Tina thought he could handle himself, and she should know. Screw it. He snagged some paperwork from the rental car’s glove compartment, hoping they would look official enough to help with his ruse.
To add to his act, he knocked on two other doors before he tried the house with the green door. He explained that he was doing a survey of the neighborhood to gauge the level of support for a new skate park nearby. Apparently the idea was unpopular—or would have been, if it was real—since everyone shut the door in his face.
Then he came to Jessie’s house. His heart pounded as he waited for someone to answer. When no one did, he walked to the side door and peered in.
Jessie sat at the kitchen table, eating eggs and toast. He knocked on that door. She ignored him.
He clawed his way past some rhododendron shrubs to reach a half-open window. “Hey! Is anyone there? This is an official visit from the neighborhood canvassing board. I see you in there. You have to answer. It’s official.”
Jessie didn’t respond. He went back to the door and, on a whim, turned the handle. Astonishingly, it opened.
He stepped inside, his heart in his mouth. “Hello,” he said.
She turned to look at him, confusion on her face. “Hello?” She frowned, as if she almost recognized him for a second, then it vanished.
“Do you know me?”
She stared at him blankly. “It’s rude to bother people while they’re eating.”
“I don’t want to bother you. I just want to…”
“That’s okay.” She gave him a bright smile and turned back to her toast. “It’s all good.”
What the hell? He stood in the kitchen, at a complete loss. How on earth should he handle this?
He flashed on Mark Peterson, the paranoid schizophrenic with a happy smile on his face. Nothing had reached him until Jack had shown him the photo of his children on the sled.
He pulled out his phone and showed her a photo of the two of them as children. “I’m just wondering, do you know these two kids?”
She didn’t look at the photo. “I’m not supposed to answer questions.”
Someone must have threatened her if she talked. “What happens if you answer a question?”
“Well,” she said earnestly, “it’s more like, choices cause stress, so now I don’t have to make any choices. It’s easier to just not deal with questions. Questions are uncomfortable.”
“I guess that’s true enough.”
“Yeah.” She turned back to her lunch.
“Here’s something that isn’t a question. I’m your brother, Jack.”
“Okay.”
Wow, that didn’t seem to mean anything to her at all. What weird-ass drug had they given her? He didn’t know of any drug that would have this effect on a person. Was this what the Clydes and Seth Baker were smuggling?
He racked his brain for his next move. How long did he have before someone else showed up? How could he convince her to come with him?
“Maybe we can just talk.” He pulled out a chair and sat down.
“About what?”
“About anything you want.”
Nothing seemed to come to her, so he suggested, “We could talk about Sea Smoke Island.”
A strange expression flashed across her face, as if a distant bell had rung somewhere in her foggy brain. “That sounds pretty.”
“It’s very pretty. It’s very inspiring for an artist like you.”
