Hmm. I hadn’t realized I’d made the evening news. “Was Mr. Crawford your father?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I’m Doug Crawford.” He extended his hand when I stopped in front of him and I shook it. “I suppose you want to talk about my father.”
“That’s the plan,” I agreed. “But if you’re not feeling up to it … .”
“No. It’s okay.” Doug shook his head, as if dislodging a bad memory, and then pushed open the door so I could enter. “I was about to make some tea. Is that okay?”
“Sure.” I followed him into the house, paying special attention to the decorating as he led me toward the kitchen. The walls were littered with odd paintings and what looked to be a copy of the U.S. Constitution. “Your father had interesting hobbies.”
Doug flicked a look over his shoulder as he filled a kettle with water. “My father was ... a difficult man.”
I wasn’t expecting this reaction. I thought for sure the family would hold Dan up as some sort of martyr who died for a just cause. “You didn’t get along?”
“We ... had issues,” Doug replied calmly, gesturing toward the table after he placed the kettle on the stove. “My father wasn’t a bad man. I’m not sure if you met him before it happened, but you probably formed some opinions if you did.”
“We didn’t really talk,” I admitted. “I saw him there. I was interviewing others. I planned to get to him but it didn’t quite happen.”
“Because of the shooting.”
“Because Bart Savage exited the courthouse sooner than I thought and he kind of took over,” I replied, opting for honesty. “He stood in front of everyone and made a little speech. They must have been expecting it because they had a lectern and microphone set up.”
“That sounds about right.” Weary, Doug lowered himself to a chair and rubbed his forehead. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to say great things about my father? If so, I think you’re going to be disappointed.”
“You’re not supposed to feel anything you don’t feel,” I supplied, leaning back in my chair. “I guess the question is: What are you feeling?”
“I’m sad. He was my father and he’s gone. That makes me sad.”
I waited for him to continue. I knew he was nowhere near done.
“But, my father was ... obnoxious,” he volunteered, his expression rueful. “He was always something of a jerk. I think that’s why he went through three wives.”
Now we were getting somewhere. “He married three times?”
Doug nodded. “My mother was the first. She lasted the longest. I don’t think he was as bad when they first started dating. His belief system sort of evolved after that. My mother was a nurse, for example, and he was happy with the money she brought home.”
“I’m guessing that didn’t last?”
“No. He found this strange group. I’m still not sure where he found them. I think someone at the Elks Lodge told him about the group. They were basically dedicated to family values. That’s what he told us, anyway. It became apparent relatively quickly that they were interested in something other than family values.”
The statement was pointed, but I wasn’t sure where he was going with it. “What do you mean?”
“Basically my father wanted to go back in time,” Doug explained. “He wanted to go back to the 1950s because he thought that life was perfect. He watched television shows and enjoyed how the man was considered the breadwinner and the wives seemed perfectly happy washing windows and making huge feasts for dinner every night. That’s what he wanted, what he expected.
“The reality was different,” he continued. “My mother had two kids — me and my sister — and then she was done. She didn’t want more. She kept her nursing degree current by working a couple of shifts a month and took care of us until we were in school full time. Then she went back to work.”
That sounded reasonable. In fact, the thought of staying home with kids at all gave me the heebie-jeebies. I would’ve hired a nanny the day I got home from the hospital and called it a day. “Your father didn’t want her to go back to work?”
“No. He said she should stay home and take care of the house. He liked things a certain way, you see. He wanted all the laundry done ... and counters wiped down ... and toilets cleaned. He wanted that done every single day.”
My dislike for the guy was growing by leaps and bounds. “If he wanted it done, why didn’t he do it himself?”
“Because that was women’s work.”
“Of course it was.” I watched as Doug returned to the stove to reclaim the kettle. “Is that why your parents divorced?”
“Eventually,” he confirmed. “My mother tried to hold the marriage together for several years, but by the time my sister was twelve and he started going off about the clothes she was wearing and how it wasn’t necessary for her to know math because she wouldn’t need it as a homemaker she’d had enough.”
“I give your mother credit,” I offered as he slipped a mug of tea in front of me. “That had to be difficult. I think she made the right decision.”
“Oh, she definitely made the right decision,” Doug agreed. “We moved to Sterling Heights. My father saw us on alternating weekends. My mother was always worried he would say things to my sister — which he did — but she explained he was crazy and my sister learned to ignore him.
“He was married again within a year,” he continued. “The new wife was ten years younger than my mother. Her name was Jenny, and she really wasn’t that bad. I think my father focused on her because she was fresh out of culinary school and naive. He liked the idea that she could cook and was convinced he could mold her to his way of thinking.”
“How did that go?”
“Not well. Jenny learned to cook because she had big dreams of owning her own restaurant one day. She does now. She has a place over on Walnut Street, close to Macomb Place. It’s Italian food and very popular. I’ve eaten there with my sister Vanessa a few times.”
Well, that answered that question. “Your father had another kid?”
“Oh, yeah. He believed in sowing his seed wherever he could. I honestly think Jenny thought she was lucky to find him at the start. My father could be charming and hide his more annoying impulses, at least for a little while.”
“Was your mother upset when he remarried?”
“No. It was a relief. That meant she didn’t have to listen to him go on and on about how she destroyed our family any longer. He was focused on Jenny, which allowed her to do her own thing. She remarried, too, and her new husband treated her well and never gave her an ounce of grief. They moved to Florida a while back because they wanted to get away from the Michigan winters. They’re still happy.”
“That’s good.” I meant it. “How long did the marriage to Jenny last?”
“Five years. She got fed up quickly and waited for my father to leave for work one day. Then she packed up her stuff and moved out. She was prepared and already had an apartment waiting.”
“Did your father melt down about that?”
“Oh, you have no idea. He was furious.” Doug’s expression turned sour as he returned to the table with his own mug of tea. “He was convinced that feminists were targeting him, seducing him, and having children by him because they wanted to discredit him. By this point he was extremely into his ‘women should be seen and not heard’ groups, and I thought he was a little off his rocker.”
“Did you see him much?”
“Once a month or so. I was heading into college and the last thing I wanted was for him to fill my head with nonsense. Once my mother explained how I would never get a date if I followed his advice I was happy to keep him at a distance.”
“Did he see Vanessa?”
“Not much. Jenny worked as a chef at several restaurants before she opened her own. Vanessa has a stepfather who is kind and helps her with her homework. She’s honestly better off.”
“It still had to be hard on your father.”
“Oh, it definite
ly was,” Doug intoned. “It didn’t help that my grandfather — he’s still alive and a real piece of work — kept telling him everything he did wrong. My grandfather only married once and my grandmother was so meek and mild she did everything he wanted. She never offered up an ounce of lip and waited on him hand and foot. That’s what my father wanted ... and could never seem to find.”
“Times were different then,” I noted. “I’m sure there are a large number of people out there who want to be homemakers. I think that’s a noble decision. The choice shouldn’t be forced on them, though. The decision should be completely up to them.”
“That’s basically how I feel,” Doug agreed.
“Tell me about the third wife,” I prodded. “I’m guessing things didn’t go much better with her.”
“Oh, that’s a story and a half.” Doug grinned as a specific memory took root in his head. “My father’s wives kept getting younger. That wasn’t good because they were more apt to believe that women could do anything men could.”
“I already like the sound of this story.”
“I think you’re going to love it.”
8 Eight
Doug’s story was indeed interesting, more laugh-out-loud than anything else. Unlike his first stepmother, though, he had no idea where the second one ended up. I’d need help to track her down, which meant promising Eliot special favors in exchange for information … again.
The second ex-wife was easy to find. She was at her restaurant, preparing for the lunch rush, and she willingly let me in when I knocked.
“I expected a reporter to track me down,” she admitted as she placed an iced tea in front of me and sat in the chair across from me. “I thought it would be at least another day. May I ask how you found me?”
“Doug,” I replied simply. “He was at his father’s house when I stopped by.”
“Ah.” She nodded sagely. “Doug. He was always a good boy. How is he?”
I saw no reason to lie. “Conflicted. He didn’t agree with his father’s nonsense, but Dan was still his father so … he grieves. He probably doesn’t grieve like someone who was close to a parent, though.”
“Dan was a terrible father.” Jenny said it in such a manner that it couldn’t be construed as anything other than the truth. “I didn’t see it when we first married. I believed what he told me.”
“Let me guess; he blamed it all on the first wife, didn’t he?”
“Fiona.” Jenny’s lips curved. “He kept me away from her at first. He told me she was crazy, that she purposely told lies about him to get custody of the children. He painted a terrible picture of parental estrangement, and I was dumb enough to believe him.”
That made sense. Jenny seemed pragmatic, logical to a fault. She was young when she’d met Dan. He would’ve seemed wise due to his age. “How did you meet?”
“On campus. He was a professor at the time. History.”
“A professor?” I wrinkled my forehead. “I thought he was in marketing.”
“He is now. Er, at least that’s what I heard. He lost his job as a professor about three years after we were married.”
Something occurred to me. “He wasn’t your professor, was he?”
She let loose a half smile that made me feel sorry for her. “I know what you’re thinking. I was an idiot. It’s okay to think it.”
“I wasn’t thinking that. It’s more that I was wondering if he took advantage of his position to seduce you.”
“I don’t know that ‘seduce’ is the right word,” she countered, thoughtful. “He was my professor. I met with him a few times because I was having trouble with my coursework.”
“And what sort of professor was he? Doug didn’t mention anything about him being a professor.”
“Yes, well, he wasn’t a professor for very long. He was a high school history teacher before that and apparently lucked out when there was an opening at the community college. He was there about six months before I came along.
“I didn’t really care about the basic classes, you see, but I needed to pass them,” she continued. “I’ve never had a good memory for things like facts. I have, however, been good at remembering things like recipe ingredients. I’m one of those chefs who cooks on instinct for the most part, but I could remember recipes. History was another matter.”
“When did he make his first move on you?” I asked.
“It was the third time I was in his office. He suggested we meet at a private location so he could better explain things, away from the school so we wouldn’t constantly be interrupted.”
I saw where this was going. “He took advantage of you.”
“No. I knew what I was doing. I was an idiot, but I knew. I’m not going to pretend it wasn’t a mistake, but if I hadn’t been with him I wouldn’t have my daughter. I wouldn’t have learned and picked better the second time around. I’m not sorry.”
I nodded, understanding. “Doug said the marriage didn’t last because Dan tried to control you.”
“I think that’s a mild word for what he wanted,” Jenny replied. “Our marriage lasted five years, the entire relationship six. During that time he changed … like, a lot. I know that much of what he put forth when we first met was mostly an act, but he wasn’t a horrible man then. Eventually, he wasn’t anything other than horrible.”
“When did you know you needed to get out?”
“A year before I escaped. I had to plan for a clean getaway, make sure I had a home and a way to take care of Vanessa. I knew Dan would fight me for custody even though he didn’t really want it. He only ever wanted to be a father for show. When it came to the hard stuff – actually listening to his children and sacrificing himself – he wasn’t capable.”
“Did he see Vanessa after the divorce?”
“Very rarely. Most of the time he would try to trot her out for some event … especially after he joined Bart Savage’s team.”
She opened the door for the obvious question, so I stepped through it. “How did he hook up with Savage?”
“I’m not a hundred percent sure,” she replied, turning thoughtful. “He was fired from the college a few years after we married. It wasn’t for a sex scandal or anything – I know what you’re thinking – but he started adding a certain twist to lectures.”
That sounded interesting. “What kind of twist?”
“Well, for starters, he painted Susan B. Anthony as an enemy of the state because she fought for the right to vote for women, thought Amelia Earhart got what was coming to her because women shouldn’t fly, and thought Rosa Parks was rude and uncouth.”
Even though Jenny was flippant when delivering the information, it annoyed me. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but … what a jerk.”
“Yeah. He was a horrible individual, and he got worse the older he got.”
“So, he was fired for adding editorial comments to his lectures.”
“Exactly.” She nodded. “He was angry after it happened and he spent days ranting and raving about how he was being persecuted, saying that there was a cabal of women trying to keep men down. It was a bunch of conspiracy theory nuttiness, but he honestly believed it. It was my job as a chef that saved us the next few months, which made him bitter.”
“He didn’t join Savage’s team until after your divorce?”
“That’s right. My understanding is that he got extremely … rigid … once he found Savage. He started treating the man as some sort of messiah. It was distressing. That’s when I put my foot down about his visitation with Vanessa. He wasn’t thrilled with my decision, but he let it go because he found something else to focus on.”
“What about Vanessa?” I asked. “How does she feel about her father now?”
“She’s in high school. She lives in a world of boys and makeup. She also likes books. She’s never really expressed a yen to see Dan. If she misses him, she doesn’t say. My husband has been a proper stepfather to her, gives her everything she needs. He’s a good man and he’s so much mo
re than Dan could ever be.
“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to speak ill of the dead,” she continued. “It seems somehow gauche to do that given the circumstances. Although, for the record, Dan would be thrilled at the way he went out. Now he’s a martyr for the cause. He’ll be forever remembered as a fallen soldier. To him, that would be the ideal death.
“I don’t think Dan ever had a chance,” she said. “His father warped him from the start. His mother was too weak to fight the effort. John knew what he was creating when he molded Dan … and it worked.”
“Doug mentioned his grandfather is still alive,” I said. “He’s my next stop. What should I know about him?”
Jenny smirked. “I don’t think it matters. He’ll hate you regardless.”
“Because I’m a woman who works?”
Jenny snorted. “You’re a woman who works … wears jeans … doesn’t put her hair up … and I’m going to guess you don’t regularly see the inside of a kitchen.”
“That’s not true. I use the microwave all the time.”
Jenny was obviously amused. “He’s going to hate you. I promise that. He’s worse than Dan, which is saying something.”
“Well, I guess it’s good that I know how to deal with people who hate me.”
“How do you deal with them?”
“Immaturity and sarcasm.”
“That will only further enrage him.”
“Great. I look forward to meeting him.”
JOHN CRAWFORD LIVED IN A RUNDOWN house in Eastpointe. It was a small ranch, the trim broken in at least eight different places, and the yard overgrown.
I found the man I was looking for sitting in a lawn chair in his driveway. The weather was still warm enough that he didn’t need a coat, but I had no doubt the beer he was drinking warmed him more than the sun did.
“If you’re selling Tupperware, I ain’t buying,” he called out. “I have more than I need.”
I slowed my pace as I regarded him. He wore a ragged shirt that looked as if it had seen better days and an eerie grin that made my skin crawl.
Above the Fold & Below the Belt (An Avery Shaw Mystery Book 14) Page 8