Stone Cold (Camel Club 3)

“I know we have a lot going on, but if you want your mother to come and live with us, I’m okay with that. We’ll make it work somehow.”

“Not a good idea, Mandy. She’s fine right where she is.”

“Okay, Harry, but there might come a time when we need to make that decision.”

“Maybe, but that time isn’t now. So let’s not worry about it. We have enough on our plates.”

“You’re sure there’s nothing bothering you?”

He shook his head, but didn’t look at his wife.

She touched his hand. “Harry, you seem to be drifting away from us.”

His response was delivered with a harshness that surprised even him. “I went to Susie’s school. I almost never miss a ball game or soccer match. The yard doesn’t have a weed in it. I help with all the homework and housework. I play chauffeur as much as you do. What more do you want from me, Mandy?”

She withdrew her hand slowly. “Nothing, I guess.”

They finished their pie in silence. Mandy slowly headed upstairs but Finn remained sitting in the kitchen staring at nothing.

“Not coming?” she said.

“Got a few things to do.”

“Don’t go out, Harry, not tonight.”

“Maybe just a walk. You know.”

“Yes, I know,” Mandy said to herself as she climbed the stairs.

“Mandy?”

She turned back around.

“Things will get better. I promise. They’ll get better soon.” I’m almost there.

“Sure, Harry, sure.”

CHAPTER 46

THERE WAS REALLY ONLY ONE PLACE for Annabelle to go: the graveyard. She had never had the opportunity to pay her respects to her mother. She was going to take care of that tonight.

She parked her rental, slipped through the gate and walked along the darkened pathways. The location of her mother’s grave was seared into her head. However, when she arrived there, she found that her mother already had a visitor. She ducked behind an evergreen and watched.

He was stretched out on the ground next to the grave. As Annabelle listened she could hear the words floating to her from the prone figure. He was singing an Irish ditty to the dead woman. It was a song that Annabelle had heard him sing to her mother when Annabelle was a little girl. The lyrics had to do with dreams and a green, lush land and a man and a woman very much in love. As she continued to listen tears started sliding down her cheeks, though she didn’t want them to. The sounds grew fainter and she finally realized her father had fallen asleep next to the grave of his wife—her mother.

Annabelle stepped out from behind the tree, strode quietly over to the burial plot and knelt down on the other side of the grave from where her father lay quietly snoring. Then she did something she hadn’t done since attending mass as a little girl. She crossed herself and prayed over her mother. More tears poured down her face as she spoke to God and tried to talk to her mother, telling her how much she missed her, how much she wanted her to be alive.

She prayed and spoke until her heart was nearly bursting. Then she rose, crossed herself again and, staring down at her slumbering father, made up her mind.

He was painfully light as she gripped him under the armpits, lifting him to his feet. He awakened slightly. She half carried him to her car, put him in, drove back to the inn and got him to bed in her room. She sat outside on the couch until she heard a tap on her door.

It was Stone. He looked worried. He filled her in on what had happened with Milton and Reuben. Then he glanced toward her bedroom door, from which loud snores were now pouring forth.

Stone didn’t say anything about that because the look on Annabelle’s face told him quite clearly that any questions would not be welcome.

“Do you want to go back home tomorrow?” he asked instead.

“I don’t have a home,” she replied. “But we can go back to your home tomorrow.”

The next morning Annabelle had breakfast sent up to the room. When her father came out of the bedroom hot coffee was poured and eggs and bacon were on the plate.

“You look like you could use some food,” she said.

He looked around. “How the hell did I get here?”

“You were at the grave last night. So was I.”

He nodded slowly, rubbing his tangled hair down with one hand. “I see.”

“Come and eat.”

“You don’t have to do this, Annie.”

“I know that. Eat.”

He sat and managed to down a few bites and drink a bit of the coffee.

“How bad is it?” she asked, studying his gaunt, gray face.

“Bad enough. Six months without treatment. A year with. But who wants to go out sick all the time?”

“Do you need anything? Money? A place to live?”

He sat back and wiped the napkin across his lips. “You owe me nothing, Annie. And I ain’t taking nothing from you.”

“There’s no reason you have to be in pain or sleeping in the back of a truck. I have money.”

“I’ve got whiskey for the pain and that old truck of mine is what they call a low-end recreational vehicle. I’m fine.”

“You’re obviously not fine.”

His expression darkened as he pushed away from the table. “I don’t want your pity, Annie, okay? I can deal with your hatred a lot easier.”

“Is that why you never found me and told me you were in jail when Bagger killed Mom?”

“Would it have made a difference to you?”

“Probably not,” she admitted.

“So there you go. Would’ve been a bloody waste of time.”

He rose and fumbled in his pocket, fishing out a cigarette pack and a lighter. “Do you mind, seeing as how it’s already killed me?” She shook her head and he stepped to the window, opened it and blew the smoke out that way.

“So did you hit Jerry up in Atlantic City?”

“I did.”

“Did you hit the bastard hard?”

“Millions.”

“Well, then you’re a lock for heaven, ’cause there ain’t no man what deserves it more than that bloke.”

“But it wasn’t enough,” Annabelle said in a low voice.

Paddy stared moodily out the window. “Course it wasn’t. One thing Jerry has is lots of money. You can take all you want and he’ll make it all back off the sorry types tramping through his casino every bloody minute.”

“So how do I hurt him enough?”

He swung around to look at her. “You take away one of two things: either his life or his freedom. Only way.”

“There’s no statute of limitations on killing someone.”

“You got proof he murdered your mum?”

“Nothing that will stand up in court. But I know he did it.”

“I do too.”

Father and daughter stared at each other for a long time.

He finally said, “There’re only two people in the whole world who’ve conned that bastard and lived to tell about it. And they’re both in this room.”

“So you want to con Jerry, together?”

“I want him to pay for what he did to your mum.”

“You think I don’t?”