“Hey, look on the bright side,” Kevin said with a smile.
“There’s a bright side?”
“Of course. We’ve been so wrapped up in trying to figure out what the hell went on at your mother’s house that you didn’t even notice we almost got killed six or seven times on the ride back here. That’s something, right?”
The cab driver fixed Kevin with a stare, but his scowl turned to a tight-lipped smile when he received his tip. Apparently in Boston insults were forgivable if the price was right. Kevin slammed the door and the taxi pulled out into the heavy traffic almost immediately, serenaded by a chorus of angry horns.
Cait watched the car pull away, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, lost in her thoughts. Kevin took her gently by the elbow and led her inside.
CHAPTER 24
Milo squinted at the computer keyboard, typing carefully into the search engine, anxious to see the results for his entry: “Granite Circle, Massachusetts.” He had jotted down the address to be sure he didn’t forget it, but it was burned into his mind like it had been put there with a branding iron. He was determined to find the fucking little bitch from his strange vision and teach her a much-needed lesson.
Milo knew there was no logical reason for the burning hatred he felt every time he thought about the pretty young woman roughly his own age. As far as he knew, she had never done a thing to him and, in fact, they had never met. He was certain of that. The only two times he had ever seen her were inside his own head.
But he could not help how he felt, and he was determined to place everything else in his life—including his current project, Rae Ann the Schoolgirl Hooker—on the back burner until he could settle this mysterious score with the beautiful unknown woman.
To that end he sat in a utilitarian plastic chair in the Boston Public Library, perched in front of a gigantic desktop computer that had probably been brand-new sometime around the turn of the century, checking search engine results for “Granite Circle, Massachusetts.” Milo couldn’t afford a computer of his own, and in any event, had no need for one. The World Wide Web was of little interest to a man who spent the majority of his time in the shadows, moving from dark alley to dark alley, living his life outside the realm of so-called “normal” society.
Milo felt uncomfortably exposed in the library. The lighting seemed harsh and unnaturally bright, causing the shadows cast by his body to stretch away at odd angles, their edges knife-blade-sharp on the chocolate brown of the worn carpet. The soft murmur of muted voices should have been soothing and reassuring, but instead seemed fraught with danger, as if at any moment someone would leap from between rows of hardcover volumes and point accusingly, shouting, “That’s him! That’s the man who mutilated and murdered my wife/girlfriend/daughter/top-earning prostitute!”
But this was the only way to accomplish what needed to be done, short of traveling through the state checking telephone books to see if any of the towns in their coverage areas contained a street named Granite Circle, so it was the library or nothing.
He looked around nervously. No one was paying any attention to him. He relaxed slightly and ran the second vision through his mind again, concentrating with particular emphasis on the young woman’s recitation of the address. “7 Granite Circle.” He had replayed it a hundred times in his head, each time willing the stupid bitch to recite the name of the town or city as well, each time infuriated when she did not. She was fucking worthless, and this was just more proof of that fact.
The search results popped onto the monitor’s screen after a length of time so absurdly short it seemed impossible the damned computer could have done its job. In just .22 seconds, less than a quarter of a second, Google claimed to have examined its entire database and returned over six million results. Ridiculous.
Milo made a conscious effort to tamp down his frustration and anger. Focus. That was the watchword for today. Focus, get the answers he was looking for, and then he could get the hell out of Dodge, also known as the Boston Public Library, and escape the smothering sensation of claustrophobia threatening to overwhelm him.
He wiped his face with the back of his hand and examined the search engine results. Six million, two hundred sixty thousand results for “Granite Circle, Massachusetts”? When he started clicking links, though, Milo relaxed, even managing a tiny smile.
The first link provided the answer he was seeking: there were two.
Two towns in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts contained streets named “Granite Circle.” How the search engine managed to bombard him with more than six million other things it claimed might be a match for “Granite Circle, Massachusetts” Milo had no idea, nor did he care.
The town of Sandwich contained a Granite Circle, and so did the city of Everett. Now we’re getting somewhere, Milo thought. This was going to be easy, almost absurdly so. Sandwich was a sleepy little village on Cape Cod, east of Buzzard’s Bay and south of the Mid-Cape Highway, roughly in the vicinity of the bicep on the crooked arm forming the cape’s outline on a map.
Everett was the polar opposite of Sandwich. Located just north of Boston—not far from the neighborhood housing Milo’s current residence, in fact—Everett was a hardscrabble, blue-collar city filled with traffic and people, aging factories and mills, high unemployment and a kind of determined refusal to knuckle under to an economy that had left the city behind years, if not decades, ago. If Sandwich was latte, Everett was black coffee left on the burner too long, with muddy grounds lining the bottom of the cup.
And that was all. Out of 351 cities and towns making up the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, only two contained streets with the name, “Granite Circle.” Milo sat back and replayed the two visions in his mind yet again, hoping to unearth some detail he could use to ascertain which Granite Circle he was interested in. His line of sight during the second vision, the one that took place outside the older woman’s home, had been toward the three people having their strained conversation and away from any neighborhood landmarks or other characteristics he might have been able to use for easy identification.
Still, there had to be something. The house itself had seemed worn and bedraggled, old. It appeared beaten down by decades of neglect, maintenance delayed either by lack of funds or lack of interest, more likely a product of the bleak environs of Everett than the leafy suburbia of Sandwich.
And there was something else. Although Milo had not been able to see anything of interest during the vision, that did not mean he hadn’t been able to hear anything. As he caressed the second vision in his mind like a lover stroking his partner’s skin, Milo began to recall sounds, almost unnoticed by the long-time city dweller; things that told him the meeting had taken place in an area surrounded by people. A lot of people. Thousands upon thousands of people, all packed into a steaming concrete jungle.
The honk of a horn from a frustrated driver, the rumble of a big diesel engine, the constant white noise of city life that was curiously absent in the suburbs. It was all there in the vision, just waiting to be noticed.
And now Milo had noticed it.
And he knew. Everett it was.
He picked up the small notebook he had brought on the mistaken assumption that he was going to have multiple cities and towns to remember, pushed the chair back on the carpet, and stood to leave. He relaxed, feeling almost normal for once, thankful he had not been observed despite the fact he might have been the worst-dressed person in the library. Scratch that. He definitely was the worst-dressed person in the library.