“When should I have told you? You were an eighteen-year-old kid. Should I have told you when you were nineteen? When you graduated from the academy? When you got promoted to county? When should I have told you something as irrelevant as ‘your old girlfriend didn’t want to go home so she stayed with Ellie’?”
Is he for real? “Maura was scared and hiding,” I say, trying not to shout, “from something that happened on the night Leo and Diana were killed.”
He shakes his head. “You need to leave this alone. For everyone’s sake.”
“Yeah, I keep hearing that.”
“I love you, Nap. I mean that. I love you . . . no, I won’t say like a son. That would be too presumptuous. It would also be an insult to what you had with your dad, a wonderful guy I miss very much, and it would be an insult to my little girl. But I do love you. I tried hard to be a good mentor to you, a good friend.”
“You have been that and more.”
Augie leans back. His drink is empty. He puts it on the side table. “Neither of us has many people left we care about. I couldn’t stand it if something happened . . . You’re young, Nap. You’re smart. You’re kind and you’re generous and, shit, I’m starting to sound like one of those online dating profiles.”
He smiles now. I smile back.
“You need to move on. Whatever the answer, you’re messing with some very dangerous people. They’ll hurt you. They’ll hurt me. You heard Reeves. He’ll hurt anybody you care about. Let’s say you’re right and I’m wrong. Let’s say they saw something and, I don’t know, they killed Diana and Leo. Why? To silence them, I guess. And now let’s say they waited fifteen years—why did they wait? Again, I don’t know—but then they hired a hit man to put two bullets in the back of Rex’s head. And they slaughter Hank and conveniently pin it on a viral video. Does all that really sound more logical than my theory about them getting high? I don’t know, maybe. But let’s say that Reeves and his henchmen are all that horrible and dangerous and they’ve killed that many people. Let’s say your theory is true, okay?”
I nod.
“Forget you and me, Nap—you don’t think they’ll go after Ellie to stop us? Or her two girls?”
I picture Leah and Kelsi. I see their smiling faces, hear them, feel their arms wrap around me.
That slows me down. I was heading down this hill at a carefree breakneck pace, but Augie’s words force me to pull back on the reins a little. I try to remember what I told myself earlier. Don’t act in haste. Think and consider.
“It’s late,” Augie says. “Nothing more is going to happen tonight. Go to sleep. Let’s talk in the morning.”
Chapter Twenty-four
I head home, but there is no way I’m going to sleep.
I think about what Augie said, about the possibility of danger to Ellie and the girls, and I’m not sure what to do about that. It is easy to say that I can’t be intimidated, but one has to be pragmatic too. What are the odds I’ll actually solve the case?
Long shot.
What are the odds not only that I’ll learn the truth about Leo and Diana but that I’ll also find enough evidence to bring someone up on charges, never mind get a conviction?
Longer shot.
And to the contrary, what are the odds that I or someone close to me suffers terrible consequences because of my blind determination to complete this mission?
The question is practically rhetorical.
Is it worth poking the bear?
I don’t know for sure. The wise thing may indeed be to let it go. You’re dead, Leo. Whatever I do now, no matter what horror I unearth, that will not change. You will still be dead and gone. Intellectually I know this. And yet.
I open the Internet browser on my laptop. I put in Andy Reeves’s name, the state of “NJ,” and then I add the word “piano.” I get a hit: Welcome to the Fan Page for PianoManAndy.
Fan page. I click on the link. Yes, Andy Reeves, like almost every performer, has his own website. The home page features a portrait of him in soft focus wearing what looks like a sequined blazer.
World-renowned pianist Andy Reeves is a gifted vocalist, a comedian, and the all-around entertainer nicknamed by those who love him “the Other PianoMan” . . .
Oh boy.
I skim down. Andy “occasionally” does “high-end” private parties such as “weddings, corporate events, birthdays, and bar/bat mitzvahs.” A burst in the middle of the page reads: Want to join the Other PianoMan fan club? Stay in touch via our newsletter!
Below that there is a place to type in my email. I demur.
Down the left side of the page, the buttons read “Home,” “Bio,” “Photos,” “Song Lists,” “Schedule” . . .
I click “Schedule.” I scan down until I find today. His gig at the Rusty Nail is listed until 6:00 P.M. Beneath that, it shows he’ll be playing at a club called Hunk-A-Hunk-A from 10:00 P.M. until midnight.
My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Ellie.
You awake?
My thumbs start going: It’s only ten. Yes.
Want to go for a quick walk?
Sure. Want me to swing by?
The little dots are moving. Then Ellie’s message appears: I’m already walking. Meet me at the BF lot.
I pull into the empty middle school lot five minutes later. Ellie and Bob don’t live far from here. Like most school lots, this one is lit up pretty well, but I don’t see her. I park and get out of the car.
“Over here.”
There is a classic school playground out on the left. Swings, slides, climbing walls, nets, ladders, monkey bars, all floored by soft mulch. Ellie sits on a swing. She is pushing herself with her feet, but only a little, so the effect is more like a comforting rocking than anything in the swing family.
The cedar smell from the mulch gets stronger as I walk toward her. “You okay?” I ask.
Ellie nods. “I just didn’t want to go home yet.”
I’m not sure what to say to this, so I settle for a nod.
“I loved playgrounds when I was a kid,” Ellie says. “Do you remember the game four square?”
“No,” I say.
“Never mind. I’m being silly. I come here a lot, though.”
“To this playground?”
She nods. “At night. I’m not sure why.”
I take the swing next to her. “I didn’t know.”
“Yeah, we are learning a lot about each other,” Ellie says.
I think about that. “Not really.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know everything about me, Ellie. Just because I never told you about beating Trey, well, you knew it was me.”
She nods. “I did.”
“And the other times. With Roscoe and Brandon and I forget Alicia’s boyfriend’s name.”
“Colin.”
“Right.”
“So you know everything about me. Everything.”
“The implication being that you don’t know everything about me?”
I don’t reply.
“Fair enough,” Ellie says. “I don’t tell you everything.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“You know better.”
“So?”
“So I’m allowed my secrets. I shouldn’t have told you about Bob because now you’ll hate him and think about hurting him.”
“A little,” I confess.
She smiles. “Don’t. You don’t get it. He’s the same man you admired this morning.”
I don’t agree, but I don’t see any point in voicing that.
Ellie stares up at the night sky. There are a handful of stars out, but it feels like there should be more. “I heard from Maura’s mom. The guy in the picture you sent? It’s the same man who interrogated her. The pale guy with the whispery voice.”
I’m not surprised. “I saw him earlier today.”
“Who is he?”
“His name is Andy Reeves.” I gesture with my chin toward the Path. “He ran the military base when Leo and Diana were killed.”
“You talked to him?”
I nod.
“Did he say anything?”
“He threatened to kill everyone I love.”
I just look at her.
“Another person who suggests you let it go,” Ellie says.
“Suggests?”
She shrugs.
“But, yes. Joining you and Augie.”
“Augie. There’s someone else you love.”
I nod.
“Are you considering it?”
“What? Dropping the case?”
“Yes.”
“I am.”
Ellie looks back toward the Path. Her eyes narrow.
“What?” I ask.
“I may reconsider.”
“Meaning?”
“I don’t think you can drop this now.”
“I can if it puts you or the girls at risk.”
“No, it’s just the opposite.”