Don't Go by Lisa Scottoline

Author:Lisa Scottoline
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781250010070
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2013-04-09T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Forty-two

Mike knocked on the MacFarlands’ door, trying to stay calm. He felt a cramped twisting in the arm that wasn’t there anymore, his characteristic phantom pain. In the next moment, the door was opened by a heavyset, middle-aged man in a flannel shirt that wasn’t tucked in, over baggy jeans.

“Can I help you?” the man asked, frowning behind his bifocals.

“Yes, hello. My name is Mike Scanlon, and I used to live two doors down, with my wife Chloe and our new baby.”

“Oh, right, I’m John MacFarland.” John’s eyes flickered with recognition, a cloudy gray. “I recall the name. You were in Afghanistan, right?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you for your service. How can I help you?”

“I thought I’d come by to talk to your son. He was helpful to my late wife while I was away, and I wanted to say thanks.”

“Right, come in. My condolences.” John stepped aside, and Mike entered the well-appointed entrance hall. “Hang on a sec, I’ll get Pat. I think he’s awake.” He went to the base of the stair and hollered up, “Pat, can you come down? Someone’s here to see you.”

“What does Pat do for a living?” Mike tried to keep his tone casual, though his heart hammered away.

“He’s in between jobs.” John frowned. “He graduated a few years ago, but he got laid off. He’s a graphic designer, websites, all that. Fortunately, he can freelance.”

Mike remembered one of the emails from Mac702 had flattered Chloe and her paintings. “And he lives here?”

“Yes, for the time being. My wife loves having him home. She’s up in the shower, or I’d have her meet you.” They both looked up to the stairwell as a huge mastiff bounded down, its wide pink tongue lolling out of its mouth. John shook his head, indulgently. “Here’s Gigi, Pat’s dog. Gigi stands for gentle giant, so don’t worry.”

“Good to know.” Mike edged backwards as the mastiff hit the rug with a thump, and John moved to grab its collar, but missed, chuckling.

“Gang way. She jumps up.”

“Hi, Gigi.” Mike caught the mastiff as she jumped on his chest with her front paws, drooling and panting. He moved his stump away, wincing. “Whoa, she’s a horse.”

“Weighs 150 pounds. No, Gigi, down.” John tugged the dog to the rug, where she plopped on her butt and her hind legs flopped apart. “She needs obedience, that’s for sure.”

Mike felt a start when he spotted Pat, coming downstairs. He was handsome, about six foot two, with thick dark hair, brown eyes, and a relaxed smile. He had on a black T-shirt with loose-fitting blue athletic pants, and when he reached the foot of the stairwell, he gulped a spoonful of cereal from a bowl he was carrying.

John turned to his son. “Pat, you remember that woman down the block, in 637? You used to help her out when we first moved here.”

“No, not really.” Pat shrugged.

“Sure you do. You were over there.”

“What was her name again?” Pat took another spoonful of cereal.

“Chloe Voulette,” Mike interjected, wondering if Pat was lying.

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