She laughed now, at the memory, then started to cry. She was starting to break down, so he asked her a question quickly, wanting to get her to focus again. “Where else did he fly, Terry, while he was flying these special people? Over the past year and a half.”
“Florida.” Suddenly she jumped up, ran over to the kitchen counter, brought back a bottle. “This was from his last trip there, that’s how I know where he was.”
Justin looked at the bottle. The label said it was Havana Club rum, aged fourteen years.
“This is Cuban, Terry. Not from Florida.”
“I know. Hutch said they sold it in Florida ’cause there are so many Cubans there. Refugees.”
“Where else did Hutch fly?”
“Texas. A lot of times to Texas. I don’t think I can keep talking,” she said. “I think I’m going to start to cry again.”
“You’re entitled to cry,” he told her. “Can I just finish my coffee? I won’t talk about Hutch anymore.”
She nodded. He took another sip. It was cold but he pretended not to notice.
“I heard that you’re selling the house.”
“Yes.”
“How come?”
“Because they told me to.”
Justin put his coffee cup down. “What? Who told you to?”
“The people who bought it for us.”
“Who was that?”
“The people Hutch was working for. That was one of the reasons why he did it. They said they’d buy him a house. This house. And they did. Now they told me to sell it. They said I could keep all the money. But they said to sell it and move away.”
“How did they tell you this?”
“On the phone.”
“When?”
“The day Hutch died. They called to say that his plane had crashed, that he was dead. They said I should sell the house, that I could keep all the money, they’d take care of it, not to worry about the mortgage. They said I should just take the money and use it to go somewhere else.”
“Who called you?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
Justin closed his eyes for just a moment. When he opened them, he said, “Terry. If you tell me who called you, then maybe I can find out who killed your husband.”
“And maybe, if I tell you what you want to know, they’ll also kill me and my little girls. I think you better leave. I shouldn’t have talked to you at all.”
Justin tried to think of something else to say, to prolong his stay, but no words came. He stood up, stretched his stiff back, and let Terry Cooke escort him to the door.
“I don’t want any trouble,” she said. “I just want to get out of here, forget everything that’s happened.”
“Where are you going? I mean, when you sell the house.”
“My parents live in New Mexico. I thought we’d go out there. It’ll be good for the girls. Maybe I’ll be able to eat and sleep out there.”
“I bet you will.” He reached for the doorknob. “Can I just ask you one thing? Did Hutch own his own plane?”
“No. He never needed one, really.”
“Whose plane was he flying?”
She didn’t answer.
“Terry, why was he in East End Harbor? Why that airport? Why that town?”
“You think it’s because of the bombing, don’t you? The Harper’s bombing.”
“Yes. That is what I think.”
“My husband was a pilot. All he did was pick people up and drop them off. He wasn’t political. He didn’t even like the Air Force all that much, they just let him fly. He was just a good guy who liked to fly.”
“Why East End Harbor, Terry?”
“Did you see him?”
“What?”
“Hutch. My husband. Did you see him. . after the crash?”
“Yes.”
“Was it. . was it bad?”
“I think it’s always bad when someone dies who doesn’t have to.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. With them still closed she said, “He was going to stop, you know.”
“Hutch? Stop what?”
“He was going to stop working for these people. He didn’t like what they were doing.”
“He told you that?”
She nodded. “He just flew them. And it was exciting at first. Glamorous and fun. And he made a lot of money. But he said he thought he was working for the good guys. Only it turned out they were the bad guys. That’s what he told me. So he was going to stop.” She sniffled, holding back another barrage of tears. “Well. . he did stop working for them, didn’t he? He just stopped a little too late.”
“Why East End, Terry?”
“I don’t know. I guess even bad guys have to live somewhere, don’t they?” When he nodded tentatively, she took his hand. Not shaking it, just holding it for support. Or simply to have some human contact. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Things are just so muddy. That’s what Hutch would have told you. Things are muddy. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” Justin said, then he gently released his hand, thanked her for talking to him, stepped outside. She closed the door behind him and he heard the click of the lock turning inside. He walked to his car that he’d parked in the thin gravel driveway. Muddy, he thought. A strange phrase but an accurate one. Things were definitely muddy. Thick, slimy, filthy, and muddy.
He got behind the wheel, started the ignition, glanced in his rearview mirror. . and there were those eyes again. The big brown round saucer eyes that he’d seen peering out at him from behind the Cookes’ front door.
“You know, it’s dangerous to get into strangers’ cars,” he told the little girl.
“You’re not a stranger,” she said. “You know my mom.”
“Hannah, right?”
“My sister’s Reysa.”
“I have to go now, Hannah, so you’d better go inside. I don’t want your mom to worry.”
“My mom’s not worried. She’s afraid.”
“I know she is. But you don’t want her to worry, too, do you?”
“No.” But the little girl didn’t make any move to leave. “Can you help her stop being afraid?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to try. But I don’t know.”
“Sometimes she’s too afraid to take us to McDonald’s. Yesterday, Reysa cried because she wanted a Big Mac but Mommy wouldn’t take us.”
“Sometimes,” Justin told her, “when people are afraid it makes them not act like themselves. But you know what? It always changes. People change back to the way they were. And they act just like they used to. You and your sister have to try to be really nice to your mom while she’s nervous and afraid. That’s what she needs. And pretty soon she’ll be just like she used to be.”
“And she’ll take us to McDonald’s?”
“I promise.”
Nine-year-old Hannah Cooke thought about this for a moment, then she decided to continue the conversation from the front seat. She pulled herself up over the top of the passenger seat and plopped alongside Justin. As she landed, something fell out of her hand. Something small and shiny.
“What’s that?” Justin asked.
The girl reached down, picked it up with her right hand, then opened the palm of her left to show him what she had.
“Jacks,” he said quietly. “Are you a good jacks player?”
“Uh-huh,” she told him. “I play all the time. Are you good?”
“I haven’t played in a long time.”
“I know. That’s what happens to grown-ups. They stop playing.”
“Can I ask you something, honey?” She nodded, so he said, “Do you know what your mom’s so afraid of?”
“The men.”
“What men?”
“The men Daddy brought to the house.”
“Do you know who they were?”
Hannah shook her head. “One was scary. I didn’t like him.”
“Do you remember anything about him?”
“Uh-huh. He was a general.”
“A general? Like in the army?”
“I think he wasn’t a real general. Just an assistant general.”
“An assistant general? Like a colonel?”
“No. He wasn’t a colonel. He was an assistant general. And he was mean to my daddy.”
“How about the other man? Was he mean, too?”