Robert B. Parker's Debt to Pay (18 page)

H
e watched as the Crown Vic rode away from the house with the slightly overgrown lawn and empty flower boxes. He had been following Officer Simpson around from the beginning of his shift. The big oaf hadn't done anything except drive in lazy circles through the streets of Paradise. He had stopped once to use the bathroom at a bar and another time to grab a large coffee at a diner. Police work, he thought, snickering to himself, was a great job for a dull-witted moron. It still escaped him how this dolt, of all the people in the world who had been hunting for him, happened to be the one to shoot him.

Thinking about that day at the abandoned housing development made him seethe. Even now, more than a year later, he could barely contain his anger there in the driver's seat of his rental. Sure, things had gone wrong for him before that day, but never so radically wrong. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. Nothing had seemed to go right for him since. Nothing. First there'd been the debacle at Joe Breen's place in Boston. Outsmarted by a cheap thug. Worse, he'd let a witness get away, a pretty girl at that. He'd barely escaped the cops himself. Then there was the delay in
treatment, the botched surgery, the erosion of his skills. Worst of all was the hit his reputation had taken.

It was all he could do not to get out of the car and murder the woman who had let that idiot Simpson into her house, whoever she was. But no, he couldn't give himself away. Not yet, not without a proper audience. For the time being, he had them all confused and chasing their own tails around in the dark. They weren't sure whether he was in Dallas or Paradise or saving a row of seats in hell. Maybe good fortune was finally shining its light back on him, given how things had worked out with the explosion. Talk about a stroke of good luck.

He couldn't help but wonder if the police had recovered his .22 or if the man he'd hired had taken it with him into the next life. That had been the whole point of the little charade: having his proxy shoot out the tire and deliver the envelope, letting the Keystone Kops find his precious Smith & Wesson. He'd thought long and hard about finding a way to let the crime scene people discover some of his actual DNA in Trench Alley. That would seal the deal. The police would be sure he was dead and he would be able to operate with impunity and actual invisibility. He was positive that most of the fools probably already assumed he was dead. That the body in the Sentra had been his. It was the way cops thought. Cops are as guilty of wishful thinking as anyone, maybe more so. They were a lazy breed, trained to close files, not to solve crimes. But Jesse Stone was different. He knew Stone wouldn't just accept the fact of his death without proof.

Stone. He despised Stone most of all. His bad luck, his missteps, his bullet wound, his loss of status—it all came back to Stone, and it was Stone who would have to pay the biggest price. They would all pay. Some, like that wretched old mobster Gino Fish, had gotten off
cheaply. That was good for him, but bad for Stone. The debt would be added to Stone's bill.

But for now he was curious about the woman in the house across the street. If that lumbering clod Simpson hadn't brought her flowers, he didn't suppose he would have given her a second thought. She was little and mousy—at least she looked that way from a distance. What was Simpson doing there with her? He wrote down the address, checked his watch, and then pulled slowly away from the curb. For now, he had to do some reconnaissance at Molly Crane's house, but he would be back later. Yes, he would be back to see about the mousy woman in the house with the empty flower boxes.

H
ale Hunsicker's house was a posh poke in the eye. It wasn't ugly or even tasteless, and on a five-acre lot it might have even been beautiful. Big as it was, the place wasn't nearly as bold or idiosyncratic as the fussy old Victorians on the Bluffs back in Paradise, the ones built overlooking the ocean by the rich founders of the town. Yet there was something about the Hunsicker place that irked Jesse. Everything about it was just a little too: too big, too showy, too grand, too hungry for attention. In that respect, it was a reflection of the woman who was about to become the lady of the house. There hadn't ever been enough attention in the world to please Jenn, at least not enough of Jesse's.

The manor house—to call it anything else would have been a lie—sat on a low rise beside a teardrop-shaped pond. The gentle slopes leading down to the pond from the house were as manicured and green as the fairways at Augusta. The house, lit up for the world to admire by night, was built of red brick, real red brick, not that sham concrete nonsense. It was vaguely Tudor, but with its tiled roofs and arched doorways and windows, it had Spanish and Moorish elements as well. The things that stuck out to Jesse were the huge
windows. Some, like the window over the main entrance, were elegant stained glass. Others were made up of hundreds of individual diamond-shaped panes fit into crisscrossing strips of dark metal. The windows recalled nothing else so much as a medieval cathedral. The house was almost the right size. Jesse was pretty sure there was enough room inside to play a decent game of touch football.

Ari pulled the Escalade up the S-shaped driveway paved with sandy-colored gravel. But the gravel was embedded and meant only to give the sense of real gravel. It was all very English, the sound of tires on gravel. Though it wouldn't do, Jesse supposed, to have actual stones spit out by spinning tires into the fenders of your guests' Lamborghinis or Aston-Martins. Jesse laughed to himself, noticing that there were, in fact, two Lamborghinis parked farther down the driveway. Alongside the Italian supercars were a Bentley, three Porsches, a few Mercedes, a Vineland Park PD SUV, and a red Corvette. He pointed the Corvette out to Diana.

“Probably the cook's,” he said, to break the tension.

The tension wasn't broken. It wasn't even cracked. She didn't laugh. Why would she? As Diana and Molly had pointed out to Jesse, this was a momentous night for her. For Jenn, too. It didn't help with the tension that a soulless, psycho-killer assassin might be out there in the falling darkness just beyond the upturned floodlights, behind the tan stone wall that ringed the property, or over the shoulder of one of the security guards stationed everywhere she looked. Nor was it comforting to Diana that her outfit didn't allow her to carry the weapon Kahan's man had issued her. She'd carried a weapon on and off for years, though for her it had never developed into a fifth limb like it had for many of the other agents she'd worked with during her time at the FBI. Suddenly, unexpectedly, she felt naked without it.

Jesse could read her. That was one of the differences between Diana and Jenn. He and Diana had been able to read each other since the day they met. With Jenn, at least in the beginning, it was like reading tea leaves or a shaman's tossed animal bones. Jenn would say one thing and mean another. She'd ask for one thing and really want something else. Only after they'd parted and with Dix's help had the veil of Jenn been lifted and her mystery solved. Jesse didn't blame Jenn. There wasn't any anger left, not even any frustration. He knew who Jenn was, that he had wanted her, and that he was complicit in whatever transgressions had occurred.

“You look stunning, Diana Evans,” he said. “I didn't even want to come to this damned wedding. Maybe this is what Peepers had in mind as my punishment.”

That worked. She laughed, finally, turned, and pecked Jesse on the cheek. She wiped the lipstick off his cheek with her thumb.

“Come on,” she said. “Let's get this over with before I explode. I need a drink.”

The entrance hall of the house rose up a good thirty feet and the chandelier that hung from the high ceiling was meant to give a rustic, down-home feel. The three black wrought-iron rings, each larger than the one above it by a third, were lit with a hundred low-wattage bulbs meant to suggest candles. The effect was successful. They threw off a soft, welcoming glow. That was about as rustic as things got. The rest of the hall was polished granite, swooping staircases, and stained glass.

One of Kahan's men, an African American version of Ari, dressed in a black blazer, earpiece, et cetera, nodded at them and motioned to the left. When he gestured and his jacket lifted slightly, Jesse noticed the SIG under his arm. Diana noticed, too. They looked at each other and shrugged.

As they moved down the hallway, cocktail party noises pressed to meet them. There was low chatter, shuffling shoes, clinking glasses, a short burst of laughter. There were party aromas, too. The unmistakable smoky fragrance of slow-cooked brisket dominated, with hints of smoked salmon sneaking out of the room as well. Jesse was pretty hungry. Diana not so much. The last thing she was thinking about was food. She stopped just outside the door to the room where the party was going on and did a final check in a hammered silver–framed mirror.

She reached into her cream-colored clutch for her glossy red lipstick, applied a coating, and blew herself a kiss. She winked at Jesse. Her lush blond hair was swept up, revealing the perfect geometry between her tanned neckline, shoulders, and clavicle. She'd had her makeup done to highlight her angular jawline and impossible blue eyes. She'd brought her killer cream cocktail dress with the spaghetti straps. It was at once simple, elegant, and utterly sexy. She ran the back of her hand along her bare thigh, looked at the way her stiletto heels shaped her calves. She smoothed out her dress. Diana may not have had a place for her Glock, but she wasn't going into that room without weapons of her own.

W
hen they came into the room, it was as if someone had turned down the volume button. People stopped mid-sentence, mid-laugh, mid-sip, to stare. Nobody wants a train wreck to happen, but no one wants to miss seeing one, either. Jesse swore there was an audible gasp. Apparently, the meeting between Jenn and Diana had been long anticipated by the locals as well. It reminded Jesse of a classic Western where the young upstart comes into town to challenge the fastest gun. The hush and gasp seemed a little over the top, even for Dallas. But when Jenn emerged from the crowd, her hair swept into an updo, wearing a simple cream-colored dress and stilettos, Jesse understood. If the thin straps on Jenn's dress hadn't been covered in what seemed to be real diamonds, you might not have been able to tell it from Diana's.

Jenn walked right up to Diana, squeezed her hands, and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

“Welcome to Dallas,” she said. “You are beautiful, aren't you?” Jenn turned to Jesse, playfully slapping his forearm. “For crissakes, Jesse, did she have to be this good-looking? She does have great taste in clothing.”

They all laughed and meant it. Then Jenn kissed Jesse on the cheek and hugged him tight. He hugged her back, noticing Hale Hunsicker staring at them from across the room as they embraced.

When the embrace was at an end, Jesse held his ex at arm's length. “It's good to see you, Jenn. Really good.”

Jenn turned back to Diana. “Effusive, isn't he?”

“That's about as talkative as he gets.”

Jenn nodded.

“Hey, you two, I'm standing right here.”

Hale Hunsicker had been as patient as he was going to be, stepping over, taking Jenn by her still-svelte waist, and pulling her close.

“You mind if I join the party?”

“Hale, nice to meet you in person,” Jesse said, shaking his hand. Neither man let on that they'd done anything more than talk briefly on the phone. “This is Diana Evans.”

Hale took Diana's hand gently in his. “Pleasure.”

She said, “Thank you so much for having us. You've got a lovely house, Hale.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but Jenn spoke first.

“It's enormous, but so cool. C'mon,” Jenn said, looping her arm through Diana's. “Let me show it to you.”

And with that they were gone.

“That went better than expected,” Hale said, shaking his head. “The crowd seems disappointed.”

“The night is young.”

“And Jenn said you barely had a sense of humor.”

“I have my moments. Jenn looks wonderful, Hale. She's happy. I can tell. She's never really been happy before. I couldn't make her happy. You seem to agree with her.”

Hunsicker smiled in spite of himself. “Thank you, Jesse. This
may sound silly, but it means a lot coming from you. I'm proud of my girl. She's taken to her life down here. Couldn't have been easy for her tonight, with all eyes on her and Diana being so ungodly beautiful and all.”

“She's always had it in her, but I was damned if I could bring it out in her. She was great just now. She wasn't going to give people the show they wanted.”

“No, she wasn't, was she? No, sir, she was not.”

“Old Jenn would have done it just for the buzz and for the audience's attention. I'm glad for her and for you.”

“First there's that little ole something about keeping her alive,” Hunsicker said, his voice turning chillier. “Heard about that trouble you had up Paradise way.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So . . .”

“Nothing solid yet. CSU people were first allowed onto the scene of the explosion earlier today. I'm sure Kahan told you it was a mess. Where is your man, anyway?”

Hunsicker made a careless wave of his hand. “Around somewhere, I expect. He's got a lot on his plate this week. Would have whether Peepers reared his head or not.”

Jesse didn't like the sound of that, but was in no position or mood to cause trouble.

“Come on, Jesse,” Hunsicker said, casting a mammoth arm over Jesse's shoulder. “Let me introduce you around. You may not be as pretty as Diana, but we'll make do.”

As they strolled over to a group of people, one of whom was Chief Pruitt, Jesse complimented Hunsicker on his performance.

“You didn't give us away when you came over,” Jesse said.

“I'm not so sure. Jenn's pretty sly that way.”

An unpleasant reality was dawning on Jesse: He didn't really know Jenn anymore. They had been apart longer than they had been married. And it had been years since they lived in close proximity. He couldn't quite understand why that realization was accompanied with sadness, but it was. He couldn't deny it, and denial, at least about things disconnected from drinking, wasn't his style. He wondered what would have become of their relationship had Peepers not resurfaced.
Would they have drifted even further apart? Would the phone calls have become less frequent? Would they have stopped?

“Chief Jesse Stone of Paradise, Mass,” Hunsicker said. “This is Chief Pruitt of the Vineland Park PD and his lovely bride, Emma.”

Pruitt caught on and made like this was their first meeting. After the introductions to the small group of people, Jesse excused himself and got a drink at the bar. There was another round or two of introductions. These included Hunsicker's parents, siblings, business partners, and neighbors; the owners of the Dallas Cowboys and Mavericks; and the mayors of Vineland Park and Dallas.

That done, Jesse found a quiet corner and another Black Label. Chief Pruitt found Jesse.

“Okay, Chief Stone,” Pruitt said. “It's arranged. You can talk to Belinda Yankton tomorrow. She's back home now, but under a doctor's care. They thought it would be good for her to be in a familiar environment.”

“What time?”

“I'll come collect you at eleven in the a.m., all right?”

Jesse nodded.

“Good. Then I'll take you for some real Texas barbecue for lunch.”

“Sounds good.”

They shook hands again as Diana and Jenn reappeared, both smiling.