Silent Joe by T. Jefferson Parker Read Free Book Online Page A

her clothing to me."
    I did. "Is she okay, Steve?"
    "She's missing."
    "What can you tell me about her?"
    "Absolutely nothing. Just watch any network news at five-thirty."
    "But she's all right?"
    "News at five-thirty. That's all I can do for you."
    He stepped up closer to me, looked into my eyes. "Joe, did you see the shooter last night?"
    "Not well."
    "Don't let it get to you, Joe. You can't be everywhere, see everything. Hang tough. We'll get that puke and lay him down for a hotshot up in Quentin."
    "Thanks, sir. I appreciate that."
    "Be at my office, eight tomorrow morning, all right? You'll know why after the news. I'm going to ask for everything you remember about that girl, at least twice."
    I called my mother from the car. Her voice sounded stronger but I could hear the thick catch of grief in it. "Will, Jr. and Glenn are coming into Orange County in an hour, Joe. Their families later."
    "I'll pick them up, Mom."
    "I'm already on my way."
    "I'll meet you by the statue."
    She gave me the airlines and arrival times, told me she loved me and hung up.
    I met her by the statue of John Wayne, a huge bronze likeness of the actor in his cowboy getup, full stride. I hugged her and she collapsed in my arms, sobbing. I'd heard her cry before, but never like that: big quivering heaves that seemed to come all the way up from her feet. I led her over to a bench, where some considerate people moved so we could sit down.
    When she was in control of herself she looked me in the eyes, ran her hands over my face and asked me how I was. She's the only person world I allow to do that—touch both sides of my face. I told her I was fine and we both respected that lie enough to stand and find our way to Jr.'s arrival gate.
    An hour later the four of us, in two cars, drove past the news crews and cameras and then up the long shaded driveway of our old home in Tustin hills. We stood on the front porch while Mom dug out her key. I smelled the eucalyptus and the roses that she had always tended with devotion. I looked at the old redwood door with the window in it and realized that it was the same door that had opened to me twenty years ago, welcoming me to the dreamiest, happiest days of my life. A home.
    But when I walked in I felt like I was in a parody of happiness, a spoof on dreams coming true. Will's home, but no Will.
    I shut the door behind me and looked at my brothers and my mother and I couldn't meet their eyes.
    You killed him you killed him you killed him.
    "I didn't kill him," I said.
    "What's that supposed to mean, Joe?" asked Will, Jr. He put his arm on my shoulder and walked me into the living room.
    I don't remember a lot about the next two hours, except that they among the worst of my life.
    Home. I moved my Mustang out of the garage and parked Will's BMW inside. Left the windows down. Sat there for a minute, wondering.
    Then I got Will's briefcase and took it into the house. I have three big floor safes—one in the bedroom, one in the second bath, one in the den. The house was built in 1945 on a raised foundation, which made them easy to install. I opened the safe in the den.
    To make room, I pulled out the Smith .357 magnum and one of my wooden treasure boxes. The boxes contain things I value from my life— rocks, shells, feathers, trinkets, notes, small gifts. The first thing Will gave me is in one of them: a book called Shag: Last of the Plains Buffalo. I'd been reading a library copy of that book when he first talked to me at Hillview. I was almost five. The next time he came, he gave me my own brand-new copy to keep.
    I stared at the briefcase for a long moment, because it reminded me so much of Will. I touched a bloodstain and it left a dark crust on my finger. Good thing Alagna hadn't seen the blood, but if he was careless enough not to impound Will's BMW, he probably wouldn't have done anything useful with the briefcase either. I opened it and considered each mundane item as if it held some grand significance in