Misery Bay (29 page)

“He’s gonna hate a lot more than that today, I got a feeling.”

“Just do me a favor,” the kid said. “If you talk to my grandfather today—”

“Don’t mention his daughter. I got it.”

“No, besides that. Just take it easy on him, okay? He’s really not in good shape these days.”

“What’s the matter with him?”

“Well, come on. He’s seventy-two years old.”

“There’s young seventy-two and there’s old seventy-two,” I said. “I thought he was a real tough guy back in his day.”

“He was, but after everything he’s been through? Drugs and prison and whatever else? He’s still getting his strength back, he says. But it might be too late.”

“How’s that?”

“Why do you think he’s doing all this? Coming back here, making up with my father. You know, those two haven’t exactly been close for a long time. My grandmother, she sorta took him away when things started getting too crazy. He was like seven years old then, so he didn’t see much of his father for a long time. Once in a while, maybe, when CC was trying to get things together again. But now that CC’s on his last lap, like he says, he’s trying to make things right. Just these last couple of years, after he got out of prison. Getting back with whatever family he has left, buying the theater, making this movie. Telling his story, how he came through all the madness and the drugs and everything. It all makes sense, right?”

“It does. It’s making more sense every minute.”

“It’s just like he told me,” the kid said, summing it all up and sending an icy chill right down my back. “He doesn’t have much time left, so he’s finally doing all the things he should have done long ago.”

That was all I needed to hear. It was time to go find Clyde C. Wiley.

And we’re rolling …

… Let’s get a nice buildup on this one, okay?

… Yes, that’s it. Nice and slow.

… Where is he? He’s in here somewhere! We’ll get some really great music here.

… You can’t hide, Sergeant Steele.

… There you are.

… Oh, and who’s this?

… I don’t believe your husband would approve of this, ma’am.

… Nice walk-on, by the way. We can use that. You’re a natural.

And cut.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The man behind the counter had the two sandwiches ready for Sean to take back to the studio. I told him to keep his money in his pocket, paid for both of the sandwiches myself, and gave him his.

“It sounds like you’ve been working pretty hard,” I said. “You must really love this film business.”

“Are you kidding? If you’re a Wiley kid, CC gives you a camera as soon as you’re old enough to hold one.”

“I bet you really know how to use it. But as for right now, why don’t you go on home. I think you just got the rest of the day off.”

“That’s not gonna go over very well. I should really talk to my father first.”

“Trust me on this one, okay? You go home. I’ll tell him I gave you no choice.”

He still didn’t look convinced, but eventually he agreed. I thanked him for sitting down and talking with me, then I sent him on his way. I took his father’s sandwich with me and I headed down the street to the Grindstone building. When I got to the front door, I rang the buzzer. I heard the door unlock. I pushed the door open and went inside.

“What the hell took you so long?” the man said. Just like the first time I’d been here, he was inside the little cubicle in the back of the big room, staring at the video screen, and he did not turn around to see me. He was wearing a different shirt today, but over it he still had the same leather vest.

“Sorry for the delay,” I said. “Your son and I were having a little talk.”

He spun around in his seat. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“It’s time for you and me to talk now.”

“Where’s Sean? What did you do to him?”

“Nothing. I told him to take the rest of the day off.”

“You can’t just walk in here like that. I’m calling the police.” He picked up the phone and started hitting the numbers.

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told your son,” I said. “It’s a felony to lie to a federal agent. While you’re calling your local police, I’ll be calling the FBI.”

He stopped dialing. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” I said, taking out my cell phone. “Go ahead, make the call. How’s your cell service here, anyway?”

I started hitting numbers on my phone at random. I could have looked up Agent Long’s number if I really wanted to, but I was hoping I wouldn’t have to.

“Not bad,” I said. “Better than the UP. This call should go right through, no problem.”

“Just hold on,” he said. “Before we both go stirring up trouble.”

“I want to see your father,” I said, putting my phone away. “Right now.”

“Why?”

“I just want to talk to him.”

“About what?”

“About a matter that I’ll discuss with him and not you.”

He stood up from his console. He came over to me and he got way too close, and this was probably the sort of thing that had worked for him in the past. He was big enough, after all, and he looked scary enough. One-quarter crazy, like the kid said.

I didn’t move. I didn’t blink.

“I need to talk to your father, Conrad.”

His eyes widened just a little bit at the sound of his given name.

“I understand you prefer to be called Connie?”

“I prefer that you’d get the hell out of here.”

“It’s not going to happen. One way or another, I’m going to talk to your father.”

“As you can see, he’s not here.”

“Yeah, I got that part. Where is he?”

“He’s at the house. He hasn’t been well. I don’t want you bothering him.”

“This won’t take long,” I said. “I just need to talk to him for a few minutes. That’s all.”

He stayed close to me. I was thinking he probably wanted me to make a move, give him a good excuse to sucker punch me.

I didn’t. I kept my cool.

“I’m going to call him,” he said. “I’ll ask him if he wants to talk to you.”

He took a step backward and pulled out his cell phone. He listened for a few seconds. He had the volume way up, so I could hear a man’s voice on the other end, asking him to leave a message.

“He’s probably asleep,” he said. “He gets tired easy.”

“How far away is the house?”

“Just across town, why?”

“Let’s go, then,” I said. “I’ll even drive.”

Better to keep an eye on him, I thought. Otherwise he’d call the cops on me, or call his father on another line to warn him off, or God knows what else he’d do.

“Why on earth would I agree to do that?”

“I’ll give you one good reason,” I said. “Because then I’ll leave and you’ll never have to see me again.”

*   *   *

He sat in the passenger’s seat with his arms folded. He looked at his watch and made a big deal of shaking his head and sighing.

“This won’t take long,” I said. “Just tell me where to go.”

“Take a right here,” he said as we came to the main intersection. “Then a left on Irwin Street.”

I followed the road north, almost all the way to the edge of town, then I took the left and went down half a block. Connie nodded his head as we came to the house. It was one of the biggest houses in town, I was sure of that. An old Victorian, half-restored and begging to be finished, with most of the painting done but much of the trim still missing. I pulled into the driveway. There was a detached garage. The door was open.

“Where the hell is his car?” Connie said.

“He’s not here?”

“If his car’s not here, he’s not here, genius.”

I let that one go. We ended up sitting there another minute while he tried his cell phone again. I overheard the four rings and then the voice mail picking up.

“What the hell,” he said, putting the phone down.

“Is there somewhere else he could be?”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’s somewhere.”

It was all I could do to not reach over and slap him in his smart mouth.

“He could be at the lake house,” he said, “but what would he be doing up there? He knows we’ve got work to do today.”

“Where’s the lake house?”

“Up by Port Austin.”

“How far away?”

“Twenty minutes, maybe.”

I put the truck in reverse. “Let’s go.”

“Since when are you calling the shots?”

“Since I’m the one driving. I assume I keep going north here?”

“Yeah, that’s where Port Austin is, last I checked.”

I went back to the main road and went north. It was all empty farmland now, dusted white with the snow.

“Mind if I ask you a couple questions?”

“You can ask,” he said. “I may not answer.”

“When did you last see him?”

He didn’t say anything. He kept looking out the window and I thought that was probably the only answer I was going to get.

“Couple of days ago,” he finally said.

“That’s the same day the agent came?”

“Yeah, I suppose it was.”

“So the agent came and asked his questions. Then your father disappeared.”

“He didn’t
disappear
.”

“I understand he’s been doing that a lot. Ever since you finished filming.”

He looked over at me. “My son tell you that?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Then you’ve already got your answer.”

“So ever since January, he’s been gone off and on, for a couple days at a time. Is that fair to say?”

“He’s been gone because he gets tired. He hates for other people to see him like that.”

“I understand he’s a pretty good actor. Is it possible he just
seemed
tired?”

He didn’t even try to answer that one. Another minute of silence passed.

“Tell me about your sister,” I said. “What was her name?”

“I swear to God,” he said, “if you came down here to ask my father about Corina, you can just forget it right now. Do you understand me?”

“Relax,” I said. “That’s not why I’m here.”

It wasn’t a total lie. If Clyde C. Wiley was really the person hunting down former state troopers and their children … well, then the death of his daughter was obviously a big part of the reason why. But there was no specific reason why I’d have to bring her up now.

“Sounds like a sensitive topic,” I said. “Doesn’t he
ever
talk about it?”

Connie shook his head.

“He must have said something to you about it.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Relax. I told you I won’t bring it up with him. But he’s not here now, right? You can talk about her.”

“There’s not much to say,” he said. “I never really got to know her.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because he basically had two separate families, okay? I grew up in California, after my mother walked out on him. Corina grew up in Michigan. She ended up getting married to the biggest loser in the world, which my father blamed himself for because the daughter always tries to marry a younger version of her father, and all that other crap. End of story.”

“So you weren’t around when she killed herself.”

“No.”

I was about to ask him why the hell he didn’t try to help her, at least. Do something for his own sister or half-sister or whatever he wanted to call her. But I figured I wouldn’t get very far with that.

I kept driving. It was another typical long, straight Michigan road. There was no snow on the pavement, so we were making good time. We saw the lake a few minutes later. The road ended in the small town of Port Austin, right at the very tip of the Lower Peninsula’s thumb, extending out into Lake Huron. I saw a lot less ice than I’d seen on Lake Superior, but I still wasn’t about to go swimming.

He had me make the right turn and head east, past driveway after driveway, each leading down to a small house near the water. Most of them were sealed up tight for the winter, I was sure. There wasn’t much reason to be here in the middle of April.

“Why would he come up here?” I said.

“Various reasons. If he’s not asleep, he’ll probably be smoking. Just so you know.”