There was something in the way Ernie looked at me now that reminded me of the recognition I had seen on his face when I met him. Fear constricted my chest, crushing it like a cheap paper cup. “You know who I am.”
“I just met you, man.”
“Yet you haven’t asked my name.”
“Why would I? Some hot chick wants to see my place, I let her in.”
It didn’t make sense, but still I asked, “Did Dee hire you to find me?”
Despite the pain that cast his face in shiny pallor, his gaze grew wolfish. “Cassie Larkin, Terra Linda Drive. Husband Sam. Two kids. I gave Dee that information just before she died.”
Breathless, I stood, but Ernie grabbed my arm. His breathing grew labored, his eyes glazed. “What about those antibiotics?”
I yanked my arm free, backed up out of his reach, and then, just in case, reached into my purse and palmed the pepper spray. Then I gestured toward his forehead. “You should probably seek medical attention. From someone other than an animal doctor.”
His gaze dropped to the floor, and he reached for his baseball cap. He pulled it so the brim again shielded his forehead.
“Another piece of advice: you should move, especially since Carver knows where you live.” I paused to let that settle. “If Carver comes around again, it could put your girlfriend and her son in danger. And I know the last thing you’d want is to have a child hurt because of something you did.”
I left Ernie slumped on the couch, even the feverish spots on his cheeks turning ashen. I made it as far as the porch before the screaming started.
I immediately recognized the screaming for what it was: an expression of intense pain, beyond what might be caused by an infected cut. Inside, I found Ernie curled up on the floor, legs twitching as he held his stomach with both hands.
He moaned. “I’m gonna be sick.” I rolled him onto his left side, and he just missed vomiting on my shoes.
I looked around the living area but saw no landline, and I didn’t want to compromise my own cell phone.
“Do you have a phone?”
Ernie was past speaking, but he managed to jerk a shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. I found his phone on the counter next to the microwave. It was protected by a password, so I used the emergency option on the lock screen to call 911. I didn’t give my name, only the information that a man had been poisoned and that I would leave the bottle containing the suspected toxin on the coffee table.
When I hung up, I checked Ernie’s pulse. It was weak, but his breathing was steady. I left the phone within his reach.
“I’ve got to go, but the paramedics are on their way,” I told him, before checking his pulse one final time.
I couldn’t stay, not with PERV carved on his forehead and my daughter’s name on the bottle that contained the poison. Because I had no doubt Ernie’s sudden distress was caused by the pills I had given him. Pills I could just as easily have given my daughter, who weighed just under fifty pounds compared to Ernie’s two hundred-plus. Though I didn’t know who, I knew someone had poisoned my daughter’s medication—just as, according to the newspaper article, Carver might have poisoned his wife.
There were no words to describe the depths of my rage.
I put the bottle on the table, my hand shaking, and peeled off the label as best I could. Just so there wasn’t any misunderstanding, I used a pen and paper from my purse to write the word POISON in all caps, drawing an arrow, too, and tucked the edge of the note underneath the bottle.
Then I stepped over the seizing pedophile and ran all the way back to where Daryl’s Honda was parked several blocks away.
37
The sky had been scoured of fog by the time I crossed the Golden Gate, and the sun made its red towers glow. To the right, the city’s dense skyline scratched the horizon. To the left, sailboats skimmed the Pacific Ocean, gentle waves lapping at their hulls.
Despite the view, I felt none of the usual amazement. Instead, I felt fear that Sam would never be found. Fear that I had made a disastrous decision leaving my kids at Daryl’s. Fear that I would be killed, and my kids would lose a second parent, and they might never even realize I was lost.
But that outcome was far better than my greatest fear—that something would happen to Audrey and Leo. That particular fear had been magnified a million times over upon seeing Ernie writhing on his living room floor.
I had called Red on my run back to the car. Between breaths, I had told him about the poisoned pills and had warned him not to let the kids eat anything or drink so much as a glass of water.
Everything was fine, he had assured me. The kids were fine. Daryl was fine. Heck, even Lester was fine. His repeated use of that word had done little to calm me.
I was right to be afraid. That became clear half an hour later when Leo called. Daryl’s Honda had Bluetooth, but my phone wasn’t connected to it. I answered anyway, punching the icon to put my son on speaker.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
Leo was supposed to say what my father had repeated thirty minutes earlier: Everything’s fine.
Instead, he answered, “I don’t think so.”
And just like that, I turned to ice. I worried that Audrey had taken one of her poisoned pills.
“Explain.”
“You know Audrey’s been missing Dad.” He aimed for nonchalance, as if he had matured past any such longing himself. I ached with the urge to hug my son.
“Is she okay?”
“Mom, chill. She’s okay. It’s just, I thought you’d want to know that she might’ve done something stupid.”
“What did she do?”
“I don’t know if it’s even a big deal or not.”
I turned on the heater. “What did Audrey do?”
“She tried to call Dad. On Daryl’s phone.” Leo’s voice was tinny, a reminder of the distance between us.
“Put Red on the phone.”
“I will. It’s just . . . that’s not all. A guy answered. It wasn’t Dad, obviously, but he told Audrey he knew Dad and that Dad was trying to get a hold of you but couldn’t because he didn’t have your new phone number.”
My phone felt suddenly hot in my hand. “Did she give it to him?”
“She’s six.”
That was Leo’s way of saying of course she had.
“Get your grandfather.”
When Red came on the line, I rushed through an instruction. “Check with Daryl. I think he has a truck he sometimes uses for—work.”
After I heard Red asking, and Daryl confirming, I added, “Get in the truck and head south.” I strained to think of a landmark between Daryl’s house in Sebastopol and the stretch of Highway 101 I was currently traveling. “We’ll meet at the dog park where Lester got attacked by bees. Daryl will know.”
Thankfully, I didn’t need to stress the urgency of the situation to my father or offer an explanation. He would likely ask for one later, but at that moment, he mumbled a quick “Okay” and disconnected.
So . . . the asshole who had Sam’s phone also now had my number. I considered tossing my phone from the car but quickly dismissed the idea. For now, I needed it, and besides, I was a moving target. A very angry moving target.