Page 12 of Homecoming

“I haven’t got time to be lost in the woods of Maine. I got shit to do so I can get my gorgeous wife back home before our baby is born.”

“Who did you hire?”

“His name is Walter something.”

“Walter Cummings?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

Kara busted up laughing. “He’s the town drunk.”

“Oh.”

“But supposedly, he only drinks at night.”

“Well, that’s comforting.”

“How in the hell did you find him?”

“I googled people who drive for a living in the area while we were on the plane yesterday, and he popped up. I want to be able to say, ‘Take me to this place,’ and get there without a problem while I work on the way.”

“We could’ve rented a car and used a modern convenience known as GPS, you know.”

“That wouldn’t give me the kind of local insight I can get from someone like Walter, who knows the score around here.” Dan glanced at the clock over the stove. He had thirty minutes until Walter was due to pick him up. “Do you mind if I eat your share of breakfast?”

“Of course not. You’ll need your strength to deal with my brothers, and I’ll have something in town when the nausea wears off.”

He grinned at her. “Your brothers don’t scare me. I’ve seen much worse.”

“Have you, though?”

“I promise you that I have. I want you to go with Renata and have a wonderful time with your cousin and not worry about anything to do with this case. You hear me?”

“Yes, dear. Tell my Kirby I love him, and I don’t believe for a second he had anything to do with this.”

“I’ll tell him if I get the chance.”

After a shower, Dan dressed in one of the two suits he’d brought with him, knotted a burgundy tie and checked his appearance in a mirror on the back of the bathroom door. He, who’d become accustomed to every luxury in life, adored this tiny house that’d been a refuge for Kara during her chaotic childhood. Every item was worn and battered from decades of use that told the story of a life well lived.

From the first second he stepped through the door, he’d felt “at home” there in a way he seldom had anywhere outside of the house where he’d been raised and the place he and Kara called home on Gansett Island. He loved his place in Malibu, too, but it’d never felt like home to him, not like Bertha’s house already did.

Satisfied that he looked like the successful attorney he was, he left the bathroom and went to kiss his wife goodbye for now. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Text me when you’re free, and I’ll tell you where I am.”

“Have fun with Renata.”

“I always do.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too. Good luck.”

“Dan Torrington doesn’t believe in luck. It’s all skill, baby.”

“God, I walked right into that.”

Laughing, Dan stole one more kiss and then headed out with his work bag slung over his shoulder, containing the tools of his trade: a small recording device, notebooks, two of his favorite pens and a couple of granola bars with protein. He’d filled his water bottle with ice water and was ready to confront whatever waited for him at the police station.

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