“Mr. Talbot’s shoes?” Clair asked.
“Yeah. Last Thursday we were hanging out watching a movie, and Mr. Talbot came by for about twenty minutes. His clothes were covered in dirt. He didn’t say why. He said he needed to take a quick shower and change, then he was off. He left his dirty clothes in the guest room for the maid. About twenty minutes after he left, I got a call from Uncle Jake. He told me I needed to bring him Mr. Talbot’s shoes. Didn’t say why, only that the man had told him to get them. I have no idea how he even knew Mr. Talbot had come by, let alone left some clothes behind. Kinda weirded me out. I thought he had cameras in the place. When Em got up to use the bathroom, I slipped the shoes into my backpack. I brought them over to Uncle Jake’s the next day. He didn’t say what the man wanted with them, only that he’d transferred enough money to cover my tuition and then some. For a pair of shoes! I couldn’t believe it. We expected the money to get pulled back out, but it wasn’t. The next day, Uncle Jake received a calculus book from the man. He told me I had to leave it at Em’s apartment. That seemed weird, but I figured, why not? If some strange guy wants to pay hundreds of thousands of dollars for a pair of shoes and for me to—”
“How much?” Mathers blurted out.
Tyler turned to his father. “Uncle Jake said he initially gave him fifty thousand when he agreed to help, then another two hundred and fifty when we got the shoes with more—”
Mathers turned to the detectives. “I don’t think we should say anything else until my lawyer gets here.”
Clair rolled her eyes. “Tyler, where is Emory?”
“I don’t know.”
“Detective, didn’t you hear me?” Mathers said.
“What did this man look like?”
Tyler shrugged. “I never saw him. I don’t think Uncle Jake ever did, either. He only talked to him over the phone.”
“We have rights, Detective!”
“Give us a minute.” Grabbing Nash by the shoulder, Clair pulled him out of the cramped office into the hallway. “Are you buying this?”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore. Nothing about this case makes sense.”
Clair’s phone vibrated. She glanced down at the screen and read the text message:
CALL ME!—KLOZ
62
Diary
We left Mrs. Carter in the basement.
She had said they would come back, and they did. Less than an hour later, we heard the rumble of the Duster coming down the road. Mr. Stranger pumped the gas three or four times before letting the engine fall idle; he wanted us to know they were out there.
The three of us gathered at the window and watched the green car for nearly five minutes before Father let out a gruff breath and pushed out the kitchen door, heading for the road.
I stood in the open doorway with Mother behind me as Father plodded across our grass, heading straight for the Plymouth parked in the street between our driveway and the Carters’. He was about ten feet from the car when Mr. Stranger dropped into gear and sped away, kicking up dirt and gravel in his wake.
Father stood and stared at the space where the car had been for a long while before returning to the house. He closed the door at his back and twisted the deadbolt. We rarely closed the wood door during the summer months. Without air conditioning, our little house grew stifling hot, and the circulation of open doors and windows was one of the few ways we battled the heat.
He saw Mother and me watching him. “This is going to end badly.”
“They don’t know she’s here,” Mother replied.
“They know,” he said. “I don’t know how they know, but they know.”
“Then why don’t we just give her to them? Let them do what they want?”
Father thought about this for a moment, then shook his head. “I think she knows exactly where her husband’s work papers are hidden.”
Mother crossed the room to the coffeepot and clicked the power switch. From inside the cupboard she retrieved a brown bag from PT’s Roasting Company, added two scoops to the filter, and pressed the Brew button. A minute later the scent of finely roasted happiness filled the room, and although Father said I was far too young to drink coffee (Father said caffeine would stunt my growth and increase my chances of insomnia as an adult), I appreciated the smell. I found it to be soothing, creating a calm that settled over the room. Mother retrieved two mugs, filled them, and carried them to the kitchen table, where she and Father took a seat.
“Perhaps we should march her out to the lake and drown her, make it look like an accident,” Mother suggested.
“That might open a larger can of worms. Mr. Carter is feeding the fish at the bottom of that lake. I don’t think we should risk drawing anyone’s attention to that particular body of water,” Father replied.
“Her own bathtub, then?”
Father took a drink of his coffee and set the mug back down, twisting it in his hands. “Those men already searched their house and know she’s not home. Since it appears the Carters left in a hurry, I doubt the missus would come back to take a bath.”
An idea popped into my head. From where, I am not sure, but it was a worthwhile idea, so I presented it. “You could strangle her and put her body in the trunk of their car. If you stage things right, it will seem like Mr. Carter killed her and ran off somewhere.”
Both Mother and Father turned to me with blank stares. I was in trouble. I shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe I should go to my room and—
“An excellent idea, champ!” Father said. “We left the car at the train station; that may be the perfect setup for a husband on the run.”
Mother was nodding in agreement. “We should find out where they hid the work papers first, though.”
Father’s eyes were fixed on his coffee. “Insurance?”
Mother nodded. “Insurance. If these men don’t believe this little ruse, it wouldn’t hurt to have a little something of value for bargaining purposes. What if he stole the money too? The funds could come in handy.”
“We’re not thieves,” Father said.
“If we have to relocate, we’re going to need that money. Who knows how the rest of this debacle will play out. It’s their fault we’re involved. They owe us.”
Considering Mother had killed Mr. Carter and we now had Mrs. Carter chained up in our basement, I failed to see how this was “their fault,” but Father must have agreed to some extent, because he offered no further objections.
Mother finished her coffee, stood, and set her empty mug in the sink. “Should we do it tonight or tomorrow?”
“Better to go during the daytime. The train station gets a little too quiet at night, and I think we’re more likely to be seen,” Father said.
Mother asked, “How do you plan to get her to tell us where to find the work papers?”
Father finished his own coffee and placed his mug next to Mother’s. “There’s the rub. She’s a tough cookie. Perhaps you’d like to give it a go?”
The broadest of smiles crossed Mother’s face. “Oh, I would indeed!”
63
Clair
Day 2 ? 3:56 p.m.