“It’s okay,” she said. “Did you eat? There’s something in the fridge. Some ham, and some potato salad.”
“That’d be nice, actually,” he said. “I could use a drink first.”
He went to the cupboard, brought down a bottle of scotch and a glass. Then he turned on the small television that was mounted below a cupboard, turned it to the news channel.
There was Duckworth, saying something about squirrels.
Squirrels? So maybe Duckworth was finally taking seriously those dead rodents he’d alerted him to. Finley turned up the volume.
“—you count them, you’ll notice there are twenty-three animals here. Now, let me put this second photo up... Okay, this is the Ferris wheel at Five Mountains. That ride—”
The detective was talking about several incidents linked by the number twenty-three.
“Well,” said Finley. “You hear about this, Lindsay?”
“Hear about what?”
“This guy doing all these things around town, he’s got this sort of signature? A number?”
“I don’t know anything about that,” she said. “You know me. I never put on the TV news. I don’t listen to the radio. All the news is depressing. I don’t need that. I just listen to my music.” She pointed to the iPod and earbuds on the kitchen table. Finley had asked her not to wear them when she was in the house, looking after Jane, but Lindsay swore she kept the volume low.
As if anticipating his next question, Lindsay said, “She had a good day. She slept a lot, but she had a good day.”
She took the ham and potato salad from the fridge. One entire shelf was lined with bottles of Finley Springs Water.
“She drank a whole pitcher of lemonade!” Lindsay said as she made up a plate for Finley. “She just loves the frozen concentrate. Sometimes, before I mix in the water, she likes to have a little of the frozen stuff on a spoon.” Lindsay chuckled. “She’s such a character. She makes me laugh. All that lemonade, I had to help her to the bathroom a few times.”
Finley downed his scotch, his eyes still on the Duckworth news conference. When it ended, he turned off the TV. “What was that?”
“The lemonade. She loves it.”
“She needs the fluids,” Finley said. “I’ll bring home some more cases of water.”
“I just use tap water when I mix up the lemonade. I let it run until it gets cold.”
Finely shook his head. “Use my water. It’s so much better.”
“It just takes longer. I have to uncap so many bottles and—”
“I’ll bring home one of those big jugs, make it easier.”
“Sure, okay,” Lindsay said.
“I don’t know what we would do without you.”
Lindsay put the plate on the kitchen table. “There you go,” she said.
“I’m going to go up and see Jane first,” the former mayor said. “You go home. I’ll take it from here.”
“Okay.”
“Got a busy day tomorrow, though.”
“I’ll be here by seven,” Lindsay said.
“You’re worth a million dollars.”
Lindsay smiled. “You can give me a raise if you want.”
Finley walked over and gave the woman a kiss on the forehead. “Has she had her pills?” he asked her.
“She’s good to go. All you have to do is tuck her in for the night and she should be good till the morning. Unless she has to go to the bathroom or something, you’ll—”
“I can help her with that,” Finley said. “Go, go on, get out of here. You’ve done enough.”
Lindsay gave the man a hug, grabbed a jacket and purse that were hanging off the back of a kitchen chair, and headed for the door. “See you tomorrow,” she said.
“Bye, love,” he said. He poured himself a second scotch and knocked it back.
He went upstairs.
Were there more stairs today than yesterday? he wondered. Climbing up the flight seemed to take more energy every day. But he needed his strength. He hadn’t even declared officially yet. There was so much hard work ahead.
Interesting development on the news. He could use that.
Finley passed by the guest bedroom, stepped in, took off his watch, and rested it on the bedside table. Removed his tie and threw it on the bed. He sat on the end and took off his shoes, scrunched his toes into the carpet.
“That feels better,” he said to himself.
He stood, went a few more feet down the hall. The door to Jane Finley’s room was open an inch, and he slowly pushed it open.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said softly.
His wife was in bed, on her back, the covers pulled up to her neck. Her skin was pale, her hair sparse. A soft bedside lamp cast light on a pair of reading glasses, a hardcover Ken Follett novel, and several jars of pills.
Jane’s eyes fluttered open.
“You’re home,” she said. “Does Lindsay know?”
“I just sent her home.”
“Have you eaten?”
“She made something up for me. I’ll have it in a sec. Lindsay said you had a good day.”
“I guess,” Jane said, her eyelids heavy. “What did you do today?”
“This and that,” he said. “I’m thinking I’ll declare tomorrow.”
Jane took a long, deep breath. “You don’t have to do this.”
Finley sat on the edge of the bed, reached through the covers until he found his wife’s hand, and gave it a squeeze. “I can be the man you always wanted me to be.”
“You don’t have to prove anything.”
“I shamed you. I—”
“Stop,” she said, her head moving from side to side on the pillow.
“But I did. I want people to see I’m not that man anymore. That I’m a better man. Someone worthy of you.”
He put a hand to her forehead. “You feel warm. Would you like a cool cloth?”
“I don’t want to trouble you,” Jane said. “Go eat.”
He got up, went into the bathroom, and ran the water from the tap until it was cold. He held a washcloth under the stream, turned off the water, wrung as much water as he could from the cloth, and returned to his wife’s side.
“Here,” he said, and rested the cloth on her forehead.
“That feels good,” she said. “That feels really nice.”
Finley picked up the Follett book. “How is this?”
“It’s good,” she said. “But it’s so long, and heavy. It’s hard to hold up.”
Finley opened it to where she’d left her bookmark. “Would you like me to read some of it to you?”
“What about your dinner?” Jane asked.
“It’s not hot. Just ham and potato salad.”
“Okay, then.”
He only got through half a page before Jane was asleep. He placed the book back on the bedside table, took the cloth from her forehead, turned off the light, and slipped quietly from the room.
Thirty-five
When Duckworth saw the Finley Springs Water truck parked in his driveway, he figured it meant one of two things. The former mayor had dropped by to visit, or his son, Trevor, was here.
Duckworth wasn’t sure whose visit he dreaded more.
Without question, Randall was not welcome. Duckworth had had to chase him off the parking lot of the drive-in the night before when the opportunistic gasbag had tried to get his picture taken helping people out. The detective almost wished the man had refused to leave. He’d have loved to slap the cuffs on him and throw him into the back of his car.
So that made Trevor a more welcome visitor. But it had been almost two weeks since Duckworth had seen his son, and that visit had not gone well. Trevor had spent the night at his parents’ house, showing up in a Finley truck just like the one that was in the driveway now. When Duckworth found out Randy had given his son a job, his radar kicked in.