Page 46 of The Children of Eve

“And shooting people, according to Donna Lawrence.”

He looked directly at me as he spoke. Despite myself, I was beginning to like him, even if he had almost cost me a few hours’ sleep with nothing to show for it but a headache.

“That stings,” I said. “If it helps, I pinkie swear not to shoot you. But if I don’t get a cup of coffee soon, I may pistol-whip you to release some of the tension.”

“I’ll just have to take your word on that prudence, won’t I?”

“Embrace optimism. Begin the day with a smile.”

“Shit,” said Rybek. “Okay, so Wyatt may have screwed up…”

CHAPTERXXXIV

Rybek suggested we go elsewhere to talk. Some of his neighbors would already be up and about, and we might be seen together. If we continued our conversation outside—or worse, if I was seen entering his apartment—he’d have no latitude should someone from BrightBlown come asking what he did or did not reveal to me. I gave him five minutes to lock up and warned him that if he tried to abscond, I’d imbue the rest of his existence with enough misery to cause even the spirits of tormented Christian martyrs to wince in sympathy. Just to be sure, I found a parking spot that offered a view of both the rear of his building and the jutting trunk of the Daewoo. I just hoped Rybek wouldn’t try to make an escape on foot, giving me no choice but to run him over.

In the end, he backed out of his drive with thirty seconds to spare. I followed him north to the Dunkin’ in West Falmouth Crossing, which opened at 4:30 a.m. to cater to those for whom the morning just didn’t sit right unless it started with a gallon of coffee and a sausage, egg, and cheese sandwich. I ordered the smallest coffee they could offer, while Rybek went for chai tea and a bagel with cream cheese. I asked whether he minded if I took some notes, and he replied that he didn’t so long as his name didn’t appear. I labeled him “Mr. B,”Bfor Bud, which he told me he might adopt as his superhero identity.

“I was surprised when Wyatt showed up in Portland,” Rybek began. “I knew him back home, though I hadn’t seen him in a few years, not since he finished with the army. We didn’t have a falling-out. Life just sent us our separate ways.”

“But he was aware that you were living in the city?”

“He told me he heard from a mutual friend. I didn’t expect him to start at BrightBlown, though.”

“You mean you didn’t get him the job?”

“No, it was pure coincidence that we ended up working there together. I was out at the farm, and the day supervisor asked if I’d mind training the FNG—you know, the Fucking New Guy. That was Wyatt. When Donna Lawrence found out we were acquainted, I sensed she wasn’t overjoyed. Nothing was said, but Wyatt and I were rarely scheduled together. That had to be deliberate on Donna’s part.”

“But they couldn’t stop you from socializing.”

“No, though we didn’t meet up often. Wyatt kept to himself more than he used to, and later he had his girlfriend, Zetta, so he was spending time with her. He didn’t like it this far north, though. Wyatt’s a Southern boy through and through. He didn’t feel like he belonged in Maine, especially in winter.”

I couldn’t blame him. Outside Dunkin’, a customer misjudged the depth of an icy puddle in the parking lot and sank to his left ankle. At times like that even I, a committed Maine psychrophilic, might have been tempted to gaze longingly in the direction of sunnier climes. The guy with the wet leg shook it, cursed whatever god he believed in, and went on his way.

“At least his day can only get better,” Rybek remarked. “Unless it’s a sign that he ought to go home and lock his doors.”

“Do you believe in signs?”

“I’m starting to—bad omens, anyway. No offense meant.”

I had a natural suspicion of people who opened up to me too quickly: it frequently meant they were either being deceitful or had an agenda.Rybek, I believed, might be innocent of both. He came across as someone for whom dissimulation was too much effort.

“What?” he asked.

“I was just trying to decide how trustworthy you are.”

“And I haven’t even arrived at anything worth lying about yet.”

“You have the benefit of the doubt so far,” I said, “but I’m happy to withdraw it at any time.”

“It must be hard to have cynicism as a default mode.”

“Sentimentality wasn’t working, so I learned to live with the burden.”

“You need to smoke some weed, take up yoga, anything that could help. You’re a very wound-up person. I mean, that pistol-whipping threat, was it kind? Was it necessary?”

He spoke so sincerely that, for an instant, I really did want to hit him.

“You were speaking about Wyatt’s sense of dislocation,” I said.

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