scott free

by Unknown Author

  He took the phone off the hook, heard no dial tone, then lost two quarters trying to summon one. The phone was out of order.

  Just as he hung up the phone, Liam saw him.

  He was getting into a car down where it was not well lighted, but it was Jimmy Rainbow, no mistake.

  Jimmy Fucking Rainbow with his tailor-made suits and his college education, sweet-talking his way into banks and churches and charity balls. Big-time con who let women do his time.

  Liam watched the car pull away.

  He couldn’t see the make (a Lexus?) or read the license plate.

  Then how the hell could he be so sure it was Rainbow?

  It wasn’t Rainbow.

  It was nerves and it was panic. He was doing what Nell always said he did: making wall-to-wall carpeting out of a throw rug.

  There was no way he would hear a phone message from Jimmy Rainbow in New York, then see him right there in East Hampton.

  He thought of die Affirmation sheet on panic. Instead of imagining the worst, you turned it around. You wrote a new ending.

  The phone message was from some other Jimmy, someone Nell knew from one of her old jobs. Maybe someone from the halfway house, someone who’d mention jail casually, or as a joke.

  The man in the parking lot was just a local heading home after a movie. Tomorrow at this time Nell and Liam would be $400,000 richer, a day away from $400,000 more . . . and the kid was home safe.

  To keep the new ending, I jam had to eliminate any negative thoughts.

  If you talked trouble, you got trouble. Keep your fears to yourself and share your courage. I affirm because I am firm. I deserve what I want.

  As he got into his car behind Devlin Realty, he looked at his watch. He thought of the pay phone up on Old Stone Highway, outside the Springs General Store, not far from Maritime Way. That was perfect.

  “Where did you come from? You frightened me!”

  “I’m sorry,” Scotti said. “I was going to call a taxi but there’s so much commotion going on inside I thought I’d just get out of everyone’s way. May I hitch a ride with you? I’m Scotti House.”

  “Lorna Metcalf. Get in! I wasn’t sure I’d get this old buggy going,” said the woman as Scotti got in the Chevrolet. “I’ve been having battery trouble.”

  Scotti was breathless. She’d run out of the house while Burlingame rushed to see what Delroy was shouting about, Mario calling after her, “Wait! You’ll need a ride!”

  Scotti didn’t know what Burlingame was after, and she no longer trusted Mario.

  Lorna Metcalf said, “I heard Delroy calling for Mrs. Lasher once I started this thing, but I’m already late getting home. I can’t go back in there or I might never get away.”

  “I’m in a hurry, too,” Scotti said.

  “Some people think you don’t have a life of your own.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  The car rolled down the driveway, went along The Highway Behind The Pond, and turned right on Egypt Lane.

  “Mrs. Lasher’s in a state tonight,” Mrs. Metcalf said. “And I don’t mean New York State. She’s off the wall over something. It’s always some little thing. She’s been tiirough too much.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “What were you doing there tonight?”

  “I came with Mario Rome. But he seems to be in a state, too.” “What’s Mario doing there at this hour? He always leaves after he’s dropped off Deanie.”

  “I don’t know,” Scotti said.

  “He didn’t even drop her off today.”

  “I thought he said he did.”

  “He didn’t. Mr. Lasher was real upset, too. ‘All Andie, All Andie’ he says to me. That’s how he sounds, at best. I was lucky I could make out that much he’s gotten so bad lately. ‘All Andie’ means ‘Call the Candles,’ where Deanie is supposed to be. So I picked up the phone by his bedside and I called them. I was going to say maybe we should send a car for her, her father wanted her home, when Mrs. Candle herself said, ‘Deanie Lasher is not here and has not been here in ages.’”

  “Mr. Lasher must have misunderstood.”

  “Somebody did. . . . Where do you live, Mrs. House?”

  “Miss House. I live in Springs, on Tulip Lane, but I left my car at Ashawagh Hall.”

  “I live in Springs, too, so it’s easy for me to take you to your car.” “Do you work full-time for the Lashers?”

  “No, no. I’m a practical nurse. I’m not part of the household.”

  “Is Mr. Lasher dying?”

  “I’m not privileged to talk about it.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “I often fill in when Delroy takes off, which wasn’t that often these past two years, until now. Now he’s got himself a sweetie. I didn’t think I’d live to see the day he’d have a girlfriend. He took the Jeep to see her earlier tonight and that got everyone going. Mrs. Lasher thought he’d stolen the Jeep, I think. She even called the police.”

  “I heard something about that.” Good God! Did they imagine Scotti’s mother was Delroy’s girlfriend? And then suddenly Scotti thought of another possibility. They thought Scotti was the girlfriend. Delroy’s letter to her. His mention of the “secret.” Only Delroy and Scotti would know what that meant. . . . Was that what it had all been about? Mrs. Metcalf glanced at Scotti and said, “Are you Mario’s girlfriend, dear?”

  “No. We take a writing class together.”

  “Little Deanie loves Mario. . . . Delroy’s always trying to win her affection, but children know the strange ones in life same as dogs do. Both stand back from them.”

  They rode in silence a while, Scotti trying to figure out Mario’s behavior. Even if, God forbid, Mario actually did believe Scotti was capable of having any interest in Delroy, why would it have upset him so? He might have felt disappointment in her, but his actions all evening were too harsh for it to be that.

  And what was Jack Burlingame in such a snit about?

  “Do you know Mario well?” Scotti ventured.

  “Some. He’s too good for what he does there, chauffeuring their luggage back and forth, driving the girls to school. There’s too much up here,” she tapped her head with her fingers, “for him to be doing that. They treat him like a servant, same as we all get treated in that house.”

  “I can imagine.” But Scotti couldn’t imagine very much at all about that house and what was going on there. Why all the clock-watching? Why was Delroy wailing like a banshee in the hall?

  Mrs. Metcalf turned right on North Main and headed up Springs Fireplace Road.

  “They don’t know what they’re doing anymore at Le Reve. Calling the police on Delroy that way. Calling me to sit with Mr. Lasher, actually

  thinking Delroy stole their Jeep. Now, normally, they have everything under control. But I could see tonight they’re cracking under the strain.”

  “Perhaps that’s why they sent Deanie away someplace,” Scotti said.

  “That little girl’s been there through thick and thin! And I’ve never, ever seen Mrs. Lasher red-eyed from crying the way she was tonight. Something’s going on, if you ask me. It’s not my business.”

  Yes, something was going on. The moment Scotti’d gotten into Mario’s van she’d felt the chill, felt him completely changed. It was almost as though he knew about her, knew and detested her for her deception. Yet why would it bother Burlingame?

  The rest of the way up Springs Fireplace Road Mrs. Metcalf complained about things she said were not her business: Mrs. Lasher’s habit of having fresh flowers brought in from Whitmore’s every two days, only white ones: lilies, orchids, tulips, peonies. The fact that Mr. Lasher wore his white terry-cloth robes only once, put on a brand-new one every day. The air-conditioned room in the basement just for wine. On and on, while Scotti half listened, staring out the window, dreading going home, imagining her mother’s state of mind after the police had questioned her about Delroy.

  There was no way to get a han
dle on the situation, no way to make sense of any of it. By the time they reached Ashawagh Hall, Scotti had almost bought Lorna Metcalf’s version: that all of them connected with Le Reve were just coming apart at the seams, from the strain of Mr. Lasher’s long illness.

  At Ashawagh Hall she thanked Mrs. Metcalf.

  It was a bright, moonlit night. There was also a streetlight by the pay phone near the road, outside Springs General Store.

  It was easy for Scotti to recognize the man leaning far out of his car, holding the phone. She had never seen him anywhere without Nell Slack.

  Scotti slowed down, pulled over, and turned off the motor so she could watch him. Now what was he up to? And did Liam Yeats have anything to do with all that was going on at Le Reve?

  “Mr. Lasher?”

  “Speaking.”

  “Is everything ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please tell me what’s ready.”

  “I am weddy to meet the wansom demands. The Lucky We in exchange for my daughter. Awive.”

  “She’s alive and anxious to get back to Le Reve. Who did we tell you must deliver the Lucky We to us when we’re ready?”

  “Delwoy Davenport.”

  “Right.”

  “Have the police been told?”

  “No! The powice will not be told, either. That is a pwamiss.”

  Liam said, “Be ready for the exchange tomorrow. Have local maps ready for when I call tomorrow. Hamptons maps and a Montauk one, too. All the streets must be clearly marked. Got that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have the Jeep ready and the Range Rover . . . and that fancy convertible. What kind of car is it?”

  “A Bentley Azure.”

  “Yes. Have all the tanks full and ready to go.”

  “What timer’

  “We’ll tell you tomorrow, Mr. Lasher.”

  Liam put the phone’s arm back on the receiver and started the Ford toward Maridme Way. Okay, he thought, concentrate on the project. Ask no questions of Nell, act no differently. The Lucky We was the target. He could see it in his mind’s eye, an eye now set on seeing only the new ending.

  After the funeral Delroy would go to Mr. Lasher’s bureau, where a gold lorgnette was kept in the top drawer under a stack of white linen handkerchiefs. The lorgnette was in a light blue box with a note in an envelope. Delroy was to choose a quiet moment to give it to the Missus.

  Now was not the time, that was for sure. Le Reve was in an uproar with Mario there for some reason, Jack Burlingame short-tempered suddenly, and the Missus in a state Delroy had never seen her in before.

  No one had thought to cover Mr. Lasher’s face with the top bedsheet, as Delroy had seen nurses do in movies. When Delroy tried to do it, the sheet was not long enough.

  He sat by the bed and waited. Burlingame had told him to stay with the body.

  He had heard the soul did not leave the body immediately, and he spoke softiy to the Mister, telling him everything has worked out for the best, for Delroy had come very close to breaking his promise because of his conscience. Thou shall not kill. Helping someone die was killing.

  Delroy was not sorry that he had lied to Mario and Burlingame about the “secret.” People who went through other people’s private papers were not entided to the truth. Here was Mr. Lasher dead, and there they were downstairs still trying to make something of the fact Delroy had borrowed the Jeep to visit Mrs. House! At a time like this, how could they keep at it? Him dead in his bed, and still they nagged Delroy about the “secret” until he made up an answer to appease them.

  He had finally told Mario how he had come upon Scotti House in Hampton Bays and realized she shouldn’t drive. She was so drunk! He had brought her back to East Hampton and left her car there. That was the secret!

  Mario had exclaimed, “Christ, Delroy! Why didn’t she just say so!” “A lady like her doesn’t want to admit she was intoxicated,” Delroy had said. “That’s why I kept it secret, even from her mother.”

  Mario had said, “She beat it out of here the moment you came down the stairs calling for Mrs. Lasher. Where would she go at this time of night?”

  “She must have gone with Mrs. Metcalf,” Lara’d said. “She was leaving then, too. She didn’t even know Len had died.”

  “No one acts like they know it,” Delroy had said.

  “Go upstairs and stay with him!” Jack had ordered Delroy.

  Which had been fine with Delroy.

  But before he had left the den, he had said, “Shouldn’t I go to the Candles’ and bring Deanie back?”

  For some reason that had started Mrs. Lasher sobbing into her hands, and Burlingame had given Delroy a look as though Delroy were to blame for everything.

  The area Liam had picked out for Deanie Lasher was a carpeted, wood-paneled cellar suite complete with a pool table, a Dolby sound system, a bunk bed, and a small bathroom. The walls and bookcases had celebrated the years from childhood to college of the son of the house: Chip Karpinski.

  His photographs and his golf, soccer, and wrestiing trophies had been removed, along with family photos, school banners, rock star posters and skis, skates, a bowling ball, a toboggan. All of that was moved into the adjoining room. After the project was a fait accompli, Liam would reassemble it.

  The windows were small, square ones, up high, unable to be opened without the long pole attached to one wall. Soundproofing prevented any noise from intruding, except for the occasional rumble of the water heater or the furnace, in the room where Chip Karpinski’s belongings were stored.

  Even if Nell had remembered to bring the books about horses, Deanie Lasher was not in any mood to be read to. Neitiier was she crying—she hadn’t cried once, not even when Nell explained that she could not go home yet. Her father, Nell had told the child, owed some money, and until he paid it, Deanie would have to stay with Rona and Al. The child had answered that her father never ow'ed money, that people owed her father money, and that it was her suspicion that Rona and A1 were “kidtrappers.” When Nell told her they were calling her father to arrange for him to pay the money he really did owe (no matter what Deanie thought!) Deanie announced that they had better get her home because her father was dying of “Lugerick disease.”

  “You mean MS, dear, and he’s not dying. I have a sister with MS and she’s lived a long time.” A lie. She had no sister, but it was a time to lie.

  “He only pretends it’s MS,” said Deanie. “He had deals to make. He’s so sick he can’t even speak without a ‘synthesizer.’”

  “I never heard of a ‘synthesizer,’ Deanie.”

  “It’s a machine that speaks for him. It sounds like the voice in airports when you take trains from one gate to another. It announces whether to get off at Gate A or B or C. . . . His grave’s dug, too.”

  “Where is his grave dug?”

  “I’m not supposed to know about it, Rona. One day I was driving along with Jack and Mario, and they thought I was playing with Radar, The Talk ’N Listen Robot, but I was really listening to diem. I hate that robot! I know all the answers to his questions.”

  “People don’t dig their graves ahead of time,” said Lara.

  “Daddy does. His is in Springs, in Green River Cemetery, behind this very famous painter’s grave.”

  “Oh, Deanie, you’re fibbing.”

  “I don’t fib. I know the painter, too. It’s Jack Pollock. Our whole school went to his house which is a museum now. My daddy’s grave is right behind his at the cemetery, a whole half acre!”

  Nell knew the cemetery. It had been written about in Newsday. Famous people were buried there, not just artists. It wasn’t far from Maritime Way. Nell had wanted to stop and look around one afternoon when Liam was showing her the Karpinski house. Liam would not stop. He had complained that it was too negative, and that a visit there could materialize unlucky spirits.

  Nell asked Deanie, “Did you tell your mommy you knew about the grave?”

  “I don’t call her ‘Mommy.’
That’s childish.”

  “But did you tell your mommy about the grave?”

  “No, because I wasn’t supposed, to hear about it! There’s a lot of things I don’t get to hear about because I’m only seven.”

  “Some seven,” said Nell.

  “I was just seven, the thirteenth of January.... How old are you, Rona?” “Very old.”

  “You look old because your hair’s white but you don’t talk old and you don’t move old.”

  “I’m old. I’m getting older by the minute.”

  “I felt old when I first woke up from the sleeping pill but I don’t feel groggy anymore. . . . Was that a lie about the bichon?”

  “Yes. I don’t have a bichon.”

  “I knew it was a lie! I didn’t think so at the time, but at the time I didn’t know you were a ‘kidtrapper.’”

  “Remember something, honey. I have to tie you up again when A1 comes home. Don’t you ever tell him I loosened the ropes.”

  “Is he cruel?”

  “No, but he wants you tied up. He’s bringing some books for you to read, books about horses.”

  “Which: ones?”

  Nell told her the few titles she could remember.

  “They’re too young for me. I read those kinds of books when I was little.”

  “Well, we’ll pretend you haven’t. Then he’ll think I’m reading to you and we can have some alone time to talk. Would you like that?”

  “Did you know there’s a library in heaven?”

  “I never heard that.”

  “I’m not sure I believe it but Jack Burlingame told me there was and he’s an author of books, so he ought to know.”

  “Well, maybe there is.”

  “Do you know Jack Burlingame?”

  “No. I don’t know anyone you know.”

  “Because nobody I know would ‘kidtrap’ me.”

  That was when Liam burst through the door, ski mask on, the books under his arm. Nell had refused to wear a mask. She said she could do miracles with makeup, but not for a male.

  “Hello, litde lady,” Liam said. “Why aren’t you tied up?”

  “I was.”

  “Why aren’t you still tied up?” He dumped the books on the upper bunk. Deanie stretched out on the lower bunk, flinging her hands behind her, straightening out her legs and spreading them so Nell could fasten the ropes to the bed posts.