Knock Before Entering
“Do you need some help?” he says.
I jump back at the sound of his voice, startled. I am so focused on the photograph of my parents that I don’t
hear the footst eps. I don’t hear anyone behind me.
I turn to see Clark, Windbreak’s caretaker, standing in the doorway. “Didn’t mean to scare you there,” he
says. “No, no... you didn’t. I didn’t hear you. Sorry. I’m just, you know...” “A little on edge?” he says. I nod.
“A bit.” He points toward the office. “I just was talking to Sam,” he says. “Sounds like Detective O’Brien
wasn’t much help.”
“Have you had a lot of interaction with him?” “Tried to avoid it,” he says. Then he smiles, puts his hands
in his pockets. “You looking for something in particular?”
I place the photograph back on the shelf, still holding on my father’s face. “Yes. And I have no idea what
yet.”
“Well, I’ll hang out for a bit, in case it comes to you.” “Thanks, Clark.” “For whatever it’s worth, I have
been on edge as well. I feel bad I wasn’t here to open the house that day. He didn’t let me know.”
“Why do you think?” “I don’t know. If had to guess? He knew I was taking my grandkids camping and
maybe he didn’t want to bother us. Didn’t want me to feel obligated. You know how he was...”
I wonder, not for the first time in the last few days, if that’s true.
“Do you think there’s any possibility that someone else was here with him that night? I mean, that would
explain him not letting you know too.”
He pauses, considers. “Sure, it’s possible... I don’t think they got anyone coming through the front gate,
right? Not that that’s necessarily definite. There are other ways in and out of this place. Of any place if you
work at it hard enough.”
I nod. “That’s not a whole lot more than you already know, I guess. But, like I said, I was out of town.”
And he shrugs. But he hesitates. He hesitates like there is something more to say.
But before I can press it, Sam comes running into the room, holding a large manila envelope.
“We need to go,” he says. “Now?” “Yes, now.” He is so riled up that his face is turning red. “I’ll give you
two some privacy...” Clark says. He exits, happy to extricate himself, and I turn back to Sam. “We were in the
middle.”
He ignores this. “Have you heard of Cece Salinger?” “Cece Salinger. Like the hotel magnate?” He nods.
“Exactly.” “Why?” Instead of answering, he is already slamming down the hall. He is already heading toward
the front door.
I call out after him. “Sam, where are we going?” “Uncle Joe,” he says.