“I wouldn’t vouch for anyone these days,” Phil said. “Listen, these guys with Falkirk are like The Sopranos, but they have for-real legal authority and a desire to abuse the hell out of it. If the shit hits the fan, I can’t pull the plug for you.”
“Thanks for the heads-up. See you for dinner tomorrow night.”
“I love the lobster bisque.”
Duke terminated the call and crossed the street against the light, holding up one hand to stop the traffic, with which he had more success than King Canute did when he commanded the sea to be still.
73
In this timeline, no breeze issued off the ocean, no ball of red yarn appeared, but Michelle’s sense of an impending shock did not diminish.
She glanced left and right, thinking, and then told Ed, “Jane and Larry Barnaby. They had a daughter, Keri, the same year Amity was born. We went through that sleepless first year together, babysat for each other. I’ve stayed friends with them since Jeffy and Amity died. He would have, too, after I . . . after the other Michelle walked out on him.”
“Where do these Barnaby people live? If they’re still in this town at all.”
“Quickest way is out to Pacific Coast Highway and turn south. It’s maybe a ten-minute walk.”
As she and Ed started west along the alley, a man turned the corner ahead and approached them at a brisk pace. Tall and barrel-chested and broad-shouldered, he might have been a guy who earned his living breaking knees or necks or heads, whatever was wanted of him. Even though he wore a suit and tie, though he carried himself with his spine as straight as a knight’s lance, an air of menace clung to him.
Michelle moved to the right side of the alley, as did Ed, giving the stranger a wide berth. The man glanced at them, seemed disinterested, but then did a double take and changed course, crossing directly to Michelle.
“Mrs. Coltrane?”
She strove to suppress her surprise. “What? No. You’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
As she tried to sidle past this stranger, he blocked her.
Ed eased one hand under his coat, to the pistol in his belt holster.
Without looking away from Michelle, his bottle-green eyes decanting pure suspicion, the big man said to Ed, “Cool it, pal. Don’t make me break your hand. You don’t need a gun, anyway.”
“Really,” Michelle said, “you’re making a mistake. I don’t know any Coltrane.”
He snatched off her baseball cap, and she gasped, and he said, “You’re older, of course, but you look the same as those photos in your daughter’s wallet that she’s so proud of. She showed them to me not two hours ago. You don’t even need to put your hair down. You’re Michelle, all right.”
Oddly enough, a sudden breeze, scented with cinnamon, stirred litter along the alley. Later than in the world they recently left, the ball of red yarn came rolling past them, unraveling as it went.
This time the scarlet filament didn’t call to mind a thread of blood or a lit fuse. Instead, she dared to think of it as a marker that, like Hansel and Gretel’s white pebbles in the fairy tale, was meant to lead her through the dark forest of her life and home to family.
Unsettled but also exhilarated by the way this encounter was unfolding, she said, “You know where Jeffy and Amity are?”
“They’re at my house.” He seemed to have transformed from ogre into friendly giant. “I’ll take you to them.”
Astonished, she looked at Ed, who beamed back at her and, as if this had been his plan all along, said, “The Ed factor. Things tend to happen around me.”
“You’re Harkenbach?” the stranger asked.
Ed rubbed his bald head with one hand. “In my sadly depilated condition, I may not look like him—”
“I don’t know what he looks like,” the stranger said. “I’ve never seen a picture. I only met Jeffy and Amity this morning, and they didn’t much describe you. So you’re Jeffy’s friend.”
“Actually, that’s quite another Ed, the Ed of this world. I’m the Ed of this Michelle’s world, a braver specimen of myself, I’m happy to say. I know I sound as though I’m talking gibberish—”
“I get you,” the big man said. He smiled at Michelle. “You’re not the mother who walked out on the girl. Maybe like they’ve been hunting another you, you’ve been hunting another them. You must have a damn good story to tell. Best save it till we get to my place, so you don’t have to repeat it for your husband and daughter. My name’s Charlie Pellafino, by the way. Friends call me Duke, and I’m pretty damn sure we’re going to be friends.”
As Duke escorted them eastward along the alley, Michelle said, “You met them only this morning?”
“Yes, ma’am. Your husband is a stand-up guy, and your girl is a charmer. She called me Uncle Duke.”