Page 51 of Heartbreak Bay

“I need to tell you about a guy named Dr.Dave, and a guy named Tyler,” he says. “And you’re not going to like any of it.”

He’s absolutely right. I hate it. I hate that he knows someone as slimy as Dr.David Merit, Dentist Troll. I really hate that he met him alone, in such a terribly vulnerable place, and narrowly avoided worse things happening.

And having to talk a young man down from suicide ... that is a hell of a night. I can tell that Sam feels an affinity for the kid, a bond that I can’t really understand. And though he doesn’t say it, I can tell he’s uneasy about that too. Anything that touches on that pain, that loss ... it’s deeply uncomfortable for him.

But Sam’s okay, and at least the evil dentist has given us something to work with. Sam tells me his theories about MalusNavis, and they make a dreadful kind of sense. Even to the avenging-angel part ... especially alarming if this person now has his sights fixed on me. On us.

Why does he have a credit card that sounds like it probably belongs to Sheryl Lansdowne / Penny Carlson / Tammy Maguire? Is shewith him? Does he have her prisoner? What the hell is happening here?

It’s too late—or, by this time, far too early—to solve any of those questions. I carry them with me to bed, into an exhausted sleep that seems to drag me down like a weighted net.

I wake up later than I intended—almost seven, sunlight streaming in through the blinds. Wednesday morning, and I try to think through the day for a second. Nothing urgent comes to mind. That leaves me a window to do something about Melvin’s letter.

Sam’s side of the bed is empty; I usually wake when he moves, but not today. I put my hand in the hollow of his pillow. Cool. He’s been up for a while.

I find there’s a pot of coffee already made, so I pour and head for the office, still in my sleep-time T-shirt and flannel pants. Vee’s sound asleep on the couch, curled like a fall leaf under a snowy white blanket. She looks relaxed and very young, and I’m careful not to wake her.

Sam’s in the office. Fully dressed. I shut the door behind me as I enter. “Well, I feel like a slacker.”

“The kids sent you an email,” he says. “Copied to me. Isn’t Douglas Adam Prinker the guy in Valerie?”

“It’s for Kez’s case.”

“Are you still sure that’s ...” He searches for the right words for a second. “Good for them?”

There’s no good way to answer it except to say, “They can handle a little more responsibility. Besides, you saw what happened when Ididn’tgive permission. All of a sudden Lanny’s asking Vee to go look up records from a place where she’s already well known. Vee cannot keep a low profile. And it’s aboutMelvin. I need to keep them out of that. Completely.”

“I’m thinking it’s not separate, though. Aren’t you?”

I hate that I am, actually. Kez’s case started early Monday morning. I was at the pond before dawn. And just a few hours later, I have Melvin’s letter served on me like a subpoena. That doesn’t feel random. And now Vee’s provided a link—at least a strange and tenuous one—with a credit card that looks like something Sheryl Lansdowne might have had as a new identity. How would MalusNavis—if it’s him—get his hands on Melvin’s letter? From what Sam’s uncovered, he’s hardly likely to be someone Melvin would have attracted as a fan.

Between that, the word from the loathsome Dr.Dave that Monday was when MalusNavis asked for the template, the fake obituary, the letter Vee received on her door, and the posting of flyers at the gun range ... it all looks very, very bad. Like I’m now in the crosshairs of someone who’s very serious.

But italsolooks like a patchwork of coincidence that could fall apart like mist under the spotlight of a real investigation. So I can’t tell. I have a confirmation bias, a thumb on the scale.

We need some real proof, like getting a picture of the person who sent that package. If it’s Sheryl Lansdowne, then there’s something real to chase. If it’s someone else, there’s still a lead to follow, a face,something. But as I well know, Knoxville PD is not going to be helpful. They tolerate me just fine, but they’re certainly not bending any rules on my behalf. Posting Melvin’s letters isn’t a crime. And if the credit card is valid, using it might not have been a crime either. And they’ll just shake their heads at the Lansdowne connection until I have real proof.

No way to get a warrant, or official action. And I can’t put Kez into that position either.No help for it,I think.I’m going to have to be creative.

“Hey, Sam?” I say, and he looks up. “How do you feel about staying here with the kids for a while?”

“Fine, they’re sleeping until noon anyway, at this rate. I’ll take care of whatever needs doing. Why? You going to see Kez?”

“I ... don’t think I should tell you. That way, if you’re asked, you can truthfully say you have no idea.” I hit print on the document I’ve pulled up. It looks official, but it isn’t. Good fake, though. I don’t intend to leave it behind, just flash it and a fake badge I keep for real emergencies and hope the store clerk isn’t very savvy. I pause in the act of folding it up and look at Sam. “Shit. What’s today?”

“Wednesday,” he says.

“I made an appointment for us with Dr.Marks for this afternoon,” I remind him. “All of us. I can change it if—”

He’s already shaking his head. “No,” he says. “I think we need it. We might need it alot. And Gwen? I would really rather that neither of us goes to jail right now. Understand?”

“Yes,” I say. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

I sound far more confident than I feel, but Sam gives me the incredible gift of letting me get away with it.

I kiss him, finish my coffee, and head off to shower.

I dress in a black knit pantsuit with a plain white button-down shirt and my nicest pair of flat shoes. My hair’s grown out to shoulder length; Itie it back in a plain, no-nonsense ponytail. No makeup. My shoulder holster goes on under the jacket, and while the tailoring isn’t perfect, it’s pretty decent. I look professional. And a wee bit intimidating.

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