Page 30 of The Man Made of Smoke

There’s only one way to find out.

My father’s voice, from the seat behind me.

What did you do now? I thought.

What do you imagine I did? Don’t overthink things. Just go and knock on the front door and see what happens.

I nodded to myself.

After locking the car, I made my way up the drive. But my arrival must have already been noted, because the front door opened before I reached it. Only a little though. Whoever was inside had kept it on the chain. As I drew closer, I saw a woman there, standing back from the slightly open gap.

She looked suspicious. Nervous, even.

“Can you stay back, please?” she said.

“Of course.”

I stopped a short distance from the door and smiled lightly. She was maybe a few years older than I was, but it was hard to be more precise, as both her pale skin and the shadows beneath her eyes suggested she wasn’t sleeping well or taking care of herself. There was a restlessness to her too. Her body was moving slightly, as though there was some energy inside her that wouldn’t allow her to keep still.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Is this a bad time?”

She considered that.

“It is a bad time,” she said. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry to bother you then. I was hoping to speak to Darren Field?”

“He’s not here.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah,” she said. “That’s kind of why it’s a bad time.”

I was about to reply but then the woman glanced over my shoulder, and the look of suspicion on her face deepened.

“Wait a minute—is that your car?”

“Yes,” I said. “Sort of.”

She pointed at it. “That’s the carthe manwas driving. I’m sure of it.”

“The man?”

“The weird old man who came to talk to Darren.”

I didn’t think my father would have appreciated that description much. But at least it cleared up one question. Hehadfollowed the trail this far. At the same time, it raised others. Presumably he had come here looking for Darren Field, and now Fieldwasn’there, and from the woman’s demeanor there was clearly something very wrong about that.

“It’s my father’s car,” I said. “Washis car, I mean. He died a few days ago.”

She didn’t seem in the mood to offer condolences.

“Why did he want to speak to Darren? Why doyou, come to that?”

“I found Darren’s name and address in my father’s files,” I said. “I don’t actually know who Darren is; I’d never heard of him before. And I don’t know why my father came to see him. I suppose the reason I’m here is that I’m looking for answers myself. When was this?”

“A couple of weeks ago. The day before Darren left.”

“Darren’s your husband, right?”

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