Free Greely's Cove by John Gideon

razor. “Now that your son has recovered to the point that he can behave in a socially acceptable way, you want him back, is that it? Now that he can be trusted not to defecate on the furniture? Or take his pants off in church?”
    Carl’s face hardened. “You haven’t changed at all, have you?”
    “I’m too old to change, Carl, and so are you. You couldn’t abide the thought of living with Jeremy before he started to get well. You couldn’t take his screaming or his messes or the sympathetic looks from your friends. All you wanted was to get away from him, even if it meant leaving Lorna, and that’s exactly what you did. You made a life for yourself somewhere else, somewhere far away, the kind of life you’ve always wanted.”
    “Know something, Lindsay? You have the diplomatic charm of a tarantula.” He pushed his uneaten cinnamon roll away and signaled for the check. The waitress didn’t see him at first, for she was talking in urgent whispers with the policeman who had just sat down at the counter.
    “What Jeremy needs is stability,” Lindsay went on. “He needs someone who’ll stay with him and love him; someone he can count on to be there when the sledding gets rough. You don’t meet the specifications, Carl. That someone is not you.”
    “Gosh, it’s been nice chatting with you,” said Carl, scooting back his chair, anticipating the arrival of the check. The waitress was on her way, scribbling on her pad as she walked. “Let’s do it again real soon.”
    “I’m not going to let you have him, Carl.”
    “Oh? And what makes you think you’ll have any say in the matter?”
    “Lorna was my sister. She would’ve wanted me to take Jeremy. That’s what I intend to do.”
    “Well,” answered Carl, dropping all pretense of civility, “I won’t presume to offer you any legal advice, because you’ve undoubtedly got a lawyer of your own. But I will tell you this: I’m Jeremy’s natural father, I have a good income, and I live an upstanding life. There isn’t a judge in this country who would deny me custody.”
    The waitress set the check down, and Carl glanced up at her face. She was a pleasant-looking woman of middle age with short black hair. Her face was contorting, her eyes filling with tears, her hands shaking.
    “Thank you,” the waitress managed to gasp. “P-please join us again.”
    Carl handed her a credit card and asked, “Are you all right? Is something wrong?”
    The policeman who had entered a few minutes earlier came to the table and took the waitress’s arm. “Come on, Edna, we’ll find someone else to take care of things here for a little while. Until you feel better.”
    “Excuse me, Officer,” said Lindsay. “What’s going on here?”
    The policeman had a baby face, a pair of mirrored aviator glasses that hung from a buttonhole of his shirt, and a nameplate that identified him as Hauck. “We’ve just had some bad news,” he said. “I hope you’ll excuse Edna. If you’ll wait a minute, I’ll get you another waitress.” He put an arm around Edna’s shoulders and guided her toward the door that led to the kitchen. “I should never have told you about it, not while you were on the job,” Hauck said.
    Edna broke down completely then. Heavy sobs racked her body. “I used to babysit for the Zoltens!” she blubbered through a torrent of tears. “Teri was such a wonderful child, so intelligent, so thoughtful!”
    Lindsay watched their backs as they moved away, then glanced at Carl, whose face had gone ashen, the color of the smoky mist beyond the window.
    Mitch Nistler woke to the crunch of gravel and the slosh of tires through water and knew instantly that a car had pulled into the muddy, unpaved drive at the front of his house. He forced open his aching, crusty eyes and grabbled for his glasses.
    Fuck a bald-headed duck, it must be Kronmiller! he hissed. His stomach churned as he remembered that he had not shown up for work at the mortuary last night, but