The Guardian
From his vantage point near the dune, Richard watched Julie open the door and let Singer out. With the light glowing from behind her, she appeared like a descending angel. Richard found himself growing aroused by the thought of what was going to happen next.
Yesterday, after he’d located them, he’d pulled his car into the driveway of a home that was plastered with realty signs. Though many of the homes along the beach were still vacant this time of year, this one looked as if it had been unoccupied for a while. A quick check revealed an alarm system for the house but not for the garage, and he’d worked his way through the simple lock with a screwdriver he’d found in the glove compartment of the Trans Am. From the trunk, he’d removed the tire iron.
He’d slept on a dusty air mattress he’d found on the shelves, and in the storage area he’d found a small cooler. Though it had grown moldy, it suited his purpose, and he’d spent an hour that afternoon purchasing what he needed.
Now, all he had to do was wait until Singer wandered down the beach. He knew Julie would let him out, as she’d done last night and most probably the night before. People under stress always fell back into habits and routines, as if hoping to maintain some semblance of order in their world.
In the distance, he could no longer see Singer.
Beside him were the four hamburgers he’d picked up from Island Deli, a place he’d found near the hardware store he’d visited that afternoon.
They were still wrapped in foil, but he’d already unwrapped them once and crumbled the patties into pieces.
Taking the hamburger with him, he began crawling through the grass toward the back steps of the home.
The Guardian
“I hate this damn game,” Pete said. “It’s impossible to win.”
As Julie slipped the plates into the cupboard, she glanced toward the table. “Put the red seven on the black eight.”
Pete Gandy blinked, still trying to see it. “Where?”
“The final column.”
“Oh yeah. There it is.”
Lost in the game again, Pete kept his eyes focused downward.
Mike washed the last dish and pulled the plug from the drain, then looked up at the window.
With the kitchen light playing against the glass, all he could see was his own reflection.
The Guardian
Outside, Richard unwrapped the foil and scattered the crumbled beef onto the steps that led over the dune and back to the house. He knew Singer would get there before Julie and Mike, so he wasn’t worried about them spotting it.
He wasn’t sure how much Singer weighed, so he had mixed in as much of the bitter powder as he thought he could, while preserving the aroma of beef. He didn’t want Singer to sniff it a couple of times, sense that it wasn’t what it appeared to be, then ignore it.
No, that wouldn’t be any good at all. Singer had already bitten him once, and he didn’t want to face those teeth again. Julie had stopped Singer the first time, but he was under no illusions that she would stop him again. More than that, there was something about the dog that bothered him, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something not . . . doglike, for lack of a better word. All he knew was that as long as the dog was around, Julie would remain confused and resistant.
He crept toward his hiding place again and settled in to wait.
The Guardian
Mike and Julie were sitting on the couch in the living room, watching as Pete Gandy continued to lose one game after the next.
“Did I ever tell you about the letter that I got from Jim?” Julie asked. “The one on Christmas Eve, after he died?”
She sounded as if she were making a confession. A shadow crossed her face, and Mike could tell she wasn’t sure about what she wanted to say.
“You’ve mentioned it, but I don’t know what it said.”
Julie nodded before leaning against him, feeling his arm slip over her shoulder.
“You don’t have to tell me about it if you’d rather not,” Mike offered.
“I think you should know,” she said. “In a way, I think it was about you and me.”
Mike remained silent, waiting for her to go on. For a moment, she stared into the kitchen, then her eyes met his. Her voice was soft.
“The letter was mainly about Singer. Why he got me a Great Dane, that he didn’t want me to be alone, and how since he knew I didn’t have any family, he thought that a dog would help me. He was right about all that, but at the end of his letter, he said that he wanted me to be happy again. He told me to find someone who makes me happy.”
She paused, a wistful smile on her face, her first in what seemed like forever.
“That’s why I think it was about you and me. I know you love me, and I love you, too, and you make me happy, Mike. Even with all this horrible stuff going on, you’ve still made me happy. I just wanted you to know that.”
The words sounded strangely out of place; he didn’t know why she’d felt the urge to bring it up now. It almost seemed as if she were trying to find a nice way to say good-bye. Mike pulled her closer to him.
“You’ve made me happy, too, Julie,” he said. “And you’re right, I do love you.”
Julie put a hand on his leg. “I’m not saying all this because I want to end things with you. Not at all. I’m saying it because I don’t know how I would have handled the last few weeks without you. And because I’m sorry that I dragged you into all this.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for. . . .”
“Sure there is. You were always the one who was right for me, and somehow, I think that Jim was trying to tell me that in his letter. But for a long time, I was too blind to see it. If I had listened to him, there never would have been a Richard. And I want you to know that I’m thankful not only that you put up with all that, but that you’re here for me now.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” he murmured.
The Guardian
Richard lay in the sawgrass, watching the steps. Minutes passed before he saw movement in the shadows near the dunes.
Singer moved into the moonlight and swung his head from side to side. The shadowed colors of his coat and his size gave him an almost ghostly appearance.
Richard watched as Singer turned again and began trotting toward the steps.
Almost there.
Singer slowed from a trot to a walk before stopping. His nose rose slightly as he seemed to study the steps, but he made no move toward them.
C’mon, Richard thought, what are you waiting for? But still Singer didn’t move. Richard could feel himself beginning to tense. Eat it, he urged.
He didn’t realize he was holding his breath. Along the shore, he could hear the waves rolling and turning. Sawgrass swayed in the wind. Overhead, a shooting star left a momentary streak of white.
Finally, Singer moved forward.
It was a hesitant step, but a step nonetheless, and his head began to stretch forward, as if he’d finally smelled it. He took another step, then a third, until he was hovering over the hamburger.
He lowered his head and sniffed, then raised his head again as if wondering whether he should.
From the distance came the faint sound of a trawler, carried by the wind.
With that, Singer lowered his head and began to eat.
The Guardian
In Swansboro, Officer Jennifer Romanello spent the evening learning what she could about the elusive Robert Bonham.
Earlier, the captain had called her into his office. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but to her surprise, after closing the door, he’d commended her for all her work.
“We can’t train instincts, but we need more of that around here. Pete Gandy might be wrong about the Mafia coming to town, but he’s not wrong in thinking that Swansboro is changing along with the rest of the world,” the captain had said. “I know we all want to believe this is a sleepy little town, and for the most part it is, but bad things happen in places like this, too.”
Jennifer had known enough not to speak as the captain looked her over. “You knew this guy was bad from the start, and you’ve done a heckuva job tracking down all the information, and especially in figuring out who he was. That was all your doing.”
“Thank you,” she’d said.
Then, lest she think he’d suddenly gone soft, he had dismissed her: His face had taken on an expression of impatience, as if wondering why she was still sitting in the office, and he’d motioned toward the door.
“Now get back to work,” he’d barked. “I still want to know what makes this guy tick. Maybe that’ll help us catch him.”
“Yes, sir,” she’d repeated, and when she’d left the office with the eyes of the other officers on her, it had taken everything she had not to break into a smile.
Now, while following the captain’s orders-she was still poring over the documents from Boston and calling people who’d known Robert Bonham-she heard Burris growing animated as he was speaking on the phone, and she looked up. He was nodding furiously and jotting down information, then finally he hung up the phone. Standing up, he grabbed for the piece of paper and made his way toward her.
“We just got a call,” he said. “His car has been located in the parking lot at Onslow Hospital in Jacksonville.”
“Is he still around there?”
“Probably not. The guard is pretty sure the car has been there for a couple of days. He goes through the lot every evening, jotting down license plates, and it’s been in his book since the day you and Gandy went to talk to him at his house. But because he was working, he didn’t see the information on the news until yesterday, and didn’t put two and two together until now.”
That explained why no one had found the car.
“But no one has seen him?”
“Not that we know of. The Jacksonville police showed the guard Robert Bonham’s photograph, but he didn’t recognize him. I’m heading out there now, though, to ask around. Maybe someone saw where he went. You want to come along?”
Jennifer considered it. She wasn’t getting anywhere with what she was doing, but she wasn’t sure where it would lead. Sure, they might find someone who saw him leave the car, but what then? What they needed to know was where he was now.
“No,” she said, “I think I’ll keep looking through the files. Maybe there’s something that I missed.”
The Guardian
Though drapes covered most of the windows, the dining room window was open, and Richard watched for shadows. Other than the sound of the waves, he could hear nothing. The air had become still, almost as if joining him in breathless anticipation.
Julie would be heading for the back door soon; she usually didn’t let Singer stay out for more than twenty minutes or so, and he wanted to see her face when she called for him. Staring toward the house, he allowed himself to hope that she would forgive him for what he had done.
He would comfort her, but there would be time for that later. After all the ugliness was over. When it was just the two of them, the way it was supposed to be.
The Guardian
Singer started up the steps to the back porch, then went down the beach again to pace in circles, his tongue hanging out. He started trotting, as if trying to shake the pain from his belly.
He had already begun to pant.
The Guardian
Jennifer pored over the information on Jessica Franklin, wondering how he’d been able to find her.
Had he tracked her using credit cards? Doubtful, she thought. Unless he knew someone in law enforcement, that seemed unlikely. How else, then? She wondered if someone in her family had called Jessica and he’d somehow been able to track the number to where she was staying. It was possible-most people simply threw their bills away after paying them-and all he would have had to do was to call every long-distance number listed in the record. But it would have entailed sorting through garbage . . . or breaking into their house when they weren’t home.
He’d done it with Julie, she thought, so maybe . . .
She wondered whether Topsail was a long-distance call from Swansboro. If so, she would have to warn Henry, Emma, and Mabel not to call Mike and Julie-and if they already had called, to burn the records as soon as they’d paid them.
Her mind wandered back to the car.
It wasn’t surprising that he’d abandoned it, of course, but he had to have some way to get around. How, then? Taxi? She thought about it, then dismissed that idea. He was smart enough to know that the pickup and drop-off would have been recorded, and based on how easily he’d vanished in the past, she didn’t think he’d make a mistake like that.
So if he was still around, and if he was looking for Julie, how would he get around?
Tapping the phone book with her finger, she saw Captain Morrison moving through the office.
“Captain?”
He glanced at her in surprise. “I thought you’d be heading off to the hospital to check out the car.”
“I thought about it, but . . .”
“But what?”
“Where exactly is the hospital?” Jennifer asked. “The center of town? On the outskirts?”
“Right in the middle of town. Why?”
“What’s around there? I mean, have you been in that area before?”
“Sure, many times. There’s a group of doctors offices, gas stations, the mall. Like I said, it’s in the center of town.”
“How close is the mall?”
“Right across the street.” He paused. “What’s up?”
“I’m just wondering how he’s getting around. Do you think it’s possible that he stole a car?”
The captain’s eyebrows rose. “I’ll check it out. Let me make a call.”
Jennifer nodded, her mind already going through the scenarios. She reached for the keys to the squad car.
“Where are you going?” Morrison asked.
“I think I am going to head toward the hospital to see if they found anything useful. If you hear anything about a stolen car, let me know immediately, okay?”