Chapter 5 - The Man in Booth Six
Patrick Riley stepped beneath the rising door.
He looked older than the photographs.
But alive.
Very alive.
Cormac aimed his weapon.
Patrick smiled.
“Still dramatic.”
“You’re dead.”
“So were Evelyn and Raymond.”
June stepped from behind the shelves.
Patrick looked at her.
“June Holloway.”
“You know me?”
“I know everything about you.”
“That makes one of us.”
Patrick laughed.
Cormac didn’t.
Patrick explained little.
He wanted the drive.
He wanted Ray’s records.
Most of all, he wanted whatever Ray had entrusted to June.
June insisted she had nothing.
Patrick smiled.
“Raymond always said you were the only person he trusted completely.”
“That was apparently another lie.”
Patrick studied her.
“No. That part was true.”
He left them alive.
That frightened Cormac.
“He wants us to lead him somewhere,” June said.
“Yes.”
“So we lead him somewhere wrong.”
Cormac looked at her.
“You’re getting disturbingly good at this.”
“I run a diner. Manipulating unreasonable men is customer service.”
Back at Holloway House, June did something Cormac hated.
She reopened.
Again.
“If people want to watch me, let them watch me work.”
Cormac occupied booth six.
By lunch, the diner looked ordinary.
Then a little girl entered carrying an envelope.
“For Mrs. Holloway.”
June crouched.
“Who gave you this?”
“A man outside.”
Cormac was already moving.
The street was empty.
June opened the envelope.
Inside was an old photograph of herself.
Twenty-eight years younger.
Standing beside Ray on their wedding day.
But the photograph had been taken from across the street.
Someone had watched them even then.
On the back:
ASK CORMAC WHY RAY CHOSE YOU.
June walked to booth six.
Cormac read it.
His face changed.
“You know.”
“I know part.”
“Tell me.”
Cormac hesitated.
“Ray worked for my father before he met you.”
June sat.
“What?”
“He was an accountant. Small jobs initially. Then sensitive ones.”
“My husband told me he worked at a tire warehouse.”
“He did. It was owned by my father.”
June felt sick.
“Did Ray marry me because of your family?”
“No.”
“You hesitated.”
“Because there’s more.”
Cormac looked toward the windows.
“Your father wasn’t a mechanic, June.”
She stared.
“My father died when I was twelve.”
“Your father was an investigator.”
“For the police?”
“Federal.”
June stopped breathing.
“Ray was supposed to watch you.”
The diner noise faded.
Cormac continued.
“Your father had evidence against my father. After your father died, people believed he had hidden it with his family. Ray was told to get close to you.”
June stood so quickly the table shook.
“My entire marriage—”
“Was not an assignment.”
“How would you know?”
“Because Ray refused to report on you after three months.”
Cormac’s voice softened.
“He fell in love with you.”
June wanted to believe it.
That made her hate the story more.
She walked into the kitchen.
Cormac followed.
“Leave me alone.”
“I can’t.”
“Try.”
“June.”
She turned.
“Twenty-seven years. I cooked for him. Slept beside him. Held his hand when we lost babies. Built this place with him. And now every memory has a footnote.”
Cormac said nothing.
June’s anger collapsed into tears.
“I don’t know which parts were real.”
Cormac stepped closer.
“The way he looked at you was real.”
“You barely knew us.”
“I knew Ray.”
“And?”
Cormac’s voice became quiet.
“He talked about you constantly.”
June laughed through tears.
“What did he say?”
“That you overcooked bacon when you were angry.”
She stared.
“That you sang badly when you did inventory.”
A broken laugh escaped her.
“That you gave free meals to people and lied about coupons so they wouldn’t feel ashamed.”
June wiped her face.
“And that he never understood why you chose him.”
Silence.
Cormac looked at her with an intensity that made her suddenly aware of how close they stood.
June stepped back.
The office phone rang.
She answered.
No one spoke.
Then breathing.
“Hello?”
A man whispered:
“Your husband is alive.”
June gripped the receiver.
“Where?”
“Closer than you think.”
The kitchen door swung open.
Eddie stood there.
White-faced.
May you like
Behind him was a man wearing Ray’s old brown coat.
The stranger slowly raised his head.
