Chapter 33

CHAPTER 33

D orothy insists on following me upstairs as I carry my Manhattan. The pumpkin pine flooring gleams a deep orange in the glow of caged copper sconces mounted on paneling. Rain drums the slate roof, the wind moaning around the eaves.

She holds her tequila in one hand, the other on the railing. I know what she’s going to do, and she starts in as we reach the top landing.

“Where were you yesterday and last night?” she asks in a hushed voice, bending close, ice rattling as she takes another sip. “No one can hear us, Kay. Now you can tell me the truth. I promise not to let the others know.” She zips her lips.

“There’s nothing to tell, Dorothy,” I reply as we follow the hallway past antique maps of the Chesapeake Bay that make me think of diving earlier today.

“It’s just the two of us, sis. It’s always been just you and me. So tell me.” Dorothy rubs my arm.

“I had to take care of a case at a military installation—”

“Shhhh!” she interrupts. “You were in Oz before that. Because your old beau Sal Giordano was dropped out of a UFO in that tacky theme park Lucy was so wild about.”

I pretend I didn’t hear her comment about Sal being my old beau. Dorothy is saying a lot of things she may not remember come morning. She’s going to have a wicked hangover and isn’t done yet. We pass the upstairs guestroom’s open doorway, and I see my sister’s and Marino’s bags on top of the made bed.

“I’m glad you’re staying over.” I look at her drink.

“I know much of what’s on the internet isn’t to be trusted.” She’s slow and unsteady walking in her green slippers. “But it’s being said that we shouldn’t try to contact aliens if this is what happens. I’m dispirited. Feeling downright existential, and I didn’t before.”

“I don’t think it wise for you to pay attention to what you’re seeing on social media,” I reply.

“Of course I’m going to fucking pay attention to it!” she protests. “I’m a fucking award-winning influencer!”

“That you are, Dorothy. That you are.”

The main bedroom at the end of the hall has a view of the river and not a whole lot of privacy when my sister is staying here. I walk in and she’s right behind me, ice rattling in her tequila, smelling like a tequila bar.

“Come on, pretty please?” she coaxes as I walk into the bathroom. “Sisters trading secrets just like the old days.”

“We never traded secrets, Dorothy.” I’m in front of the sink talking to her through the doorway. “In fact, I didn’t really have many secrets. Not like you did.”

“And now that’s all you’ve got. Bloody secrets.” She hovers in the doorway, staring past me at the mirror while fussing with her short platinum-blond hair. “I need to know where you and Pete were. It’s only fair you tell me since the two of you were together all night.”

“I was with Benton all night . Not Marino, and you know that to be the case. I believe the two of you were on the phone a good bit.” I take the drink out of Dorothy’s hand and set it down on the sink countertop. “Maybe you’ve had enough for now.”

“Oh, don’t you go narcin’ on me, sis.” She reaches past me, retrieving her drink, taking another swallow. “I don’t need one of your lectures right now. I’ve had enough of them from my husband. He told me what a rotten time he had in Atlantic City. He thinks I’m selfish and doesn’t believe I’m really being stalked.”

“Hopefully you aren’t being stalked. Has anything else happened?” I ask, and she shakes her head no.

“Obviously, he said those things when he was upset,” she goes on. “We’re fine now, the air cleared. But is it true? I simply won’t have any peace until I know.”

“Is what true?” I sit down on the toilet lid and take off my boots as Dorothy gets increasingly tipsy.

“Was Sal Giordano abducted and killed by aliens? Not so long ago it would be laughable to suggest such a thing. It would be War of the Worlds science fiction. But not anymore with constant sightings all over.” She dramatically sweeps her arm like a game show host. “Including stories about aliens killing people. Is that what happened? I have to know.”

“It’s highly unlikely.”

“ Highly unlikely ?” she exclaims in horror. “Meaning it’s possible?”

“I certainly hope not,” I reply. “But is that what I think happened to Sal? Hell no. He didn’t have that kind of encounter.”

“Oh.” Dorothy’s face is stricken as if I’ve given her awful news. “Well, in some respects that’s a damn shame.”

“I would think it’s a good thing if we don’t have to worry about extraterrestrials abducting and killing us.” I take a swallow of my drink.

“I just want there to be something out there. Something besides us.” She’s getting teary. “You know these shows that Pete and I are addicted to? Well, they offer hope that there’s more to life than the failed fucking mess I see every damn time I turn on the fucking news. I want goodness to win. I want something bigger and better than us to make sure we don’t kill the entire planet.”

“Me too,” I reply.

“And I want to feel I matter.”

“You matter very much, Dorothy. You always have.”

“I want to matter to them.” She points up at the ceiling.

“I’m sure you do. Now let me take my shower.”

“I want to tell you I’m sorry about your friend Sal.” She’s getting more emotional, pulling a tissue out of her green sleeve. “I met him only a few times but understand why you liked him.”

“I did like him. I liked him quite a lot.”

“And I can see why there would be something between the two of you.” She wags her finger at me, listing in the doorway as if on a rough sea.

“Why would you say that?” I’m not telling her. Never.

“You know, I can sense these things.” She looks ridiculous in her Jolly Green Giant outfit, rattling the ice in her glass, her swaths of green eye shadow iridescent. “When you’d ride with Sal to one of your highfalutin meetings at the Pentagon, the White House or wherever, I could tell that Pete was unhappy. He’d make all these snarks about what a piece of junk Sal’s truck was compared to the amazing one I bought Pete. And that Sal didn’t own a gun when of course my husband has an arsenal. And when Sal was on TV, Pete would change the channel.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I can read him like a book.” She looks at me with a rare hint of empathy that conveys she knows about Sal.

It’s not merely a premonition. No doubt Marino gave up my secret without overtly doing so, and that’s typically how the proverbial cat is let out of the bag. He never meant to, but Dorothy can find the truth behind his darting eyes and bluster. My sister is aware of Sal’s importance in my early life.

“The first time I saw you after you were back from Rome, I knew you’d been fucking somebody,” she says as if there can be no denial. “You were relaxed and seemed almost joyful for you. Naturally, it didn’t last, which was a good thing in hindsight. Long-distance relationships die if they stretch on forever, and yours would have, my dear.” She sways closer, rubbing my shoulder. “You weren’t going to move and change careers for him. And he wasn’t going to change anything for you.”

“Our lives wouldn’t have been compatible,” I reply.

“Must you talk as if your heart’s a block of wood?”

“You know it isn’t, Dorothy.”

“I just wish you’d told me at the time.”

“No offense, but you were the last person I was going to discuss my love life with.” I take another hit of my Manhattan, desperate for a cigarette.

“As much experience as I’ve had with men?” She’s getting more emphatic. “I’m exactly who you should have asked, sweet pea. Well, I’m sorry you were sad and I wasn’t there to help,” she adds unexpectedly, tears spilling.

Then I’m overwhelmed by emotions I’ve kept walled off for days, even longer. Some of the sorrow I feel is ancient and no longer visible on the surface.

“Come here.” Dorothy gives me an awkward hug, patting my back as I hear Lucy’s cat Merlin muttering and meowing. “Oh!” my sister exclaims. “I guess when I said come here, he thought I meant him!”

She laughs hysterically as Merlin saunters into the bathroom, looking up at me with owl eyes, his ears flat like a helmet, his tail twitching. Dorothy starts crying again, clinging to me, her sash of plastic leaves tickling my skin. Lucy’s cat jumps up on the back of the toilet where he often perches.

“You’ll feel better after you eat.” My only sibling stumbles over the words, nodding her head knowingly. “And you need to put something on your sunburned schnozzle.” She pokes my nose that’s bright pink from my floating on the water while waiting to be rescued.

“I’ll see you downstairs.” I shut the bathroom door, turning on the shower.

After I’ve cleaned up, I find that Merlin has vanished as he so often does. I change into pajamas, putting on a robe and slippers, headed downstairs. Carrying my empty drink glass, I walk into the kitchen, my favorite room in the house.

Old bricks show through the creamy plaster walls, a rack hung with polished copper cookware suspended from an exposed beam overhead. The deep fireplace works, and during cold weather Benton and I use it often. There’s nothing cozier than sitting at the table before the window, having breakfast while looking out at snow, a fire burning.

“What are we talking about?” I ask as he takes my empty glass, big gleaming pots of sauce and boiling water steaming on the stove.

“We were just imagining what a nice night Ryder and Piper Briley must be having in the detention center.” Marino has switched from beer to bourbon. “I’m thinking about them mingling with the general population. Inmates don’t take kindly to child abusers. Especially spoiled rich ones.”

Dorothy is slumped in a chair at the kitchen table, half comatose now, and he’s rubbing her neck again.

“They’ll be killed in there before it’s over,” she says, or I think she does.

It’s hard to understand her now, like listening to a new language she’s invented. I tap Advil out of the bottle, making her take three. I stir the marinara sauce, adding olive oil to boiling water that’s ready for the pasta.

“The phone calls to our office won’t help Ryder Briley one bit,” Shannon is saying. “The recordings of the nasty things he said clearly show he was trying to threaten us and interfere with the autopsy. And I’m assuming it was him or his wife who’s been making the crank calls, not saying anything, trying to spook everyone.”

“Are we still getting them?” I ask as Benton makes me another Manhattan.

“Well, Fabian did mention he had one today that he was certain was the same as the others.” Shannon sips her whisky. “As I was heading out this afternoon he stopped by and told me. He said his direct line rang in the investigation’s office, and when he answered it, nobody was there. The caller ID was out of area again. And he mentioned he could hear a radio or something in the background, maybe a talk show host, but he couldn’t make out what was being said.”

“Then it’s not Ryder or Piper Briley doing it,” Marino decides as I’m reaching the same conclusion. “They were being arrested right about then.”

“Let’s eat while we still have power,” I reply as the lights flicker again.

“I’ll round up some candles just in case,” Benton says as Merlin saunters into the kitchen, jumping into my sister’s lap.

She doesn’t react, her arms dangling at her sides, her head slumped, softly snoring now.

“I believe that’s all she wrote for tonight.” Marino excuses himself to help her upstairs.

When he returns, I serve plates of spaghetti marinara with grated Parmigiano Reggiano. Shannon helps Marino set the table in the dining room while I make spicy Caesar salads and bake loaves of my special garlic bread. I open a Chianti that gets better as it breathes, and it makes me think of Sal. If he were here he’d be helping with dinner like he always did.

Benton swirls the ruby-red wine in a glass, holding it up to his nose, tasting it. Candles flicker in the dining room as he fills our glasses, and we seat ourselves, draping big red-checked napkins in our laps.

“First we raise our glasses to Sal.” I hold up mine. “Not present but never forgotten.”

As I say this the lights go out for a second, the candle flames wavering as if there’s a draft. The storm has gotten fierce, the wind buffeting and whistling. Rain pounds the roof, lashing the trees on our property. The lights continue dimming as we eat, and everyone decides to turn in early. During a power outage, tucked in bed is a good place to be.

“I for one am beat.” I push back my chair.

“I need to make sure my better half is okay.” Marino drops his napkin on the table. “She’s going to feel like total shit tomorrow.”

“Whenever able, make sure she drinks a lot of water.” I start clearing the table.

As we carry dishes into the kitchen, I remind our guests that each room has battery-powered candles and flashlights. I assure them that the backup generator should kick on.

“And at least we’d have some of the basics for a few hours,” I explain, hugging Marino and Shannon good night.

Benton and I carry cups of tea upstairs, setting the alarm, his pistol on the bedside table. We talk quietly for a while with the lights out, pressed close to each other. I’m not aware of anything else until I feel him touching me awake at three A.M.

“Hi.” His breath against my ear as I feel him bending close.

“What is it?” I reach for the lamp on my side of the bed.

Benton is in cargo pants and a black polo shirt with the Secret Service crest embroidered on the shoulder. His gun is in a pancake holster on his hip, and I smell his musky cologne.

“I’ve got to go.” He kisses me, his face silky from shaving.

“What’s happened?”

“She’s been spotted, and I need to get to headquarters.” He’s talking about Carrie.

“Where?” I sit straight up, arranging pillows behind me.

“She was caught on a security camera in a private terminal at the airport in Warsaw, Poland,” he says. “Facial recognition software identified her. The name on her passport is Zofia Puda.”

Benton explains that Carrie’s alias Zofia Puda was renting a house in Dooms, a tiny town out in the middle of nothing some fifteen miles from Weyers Cave. He says agents are headed there to search the place.

“But she’s not here,” I say to him.

“She’s not in Virginia. She’s not in the United States. Not anymore.”

“Then for sure she was.”

“Yes. Two nights ago, Zofia Puda a.k.a. Carrie Grethen took off in a private jet from the Shenandoah Valley Airport. As you know, that’s in Weyers Cave. Clearly, she’d been spending time in that area. But she’s gone now, Kay. She’s nowhere near here.”

“We’re sure?” I can’t stop asking it.

“Yes.” Benton is checking his phone. “Most likely when she realized the Brileys were about to be arrested, she split. I suspect it will come out soon enough that she was doing business with them, that they were working with the Russians. More of the same, stealing our technologies while interfering with our elections.”

“I wonder if Carrie was at their house on Monday,” I reply. “Maybe she’d been there before when discussing business with Ryder Briley. And maybe she saw Luna not long before she was shot.”

“Carrie would have been nice to her. She considers herself good with children.” Benton says this as if talking about someone normal. “She would have detected that Luna was mistreated, identifying with her because of her own abusive mother. Maybe Carrie hugged her and transferred the fluorescing trace evidence to her pajama top.”

“If the candy-covered peanuts she ate came from the Briley Flight Services terminal, then maybe Carrie is the source. If so, she should have been picked up by the security cameras,” I remind him.

“We already know that the cameras were off the Monday afternoon before Luna Briley was shot,” Benton informs me.

“Carrie probably did that every time she was passing through. She’s a pilot or used to be. Who’s to say she’s not been flying in and out under an alias? Maybe she went to see the Brileys at their house, and brought Luna a bag of candy from the bins in the terminal. Not a nice gift to give someone supposedly diabetic.”

“Carrie must have known she wasn’t,” Benton says, kissing me goodbye.