‘Funny,’ said one of the others, ‘the only reason we drive so bad, Ren, when you’re shotgun … is for exactly the same reason.’
They all laughed.
Robbie looked around the office. ‘Anyway, you guys – I was just being nice. Saying nice things about our baby.’
‘I know,’ said Ren, leaning down to squeeze his arm. ‘I know. Thanks.’
‘You coming to lunch?’ said Robbie.
She turned around. Gary was putting on his jacket behind her.
‘Rain check,’ she said.
‘Come to lunch,’ said Gary.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Ren. ‘I can’t.’
She left, jogged down the stairs and out to the Jeep. She pulled her iPod out of the glove box and plugged it in. She started the engine and drove out of the parking lot, heading for I-70. She drove in silence, past her favorite sign warning her not to pick up hitch-hikers because there was a federal penitentiary close by. It usually made her smile. The next familiar sign she passed was the exit for Golden, and something made her take that right.
She pulled into her driveway. It felt so familiar; good, honest, warm, real. She walked in the front door and threw her keys on the table. Her home was reduced to a house; she wasn’t living there, Vincent wasn’t living there. Yet, as she looked around, their lives leapt from every corner. She knew it would never be the same again. No matter what happened. She waited to cry. But it didn’t happen. She waited to feel something normal. But it didn’t happen. Instead, she traced an unsentimental path through the house she had loved with the man she had loved. Three months earlier, it had all blown up. And for months beforehand, the wires were being connected, the timer was set. And there was no bomb disposal expert.
She picked up a letter from her bank. We are writing to inform you that the following checks were presented for payment and the funds were not available in your account … Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. She would go online and transfer money from another account. Then wonder where she could get the money to fill that gap.
She heard something that made her chest constrict, the sound of something scraping wood. It was coming from the hall closet. She paused in front of it. They had a mouse once. Vincent had taken care of it. She was tired, distracted, suppressing emotion. And without Vincent to talk her off the ledge, she lacked something solid that was more than the sum of her own resources.
She was about to draw her gun. Instead, she reached for the handle and pulled open the door. A ski fell toward her. She weaved right and ducked. It fell past her on to the pale wooden floor. Shit. She stood in front of the closet. She saw the matching ski, a pair of Rollerblades, two squash racquets, boxing gloves and flippers, a basketball, an unopened steamer, three unused rolls of Christmas wrapping paper, a box of greetings cards, a riding helmet. All of them hers. Vincent had paint and tools and timber. Ren had a trail of unfinished business.
It was getting dark when Ren got back to the inn. She went in through the front door. A woman wrapped in a towel walked down the hallway toward her. Her husband stood back holding the door to the hot tub open for Ren. She thanked him and went through. A young college guy was sitting in the tub singing opera.
‘Wow,’ said Ren.
‘In a good way?’ he said.
‘How can someone be that tuneless?’ she said, smiling as she walked up the wooden stairs.
‘Is that your room up there?’
She nodded. ‘Yup.’
‘On your own?’
She stopped walking.
‘Oh God, I didn’t mean it like that,’ he said. ‘Just – you must be rich. Having a suite.’
Ren laughed out loud. ‘Um, no. Definitely not.’
‘You must think I’m a freak now.’
‘No, I don’t. You have a nice night.’
‘I will. And sorry again. Don’t worry – I’m not going to, like, come up and, like, stalk you or anything.’
She leaned over the railing to him, ‘Dude? I’d like to see you fucking try.’ She winked.
When she got inside, her smile quickly faded. She walked around, closing all the blinds, switching on lamps, lighting candles. She took a deep breath and called Paul Louderback.
‘Paul? Hi, it’s me. Can you talk?’
‘Sure. Go ahead.’
‘What is this about me being TDY’ed to Glenwood?’
He paused. ‘Yes. I spoke about it with Gary.’
‘What?’ said Ren. ‘You had something to do with this?’
‘We discussed it, yes. I did what I could to get you on the case. And he told me you took care of getting yourself off it.’
‘He said that?’
‘Yes, so … it means I had my chance to assign you to a case I wanted you to head up. But he can override that if it … hasn’t worked out.’
‘Oh,’ said Ren. ‘And you think it hasn’t worked out.’
‘No. But I feel that, assigned to Glenwood Springs, you will never be far from the investigation.’
‘But not heading it up. How is that going to look?’
‘To who?’
‘To whoever.’ She let out a breath. ‘I don’t know. It’s just … I’m sensing somebody out there is pulling strings and I’m the little dancing puppet.’
Paul laughed. ‘You? I don’t think so. Anyway, if you were a puppet, you’d have scissors stashed in your jeans. No, actually – you’d be Animal. The one on the drums.’
‘Hmm, which would I prefer – strings or a hand up my butt?’
Paul laughed.
‘But if we were going Sesame Street,’ said Ren, ‘wouldn’t I be Oscar? The one in the trash can.’
‘Aw.’ He laughed.
‘This is actually not funny,’ said Ren. ‘I can’t do this. I can’t go to Glenwood.’
‘And why do you have to?’
‘Well, if you’re not responsible, then I would say … payback.’
‘For what?’ said Paul.
Ren paused. ‘Shenanigans.’
‘Riiight. I won’t ask. But … what did you do?’
‘Behavior unbecoming of an agent. How about that?’
‘OK. But … I will find out.’
‘No. You won’t.’
‘Just for shits and giggles.’
‘Jesus, this really is not funny.’
‘I’m sorry. But that T in TDY does stand for temporary. And, well, someone had to fill in for Jean.’
‘Yeah, maybe someone a little more Glenwood-friendly. And Tiny Gressett-friendly. And Todd, for that matter. They hate me.’
‘Poor baby.’
‘Shut up.’ She shouted.
‘Relax.’
‘Don’t tell me to fucking relax. I’m trying to go along with your lighthearted