ALYSSA BRADFORD DIDN’T answer her phone. Eric called without even leaving the table, speaking into the cell phone in a hushed but hostile voice as he left yet another message, and demanded that she call him back, and this time he would be talking to her husband, thanks. Someone was dead, damn it, and he needed to know what the hell was going on.
The phone didn’t ring. He sat there for a while, waiting and thinking of Gavin Murray with his sunglasses and cigarettes and smug voice. Blown up in a van.
The waitress came by and said, “Is there a problem with the food?” as she eyed his practically untouched plate.
“No,” he said. “No problem. Just… thinking.”
He ate the meal without tasting it, paid, and went back up to the room. He hadn’t gotten the door open before the phone began to ring. Alyssa, he thought, it damn well better be you.
It wasn’t her. Rather, the manager of the hotel, wishing to inform him that the police were looking for him.
“Tell them I’ll be down in five minutes,” he said, and then he hung up and called Claire.
“Are you home?” he said when she answered.
“Yes. Why?”
“I’d like you to leave.”
“Excuse me?”
“I need you to bear with me for a minute, and I need you to believe that I’m not crazy. You still believe that?”
“Eric, what’s going on?”
“Somebody followed me down here from Chicago,” he said. “A man named Gavin Murray. Write that name down, or at least remember it, would you? Gavin Murray. This guy was a PI from Chicago, with a group called Corporate Crisis Solutions.”
“All right.”
He heard a sheet of paper tear loose, then a rattling sound as she looked for a pen.
“He showed up at the hotel yesterday,” Eric said, “and he knew all about me. He mentioned you by name. He knew that we were separated and that the divorce hadn’t gone through yet.”
“What?”
“Yeah-pretty detailed, right? He’d done his research, but that’s the sort of thing those guys can do quickly and easily. So I wasn’t too concerned. Now I’m starting to be.”
“You think I should be afraid of him?”
“Oh, not of him. He’s dead.”
“He’s what?”
“Somebody killed him last night,” Eric said. “Murdered him, blew up his van. I don’t know the details yet. I’m on my way to meet with the police. What I do know is that the guy followed me down here, offered me seventy-five grand to stop asking about Campbell Bradford, and then he was killed. I don’t have any idea what that means, but I do need to tell you that he essentially threatened me last night. He said other sorts of leverage could be used if I ignored the money.”
“Eric…”
“I’m sure this is an undue precaution,” he said, “but all the same, I’d like you to stay away from the house for a while. Until we understand a little more about this, I think that would be a good plan. It would give me some peace of mind, at least.”
“Eric,” she repeated, voice lower, “did you drink any more of that water?”
“That’s irrelevant right now, because we’ve got-”
“You did.”
“So what if I did?”
“I’m just wondering… are you sure this happened? Are you sure that man-”
“Was real?” he said, and gave a wild laugh. “Is that what you’re asking me? Shit, Claire, that’s just what I need, to have you questioning my sanity. Yes, the man was real and yes, he is really dead now, okay? He is dead. Somebody killed him, and I’m going to talk to the police about it now, and if you don’t believe that, then get on the damn computer and look it up, look him up, do whatever the hell you need to do to convince yourself-”
“All right,” she said, “okay, okay, calm down. I just had to ask, that’s all.”
It was quiet for a few moments.
“I’ll leave,” she said. “If that’s what you want, I’ll leave. Okay?”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t get upset when I ask you this, but why did you drink the water again?”
So he answered that as the room phone began to ring again-probably the police wanting to know what the hell was keeping him-and told her about the terrible night he’d had and the way Anne McKinney’s water had quelled it, and about the vision of Campbell Bradford and the boy with the violin.
“The only thing I’m worried about right now,” she said, “is what that water is doing to you. Physically, and mentally. All the rest of this-it’s scary and it’s weird, but it can be dealt with. But that water… that’s more frightening, Eric. Your body is dependent on it now. Your brain, too. That’s not a safe situation.”
“We don’t know if I’m dependent yet,” he said, but the headache was back and his mouth was dry.
“You need medicine,” she said, but then there was a knock on the door and he knew the police had decided not to wait for him to come down.
“I’ve got to go, Claire. I’ve got to talk to the cops. Will you please get out of the house for a while? At least until I know what’s going on.”
She said that she would. She told him to be careful. She told him not to drink any more of the water.