“Look how handsome,” his mother said, her face lit with pride.
“You okay, Mom? You good?” He made a point of glancing at Mr. Sheridan so she’d understand.
“The smoke started coming inside. Just pouring in! I opened the flue.”
“Well, that shouldn’t happen,” Malcolm said. “Maybe the ice—”
Behind her back, Mr. Sheridan shook his head almost imperceptibly, gave Malcolm a look that asked whether he was really buying it, and the rest of Malcolm’s thought fell away.
“I’ll check it when I can, Gail,” Mr. Sheridan said.
“Or I will,” Malcolm said.
“Everything’s gonna stink of smoke,” she said.
“It’ll air out, Mom. It’s good you’re here.”
“You heard there’s another one coming?” Mr. Sheridan asked him. He seemed younger than his years. Boyish, with that head of hair. What did he want with his mother?
“Yeah. I’m worried about the bar. I’ve got a generator running, but—” He shrugged. “No word on the power coming back?”
“I keep calling. The recording has been predicting eight to ten hours for the last three days.”
“Great.”
“Well, listen, you go on, do what you have to do. It’s getting dark. We’re like pioneers now, have to do everything before nightfall. She’s okay here. Honestly. Aren’t you, Gail?”
“Are you sure?” he asked, directing the question to his mother, trying to get her to meet his eyes so he could really see. Where would she sleep? If Jess were there, she’d find a way to ask.
“I’m fine! Look!” She showed him the paper tag of her tea bag hanging over the edge of her mug. “He has Lady Grey.”
* * *
Malcolm woke early the next morning, and went straight to the Half Moon. When he pulled up, Rob Waggoner was standing outside, holding a paper bag. This again, Malcolm thought.
“Figured you’d be camping here,” Rob said. “Brought you an egg sandwich. I was just about to take off.”
“Thank you, no, my bed is more comfortable than a barstool. I appreciate this,” he said, taking the bag. “What’s going on?”
“I heard you had a guest and didn’t even know. I just want to get in there and take a few photos. Becker and Navarro will be here in a minute.”
“Yeah, sure. Any news?” Malcolm asked, popping the street door open like he’d demonstrated to the other cops the day before.
“Ah.” Rob Waggoner pulled off his knit hat and rubbed his hair. He was dressed in plainclothes and looked far younger than he had the first time they met. Malcolm had no idea if he had kids of his own, if he hated his father or what. “Yes, actually.”
“Oh, yeah?” Malcolm said. He began leading Rob up the stairs. “Are you allowed to say?” If he wasn’t, Malcolm knew he could probably get it out of Jackie.
“They told you he was booked on a flight to Toronto? Well, it looks as if he also booked a flight to Panama City, departing from Toronto a few hours later.”
“I don’t get it,” Malcolm said.
“He wanted us to think he was in Canada, but was really aiming for Panama City.”
“And was he on both flights?”
“We have confirmation he was on the first flight, but we’re still waiting on the passenger list for Panama City. We’re looping in the police up in Toronto.”
“Hey, no offense, but shouldn’t there be real detectives involved maybe? The FBI?”
Another police car pulled up.
“Oh they’re definitely involved. It looks like he was in pretty big trouble. There was an SEC investigation into his company, and apparently they presented their findings to the commission this past week. His partner will be arrested any minute, and I’m sure they’ll issue a warrant for my dad.”
“Wow,” Malcolm said. “Jeez. Tripp.”
“But until there’s a warrant, he’s just a missing person, and it’s still with our local department. He’s just a guy who flew to Canada in bad weather without telling his wife. Changing his beneficiary is not illegal. Booking flights isn’t illegal.”
Malcolm thought people told him things when he was behind the bar because they considered the relationship sacred, separate from their real lives, protected. And because they were drinking. But maybe it was just something about him that made people want to talk.
Jackie and Officer Navarro jogged up the stairs to join them.
“Hello again,” Jackie said.
Malcolm stood aside in the doorway as the other officers joined them, so Rob could see his father’s pile of things. But Rob just looked at him blankly. And then Malcolm noticed the stuff was gone.
He looked in the bathroom. No toothbrush. No deodorant. He walked the room from end to end as if there were any places a duffel bag might have gone to hide.
“Where’d the stuff go?” Navarro asked.
“I don’t know,” Malcolm said, feeling accused. “I didn’t touch it.”
He went to the other stairs and jogged down, opened the door first to the hall, and then to the men’s room. He removed the hidden key from its spot and looked in the storage cabinet. The undershirts were gone, too.
“I don’t understand,” Malcolm said, returning upstairs just as Navarro’s phone rang. He turned his back to take the call.
“You were right,” Navarro said when he hung up. “He hasn’t been to his office since December.”
They all looked around the room.
“Who cleared out his stuff?” Jackie asked.
“Mark Duro?” Navarro suggested, and Malcolm noticed all three officers were looking at him funny. The air pressure in the room shifted just a fraction but Malcolm felt it.
“Who else knows about this space up here?” Navarro asked.
“Ahhhh, the former owner, every person who ever worked for him, everyone who works for me, anyone who passes by and notices, oh, that building is two stories.”
Navarro nodded. Rob was looking back and forth between them.
“How’s the bar doing?” Navarro asked. “I heard you’re having a hard time.” He withdrew a pad and pen from his jacket to make a note.
“Bullshit. Where’d you hear that?” Malcolm said. Ridiculous. “You think I helped this guy? Like I don’t have enough problems?” The place certainly didn’t look as if he poured much money into it, but it looked exactly the same in Hugh’s day, and no one doubted Hugh was minting money. Navarro couldn’t pull his financials without a warrant, and why would he have done that before that very moment. He wondered if they could have checked with the liquor authority.
“I don’t think so,” Jackie said slowly, looking carefully at Malcolm but directing the comment to Navarro. “I really don’t.”
“Me neither,” Rob said.
“You guys,” Malcolm said. “I’m not sure you’re understanding how hammered he was on Friday night. There’s no way he pulled this off, whatever it is.”
“He might have been pretending.”
“I seriously doubt it.”
“Well, he was on that flight.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Malcolm said, suddenly annoyed to be even talking about this. Tripp was almost a stranger to him, and he had plenty of his own worries. What if he didn’t have things shipshape for the party coming in Thursday night? What if power stayed out for another week? What if Billy was serious about getting Hugh his money by the weekend? Impossible.
“If anything occurs to you, call us.”
“Of course,” Malcolm said. When they got back to the sidewalk, he spotted Jess’s mother’s car pulling up across the street. Jess must have borrowed it, but how did she get over to her mother’s in the first place? Suddenly he could picture the scene, Bratton driving her there and meeting Maureen Ryan, who sprayed her hair into a perfect shell for the occasion. Bratton was exactly the type of guy she wanted for her daughter all along.
“What was that about?” Jess asked as the officers got into their cars. They all got on their phones immediately, which Malcolm didn’t like one bit.
“Nothing,” Malcolm said.
“Nothing?”
“Give me a break, Jess. It’s a long story.”
“Sure, okay.”
“Why don’t you just tell me what your idea is.”
She glanced at the cars, still idling. “I should probably wait until they leave.”
* * *