by D. C. Brod
I gazed heavenward.
“I was glad to be here,” Erika said, giving my mother’s hand a squeeze, then began moving toward the door, stopped, and said to me, “Do you need a ride home, Robyn?”
“Um, yes, I do. Yes. I’d appreciate that.”
She gestured toward the door. “I’ll wait outside.”
Once she was gone, my mother said, “That woman is an angel. She sat with me this whole time. I didn’t know what had become of you.” I could hear the tears in her voice again.
“I know, Mom.” I led her to her chair and helped lower her into it.
“The nurse offered me a pill to relax, but I didn’t want to sleep. I needed to know that you were all right.” She’d removed a tissue from her pocket and was kneading it in her hand.
“I am. I’m fine.” I patted her knee. “Are you okay now?” I took a couple of steps back and sat on the edge of the rocker.
“Well, I’m somewhat better.” She sort of trailed off with a sigh.
“We’re going to be okay,” I said.
She blinked once. “Well, of course we are.”
I nodded. “Maybe you’d like that pill now?”
“Why, yes.” She looked up at me. “Perhaps I would.”
I got up. “I’ll talk to the nurse when I leave.”
“Thank you.” Then, “Robyn, do you have my money?”
At first I thought she was talking about the stamp, and was about to tell her that I’d have to find a stamp dealer, but then I realized that, of course, she was talking about the fifty dollars—the “sofa money.”
“I’ll get it to you tomorrow. Okay?”
“Thank you,” she said again. “I just don’t like not having any cash.”
“I understand.”
She leaned back in her chair, sighing, and closed her eyes. After a moment she opened them again and said, “Are you leaving?”
“I’d better,” I said, prepared to present my reasons, but that turned out to be unnecessary.
“Be sure to tell the nurse. About my pill.”
“Yes, Mom. I will.”
“Will I see you tomorrow?”
“You bet.” I reached into my bag and pulled out the letter.
“I’ve got something for you.”
She took it, her slender hand shaking slightly. As her eyes rose to meet mine, I nodded. “It’s Robbie’s letter.”
She tilted her head and blinked her eyes as she ran the pad of her thumb over the ink. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“He really loved you.”
“Yes. Yes, I think he did.”
A moment later she asked, “Did you read the letter?”
“I did.” And then I said, “That’s how I know.”
She looked up at me. “We—you and I—are alike, aren’t we?”
I nodded with a sigh. “I’m afraid so.”
She leaned back into the chair, still smiling.
I got up and gave her a kiss. And then as I turned to leave, she said, “Robyn,” I looked back at her, “remember my pill.”
“I will.”
“She was very worried about you,” Erika said as I closed the door behind me.
“I know. And thank you for taking her home and staying with her.”
“It was no trouble.”
After I alerted the nurse to my mother’s needs, Erika and I walked out to the parking lot and got into her car. I told her where I lived and along the way I filled her in on what had happened, although she’d seen and heard most of it on television.
“Once your mother learned you were all right, she couldn’t watch enough of it.”
“I’ll bet.”
We rode in silence for several moments. Erika’s demeanor was calm, but her insides must have been churning.
“What will you tell the police?” I asked.
After a moment she said, “I’ll tell them the truth.”
“What is the truth?”
As she turned onto Main Street, she held herself erect, with both hands on the wheel, at the ten and two positions, her knuckles sharp points of white. Now she flexed the fingers of her right hand, then tucked them around the wheel again.
She wet her lips and said, “Your father was one of my clients. Had been for many years. He wasn’t a religious man, but he did believe in the afterlife. More so after he learned of his illness.” She glanced at me. In his letter he had said he was dying, but wasn’t specific. “He had colon cancer, and he knew he didn’t have very much time. He wanted to meet you and to see your mother again before he died. I was helping him to determine a time to go. A time when the stars were right. He was very nervous about it, and he insisted the planets and stars be aligned just so.”
“That’s too bad.” I felt her look at me. “If he hadn’t insisted that he got the universal thumbs-up sign, I might have gotten to meet him.” That made me angry.
“Perhaps,” she said, then added, “I also think he was hoping he’d outlive his wife. He did, but not by much.”
“So what was the plan?” I asked, then added, “And I still can’t figure why you went along with it. What did Jack have on you?”
I heard her sigh. “Our daughter. He had our daughter. She was the only good thing to come of the marriage. At first Jack wanted nothing to do with her, and for that I was grateful. But Jack Landis doesn’t leave until he’s ready. Over the years he would appear now and then. I believe he did it just to prove he could and to remind me that I should never forget about him. As if I could. He’d threaten to go to court for partial custody of Holly. I would do anything to keep that from happening.”
I recalled the photograph in Erika’s office, and for a moment I envied the strength of that mother-to-daughter bond. I’d only experienced the daughter-to-mother end, and I supposed I’d never completely understand what drove my mother to carve out a fake history in order to protect me. And herself.
“Where is your daughter?” I asked.
“She’s at school. In the east.” Apparently Erika didn’t want to elaborate, because the next thing I knew she was telling me what Jack did after learning that my father was one of her clients. “Jack couldn’t see a wealthy man without finding a way to steal money from him. He found out who Robbie’s lawyer was, and he started a relationship with her.” She glanced at me. “He was good at that. After Robbie died, Mary told Jack she had to go to Illinois to finish his bequests. Although she wouldn’t tell him what that was, I knew she was going to see your mother. Jack promised me if I were to help him with this one, final... deception... he would be out of my life forever.”
“And you believed him?”
She glanced at me, then back at the road. “I wanted to. Badly.”
That I could understand.
“You came to Fowler to see if you could find out what Mary was bringing to my mother.”
“Yes.” She shook her head. “I never dreamed Jack would kill over this. Never.”
But once he crossed that line, he never looked back. “And since you didn’t know what Mary was bringing to my mother, you needed to concoct that séance and your ‘seeing’ my father.”
She didn’t answer for several moments, as though testing her words. “The first séance was staged—although the women there thought it was real—but the second, with you and your mother, that was not. I did see Robbie.”
I looked at her profile as she drove and considered whether I would choose to believe her. My father had. I still felt some anger. At her—if she’d told him to quit waiting for Venus to align with Mars and get his ass to Illinois, I’d have had the chance to meet him. On the other hand, he could have done that himself, and maybe as much as he thought he wanted to see us, it was easier to wait until it was too late. I sighed. “I wish I could have seen him.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. But then she added, “It was not meant to be.”
I snorted in response, and she said, “You don’t have to believe in my abilities, Robyn, but I’m surprised to find your m
ind so closed.”
While I was mulling that over, she said, “Tell me. Why did you choose the river?”
“Water is softer than wood.”
She glanced at me and nodded. “Of course.”
And then I added, “Besides, you told me I’d grow gills.”
I thought I saw a trace of smile, but it was almost dark so I couldn’t be sure.
She pulled into the parking lot behind my building. The purple of dusk cast the cars in an eerie light.
“Are you going back to California?” I asked.
Turning toward me, she said, “Why do you care?”
“My mother will ask.”
With a sigh, she leaned back in the seat and tilted her head up toward the sky. “I don’t know. I may not have a choice. The authorities may want someone to answer for this mess, and even though Jack died, they may find me worth pursuing.”
Feeling guilty and a bit chastened, I said, “Let me know if I can help.”
She looked at me again, maybe a little surprised. “I’ll be fine.”
“Probably.”
As I climbed out of the car, I said, “Thanks again for looking out for my mother.”
“Your mother is a delightful woman.”
“You know, some people tell me that.”
As I began walking toward the steps leading to my apartment, it occurred to me that Mick had probably taken Bix home with him. I’d miss the critter’s presence. But I told myself I should quit wishing for what wasn’t and count my blessings—I was alive, I wasn’t in jail, and the stamp would go a long way in taking care of my mother’s needs.
I’d climbed two steps when I heard the sound of little claws clicking their way down the stairs. I looked up and saw a small shape wiggling its way toward me. “Hey, Bix!” I scooped him up and began climbing again as he slobbered kisses on my chin. And when I got to the top, there was Mick Hughes sitting in one of my lawn chairs, feet propped on the railing. He just smiled and said, “Welcome home.”
As good as it was having Mick help pull me from the river, I wasn’t sure how I felt about finding him on my porch. For now, a little distance might be good. When I looked at him, all I could think of was these last few days. It was a little like waking up after a night on the town. The light of day and the hangover combine, and the desire to erase the whole evening rolls over you like a tank. But first you’ve got to do something about that guy in bed next to you.
“How long have you been here?” I asked.
He lowered his feet to the porch and pushed himself up from the chair. “Let’s see.” He locked his fingers behind his neck and, took a good stretch and said, “Once I dropped Sassy off and got rid of the van, Bix and I stopped for a burger, then we came here.” He shrugged. “Maybe an hour.”
“Thanks for bringing him home.”
I couldn’t tell him to leave. Not now. So I let him follow me into my apartment. As I walked into the kitchen of my little home above the framing store, I realized that when I’d left it yesterday, I didn’t think I’d be seeing it again for a long time. Maybe never. But now I just stood for a moment and enjoyed the assault on my senses: the faint smell of garlic, the hum of the refrigerator and the watercolor of Edinburgh’s skyline above my café table.
And then Mick had me in his arms and was kissing me. The part of me that wanted to respond with gusto fought with my ambivalence. I didn’t push him away, but neither did I give him much back.
“God, you had me scared,” he said when he’d finished.
“I had me scared too.”
“If you had...” he broke off.
Feeling the closeness in the room, I pushed up the arms of my sweatshirt. I didn’t want to help him out.
“I think you oughta give up crime,” he said. “Makes me too nervous.”
I hesitated, but then said, “You should’ve thought of that before you decided I had to be the one to pick up the money.”
He looked like I’d struck him.
“I need to change.” I looked down at the my police-issue gray garb. “Will you make us a couple of drinks?”
He nodded. Bix followed me into my bedroom and jumped up on the bed while I took a quick shower and found some clean, comfortable clothing. He watched me as I pulled on some sweats and a T-shirt, as though afraid if he looked away he’d find I’d been replaced by a goat.
Mick had poured a nice, dark Grouse for me and helped himself to a Sam Adams. I sat on the couch with him, but not right next to him. With my feet propped on the coffee table, only inches from the singing bowl, I thought about all that had happened in just a few days. One week to a whole new you. The scotch was wonderful, and I took a couple of sips, concentrating on its peaty taste, the smooth glass, the click of the cubes against it.
“You okay?” Mick asked.
I glanced his way and saw he’d shifted so he faced me, with his back to the arm of the couch and his ankle propped on his knee.
“I will be,” I said.
After another sip, I rested the glass on my thigh. “Earlier,” I began, “you said it was okay about the money.”
“I did.”
“Did you mean it?”
He nodded and lowered his foot to the floor, then leaned toward me.
But before he could say anything, I continued, “If it wasn’t about the money, what was it about? And why did you pretend it was the money?”
He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. Then, as though finding some answer there, he nodded once, turned to me and said, “Blood wasn’t Bull’s first horse. About two-and-a-half years ago he bought a two-year-old named Pay Dirt. Terrific animal. Bull raced him every chance he got. Raced him too much. Thoroughbreds, for all their size and heart, are fragile. Those skinny legs of theirs take a pounding. Bull didn’t care what his trainer said. Didn’t care what I said.” He paused, and I saw some pain in his eyes. “And when Pay Dirt blew a bone in his leg and had to be destroyed, Bull blamed everyone but himself. The trainer quit. I should’ve.” He took a drink from the bottle and leaned back again.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
He snorted. “Like you’d have believed I was doing it in memory of a horse.”
He was right. Still, I had to work this through.
“What?” he said as though he knew where my thoughts were headed.
“I’m just trying to decide if I feel better about all this now.” I turned toward him. “I mean, there were so many ways this could have gone wrong. What would’ve happened if I had gone into that bar to get the money? What if Jack had been in there? What if he hadn’t, and I had to face that big guy Bull had in there? What if he had died? What if I’d walked out of the men’s room and found a dozen of Fowler’s finest pointing guns at me?” I felt my eyes brimming, so I had to look away. “I don’t do stuff like that.” Mick opened his mouth as if to speak, but I wouldn’t let him. “And I’m asking myself if I feel better knowing you weren’t doing it for the money. You were striking a blow for equine...” I struggled for the right word and came up with “... justice.”
I kept going. “But no matter how noble our motives—you with the horse and me with my mother—we still committed a crime. And that means we’re no better—or not much better—than Bull.” I pulled in a deep breath. “And I don’t know why none of this occurred to me earlier. Or why it didn’t matter earlier.”
“Maybe because it was a little exciting.”
I snorted and took another drink. “And to top it off, Bull lost nothing.” Bix was curled up next to me, warm against my thigh. “I’m tired, Mick.”
I felt him watching me, but I wouldn’t look at him. Finally, he said, “You’re going to the race with me tomorrow, aren’t you?”
“Are you kidding?” Now I looked to see if he was serious. He was. Entirely. “How can I be in the same room with Bull after what happened?”
“Because you are not going to want to miss tomorrow.”
He wasn’t just talking about the race. “Why not?”
He shook his head. “Can’t say. Trust me. One more time.”
CHAPTER 22
The Plymouth Million was Illinois’ version of the Kentucky Derby and the attendees dressed accordingly. Bull had reserved a suite at Plymouth for a few “close” friends. We’d be viewing the race two floors above the grandstand at the clubhouse turn. There would be food, drink and, depending on the race’s outcome, potential revelry.
In my usual quandary as to what to wear, I eventually opted for the black and white halter dress I’d chickened out of the night I went to dinner with Mick, and I splashed it up a bit with a red shawl and black sandals with a small heel. Maybe I wasn’t all that ambivalent about my relationship with Mick after all.
When Mick came to pick me up, I could tell from his raised eyebrows, not to mention the low whistle, that he approved. He’d cleaned up well too, wearing a pale, tweedy, silk sports jacket with threads of oak and mulberry running through it.
August had continued to sully its reputation as the beastly month by producing another incredible day—sunny, high seventies with a scattering of puffy white clouds, just to give the sky some depth. Weather reports had the temperature increasing daily until we hit ninety by the end of the next week. But, for now, the humidity was low and my hair was behaving.
We didn’t talk much on the ride to the track. I was still bouncing all over the emotional scale, and Mick seemed to be focused on some thoughts I wasn’t privy to yet.
When we arrived at the track, we went directly to the barn. Mick wanted to see how Blood was holding up, and I wanted to see for myself that Blood and Sassy had been reunited.
The track provided security for all the racehorses, but Sassy had received some protection of his own. Racehorses came and went, but a half-million-dollar companion goat was a novelty.
I was glad everyone was focused on Blood so they didn’t notice how Sassy trotted over to me, nudging my hand for some treats. I slipped a few out of my purse and fed them to him.
Mick was conferring with Blood’s trainer, and they both agreed that the horse was up to the race. To my untrained eye, Blood appeared a bit hopped up, like any athlete would before a big event, but also somehow focused.