Nick of Time (A Bug Man Novel) (19 page)

He kept thinking about the puparia he had identified that afternoon. There was no doubt as to their species—they were
Fannia scalaris
, the common latrine fly. At first he thought they might be
Fannia canicularis
, the lesser housefly, since the two species are similar in size and appearance and
canicularis
is much more likely to be found in an indoor habitat like the lake house. But the tip-off was the color; the puparia of the lesser housefly are usually reddish brown in color, and the specimens Nick collected were a much darker brown. No, they were definitely latrine flies, every last one of them—and that was a big red flag.

Though he tried to keep his mind focused on the puparia, Nick’s thoughts kept returning to the annoying questions that nosy grad student had asked back at the lab that afternoon:
“Is your fiancée an entomologist too? Where did she do her doctorate?”
Nick had always thought of Alena as a very bright woman, but in point of fact, there was a huge discrepancy between their educational levels.
Does that matter?
he wondered.
I’m not looking for a research assistant, I’m looking for a
 . . .

A what? Strangely, the thought had never crossed his mind before. He wanted a wife, of course, but that was just a job title, not a job description. What did he really want
from
a wife? Was it merely companionship? Was it professional partnership? Was he looking for stimulating conversation or intellectual challenge?

It suddenly dawned on Nick that he had asked a woman to marry him without actually knowing what he wanted from her.
How could I have done that?
he wondered. It seemed absurd—like buying a house without ever considering where you wanted to live. If he didn’t even know what he wanted from the woman, how was he supposed to know if he was satisfied or disappointed?

And what if he
was
disappointed? What then?

His thoughts were interrupted by the blaring of a police siren. He glanced in his rearview mirror and saw flashing blue and red lights following close behind his car. He muttered an expletive and pulled over onto the narrow shoulder.

Nick rolled down his window and watched his side mirror; three agonizing minutes passed before he saw the patrolman casually get out of his car and approach.

“Welcome to Pennsylvania,” the patrolman said.

“Sorry, Officer, I was just—”

“Any idea how fast you were going?”

Nick groaned. “Why do cops always ask that?”

“Excuse me?”

“There are only two possible answers,” Nick said. “
Yes
, I knew how fast I was going; or
no
, I had no idea. If I say
yes
, then I’ll have to claim that I didn’t know the speed limit, causing you to launch into a fascinating lecture on exactly how many speed limit signs are posted between here and Scranton. If I say
no
, then you’ll tell me exactly how fast your little radar gun says I was going while I stare at the floorboards in mock shame.”

The officer paused. “I get the feeling you’ve done this before.”

“Once or twice. So can we speed things along? Not too fast, mind you—just keep it under your personal speed limit.”

“What’s your hurry?”

“I’ve got to make a really important phone call, and I can’t get cell reception until I get out of these mountains and back to civilization.”

“Well then, you just go on your way, and drive as fast as you want.”

“Aren’t you people supposed to ‘protect and defend’? Well, if I don’t call my fiancée at nine o’clock, she’s going to kill me. So do your job—protect me.”

“I am doing my job. License and registration, please.”

Nick searched through the glove compartment. “I thought your job was defending the fast-food industry. I’ll bet Dunkin’ Donuts has never been robbed.”

“Can’t say I like your attitude, mister.”

“I’ve got authority issues,” Nick grumbled. “Nothing personal.”

“It’s personal to me. Why don’t you wait right here while I run your tags? And don’t you worry, I won’t keep you one second longer than I have to.”

I’ll just bet
, Nick thought—but he managed not to say it.

To Nick’s surprise he saw the officer approaching his car again just a few minutes later; maybe the guy decided not to be a bad sport after all. Nick leaned out the window and said, “Hey, thanks, I really appreciate—”

“Put your hands on the steering wheel,” he said. “Do it now—keep them both where I can see them.”

“Excuse me?”

“Would you mind stepping out of the car, please?”

Nick got out of the car and closed the door. “What’s this all about?”

“I ran your tags, Mr. Polchak. Our system is statewide; according to the Philadelphia Police Department, the night before last you were arrested for breaking and entering and crossing a police line.”

“That was all a misunderstanding,” Nick said.

“No doubt. You probably just needed to make an important phone call.”

“No, really. A friend of mine was murdered, and I was just—”
Murdered
—the word left his mouth like a bat out of a barn, and the moment it did Nick knew he was in trouble.

“Turn around and put your hands on top of the car.”

Nick reluctantly obeyed. “This is a mistake. There’s a simple explanation.”

“I’m sure there is—and just as soon as I get that explanation from the Philadelphia police, you can go. Until then, you’ll be staying with us.”

19

A
lena sat in her truck in the parking lot of the Paradise Motor Lodge near the southern boundary of Pine Summit. She had driven so far south that she began to think she must have missed the place, but at last she spotted the ugly flashing neon sign—the kind you’d expect to find on a fifties-era burger joint or some off-the-strip Vegas nightclub. The sign pointed the way to a long single-story structure set back deep in the pines. The Paradise Motor Lodge had a low, sloping shake-shingle roof and walls made of coarse barn siding painted a deep brick red. Single-unit air conditioners hung under each window; most of the windows were dark, but cars were parked in front of a few of them.
What a dump
, she grumbled to herself.
The sheriff told me to go home—maybe this is his way of making me want to
.

But then Alena remembered that she hadn’t seen any other hotels along the way. Maybe the Paradise Motor Lodge was the only hotel in town—and if that was the case, maybe Nick was staying here too. Alena quickly searched the parking lot for Nick’s Plymouth Sundance . . . but it wasn’t there.

That would have been too easy
, she thought.

She looked down at the cell phone lying in her lap, then at the dashboard clock. Eight forty-five, and no call from Nick— but then, he wasn’t supposed to call until nine. Why would he try to call earlier? As far as Nick knew, Alena was still back home in Virginia, and there was no reason for him to call until she made the trip down to Endor at nine. But for some reason the lack of a call bothered her anyway; Nick just didn’t seem eager to talk to her, and she needed to know if it was just her imagination like Gunner said—or if it was something more.

She picked up the cell phone and looked at the glowing screen: three bars and fully charged, just like it had been the last two nights.
It’s not the phone’s fault
, she told herself, but as she stared at the screen she began to feel a little guilty. Nick wasn’t the only one who could make a phone call.
Three bars
— she didn’t have to wait until nine o’clock if she didn’t want to; she didn’t have to make the long trip down to Endor to get a connection; she had a connection right here, right now. She didn’t have to wait for Nick to call her—she could push two buttons and talk to him anytime she wanted to.

But she didn’t want to. Nick was the one who broke his promise, and he was the one who needed to make things right.

She got out of the truck and released the dogs from the camper. They jumped down to the asphalt and stood stretching while Alena got out her duffel bag and locked up the truck again. She shivered in the night air; the day had been fairly warm, but the temperature dropped like a rock after sunset. She could see her breath—it couldn’t have been more than forty degrees. She signaled for the dogs to heel and walked to the brightly lit hotel office in the center of the long building. When she pushed the glass door halfway open, the rubber welcome mat bunched up under it and she bumped into the glass headlong; she had to kick the mat aside to allow the door to open the rest of the way.

The sound of rattling glass roused a young man dozing behind the counter. “Sorry about that,” he said sleepily. “Happens all the time.”

“Glad to hear you’re on top of it,” Alena said. “I need a room.”

He tapped a sleeping keyboard and a computer monitor came to life. “Have you got a reservation?”

“Seriously? Does anybody
plan
to stay here?”

“Um—how many in your party?”

“How many do you see?”

The man looked. “You’ve got dogs.”

“Clever you.”

“You’ve got
two
dogs.”

“Is that a problem? Your sign says ‘Pet Friendly.’ ”

“It’s just that most people only have one pet.”

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to be extra friendly.”

“You’ll have to put down a cleaning deposit.”

“What for?”

“In case the dogs—you know.”

“No, I don’t know. In case the dogs what?”

“Hey, they’re dogs.”

“My dogs were house-trained at eight weeks—that’s a little over a year in human terms. Were you house-trained at a year? I seriously doubt it.”

“I’ll just waive the cleaning deposit,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes glued to the screen. “You’re in luck—we have a vacancy.”

“What are the odds?”

“Room 7—here’s your key. Oh, one more thing: We’ve shut off the heat since it’s spring and all. If you need an extra blanket, you’ll find one in the closet.”

“Terrific.” She took the key and signaled the dogs to follow her—but at the door a thought occurred to her and she turned back again. “Hey—is there a guy named Nick Polchak staying here?”

“I’m not allowed to tell you that,” he said.

“Big guy, goofy-looking glasses—make his eyes look like Milk Duds.”

“I haven’t seen anyone like that, but my shift only started at three.”

“I didn’t see his car in the parking lot.”

“He might be out.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Or maybe he’s here with a friend.”

“What?”

“Maybe he’s not alone—maybe they drove her car.”

Alena’s expression suddenly darkened. “Who said anything about a ‘friend’?”

“I just thought—”

“
I’m
his ‘friend,’ okay? We’re getting married on Saturday, so if Nick’s here he’s here all by himself. Big guy, goofy glasses— if you see anyone like that, tell him to call room 7. You got that?”

Alena charged out to the middle of the parking lot with Trygg and Ruckus trotting behind her. She turned and looked at the building from one end to the other, then went to the back of her truck and took out one of the white towels bagged in plastic. She left Trygg waiting by the truck and led Ruckus to the northernmost end of the building; she opened the plastic bag and allowed the dog to identify the scent. Then they slowly walked the length of the building together, stopping in front of each door to allow Ruckus to sniff at the air that flowed under the threshold—but they reached the opposite end of the building without the dog ever detecting Nick’s scent.

Now Alena felt angry and ashamed—ashamed of herself for suspecting Nick and angry with that kid behind the counter. She knew it wasn’t his fault; after all, she didn’t tell him up front that Nick was her fiancé or that he was traveling alone—she just asked if he was staying here. Of course the kid would consider the possibility that Nick might be staying with someone else. What made Alena angry was that she had never considered that possibility herself, and now that she had considered it, the thought was in her mind—and it was stuck there.