Page 113 of Out of Nowhere

She lowered her eyes for a second, then looked up at him again and gave a small nod.

“For godsake, say goodbye,” Glenda said. “You set the time for this misbegotten interview. You don’t want to be late.”

Calder gave Elle a last, meaningful look before stepping back. With misgiving, he watched them drive away.

He entered the apartment building and crossed the lobby to the elevator. Since he’d spent only one night there, he had to remind himself which floor his unit was on.

It felt odd not to belong to any one place. But being displaced didn’t distress him as it once would have. Everyone lived with impermanence; they just didn’t realize it until a catastrophe befell them.

He let himself into the apartment. Because of his rushed departure yesterday morning, it was in disarray. He supposed the smaller suitcase he’d taken to the safe house was still there, but the larger one that he’d packed with clothes and shoes when he’d moved out of the condo was lying open on the living room floor, clothes strewn everywhere. He went around the room, picking up the garments he wanted to take with him now. The rest he left where they’d landed.

After repacking the suitcase, he sat down at the dining table, booted up the borrowed laptop, and accessed his own computer contents from the cloud.

First, he checked his emails, ignoring the business-related ones and sending a blanket one to friends who’d written frantic inquiries about his well-being after last night’s harrowing events. In brief, he told them that he was well but eager for the ordeal to be over and the culprit in custody.

Then he went into his files on the Maxwell Supply job and clicked through them until the newspaper photograph came up. Compton and Perkins had scrubbed the theory that there was a connection between Arnold Draper and the shootings. Elle had called it absurd speculation.

However, despite their dismissal, Calder wasn’t ready to let go of the notion just yet.

This reluctance to forget it and move on was bothersome and unwelcome. He couldn’t explain it, except that he wanted to feel completely and wholly blameless. He resented Compton and Perkins for planting the seed in his mind that he might have been responsible. It seemed determined to germinate.

He stared at the newspaper picture, examining it for a clue, willing it to give up a secret if it had one. After several minutes, frustrated with himself, he closed the file, got up, and went into the kitchen to get a drink of water.

He checked his watch. It had been forty-five minutes since Elle had departed. Had Shauna shown up? Had they started recording the interview? Had they chitchatted informally first?

No, he couldn’t envision that. It was more likely that Glenda and Shauna had gotten into a catfight and Elle was serving as referee.

Ironically, Glenda and Shauna were cut from the same cloth. When talking to Glenda last night, he’d recognized the personality traits they had in common. They could be sisters. Blood sisters, anyway, bonded as securely as blood brothers.

“All bastards have brothers.”

Without forethought, Calder had said the words out loud. It was a quote, a line from a movie, he thought, meant to cause a chuckle. Or had he read it somewhere? The sentence had just popped into his mind with the suddenness and surprise of a jack-in-the-box. Why?

He stilled and let the idea take shape, then set down his glass of water, rushed back to his laptop, and pulled up the people-finder info on Arnold M. Draper. There were several other Drapers with male names in the list of possible relatives.

Also, drawing his eyes to it like a magnet, was the Drapers’ telephone number. He debated, then, before he could talk himself out of it, punched the number into his phone.

On the fourth ring, the call was answered by a soft female voice. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Draper?”

“Yes.”

His heart thumped. He cleared his throat. “Hello. My name is Calder Hudson. I’m—”

“I know who you are.”

“Oh?”

“Of course.”

“From recent news? From the Fairground shooting?”

“No, Mr. Hudson. All the way back to Maxwell Supply.”

“I see.” He rubbed his forehead. He thought of that sweet-looking lady, clipping her husband’s fingernails and talking to him as if he recognized her and was following everything she was saying.

“Mrs. Draper, I’m aware of your husband’s condition. I, uh, I was at the center this morning.”

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