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  “Do you know what it feels like to be ‘other’? Ron thinks I don’t get it. Believe me, I get it. I didn’t know until we began dating, then I learned in a hurry how it feels. And it wasn’t only from ignorant asses giving us dirty looks or cursing at us in the street that I learned. No, the hardest lessons were from my friends and family. I can still hide behind my blond hair and blue eyes, but my children can’t hide. They will always be ‘other,’ and I’m scared to death for them.”

  “I know you think I can’t understand, Mrs. Patel, but I do. I’d feel exactly the same way if I had kids. Look, I can’t undo what happened here or make your scars go away. All I can do is try to make sure it doesn’t happen again, and I can’t even guarantee that.”

  For the first time, Liza Patel smiled a genuine smile at Jesse. “Thank you for being honest with me, Chief. We’ve talked about me taking the kids for a couple of weeks and staying with my folks.”

  “I’d hate for that to happen, but in your shoes, I might do the same.”

  “You’ll promise to leave a car there for a few more days?” she asked.

  “Uh-huh. Twenty-four hours a day for as long as you want.”

  “Okay, then, we won’t go anywhere . . . yet.”

  Then it was Jesse’s turn to smile. “Understood.”

  That was more than an hour ago. When Jesse looked up from his phone, Callie, the woman who had run last night’s meeting, was standing in front of him. In spite of Bill’s admonition and in spite of himself, Jesse couldn’t help but react. There was no denying he was attracted to her and, unless there was something severely wrong with his ability to read people, it seemed she was equally attracted to him.

  “It’s good to see you here again, Jesse,” she said, smiling. She had a great smile. It wasn’t neon white like Diana’s had been, but it was warm and welcoming.

  “I really felt like drinking earlier, and Bill suggested I come to a meeting.”

  “He was right to suggest that. How do you feel now?”

  “Not like drinking.”

  “I won’t get preachy, Jesse. I’m just glad you’re here. We’re stronger together.” She turned, took a step, then turned back. “And if you all go for coffee tonight, I would love to come along.”

  Jesse just nodded.

  A few minutes later, Anya, the tattooed angel, came and sat down by Jesse.

  “Hi, Jesse,” she said, her voice brittle. She was doing that nervous thing with her fingers.

  “Anya, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Where’s Hank?”

  Anya seemed almost to collapse in on herself. “He’s . . . um . . . He . . . a . . . He couldn’t get away from . . . work. You know how it is.”

  Jesse knew. What he knew was that she was making excuses for him. He was tempted to push her, but then remembered he wasn’t there as a cop. He was there for the same reason Anya and Callie were there: to support one another and not to drink.

  “That’s okay,” he said. “We’re here.”

  She seemed to relax a little after that. “Thanks, Jesse. Sometimes the world just feels like a judgment and punishment machine.”

  “I think the idea is that we’re all safe from that in here.”

  23

  As he drove back to Paradise, Jesse’s thoughts turned from the meeting to the fliers that had been put on car windshields on the blocks surrounding Molly’s house. Many of Molly’s neighbors had been rightfully outraged. Suit told Jesse that some of the people he’d spoken with were in tears that such a thing could happen in Paradise. Jesse was too experienced a cop to think that any place, even a town called Paradise, was insulated from evil. There had been ample evidence of that since the day he’d arrived.

  But the thing Jesse couldn’t get out of his head was not that people had called the police or the mayor’s office about the racist leaflets or that some of them were in tears. He understood those reactions. What concerned Jesse were the neighbors who hadn’t called. He was confident most of them were also pretty upset but weren’t the type of people to call the police and that some were the type to simply shred the fliers and throw them away. Most people hunker down and hope bad things will just blow over like a nor’easter.

  But what concerned Jesse most of all were the people in town who agreed with the sentiments expressed in the flier. As he had said to the mayor, nothing happened in a vacuum. And if Jesse was wondering about this, so were Molly’s neighbors. Hate grows best in the soil of distrust, and it was easy to imagine that some of Paradise’s citizens were looking at one another with a little less confidence in their character than they had only a day or two ago. But just as it hadn’t been Jesse’s job to act the cop at the meeting, it wasn’t his job to be the thought police. As repugnant to him as those fliers were, people had a right to their hatreds. The only law that had been broken was a town ordinance against posting bills without a permit. Still, between what had happened in Swan Harbor and the cross-burning at the Patels’, he could not escape the feeling that the worst was yet to come.

  Jesse called Suit’s home number as he came into town. Elena picked up.

  “Hi, Jesse.”

  “Elena. Is Luther around?”

  “You know it’s all right for you to call him Suit. Even when you don’t say it, you say it.”

  “Is he there?”

  “Sorry, but he’s not home.”

  “Where is he?”

  Elena hesitated on the other end of the line. Jesse could almost hear her brain working on an answer that he would believe.

  “Elena, do us both a favor and just tell me the truth. I won’t be mad at Suit. I can never stay mad at him, anyway.”

  “He got really angry when he saw my reaction to those horrible fliers. I guess I lost it a little bit and you know how Luther gets.”

  “I know.”

  “Well . . .”

  “C’mon, Elena.”

  “He’s staking out the old part of town down by Pilgrim Cove because—”

  “Suit thinks that’s where the fliers will be put on cars tonight. I was thinking about that myself,” he said. “That’s why I was calling, to see if he wanted to earn some overtime.”

  “This isn’t about money, Jesse. This is our town.”

  “I understand. It’s mine, too. Thanks.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Buy him a cup of coffee and sit with him.”

  “Good night, Jesse.”

  Jesse hit the disconnect button on his steering wheel and drove through town. Instead of heading home, he stopped at the Gull and picked up a large coffee. The barman winked at Jesse and asked him if he wanted a little Jameson or Black Label in it as a hedge against the chill. Jesse waved him off, thanking him for the offer. Two months ago, he wouldn’t’ve thought twice about an offer like that or about accepting it. Now all he wanted to do was get to Suit.

  24

  Suit was parked on MacArthur Street in his Dodge pickup. He was fast asleep behind the wheel, head back, mouth wide open. Jesse could hear him snoring through the glass and rapped his knuckles against the window. Suit startled, lurching forward, then realized what was going on. He lowered the window.

  “Hey, Jesse.”

  Jesse handed him the coffee through the open window. “I think you need this.”

  “Thanks. How’d you find me?”

  Jesse walked around to the passenger side of the cab and got in.

  “I called the house to ask you if you wanted to make some overtime doing surveillance when Elena told me you were already out here doing it on your own.”

  “I’m pissed off about those fliers.”

  “I know, but this is above and beyond. Thanks, Suit.”

  “What’s happening, Jesse? I know we’ve had a lot of bad stuff go on in town, but this kind of thing . . . it’s just not right.�
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  “Not going to get an argument from me. Spot anything?”

  Suit took a gulp of his coffee. “Nothing, but I didn’t figure there would be anything to see yet.” He pointed at the dashboard clock. “Whoever is doing this is waiting till there’s no activity in town. The Gray Gull and the Lobster Claw should be closing about now. They’re the last two businesses open on this side of town. I figure it’s at least another half-hour or so before there’s anything going on.”

  Two hours later and they still hadn’t seen anything move except fallen leaves roiled by the wind. They’d long ago run out of conversation. No one actually enjoys stakeout duty, but like any shared discomfort, there’s something about it that binds people together. Jesse rolled down his window to help defog the windshield and let some fresh air into the cab. Two hours’ worth of stale, coffee-scented carbon dioxide was no treat for either of them.

  Suit tapped Jesse’s shoulder and pointed out the windshield at a shadowy figure in a hooded sweatshirt a hundred yards ahead of them. He was moving in the opposite direction, stopping at each car on the street.

  “Good work, Suit. I see him.”

  “How should we handle this?”

  “On foot,” Jesse said. “But first we have to let him get further away from us so that we don’t spook him. Then I’m going to turn right at the corner, head north along Salter to get ahead of him, and come south toward him at Lowell Street. You head north along Berkshire and get behind him at Amherst. I’ll run him right to you.”

  Suit grabbed the door handle. “I think he’s far enough away. Let’s do this.”

  Jesse clamped his hand on Suit’s big right biceps. “No guns. Whoever he is, he’s barely breaking the law. No one’s going to get shot over this, no matter how ugly it is.”

  “Got it, Jesse.”

  Jesse let go of Suit’s arm, and as quietly as the two large men could manage, they slipped out of Suit’s pickup. Once he made it to the corner, Jesse took off running. He figured it would be easy to get ahead of their target. After all, he had to stop every few feet, but Jesse didn’t want to chance startling the guy. As he had warned Suit, there was no need to make this into anything it didn’t need to be.

  Two minutes later, shirt glued to his skin by sweat, heart thumping, Jesse took some deep breaths and turned off Lowell onto MacArthur Street. The guy he intended to herd into Suit’s waiting arms and handcuffs was less than half a block in front of him on the opposite side of the street. He was a short man and his hood was pulled tight on his head. It was too dark and Jesse was still too far away to make out much else about him. He was carrying a paper shopping bag with the fliers. He stopped at each parked car, reached into the shopping bag, took out a flier, and tucked it under the passenger-side wiper. Every few cars, he stopped, looked behind him, and moved on.

  Jesse kept to the opposite side of the street, quietly working his way toward the man. Then, when he was about fifty feet away, he stepped out into the middle of the street, holding his shield in front of him.

  “Paradise police. Stop what—”

  Before Jesse could finish, the guy dropped the shopping bag, about-faced, and bolted like a scared rabbit. He was fast, faster than Jesse. Jesse chased after him, but without trying to catch up. He wanted to stay just close enough behind the rabbit to distract him, but not so close that he would think about doubling back. Jesse wasn’t sure he’d be able to catch him if he did that.

  “Stop!” Jesse shouted as he ran, keeping his steady pace. “Stop!”

  But this guy had no intention of stopping. The rabbit had one thing on his mind: escape. As he got close to where Suit was waiting, Jesse shouted at the guy one last time. “Stop!”

  The rabbit looked behind him. Big mistake, because when he turned back around, Suitcase Simpson leveled him with a perfect-form tackle that would have earned him a helmet sticker from his old high school football coach. The air went out of the rabbit, who collapsed like he’d been hit by a freight train. Suit frisked him, rolled him onto his stomach, and handcuffed his wrists behind him. The guy didn’t resist. He was way too preoccupied with gasping for air.

  “Good job, Suit,” Jesse said, trying to catch his own breath. “Man, I wouldn’t have wanted to be tackled by you.”

  Suit couldn’t help but smile. Jesse’s praise still meant the world to him. “Thanks, Jesse.”

  “Okay, let’s stand him up.”

  25

  Using one arm, Suit yanked the handcuffed rabbit to his feet. “Okay, wiseass,” Suit said, pulling the hood off the man’s head, “let’s have a look.”

  Jesse’s eyes got wide. Before Suit could even ask, his question was answered.

  “Lo siento. Lo siento,” the rabbit said.

  “What’s he saying, Jesse?”

  “He’s saying I’m sorry.”

  Jesse asked, “What’s your name?”

  The rabbit shrugged and stared blankly into Jesse’s face.

  “Hablas inglés?”

  “No hablo inglés,” he said, a frightened, tentative smile on his sweat-covered face.

  It was a round face with high, flat cheekbones and rich brown skin beneath a mop of jet-black hair. It was an old man’s face on a young man’s body, a face that had spent many years exposed to the weather and had seen troubles. Jesse didn’t know this particular face, but he had known many like it.

  Jesse said, “Me llamo Jesse Stone. Jefe de Policía. Cómo te llamas?”

  “Miguel,” he said, his smile less tentative.

  “Miguel, tu apellido?” Jesse turned to Suit. “I asked for his last name.”

  “Cabrera.”

  “De dónde eres, Miguel Cabrera?” As he started to translate, Suit cut him off.

  “You asked where he was from. I remember some of what I learned in high school besides tackling, Jesse.”

  Miguel answered, “Jalisco.”

  “You’re a long way from home, Miguel,” Jesse said in Spanish.

  Miguel nodded. “Sí, many miles.”

  “Why did you come so far, Miguel?”

  “Many are dying in the drug wars. You have to choose one side or the other. Either way, you die.”

  Jesse said, “The cartels.”

  “Sí. Sí.” Miguel was nodding furiously. “Don’t send me back. Don’t send me back.”

  Jesse put his hand on Miguel’s shoulder. “No one is sending you anywhere.” He turned to Suit. “Uncuff him.”

  Suit didn’t usually question Jesse’s orders, but his face gave him away.

  “Relax. Just do it, Suit.” Jesse waved his finger at Miguel. “Don’t run.”

  Miguel placed his right hand on his heart. “I promise.”

  Suit took the handcuffs off Miguel’s wrists.

  “Miguel, who paid for you to put the papers on the cars?”

  “A Northerner.”

  Jesse said to Suit, “That’s what Mexicans sometimes call Americans.” He refocused on Miguel. “Describe this Northerner.”

  Miguel raised his right hand up high. “He is tall like you, with big shoulders. His hair was short. He was a soldier with cold eyes, dead eyes.”

  “How did you know he was a soldier?”

  “Soldiers fight for the cartels. I have seen many soldiers, too many soldiers.”

  Jesse asked, “Did the soldier speak Spanish?”

  “Not so good as you, jefe, but enough for me to understand.”

  “Where did you meet the soldier?”

  “I was doing yardwork in the next town and eating lunch when he walked over to me.”

  “In Swan Harbor?”

  “Sí, Swan Harbor, for Garrison’s Lawn and Landscaping Company.”

  “You can’t read what is on the papers you are putting on the cars, can you, Miguel?”

  “No.”

  “How did you ge
t the fliers?”

  Miguel pointed back down MacArthur Street in the direction of Suit’s pickup. “He gave me the address and said I would find the bag there.”

  “Do you have those addresses?”

  Miguel took a slip of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Jesse.

  “Did the soldier write these for you?”

  “No, jefe, I wrote them down.”

  “One more question, Miguel, then you can go. How did you get from Swan Harbor to Paradise? Did the soldier drive you?”

  Miguel shook his head. “I walked.”

  “Okay, Miguel, thank you. Go now, but go far away. The soldier may be a dangerous man.”

  Miguel smiled at Jesse, bowed his head to Suit. “I am an uneducated man, not a stupid one. Buenas noches.”

  Suit and Jesse watched Miguel disappear into the night.

  “C’mon, Suit, let’s undo Miguel’s handiwork. I don’t want anyone waking up to one of these fliers on their windshields tomorrow morning.”

  “Who do you think this soldier is?”

  “I don’t know who he is, Suit, but I have a pretty good idea what he is.”

  * * *

  —

  IT WAS NEARLY TWO IN THE MORNING by the time they finished collecting all the fliers and the shopping bag and made it back to Suit’s pickup.

  Suit asked, “Where’d you learn to speak Spanish like that?”

  “I’m not as good at it as you think. But I am from Tucson, lived in L.A., and about a third of the guys I played ball with were Latinos. You learn out of necessity. There isn’t always a translator around when you need one.”

  “I guess. What next?”

  “We go home and get some sleep.”

  “That’s not what I mean, Jesse.” Suit held up the shopping bag. “I mean, what do we do about what’s going on in town?”

  Jesse took the shopping bag. “I’ve got some ideas, but none that won’t keep till the morning. Good night, Suit, and thanks for thinking to do the stakeout even before me. One more thing. Let me borrow your pickup for a day. Take my Explorer.”