Night Passage (A Jesse Stone Novel)

contrivances around him, but the popcorn was gone.
    “And maybe I’m wrong,” Burke said.
    Hathaway nodded enthusiastically.
    “Yes,” he said. “I think you probably are. He seems pretty harmless to me.”

13
     
    Jesse was renting a condo in a waterfront development called Colonial Landing. It was a series of contiguous town houses painted gray with white shutters. Jesse’s had a living room, kitchen with dining area, and a half bath on the first floor, two bedrooms and a full bath on the second. The living room faced the ocean and there were wall-width sliding doors that led out onto a small deck over the water. The place was new and had an unused quality to it which Jesse felt worked with his circumstances. He stood on the little deck and drank scotch on the rocks and watched the brisk chop of the Atlantic prancing in against the rust-colored stone below him. It had been a month yesterday since he’d leaned on the railing in Santa Monica late at night and watched the black Pacific and said goodbye.
    His glass was empty. He went back in to add some ice and splash in some more Black Label when the phone rang. His short-nosed Smith & Wesson in its black holster lay on the table beside the phone.
    “Jesse?”
    “Yeah, Jenn.”
    “You didn’t give me a number,” Jennifer said. “I had to call information.”
    “Here I am,” Jesse said.
    “You didn’t say goodbye.”
    “No.”
    “You don’t sound glad to hear from me.”
    “I guess I don’t.”
    Jesse took a drink of scotch.
    “You miss me?”
    “Less.”
    “I don’t know if I like you missing me less, Jesse.”
    “I’m trying not to worry too much about that.”
    “Whether I like something?”
    “Yeah.”
    “You all right?”
    “Sooner or later,” Jesse said.
    “You like the new place?”
    “Too soon to say.”
    “You meet anybody?”
    “Met a lot of people.”
    “No,” Jennifer said, “you know what I mean. You ought to get out more, Jesse, you ought to date, make friends. You met any nice girls?”
    “I think they call them women here, Jenn.”
    “Well did you?”
    “Day at a time, Jenn.”
    “What time is it there?”
    “Eight-forty-five in the evening.”
    “It’s quarter to six here.”
    “That would have been my guess.”
    “I got a nice audition tomorrow, new series on Fox. I think I’m just right for the part.”
    “I’m sure you are,” Jesse said.
    He twirled the small revolver aimlessly as he talked to her, the phone hunched between his left shoulder and his neck. With his right hand he swirled the ice in his glass for a moment, then drank some more scotch.
    “You drinking, Jesse?”
    “Couple.”
    “You need to be careful of that.”
    “Sure.”
    “You still mad at me about Elliott?”
    Jesse kept his voice flat.
    “Elliott and everything else,” he said.
    “I don’t want to lose you, Jesse.”
    “You don’t show it much,” Jesse said.
    “I know. It sounds crazy. I mean here I am with another man and we’re divorced and yet I don’t want to look at my life and think ‘No Jesse.’ I can’t imagine my life without you in it, Jesse.”
    “Un huh.”
    “Am I losing you, Jesse?”
    “There’s some danger of it, Jenn.”
    “Oh God, well I can’t talk now. I got to work out, I have to get my hair done. Can I call you again, soon?”
    “If you want to, Jenn.”
    “I do, Jesse.”
    “Fine.”
    After he hung up Jesse continued to stand at the table looking at the phone, slowly twirling the Smith & Wesson in its holster. Then he stopped and went back to the sideboard and made himself another drink. He carried the drink to the refrigerator and looked in. There was half of a mushroom-and-green-pepper pizza there on the second shelf, wrapped neatly in Saran Wrap, left over from Monday night’s supper. He got it out, unwrapped it, and put it in the microwave. When it was hot he slid it onto a dinner plate and took it out onto the deck and ate it, sitting in a folding chair, drinking scotch between bites, looking out at the lights across the harbor on Paradise Neck.
    “I guess I don’t want to lose you either, Jenn,” Jesse said aloud, “but maybe I’ll have to.”

14
     
    The call came in to the dispatcher at 2:43 in the afternoon. She put it through to Jesse.
    “It’s Simpson, Jesse. DeAngelo and I are at Thirteen Sylvan Road. People named Genest. Domestic dispute. I think you need to come over.”
    “Do I need the siren?” Jesse said.
    “I think you should get over here