Page 69 of At Midnight Comes the Cry
“Wha-a-at?” Rick’s surprise was too genuine not to be real. “Jeez, I’m sorry.” He waved toward the rest of the house. “He’s not here, though.”
“I didn’t think he would be. Look, when Russ and I were here a couple weeks ago, I met your friend, Cal March.”
“Ehn.” Rick seesawed with his hand. “Not so much anymore. He borrowed a crane from me in November, which was abigask, ’cause that’s a helluva pricy piece of equipment. He didn’t bring it back for a week! I like to think I’m a nice guy, but there’s a limit.”
“He’s in a local militia, right? Knox’s Noble Train?”
“Yeaaah.” Rick’s face closed up. “Where’d you hear that?”
“I’m friends with his wife.”
“Really!” He paused. “Tiny?” He sounded incredulous.
“There’s a young man in the militia who used to work for Russ.” She had decided to hew close to the truth, which had the added benefit of making them sound even more akin to the white nationalists than before. “He’s been camping out with them, but he hadn’t contacted his parents in two months and they’ve been frantic. I’m sure you can understand.” She tried to beam maternal concern at Rick. Considering her worry for Russ, it wasn’t hard. “They asked Russ to help, so he hiked into the Santanoni Preserve to find the boy. You know, where the militia camp is.”
Rick nodded.
Hadley jumped in. “Kevin told us that’s where it was, but when her husband went missing, we started wondering if he had it wrong.”
Clare looked at her. Hadley laid her hand on her pocket, where her phone was recording the conversation.Oh.
“No, he had it right. The training camp is up in the mountains there.”
“Have you been personally?” Hadley seemed to realize that was a little too much like an interrogation. She put her arm around Clare. “I mean, is it dangerous to reach if you haven’t got a guide?”
“Naw, I’ve never done the training camp. I’ve got a business to run, and two kids at home. I’m grateful for the hard-core guys, but I don’t know how they do it. Is it dangerous to reach? I guess, no more’n any other part of the High Peaks in winter.”
Clare pasted a thankful expression on her face. “Tiny mentioned two other friends of Cal’s. Dillon Forrester and Brayden Glover. Are they in the militia? Might they be up at the, um, training camp?”
“Oh, yeah. Those two are, like, the first to volunteer for everything.Meghan says one of these days Brayden’s wife is going to kick his ass out the door because he’s never home. That’s another reason I don’t do the camping and stuff. Happy wife, happy life, you know?”
Clare and Hadley both smiled brightly and nodded.
“But look, if you want to connect with your husband, you need to talk to Cal. As far as I know, he’s their point man. Makes supply runs, stuff like that. Likes to brag about it, too.” Rick made a face. “I made a statement at the Greenwich parade and nearly got arrested, but you go on about it, Cal, tell us how you carry boxes of spaghetti and toilet paper up to the camp.”
“Could we get a message up there? Does he have, oh, I don’t know, a ham radio?” From the look Hadley shot her, Clare guessed she didn’t sound as casual as she intended.
“I got no idea. I know he has CB set up for talking to his drivers when they’re on the road. If they’re out of cell range.”
Hadley turned to her. “We should go talk to him, Clare. Where does he work?”
“He’s got a—” Rick’s phone rang. “Hang on, lemme check this.” He pulled it from his back pocket and raised his eyebrows. “Speak of the devil.” He clicked on. “Hey, Cal, what’s up?” There was a pause. Rick grinned at Clare. “Sure, I remember him! As a matter of fact—” He rolled his eyes at being cut off. Finally he said, “Listen, Cal, you can tell her yourself. She’s standing right here in the kitchen with me.” He held the phone away from his face. Not far. Certainly not far enough for Cal to miss her name when Rick said, “Clare, good news about your husband.”
She took the phone. “Hello?”
“Clare.” She had thought Cal’s angry, impatient voice was threatening, but this was the real deal. Low, and quiet, and weirdly cheerful. “Clare. I was given a job, so I’m going to do it. Here’s your message: yourhusband,Russ Van Alstyne, who lives inMillers Kill,is staying at our camp. He isn’t a prisoner, and he isn’t hurt, and for proof I’m supposed to tell you ‘quilt.’”
She made a noise.
“He’s not hurt, but I can promise you you will be. You stole something of mine, lady, and when I get it back, you’re going to learn a lesson about interfering in my private life.”
The line went dead. She breathed in, then hung a smile on her face. “That is good news.” She handed the phone back. “Thank you, Rick. We’ll get out of your hair now. I appreciate your time.”
“Happy to help. You and your husband are good folks.”
She didn’t say another word until he had ushered her and Hadley out of the kitchen and the door was shut behind them.
“What did he say?” Hadley hissed.
