driving. But can you tell me where the house is, roughly?” She told me, and to be sure I had it right, I repeated the house number. “And you said North Shore Boulevard in East Sandwich?”

“That’s right.”

“Can you send me all the other details in an email?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Does anyone else know that we’re going there?”

“Just the real-estate person,” she replied.

“Let’s keep it that way,” I said, glancing occasionally in my rear-view mirror. I kept wondering if I’d see that black van again.

“Fine,” she said matter-of-factly.

“How are things there?” I asked.

“What a joy to spend time with family,” she said. “Keep us posted of any developments, please, Mr. Weaver.”

“Sure.”

She ended the call.

“What’s going on?” Jeremy said.

“I don’t suppose you packed a bathing suit,” I said. “I know I didn’t. Although, this time of year, water’s probably still too cold to swim in.”

“Huh?”

“We’re going to Cape Cod.”

“Oh,” he said.

I turned in to the second restaurant, switched off the engine, and pulled up on the emergency brake, as was my habit.

A thought suddenly occurred to me. I whipped my head to the side, looked at Jeremy and snapped, “What was that you said before?”

I’d startled him. He recoiled. “What?” He was wide-eyed. “All I said was ‘Oh.’”

“No, not then. Before. When we were leaving the hospital.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“As we were leaving the hospital, you said something. Around the time I had to make a call on my cell. I sent you to the car.”

He shrugged. “I don’t remember.”

It didn’t matter. I didn’t need him to remember. I knew what it was.

“Don’t worry about it.” I studied him for another moment, then said, “Let’s get something to eat.”

Thirty-Three

THIRTY-THREE

DOLORES Guntner’s 27 Eastern Avenue address might have sounded like a place in a residential section of Promise Falls, but it was outside the town. Eastern, as the name implied, led east out of town, and the numbers started a couple of miles outside the town limits. Out there, the houses, many of them attached to farms, were spaced far apart and back from the road.

This far out of Promise Falls, people had mailboxes erected at the end of their driveways. As Barry Duckworth drove slowly, he was looking for a mailbox name as well as a number.