“It’s ski season. You won’t find anything this time of year,” Chief Brody said. “Hold on a minute. Now that I think about it, I did hear something about a room at the Jamaica House though. Two towns over. Some couple had a fight on their wedding day, if you can believe that,” he said, rolling his eyes.
Decker laughed again, the same half-formed throaty chuckle. “Sounds like my second marriage.”
A few minutes later, they were out in the parking lot, slipping back into Lulu’s Ford Fusion. As she buckled her seatbelt, Lulu looked over at Decker and said, “I didn’t realize you could be so folksy. I thought you were all elbows and hip joints, as my grandmother always says.”
“At least I found us a hotel room.”
“What’s with that laugh, though?” she added, her voice breaking like slate. “Like you’ve got something stuck in your craw. For a moment I thought I was going to have to perform the Heimlich on you right there on Chief Brody’s desk.”
“It elicits a primitive caveman response, a phonic association,” said Decker. “Helps to bond men together. Like the sound of a baby crying to mothers.”
“Jesus, you’re serious, aren’t you? You actually believe that.”
“It’s based on a study,” Decker protested.
Lulu started the car. She looked into the mirror and slowly began backing out of the parking lot. “I did like your comeback, though,” she continued, slipping the Ford into drive. “When he recognized you. ‘Yeah, I get that a lot,’” she said, imitating him, her voice dropping an octave. “‘But if you were to actually put us together, side by side.’ Too funny. So, tell me. Is it hard being such a celebrity? I mean, always being recognized wherever you go?” She flicked on the turn signal and checked her side mirror for traffic. “Or can you still make it out to the local Piggly Wiggly like the rest of us common folk?”
“Go ahead and laugh,” Decker said. “Believe me, it isn’t very funny when everyone assumes that they know you just because they’ve seen your picture in the paper a couple of times, or on TV. Or, worse, they think you’re the actor who played you in the movie.”
“I liked the movie. I thought Viggo Mortensen did a great job.”
“Well, at least he’s a Dane. But he looks nothing like me.”
“Too bad.” Lulu laughed.
“Yeah, whatever,” said Decker. “The point is, absolute strangers are convinced they’re your BFF. And if you don’t treat them that way, God help you. They get… snippy.”
“Snippy, huh?”
“Yeah, snippy. I’m sure you know all about false assumptions.”
“Is that a dig about my driving, Special Agent Decker, about my being Asian and all?”
“Actually, I was thinking more about Lisbeth Salander. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. You know. She had a bunch of tattoos and piercings. She had that weird hair. And she was a programmer too. In fact, now that I think about it, wasn’t her lover Chinese?”
Lulu bristled. She swung her head out to make sure Route 30 was clear. “I hate Stieg Larsson,” she said. “His books have made my life miserable.” Lulu turned toward Decker, a saccharine smile on her lips. “Just so we’re clear from the get-go, I’ve never set my father on fire. I don’t have a photographic memory. And, no, I’ve never been raped up the ass. Though, on occasion, I’ve been known to give it away.”
“You see what I mean. TMI,” Decker said, as Lulu stepped on the gas. “TMI.”
CHAPTER 29
“Only one bed, I’m afraid,” said Jerry, the innkeeper. A transplanted New Yorker pursuing an encore career, tall and thin with a well-trimmed goatee, Jerry leaned against the counter and eyed Lulu up and down, appraising her piercings and EMO dyed hair. “That’s why we call it the honeymoon suite.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Decker said. “Cash okay?” He pulled out a large wad of bills.
“Sure. Cash is king. It’s normally three hundred a night but I can let you have it for two, as you’re friends of Chief Brody. I feel bad for that couple who booked it but I’d rather not see it go empty. You’re lucky you called when you did. Snow’s meant to be powdery through New Year’s, they say.”
They signed the register and Decker peeled off four hundred dollars. Just in case. He leaned down to help Lulu with her luggage and almost wrenched his arm out of its socket. Lulu had brought along a bright pink travel roller bag and a bright blue vintage ‘60s TWA airline tote, which is what Decker had picked up without thinking. “What the hell is in here, cannonballs?” he asked her.
“Odds and ends. If it’s too heavy for you, I can take it,” she added, already halfway up the stairs.
The honeymoon suite was a large corner room overlooking Route 30, the main drag through Jamaica. Appointed in a floral print wallpaper, all bright blues and pinks, even the bed was a heavily-brocaded four-poster Victorian affair. Vintage photographs of Jamaica and colorful maps of the county covered the walls. An over-gilded chandelier dangled unctuously from the ceiling. Winsome on the highway to cloying, thought Decker.
The innkeeper hadn’t been kidding. There was only one bed.
Decker dropped the TWA tote bag on the floor with a bang and Lulu grimaced at him. “I’ll take the sofa,” he said, looking over at the banquette by the window.
“That’s a love seat, not a sofa. And it’s way too small even for me. Don’t be silly. Why be uncomfortable? The bed’s big enough. Or don’t you think you’ll be able to keep your hands off of me during the night?”
“I’m sure I can manage,” Decker answered, trying to sound as casual as possible.
They unpacked and headed back down to the lobby. The innkeeper was hovering behind the front desk, fussing with paperwork. Decker engaged him in conversation about the area’s legendary ski runs, the best luncheon establishments, the uptick in tourism due to the snow they were getting that season and, finally, in a roundabout way, to Matt Zimmerman.
The innkeeper didn’t seem to know very much about the famous Net entrepreneur. Zimmerman had kept pretty much to himself at his house, he informed them, still staring at Lulu, and only visited Vermont a few weeks every year — for a month during summer, and two weeks around Christmas to ski. “Loved my crab cakes,” Jerry added with pride. “In fact, I’m serving them for dinner tonight.”
They thanked him and took a stroll through the village, ending up at a diner where they wolfed down some breakfast. Decker wanted to head out to the scene of Zimmerman’s accident as soon as possible. But, when they finally arrived, as Lulu had feared, there was little to see. The skid marks they’d been hoping to examine in greater detail, the ones they had glimpsed in Chief Brody’s video, had been washed away by the elements long ago. Now, all they had left was Lulu’s recording.
Decker stood on the side of the road, looking down at the beaver pond from the bridge. He imagined Zimmerman upside down in his car, pinned by his seatbelt, the water rushing in all around him. And then the water turned into flames and he saw his own parents burning, trapped once again in their Chevy Biscayne, strapped in by their seatbelts as the fire consumed them. He saw his father turn and reach for the lock in the door. But he couldn’t quite pull up the knob. The door was on fire and the little metal piece slipped through his fingers. And, try as he might, Decker couldn’t open the door from the outside, couldn’t pull them both free from the wreckage and flames, though he tugged at the handle, though he yanked as hard as he could as they blackened and burned.