“Candles,” he said.
“Power must be out,” Alice said. “The lightning must have hit the lines.”
He braked again and slid in the mud and turned the car so the headlights washed deep into the barn.
“Recognize anything?” he asked.
Bobby’s pick-up was back in its place, but it was wet and streaked with mud. Water was dripping out of the load bed and pooling on the ground.
“O.K.,” Alice said. “So what now?”
Reacher stared into the mirror. Then he turned his head and watched the road from the north.
“Somebody’s coming,” he said.
There was a faint glow of headlights behind them, rising and falling, many miles distant, breaking into a thousand pieces in the raindrops on the Jeep’s windows.
“Let’s go say howdy to the Greets,” he said.
He pulled Alice’s gun out of his pocket and checked it. Never assume. But it was O.K. Cocked and locked. Seven left. He put it back in his pocket and drove across the soaking yard to the foot of the porch steps. The rain was almost gone. The ground was beginning to steam. The vapor rose gently and swirled in the headlight beams. They got out into the humidity. The temperature was coming back. So was the insect noise. There was a faint whirring chant all around. It sounded wary and very distant.
He led her up the porch steps and pushed open the door. The hallway had candles burning in holders placed here and there on all the available horizontal surfaces. They gave a soft orange glow and made the foyer warm and inviting. He ushered Alice through to the parlor. Stepped in behind her. More candles were burning in there. Dozens of them. They were glued to saucers with melted wax. There was a Coleman lantern standing on a credenza against the end wall. It was hissing softly and burning bright.
Bobby and his mother were sitting together at the red-painted table. Shadows were dancing and flickering all around them. The candlelight was kind to Rusty. It took twenty years off her. She was fully dressed, in jeans and a shirt. Bobby sat beside her, looking at nothing in particular. The tiny flames lit his face and made it mobile.
“Isn’t this romantic,” Reacher said.
Rusty moved, awkwardly.
“I’m scared of the dark,” she said. “Can’t help it. Always have been.”
“You should be,” Reacher said. “Bad things can happen in the dark.”
She made no reply to that.
“Towel?” Reacher asked. He was dripping water all over the floor. So was Alice.
“In the kitchen,” Rusty said.
There was a thin striped towel on a wooden roller. Alice blotted her face and hair and patted her shirt. Reacher did the same, and then he stepped back into the parlor.
“Why are you both up?” he asked. “It’s three o’clock in the morning.”
Neither of them answered.
“Your truck was out tonight,” Reacher said.
“But we weren’t,” Bobby said. “We stayed inside, like you told us to.”
Rusty nodded. “Both of us, together.”
Reacher smiled.
“Each other’s alibi,” he said. “That would get them rolling in the aisles, down in the jury room.”
“We didn’t do anything,” Bobby said.
Reacher heard a car on the road. Just the faint subliminal sound of tires slowing on soaked blacktop. The faint whistle of drive belts turning under a hood. Then there was a slow wet crunch as it turned under the gate. Grit and pebbles popped under the wheels as it drove up to the porch. There was a tiny squeal from a brake rotor and then silence as the engine died. The clunk of a door closing. Feet on the porch steps. The house door opening, footsteps crossing the foyer. Then the parlor door opened. The candle flames swayed and flickered. Hack Walker stepped into the room.
“Good,” Reacher said. “We don’t have much time.”
“Did you rob my office?” Walker replied.
Reacher nodded. “I was curious.”
“About what?”
“About details,” Reacher said. “I’m a details guy.”
“You didn’t need to break in. I’d have shown you the files.”
“You weren’t there.”
“Whatever, you shouldn’t have broken in. You’re in trouble for it. You can understand that, right? Big trouble.”