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Authors: Robert B. Parker
Tags: Jesse Stone Book 3
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it."
"Anything else you can tell me that might help?"
Emily lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply and let it out slowly though her nose. There was something practiced about it, Jesse thought, as if it were a trick recently learned.
"I got a letter from her back in my room," she said. "I think she said the nun's name in it."
"Can we get that? When I pick up the picture?"
"Yeah, sure."
They were silent. Jesse watched her smoke. He could see her eyes well up, but she didn't cry.
"You okay?" he said.
"Yeah, sure."
"Can we get the picture and the letter?"
"Yeah, sure."
They left the coffee shop and walked to the campus. Jesse thought how different it would feel to go there and graduate. Old stone, old trees, wide paths, white houses with dark shutters, green grass in spring, new snow glistening in winter. Different from being a desert high school grad with a sore arm.
In Emily's room there were clothes on the floor in a pile. The bed was unmade. On her desk, books and papers were jumbled with no pattern. Amidst the jumble was a framed picture of the Bishop girls. In color, all smiling at the camera.
"How old is the picture?" Jesse said.
"Last summer."
Jesse stared at it while Emily looked in her desk drawer and in a moment came out with a letter. It was postmarked July 3. Emily handed it to him and Jesse took it. She picked up the picture and handed it to Jesse.
"The happy family," Emily said.
Jesse took the picture.
"I hope Carla gets out before they get her, too."
Jesse didn't comment. There wasn't any comment to make.
"They aren't going to get me," Emily said. "I'm outta there. I'm on my own and I'm never going back."
"Your father still pay your tuition?"
"Of course he does. You think he wants to have his daughter drop out of a seven fucking sisters school?"
"Good to be able to count on something," Jesse said.
"Fuck him," Emily said. "He owes it to me. I'll take him for everything he's got if I can."
Quite suddenly she began to cry. Jesse put an arm on her shoulder. She shrugged it off and stepped away from him. He stood quietly in the room without touching her until she stopped crying.
"You got someone to talk to?" Jesse said.
She nodded.
"Shrink?"
She nodded again. Jesse took out a card.
"You think of anything… or you need anything."
He handed her the card. She looked at it as if it meant more than it did.
"You'll do that?" Jesse said.
"Yes."
"Might be good if you called your shrink," Jesse said.
She didn't speak or move. Jesse stood for another moment and then he left.
Chapter Twenty-two
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Jesse stood in the open slider of his condo, looking out over his balcony toward Paradise Neck. Below the balcony the black water of the harbor moved with aimless purpose against the rust-colored rocks. Jesse liked the sound. He would like it even more with a drink. He knew the girl was Billie Bishop. He couldn't exactly prove it yet, but he knew. He knew there was something wrong in the Bishop house. Were the girls being molested? They seemed angry. Especially Emily. He thought about how pleasant it would be to sit on his balcony with a tall scotch and soda and look at the harbor and listen to the gentle sway of the Atlantic Ocean and not think about molestation. He wondered if Emily was a lesbian. As the evening lengthened it grew dark enough for the lights of the big houses on the neck to show across the harbor. He wished Jenn were here. He wished they could sit together and look at the ocean and the far lights.
He got up and walked into his kitchen. He took a glass down from the cupboard, sixteen ounces, the kind you got when you ordered a pint of Guinness. He filled the glass with ice cubes, poured two inches of Dewar's into the glass, and opened a can of club soda and filled the rest of the glass with it. He took a spoon from the drawer and stirred the glass until the colorless soda diluted the amber scotch evenly. He took a sip. Perfect. He brought the glass out onto the
"Anything else you can tell me that might help?"
Emily lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply and let it out slowly though her nose. There was something practiced about it, Jesse thought, as if it were a trick recently learned.
"I got a letter from her back in my room," she said. "I think she said the nun's name in it."
"Can we get that? When I pick up the picture?"
"Yeah, sure."
They were silent. Jesse watched her smoke. He could see her eyes well up, but she didn't cry.
"You okay?" he said.
"Yeah, sure."
"Can we get the picture and the letter?"
"Yeah, sure."
They left the coffee shop and walked to the campus. Jesse thought how different it would feel to go there and graduate. Old stone, old trees, wide paths, white houses with dark shutters, green grass in spring, new snow glistening in winter. Different from being a desert high school grad with a sore arm.
In Emily's room there were clothes on the floor in a pile. The bed was unmade. On her desk, books and papers were jumbled with no pattern. Amidst the jumble was a framed picture of the Bishop girls. In color, all smiling at the camera.
"How old is the picture?" Jesse said.
"Last summer."
Jesse stared at it while Emily looked in her desk drawer and in a moment came out with a letter. It was postmarked July 3. Emily handed it to him and Jesse took it. She picked up the picture and handed it to Jesse.
"The happy family," Emily said.
Jesse took the picture.
"I hope Carla gets out before they get her, too."
Jesse didn't comment. There wasn't any comment to make.
"They aren't going to get me," Emily said. "I'm outta there. I'm on my own and I'm never going back."
"Your father still pay your tuition?"
"Of course he does. You think he wants to have his daughter drop out of a seven fucking sisters school?"
"Good to be able to count on something," Jesse said.
"Fuck him," Emily said. "He owes it to me. I'll take him for everything he's got if I can."
Quite suddenly she began to cry. Jesse put an arm on her shoulder. She shrugged it off and stepped away from him. He stood quietly in the room without touching her until she stopped crying.
"You got someone to talk to?" Jesse said.
She nodded.
"Shrink?"
She nodded again. Jesse took out a card.
"You think of anything… or you need anything."
He handed her the card. She looked at it as if it meant more than it did.
"You'll do that?" Jesse said.
"Yes."
"Might be good if you called your shrink," Jesse said.
She didn't speak or move. Jesse stood for another moment and then he left.
Chapter Twenty-two
Â
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Jesse stood in the open slider of his condo, looking out over his balcony toward Paradise Neck. Below the balcony the black water of the harbor moved with aimless purpose against the rust-colored rocks. Jesse liked the sound. He would like it even more with a drink. He knew the girl was Billie Bishop. He couldn't exactly prove it yet, but he knew. He knew there was something wrong in the Bishop house. Were the girls being molested? They seemed angry. Especially Emily. He thought about how pleasant it would be to sit on his balcony with a tall scotch and soda and look at the harbor and listen to the gentle sway of the Atlantic Ocean and not think about molestation. He wondered if Emily was a lesbian. As the evening lengthened it grew dark enough for the lights of the big houses on the neck to show across the harbor. He wished Jenn were here. He wished they could sit together and look at the ocean and the far lights.
He got up and walked into his kitchen. He took a glass down from the cupboard, sixteen ounces, the kind you got when you ordered a pint of Guinness. He filled the glass with ice cubes, poured two inches of Dewar's into the glass, and opened a can of club soda and filled the rest of the glass with it. He took a spoon from the drawer and stirred the glass until the colorless soda diluted the amber scotch evenly. He took a sip. Perfect. He brought the glass out onto the
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