Shotgun Lullaby (A Conway Sax Mystery) (37 page)

When things didn't play out that way, Brad killed him instead.

The day I'd interrupted Brad and Rinn in the guesthouse, just before I left to meet Charlie Pundo, Brad had been threatening the baby, telegraphing his plans to Rinn. He'd scared her enough that she didn't dare say anything to me.

I'd felt the bad vibe.

I'd ignored it.

And Rinn had died.

And that was for me to live with.

When I tried to sleep lately, when I got down to that place where you either doze off or don't, I always felt her blood on my elbows and knees. The blood I'd crawled through.

I didn't doze off much.

Roy, Jessie, Gus, Sophie.

Emma.

At night, in bed, I thought about them all. Pasts and futures. I tried pushing words and facts around to make things better for any of them. All of them. When sleep finally drew near, I could damn near convince myself I'd pulled it off, had done something differently that changed everything.

I always woke up sweaty and sheet-tangled.

A tennis ball took a wild hop and came over the fence. Sophie rose, underhanded it back to the oldsters, and sat again.

She'd been reading my thoughts. “Emma is the only winner,” she said. “Relatively speaking.”

“Relatively speaking.”

Pundo had put the squeeze on Peter Biletnikov. Had strong-armed his way to a private paternity test, which proved what everybody already knew. Pundo gave Biletnikov a simple choice: give up the baby quietly and never hear about it again, or fight the process and find himself in court and on TV for a very long time.

It was a bluff, and a good one—Biletnikov didn't want a trial any more than Pundo did.

So Biletnikov was long gone, and Emma was with Pundo.

As was Haley. She wouldn't let the kid out of her sight. Charlie was fine with that.

Sophie said, “Do you still think Charlie will stay with Haley?”

“I'd bet a paycheck on it. When I visited, Pundo was shopping for a big house in Longmeadow, the ritzy suburb out there. And Haley's got a good heart. Emma will make out like a bandit.”

“Good for her.”

We were quiet awhile.

Finally, I said, “Remember we talked about little kids remembering things?”

“I know what you're thinking,” Sophie said. “Emma's about seven months old. You're wondering if that's
too
early for memories. You're hoping it is.”

“Is it?”

“I don't think so.”

“You think Emma will have her echoes.”

“Emma will have her echoes,” Sophie said.

 

Also by Steve Ulfelder

Purgatory Chasm

The Whole Lie

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Steve Ulfelder, author of the Conway Sax mysteries, is an amateur race-car driver and co-owner of Flatout Motorsports, a Massachusetts company that builds race cars. He was a business and technology journalist for twenty years. His first novel,
Purgatory Chasm,
was an Edgar Award finalist. Connect with Steve online at
www.ulfelder.com
, on Facebook, and on Twitter (@SteveUlfelder).

 

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

A THOMAS DUNNE BOOK FOR MINOTAUR BOOKS.

An Imprint of St. Martin's Publishing Group.

Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein

SHOTGUN LULLABY.
Copyright © 2013 by Steve Ulfelder. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.thomasdunnebooks.com

www.minotaurbooks.com

ISBN 978-1-250-02808-2 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-250-02809-9 (e-book)

e-ISBN 9781250028099

First Edition: May 2013