Close to the Bone

by William G. Tapply

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” she said.

  “He’s married, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know that. So what? He’s getting a divorce.” She cocked her head. “I get it. You’re his lawyer. The divorce, right?”

  “They hadn’t gotten that far, I guess. I wasn’t representing him on it, anyway. I did other lawyer work for him. Him and his wife.”

  “So you know her, too, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  She took the chair beside me. “Is he really missing?”

  “Yes.”

  “They haven’t—”

  “They found his boat. Nobody knows what happened. You seem to think he might have taken his own life.”

  She hugged herself. “I don’t know. He was always so sad. Except when he went fishing. Then he was a different man. But mostly he was just sad.”

  “Did he talk to you about it?”

  “No, not really. He tried to act cheerful for me. But he wasn’t very good at it. I’d come over, make supper for him, and we’d sit out on the deck and hold hands and watch the sun set over the marsh and all the ducks coming in, and he’d just stare into space, and… it was just so damn sad. I would’ve done anything to cheer him up. I tried every way I knew.” She shook her head. “That’s why I was planting those stupid petunias. Aw, shit.” She tried to smile as the tears coursed down her cheeks. “My mother was right. If you don’t love somebody, you can’t get hurt. Damn it.”

  “Maddy,” I said softly, “did he ever take you out on his boat?”

  She nodded. “Sure. Boy, did he know how to find those fish.”

  “How did he catch them?”

  “Eels, mostly. He’d either drift them or rig them and cast them. He loved eels. I never saw him fish any other way. He said later when the pogies started running he’d use them. But they haven’t started yet.”

  “Did you see Paul yesterday?”

  She shook her head. “I worked till eleven. I’m waitressing at Scandia. I’m in college, see, but we’re done for the summer. So me and some girls’ve rented this place a couple streets down. Anyway, I came over when I got off, but he wasn’t here. I figured he was fishing, even though it was wicked stormy.”

  “Did it surprise you that he’d go out in the storm?”

  “Not at all. He went out in worse weather than that. I mean, I’ve been out with him in some pretty bad weather. We never had a problem. He’d stick close to land, and he was real careful. Always made me wear a life jacket.”

  “Did he wear one?”

  She shook her head. “He said if you respected the sea and understood it, you’d never have a problem.”

  I sat there with Maddy Wilkins, sipping her bitter tea and trying to decide what else I might ask her. But I had run out of questions. So I put down my half-empty glass, stood up, and said, “Thank you, Maddy.”

  She looked up and frowned. “For what?”

  I shrugged. “For the tea. For the information. I hope you’ll keep my card, and if you think of something or hear something you’ll call me.”

  “Oh, sure. Okay.”

  She followed me off the deck and around to the front of Paul’s little house. “Well,” she said, “I might as well finish planting these petunias. For—for when he comes home.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be cheered by them,” I said.

  We waved to each other and I started down Meadowridge Road to my parked car, and that’s when I saw the big man with the black beard.

  12

  HE WAS STANDING IN the middle of the narrow sand road, about fifty feet from me, wearing blue jeans and a sleeveless muscle shirt and dark glasses. It looked as if he was staring at me from behind those glasses, but I couldn’t see his eyes.

  He looked familiar. I couldn’t place him.

  I started toward him, and he turned and walked briskly away, heading back to the main street.

  Then I remembered. I had seen him with his fist shaking in the air and anger cut into his face. Thomas Gall. He had been shouting above the tumult in the courtroom, spitting threats at Glen Falconer and the judge and the jury. And at Paul Cizek.

  “Hey,” I called. “Hey, wait a minute.”

  He didn’t turn. I started to jog after him as he disappeared around the corner.

  When I got to the end of Meadowridge Road, I looked in the direction he had gone. A hundred yards or so down the street a dark pickup truck started up and pulled away from the side of the road, heading back toward the bridge that crossed the river into Newburyport.

  I stood there watching the truck disappear down the street.

  “Do you know that man?”

  I turned. Maddy Wilkins was standing behind me.

  “I know who he is,” I said. “Did you recognize him?”

  She tucked a long strand of blond hair behind her ear. “Sure. He’s a friend of Paul’s.”

  “A friend?”

  “I guess so. I’ve seen him a few times. I came over one night and they were sitting out on Paul’s deck.”

  “What were they doing?”

  She shook her head. “I’d just gotten out of work—it must’ve been close to midnight—and I saw his lights on, so I thought I’d drop in and say hello. When I saw Paul had company, I turned around and left.”

  “You’ve seen him more than once, though, huh?”

  “A couple times I noticed him sort of hanging around when Paul wasn’t here. Kinda like he was doing today. I never talked to the man or anything.” She frowned at me. “Is there some problem with him?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe.”

  I took Route 1A, the slow road, back toward Boston. It crossed tidal creeks and meandered past marshland and farmland and woods and passed through quiet little New England towns like Newbury and Rowley, with white Protestant churches and white eighteenth-century colonials perched on the rims of emerald village greens. I bore left on 133 in Ipswich and headed out toward Cape Ann, and in Essex I stopped at a seafood shanty and bought a quart of mussels and a couple of fresh tuna steaks. I picked up 128 in Gloucester and headed home.

  It was nearly five in the afternoon when I got back to my apartment. I made room for the mussels and fish by removing a bottle of Samuel Adams from the refrigerator. Then Sam and I wandered into the living room. The red light on my answering machine indicated that three people had tried to call me—or that one person had tried three times, maybe.

  Nope. Three people. The first was Alex, asking what our plan was. The second was Olivia, requesting that I call her.

  The third was Gloria, my ex-wife. “Have you talked to Joseph?” her recorded voice said. “You better give me a call.”

  That sounded ominous, so I sat down, lit a cigarette, and dialed the Wellesley number that was still familiar more than a decade after it had been mine.

  She answered after several rings. “Yes?” She sounded breathless.

  “Are you all right?” I said.

  “Oh, Brady.” I heard her let out a long breath. “Yes, I’m fine. I was just getting out of the shower.”

  “What’s the matter with Joey?”

  “Joseph?” She hesitated. “Oh. My message. Nothing’s the matter. Did I say something was the matter?”

  “Not exactly. You asked if I’d talked to him. It sounded like—”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you, Brady. Sometimes Joseph tells me things that he doesn’t tell you, and sometimes it’s vice versa, and sometimes he tells us both, and sometimes he gives each of us different stories. William mainly talks to you, I know. But with Joseph, you never can tell.”

  “I haven’t talked to Joey in a while,” I said.

  “You don’t know that he’s coming home, then.”

  “No. When?”

  “Tonight, actually.”

  “Well, great. It’ll be terrific to see him.”

  “The thing is,” said Gloria, “I’m picking him up at the airport tonight and he’s got to be in Chatham tomorrow for his job.”


  “His job?”

  “He’s got a job at a restaurant. He starts tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Well, shit,” I said. “He didn’t tell me any of this. So I don’t even get to see him.”

  “I guess the job was sort of a last-minute thing,” she said. “Anyway, I wondered if you might like to meet him at the airport with me. You and Alex, I mean. We could have coffee or something.”

  “Absolutely. What time?”

  “Eleven-twenty at United. He’s spent the past week visiting with his brother, and he’s coming in from Boise. I told him I’d meet him at the baggage claim.”

  “We’ll be there,” I said. “And Gloria?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you. You didn’t have to do this.”

  “You’d have done the same if the situation were reversed,” she said.

  “I hope I would,” I said.

  After Gloria and I disconnected, I called the Globe and, at the command of the recorded voice, punched in Alex’s extension.

  “Alexandria Shaw,” she said.

  “Rearranging verbs?”

  “Oh, hi, sweetie. No, right now I’m trying to lose a hundred words. Golden words, these. It seems uncuttable.”

  “I assume you’re coming over afterwards.”

  “Absolutely. I propose a game of strip Trivial Pursuit on the living room floor.”

  “Wouldn’t seem right,” I said, “you being naked and me fully dressed.”

  “It hardly ever works out that way, if you’ve noticed.”

  “It’s just that I hate to see a woman take off her clothes alone. I take off my clothes out of a sense of good fellowship. Anyway, before our contest of wits, we’re going to the airport. Joey’s flying in tonight.”

  “That’s fine. Is he going to stay with you?”

  “No. Gloria’s going to be there, too. She’s taking him down to the Cape tomorrow for his summer job. This’ll be my only chance to see him.”

  Alex chuckled. “So I get to meet your son and your ex-wife all at the same time.”

  “You don’t have to come. I mean, if you think it’ll be awkward…”

  “Don’t you want me to?”

  “I do. I hope you will.”

  “I’d like to. Let me clean things up here. I’ll be there in an hour or so.”

  “I’ll cook something.”

  “Good. I’m starving.”

  “Any buzz on Paul Cizek at the paper?”

  “Not really. Can you talk about it?”

  “Sure. When you get here.”

  Alex made kissing noises into the phone, and we disconnected. Then I called Olivia.

  “Yes?” she answered.

  “It’s Brady.”

  “Oh, gee. Thanks for calling back. I just… I wanted to hear a friendly voice.”

  “No news, then?”

  “Nothing. Not a word. I tried calling Lieutenant Kirschenbaum, but he wasn’t there. Nobody would tell me anything.”

  “If they knew something, I think they’d tell you.”

  “I guess so. You haven’t heard anything, either?”

  “No.” I hesitated, then said, “I went out to Paul’s house and talked to somebody, but she didn’t know anything.”

  “She?”

  “Just one of Paul’s neighbors,” I said.

  “Well,” she said, “I guess we can only wait.” She hesitated for a moment, then said, “Brady?”

  “Yes?”

  “You are my attorney here, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t think you need an attorney, Olivia.”

  “I want to retain you.”

  “It’s not necessary.”

  “I’d like you to help me figure out what happened, Brady. Help me deal with it. I’d feel better if it was businesslike.”

  “Fine, Olivia. If that’s how you’d prefer it. I’ll have Julie work up an agreement on Monday.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “We’ll stay in touch, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  I hung up and wandered out onto my balcony with my bottle of beer. We were approaching the longest day of the year, and the sun’s rays still beat down on the harbor from a high angle. A brisk breeze riffled the water, and gulls and terns were wheeling and cruising sideways, riding on air currents.

  Olivia had hired herself an attorney. I wondered if there was anything she wasn’t telling me.

  I was at the kitchen sink scrubbing the sand and grit off the mussels with a stiff-bristled brush when I heard Alex’s key in the door. A moment later her arms went around my waist and she was pressing herself against my back.

  “Hey, babe,” she whispered into my shoulder.

  “Hey, yourself.”

  “Sorry I’m late. I needed to go over some things with Michael.”

  “Good old Michael.”

  She turned me around, held me by the hips, and leaned back so that her lower half was pressed against my lower half. She was grinning. “Are we jealous of Michael?”

  “Not we,” I said. “Me.”

  “Of Michael?”

  “Sure. He commands meetings when you should be with me.”

  She went up on tiptoes and kissed me on the ear. “Actually,” she said, “it was I who requested the meeting.”

  “While I slave over the kitchen sink.”

  “You’re cute in your little apron.” She wrapped her arms around my chest and tucked her head up under my chin. “What’re you making?”

  “Mussels steamed in wine and garlic, tuna steaks grilled on the hibachi with butter and lemon, baked new potatoes, tossed salad, a bottle of chilled Marques de Caceres Rioja.” I stepped out of her embrace, took off my apron, and reached for her hand. “Come with me, woman.”

  She smiled. “Yes, sir.”

  I led her into the living room. “Sit,” I commanded, and she sat on the sofa. I sat on the coffee table in front of her, lifted her feet onto my lap, and slid off her shoes. Then I set about massaging her feet, giving each toe the careful, individual attention it deserved.

  Alex leaned back and closed her eyes. “Oh, my God,” she groaned. “I think I’m gonna come.”

  I rubbed her ankles and kneaded the hard muscles of her calves. Her skin was smooth and warm to my touch. “I like it best in the summer,” I said, watching her face, “when you don’t wear panty hose.”

  She opened her eyes and looked at me. “Brady?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Stop. Now.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “I love it. Now stop. Right this minute.”

  “Oh, I get it.”

  She sat up, put her arms around my neck, and kissed me hard. “Are you really jealous of Michael?” she whispered.

  “I’m jealous of every man, because I know what they’re thinking when they see you.”

  “How do you know what they’re thinking?”

  “Because I know what I’m thinking when I see you.”

  “That’s awfully sweet.” She kissed me again, then pulled back. “Can we eat? I’m starved.”

  I tried to look hurt. “I was planning to work my way up past your knees and under your skirt.”

  “Just how far were you planning to go?”

  “I hadn’t really decided where I’d stop. I just wanted to relax you after your long Saturday at the office.”

  “Relax?”

  “Isn’t it relaxing?”

  She smiled. “Hardly. Anyway, we shouldn’t get into that yet. We might lose track of time and not make it to the airport.”

  I mixed a rum and tonic for Alex and forbade her from helping. I steamed the mussels and dumped them into a big bowl, and we ate them at the table by the sliding doors, shelling them and dipping them in their own broth, while the potatoes baked in the oven and the sky darkened over the harbor. Then I tossed the salad and grilled the tuna.

  By the time we cleaned up the kitchen, the moon had risen and the stars had begun to wink. We sat out on the balcony with our coffee and watched the refl
ections play on the water.

  “Tell me about your day,” Alex said.

  So I did, ending with my conversation with Olivia.

  “She hired you?”

  “Yes.”

  “What for?”

  “I’m not sure. To help, she said. I think she just wants support. She’s feeling alone and frightened.”

  “Should I be jealous?”

  I reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Olivia is rather attractive, actually, in a reserved, British sort of way. I’d prefer it if you were jealous. It’s only fair.”

  “Because you’ve got Michael to be jealous of.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Okay,” she said. “You’ve got a deal.”

  “Is the paper running the story?”

  “Sure. It’s a pretty big story.”

  “ ‘Criminal Defender Paul Cizek Lost at Sea,’ ” I said. “ ‘Presumed Drowned.’ ”

  “Something like that.” She sighed. “From what you said, it sounds like there’s more of a story there than that.”

  “Maybe there is.”

  “Any conflict if I look into it?”

  “Not so far. Everything I told you up to Olivia’s phone call this afternoon is fair game. But since I’m now officially her lawyer, I won’t be able to tell you anything after today.”

  “Cizek was sleeping with that girl?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Alex nodded. “Nothing very unusual about that, I guess.”

  “Aside from the fact that Paul’s about twice her age.”

  “What about this Thomas Gall?” she said.

  I shrugged. “He threatened Paul in court, as you remember. He was there today. Maddy Wilkins said she’d seen him with Paul. I suppose an intrepid reporter might want to look into it.”

  “I’m only going to be intrepid for another couple of months, you know.”

  “I keep trying not to think about it.”

  “We’ll work it out.”

  “Sure.”

  “My lease is up at the end of August. I told my landlord I’m not renewing it. I’ve got to start looking for a cheap place in the country. Will you help me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Southern Vermont, maybe. Or Maine or New Hampshire. Massachusetts is just too expensive.”

  I stared out over the harbor.

  Alex’s hand touched my leg. “It’s not exactly Montana, Brady.”