“What is that?”
Jackson removed his hat and looked up. Written on the far wall, in what had to have been his own blood, were Kyle Pritchard’s last words.
“I await,” Jackson read aloud.
“What the hell does that mean?” the constable asked. Jackson turned and left the cell area.
Jackson put his hat back on and stepped outside into the clean morning air, distancing himself from the foul smell inside. Pritchard’s body had voided itself of unneeded material, and the smell hung in his nostrils. The constable followed behind him.
“Jesus Christ,” Jackson mumbled to himself.
“Why did he write something like that?” the constable asked. Damian squinted up into the bright sunshine. He knew it could not restore the good mood he had been in before.
“It’s just the ramblings of an insane man,” the detective answered. He turned back to the constable. “Take pictures, and then get that doctor you use as a coroner over here. Tell him you have more work for him. I want him pronounced dead so we can get the two bodies to Philadelphia for a proper autopsy as soon as possible.”
As the constable turned away, he saw several townspeople emerge from the diner. They watched him with suspicion as he tried to keep down the bile that threatened his throat. He swallowed and crossed the street. When he thought he was far enough away, he turned back. The townies still watching him. An old man in worn overalls stepped forward into the middle of the dead street.
“Why don’t you get yourself to that house and get it over with?”
Jackson straightened and looked the man in the eye.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“You outsiders have stirred something up that was meant to be left alone. Now you go and stop what it is those TV folks are up to. No good can come from it.”
The old man turned and joined his mates on the sidewalk. They all turned back into the diner without a backward glance at Jackson.
“Whole goddamn town is nuts,” he said as he moved off toward the motel’s office.
All the same, Damian Jackson of the Pennsylvania State Police was about to do just what the old man had suggested.
His next stop was Summer Place, where he and Gabriel Kennedy would settle things once and for all.
One way or another, this thing was going to end.
Almost halfway back to New York, Gabriel and Julie had gotten the call telling them that the schedule for taking possession of Summer Place had been moved up two days. Instead of heading all the way back, they had found the nearest motel. Leonard was still at the network working on his equipment and would be the last to arrive later that night; everyone else was in the caravan of network cars following the production vans into Pennsylvania. John had passed along news of George Cordero’s change of heart, and Gabriel had no qualms about letting George go. He had been more high-strung than Gabriel had remembered from seven years before.
Gabriel had tossed and turned for hours, finally dozing off around seven in the morning. It was now close to ten and although he was bone weary, he forced himself to shower, shave, and try and greet the day with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, even though the network was sorely testing his ability to greet anything in a good way. Summer Place wouldn’t react well to a hundred people hanging out on its property for two solid days.
Gabriel opened the door and shielded his eyes from the glaring sun. In the doorway, he removed his corduroy jacket and threw it over his shoulder. Slipping his sunglasses on, he stepped out into the beautiful Pennsylvania day.
“Good morning.”
Julie Reilly was sitting on one of those ancient lawn chairs that were painted green and white, the kind with a back in the shape of a fan. She was sitting with her ever-present notebook open in her lap and pen poised over a clean page.
“Why don’t you use a laptop like everyone else in the world?”
“I carry enough crap in this thing,” she patted her abnormally large bag, “without being weighted down by six more pounds of cyberspace.”
Gabriel adjusted his glasses and nodded. “Uh huh.”
“Breakfast?” she asked, placing her notes back in the giant bag.
Kennedy looked around at the motel’s small parking lot. “Yeah, coffee at least.”
Julie gestured toward the motel’s coffee shop next door.
“I’m afraid I’ve got a bit of a shocker for you this morning,” she said as they started walking.
“And what could be shocking on this lovely day?” he asked.
“Lionel Peterson called. Kyle Pritchard killed himself this morning in the Bright Waters jail.”
Kennedy stopped walking and closed his eyes behind the dark glasses. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“Could you have done something about it?”
Gabriel took a deep breath and started walking once more. “I suppose not. Did your boss say how he killed himself?”
“No. He received a call from a very pissed off Damian Jackson. That’s all I know.”
“So, I take it he’s not accusing me of murdering the poor bastard?”
Julie smiled but didn’t comment. She walked beside Gabriel in silence.
“Let’s get the coffee to go; I want to get to Summer Place before the Marines do.” He opened the café door for Julie. “I’ll start the car.”
Julie ordered two cups of coffee to go. By the time she made it back to the door, Gabriel had the car waiting. Julie climbed in and before she could fasten her seatbelt or place the coffee in the cup holders between the seats, the car was in motion.
“Hey, take it easy. I was here last night too, you know. I had nothing to do with it.”
Kennedy glanced over at her. He had been taking Pritchard’s death out on the only person available, and he knew he was wrong for doing it.
“Thanks.” He slowed the car while Julie fastened her belt. Then he relaxed and accepted the Styrofoam cup of coffee.
“I didn’t know how you took it, but considering how clinical you are, I thought dark and bland would suit you.”
For the first time since they had met seven years before, Kennedy actually smiled in her presence.
“Clinical, huh?” He sipped his black coffee.
“Or something like that,” she said, returning the smile.
“Well, I guess I have been kind of dark and bland for a while now. But hanging out with you could only make that worse.”
“So I guess we won’t be getting engaged anytime soon?”
This time they both laughed. For the time being, the day was as beautiful to Gabriel as it would have been for anyone else. The rainstorm of the night before had cleansed everything away, and even Summer Place didn’t seem to matter for now.
It was the calm before the storm.
Gabriel had pulled over an hour into their trip back into the Poconos, giving Julie the wheel. He dozed fitfully in the passenger seat, and every once in a while he would mumble in his sleep. Julie would slow the car down to try and catch what the professor was saying. She heard the name Warren over and over, but could make nothing else out. Warren, she knew, was the name of Kennedy’s student who had disappeared seven years ago. Unlike Kyle Pritchard and Paul Lowell, he had never turned up in Bright Waters, or anywhere else for that matter.