Part 33 (1/2)

She'd been impressed with the factory, looking it over, commenting on the paint job. She'd played the stand-alone version and said it was fun. But when he'd gone to kiss her, she'd deflected his face with a hand and asked him to take her to the dorms.

”I have to pick something up,” she said.

He'd driven her back to Findlay after that.

”Can I see you again? I'll be down on Christmas Day to see Bill and Janet,” he'd said.

She'd looked at him with an odd look that John hoped wasn't pity. He felt so desperate asking, but looking at her, he couldn't help himself.

”Sure, my parents are having an open house. Come by after three thirty,” she'd said. Then she'd pecked him on the cheek and disappeared into the house.

Colored lights adorned the eaves of the house. The huge pine out front was covered in flas.h.i.+ng bulbs, at least as high as Mr. Nicholson's ladder could reach. Electric candles flickered in each window. There was even a small menorah in an upper-story window. Cars were packed in the driveway, and someone had built a snowman. The rising temperature had exposed swatches of brown gra.s.s and forced the snowman to a thirty-degree angle.

”What am I doing here?” John muttered. He should have been back at the factory. He should have been working on what he would say at the hearing with the Department of Gambling Control. Instead he was here waiting outside Casey's house.

He almost drove away. He almost got out and knocked early. Just as he pulled the handle on his door, the front door swung open. There was Casey, in a white fur-trimmed red dress that came halfway up her thighs. Then someone followed her out the door, his arm around her waist.

John's heart jerked.

Jack leaned forward and kissed her. She reached around his neck and held him tightly as she kissed him back. His hand reached around her and under the dress.

John looked away.

Then he looked back, gripping the steering wheel with both hands, leaning forward to see through the fogging winds.h.i.+eld. He felt sick.

Jack finally let Casey go and sauntered down the path. He waved once from the end of the walk, then climbed into his car and drove away. Casey watched him the whole way. Finally, she turned and went back inside.

John, his hands shaking, started his own car and began the solitary, vivid drive back to Toledo.

The day before the Las Vegas team was to arrive, Grace and Henry returned. The weather had turned suddenly dark and windy. Drifts of snow covered the alley and the Trans Am got stuck. Henry and John spent three hours shoveling the brickwork, only to have it fill in again later that day. Grace spent the same time sweeping the empty factory, throwing cardboard boxes and pallets into the incinerator, and scrubbing the new rust from the old rust. The gas company had agreed to service on credit, and they had the furnace in the bas.e.m.e.nt cranked up to at least ten degrees Celsius.

”I hope they don't have to use the bathroom,” she said. ”It's still frozen.”

”The showroom looks good,” Henry said. And it did. A second coat of paint and two floor lamps had made it seem almost cozy. The bare bulbs were gone, as well as all the cobwebs, and the stove kept that room, if not the whole factory, at a toasty temperature.

”I hope they can make it in tomorrow,” John said. Sleet pounded against the window. He rubbed the frost off the pane and looked out at the six more centimeters that had covered his car. The alley was empty; John hadn't mentioned the break-in or the stalking duo to Henry or Grace. It didn't seem to matter.

”It'll clear up-”

”It'll clear up-”

Grace and Henry spoke on top of each other. They glanced at each other and giggled.

”It'll clear up by tonight,” Grace said. ”They come in this afternoon.”

Henry put a quarter in the stand-alone and started playing a game lackadaisically.

”This is growing on me,” he said.

”See?” John said.

”With all that capital,” Grace said, ”we can afford to heat this place.”

”We can afford to pay some workers,” Henry said.

”We could hire a lawyer,” John said.

”We could buy a decent soldering gun,” Henry said. ”And get a decent supply of Plexiglas.”

”We could hire a salesman,” Grace said. ”And a receptionist. And we could have a lunch for everyone's birthday.”

”We could countersue Ray,” John said. ”We could pay Kyle.” I could buy something for Casey, he added silently. Something more than Jack could ever afford.

”So the plan is to hang at my apartment,” John said. ”They'll call when they land and rent their car. And then we can go to the factory and meet them there.”

The snow tapered off by sundown. John drove Steve home and Henry and Grace to the dorms. There was a message from Casey on his machine when he got home.

”John, sorry you couldn't make it on Christmas,” she said. ”Something come up? Call me.”

John deleted it and went to bed.

The phone rang.

John jumped. Grace dropped her book and grinned sheepishly. Henry nodded his head.

”It's them,” he said.

It was ten minutes before the Typhoon Gold people's plane was supposed to land.

”They're early,” John said. He picked up the phone. ”h.e.l.lo?”

”h.e.l.lo, is this John Wilson?”

”Yes, this is he.”

”This is Brad Urbeniski, Typhoon Gold.”

”You've landed then?” He grinned at Grace and Henry.

”No, not exactly.”

”Huh?” They couldn't be calling from the plane. Weather? The airport was open. Maybe they'd been snowed in somewhere else.

”We figured we'd give you a call,” Urbeniski said. ”We're not going to make it.”

”What did they say?” Grace whispered.