“Ellie, you’re wrong.”
“I guess so.” I leaned forward. “You knew who ‘Jack’ was from the start, didn’t you? When you got that cryptic phone message about jasmine, you realized he’d tracked you down. The trips to your mother’s were a lie. You went to Philadelphia to make sure he wouldn’t expose you.”
“No. You don’t understand.”
“But Jack wouldn’t cooperate, would he? He’d already taken the rap for you once. So when he threatened to turn you in, you killed him. Pamela Winger too.” Jamie squirmed in her seat. “How did you learn explosives, Jamie? Did SHOUT teach you? Or did you teach them?”
Jamie raised her hands, as if warding me off.
“What I don’t understand is why you came back to your house. Why didn’t you disappear like you did thirty years ago?”
She blinked. “Ellie, go away. This visit is over.”
“I know. It was motherly love. You just had to see Conrad.”
She pressed her palms together so hard that her nails whitened. “Ted called at my mother’s. He said Conrad was sick and I had to come home. I caught the first flight back. When I walked in, the body of that—that woman was on the kitchen floor. I was running out to get help when the blast went off.”
I stared at her for a minute, then stood up. “Nice try, Jamie. Or whoever you are.”
***
I waited for Ted to surface, but after a month I realized he never would. I was surfing the net one night, and just for fun, I ran a search on SHOUT. The results produced several articles that traced the group’s history, but none of them mentioned how the group changed its name. I checked again. Ted had seemed so sure.
That’s when I knew.
Ted. Always on the move. The Ollie North persona. It was the perfect cover. It was Ted who went to Philadelphia. Ted who killed Halsey and Pamela Winger. Ted who lured Jamie home, intending to destroy her too.
I called Brightman the next morning, but he wasn’t convinced. Ever since Kathleen Soliah was arrested, the Bureau’s wanted to close out the Sixties, and he maintained that Jamie was part of SHOUT. David found her a lawyer, and according to him, she has a good chance.
We never did find out why Jack Halsey backed out of the currency deal. Maybe he wanted to keep his money liquid. Maybe he thought he’d need it to “manage” Ted. Maybe he decided he didn’t want to be a capitalist after all.
***
I was shoveling the walk one winter day when Conrad showed up. The mound of debris that had been his house was now covered with snow. Conrad studied the property then strolled over to my house.
I leaned on the shovel. “How are you Conrad?”
“Okay.” An olive green bundle was under his arm.
“I’m glad.” My anger at his behavior had long ago faded. He had his own problems; he’d carry his father’s burden forever.
“I—I came by to apologize for something,” he said. “Last Halloween. The raccoon on your porch? It was me. I was mad. I hope you forgive me.”
I looked at him. The earring was gone, and he’d cut his hair. “It’s forgotten,” I said. “Another life. But thank you for owning up.”
“I’d like Rachel to have this.” He handed me the green bundle. It was his army jacket. “It’s the real thing. My mother got it at an Army-Navy store in Philadelphia.”
I corrected him. “You mean your father.”
He shook his head. “No.” He took the jacket back. “It was my mom’s.” He held it up. Just above the breast pocket was a tiny embroidered white flower.
“It’s supposed to be jasmine,” he said. “I thought Rachel would like it.” He handed it back and started to walk away.
I stared after him. Jasmine. Talk and smell the jasmine. Jamie was Jasmine. Jamie and Ted were in SHOUT together. I clutched the jacket to my chest. I had been wrong. Ted didn’t blow up his own house, abandon his family, vanish without a trace. It was Jamie. Tired of thirty years of subterfuge and lies, she’d taken matters into her own hands. My eyes drifted to the woods at the back of the lot where they found her. Ted had never been found. Could there be other charred remains—besides Pamela Winger’s—somewhere on the property?
“Conrad?”
He turned around and gazed at me, his shoulders hunched.
“Why are you giving this away?”
“I’m getting rid of some stuff. We’re moving.”
“Moving?”
“As soon as my mom gets back.”
“Your mother’s gone?”
He stiffened. “It’s only for a few days. She’ll be back. She said so.”
I bit back a reply. He turned away. I watched him trudge through the snow, fourteen but already stooped like an old man.
THE END
This Ellie story was published in 2005 in the TECHNO NOIR anthology, edited by Eva Batonne and Jeffrey Marks. Although the anthology was released only a few years ago, it was pre-Facebook and Twitter.
A WINTER’S TALE
Edward Kaiser was a cold fish. Richer than God, as my friend Susan would say her lip curled, but a cold fish nonetheless. He made his millions in high tech—something to do with floppy discs—bought a huge estate on the outskirts of the village, and proceeded to behave like royalty. You never saw him around town, he didn’t return calls, and he rarely mixed with us “commoners.”
So when he was found dead at his keyboard on a blustery January morning, his screen saver winking over his lifeless form, no one seemed distressed.
Except his wife Lisa, who reportedly was so devastated that Lew, our village pharmacist, hand-delivered a prescription of Xanax to the house.
“With three refills,” Susan said as we power-walked down Happ Road that afternoon.
Snow crunched under our boots. Though the roads up here are always clear, except for mounds of dirty snow on the curbs that last until April, people neglect their sidewalks. Probably because there aren’t that many to begin with. Sidewalks, that is. People, too.
“Three? How do you know?”
Susan flashed me her Cheshire cat smile. I’ve never figured out how she knows exactly what’s going on in our tiny community, but I’m happy she does. I’m even happier she tells me about it.
“She found his body, didn’t she?”
Susan nodded. “She came home from a tennis match, went into his office to tell him she’d won, and there he was.”
“So you think she needs the Xanax because she found him or because her tennis schedule is up for grabs?”
Susan shot me a look.
I hiked up my sweatpants; the elastic was coming loose. “I’m sorry, but I can’t summon up too much sympathy for her.”
If women are built for either speed or comfort, Lisa Kaiser was an Indy 500 contender. Young, slim, and athletic, she had long glossy hair and enormous brown eyes—I remember when I met her thinking a person could get lost in them for days. She and her son, Sam, stood to inherit a bundle; Edward’s first wife had died years ago.
“Edward wasn’t much to write home about, I grant you,” Susan said, “but Lisa’s different. I’ve never seen her without a smile, and she always stops to chat. I can’t tell you how many times she asks about Dara.”
“That’s because Sam’s in her class,” I said. Along with Rachel, my thirteen year old.
“Maybe. But she drives Sam to school every morning. Not the chauffeur. And she took her shift at the Book Fair just like everybody else.”
“So she pulls her weight. Still, how can you feel sorry for someone who’s going to inherit a gazillion dollars?”
“Fifty gazillion.”
I sucked in a breath.
As we passed the Catholic Church, a ray of weak sun broke through the overcast and struck the stained glass window. “Heart attack, huh?”
“Don’t even think about it, Ellie. Everybody knows a bad heart runs in the Kaiser family. Plus, most of the money is going to the kids from his first marriage.”
“Really?”
“Lisa sign
ed a pre-nup. She won’t be destitute, of course. She’s in for a few million.”
“How old are his kids?”
“They’re both over twenty-one. Left home a long time ago.”
“And Lisa’s barely thirty.”
“Thirty-two last week.”
“Happy Birthday.”
***
Two weeks later, I was in the supermarket frowning at a bin of imported, waxy tomatoes, wondering how I could stand five more months of them, when a cart bumped me from behind. I spun around. Lisa Kaiser struggled to steer hers away.
“Oh, Ellie. I’m sorry.” A flush crept across her face. “I’m so clumsy.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I angled my cart a safe distance away. “How are you doing, Lisa?”
She eyed the tomatoes and gave a little shrug. “You know how it is.”
“I know what a shock you’ve been through. Please let me express my—”
“Don’t.” She brushed my arm with her fingers. “I got your lovely note. I haven’t gotten around to responding, but I…”
“You just did.”
She smiled tentatively. “Thanks.”
I turned back to the tomatoes, picked out four, and slid them in a plastic bag. “How’s Sam?”
She tore off a bag from the roll above the bin. “He’s been so brave. He adored Edward, you know. He’s trying so hard to be…” She bit her lip. “By the way, Rachel’s been really sweet. Sam told me they’ve been emailing every day. You should know what a compassionate daughter you have.”
I smiled, my insides growing all soft and warm the way they do when someone says something nice about my daughter. I closed my bag with a twist-tie and looked back at Lisa. She stood there, her bag in hand, looking small and lost.
I cast about for something to say. “Lisa.. is—is there something—I mean, would you—”
Her eyes filled, and she lowered her head. Her shoulders started to heave. “I’m sorry.” I sensed she was trying hard to control herself. “I’m not—I just—it’s been so—so hard.” She looked up with an anguished face.
I remember how overwhelmed and isolated I felt when my marriage ended, though Barry is very much alive. And will undoubtedly remain so just to be a thorn in my side. But Lisa looked vulnerable. Impulsively I burst out, “Would you like to get coffee?”
“I’d love to.”
We pushed our carts over to the coffee bar, a recent addition to the store. I bought lattes and carried them over to a small, planked table.
“It’s just all so overwhelming.” She sat and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her jacket. “I really loved him. And now, well, Sam and I, well, we’re just rolling around that monster of a house.”
I rummaged in my bag, pulled out a pack of tissues, and pushed it over.
She dabbed at her eyes. “I guess I’m going to have to get used to change.”
I nodded. Anything I said would sound trivial.
“A lot of change.” She pried off the lid of her coffee. “The house, for starters.”
“What do you mean?”
“I called a realtor. She’s going to list it—privately, of course—next week.”
“You’re selling?” I’d never been inside, but it was supposed to be quite a showplace. It had won several awards and was featured in a decorating magazine.
She gave me a sad little smile. “Life has a funny way of punching you in the gut.” She paused. “The truth is, Edward was practically broke when he died.”
Despite my hot drink, the muscles in my face froze.
“I know. But it’s true.” She blew on her coffee.
I didn’t know what to say. This was huge news. And Susan didn’t know it. I didn’t want to pry, but I sure wanted to know more. My face must have registered how torn I was, because she gave me another half-smile.
“I never paid much attention to Edward’s business affairs. I’m just a ‘trophy wife’, you know.”
I started to cut in but she overrode me. “No, it’s okay. I know what people say. But his lawyers sat me down the other day, and, boy, did I get an education.” She unfolded the tissue and started punching her plastic stirrer through it. “You know that piece of metal—the metal spring that’s on a floppy disc?”
“Sure.”
“Well, Edward invented it.”
“He did?”
“He was smart enough to patent it. Sold licenses to all the floppy disc manufacturers, quit work, and collected all the royalties—”
“Hold on. Are you saying he—you—get paid for every single floppy disc that’s sold?”
She dipped her head imperceptibly.
I almost whistled. If that was true, fifty million was a pittance. I could be drinking coffee with the next Melinda Gates.
Except that she’d just said Edward was broke.
She went on. “There are really only two or three disc manufacturers of any size. The biggest is Riteway. That’s where most of Edward’s royalties came from. But recently their payments dried up. Practically disappeared.”
I frowned. “Why?”
“They claim they’ve been hit hard by competition. And the economy.”
“But they’re the biggest disc maker in the world.”
“Right. And discs are a commodity product. So I’m told.” She added hastily. “Not dependent on economic conditions.”
“What do the lawyers say?”
“They’re trying to figure it all out. But Riteway isn’t being very helpful. In the meantime, there are the legal fees, the accountants’ fees, and no money coming in.” She punched another hole in her tissue. “And of course there’s the house. You’d be surprised at how fast it all goes.”
“I’m sorry, Lisa. I had no idea.”
“No one does.” She gave me another sad little smile. “I’m glad I never took it all seriously, you know?”
“What will you do?”
“I don’t know. Go back to work, I guess.”
I wondered what a trophy wife does when her medal tarnishes.
“You know, I can’t help thinking that maybe the stress of it all got to Edward. He was suing Riteway for the money.”
“You don’t think he—”
“Suicide? No. Edward was a fighter.” She looked over. “I know people around here didn’t like him. But they didn’t know him. He was very shy and gentle. Almost afraid of people. But strong. That’s why I fell in love with him.” Her eyes locked onto mine. “And he’d just had a check-up. Everything was fine. Except for his ear.”
“His ear?”
“He has Meniere’s Disease. Gets spells of dizziness. Ringing in the ears. But besides that, he was fine. Cholesterol. Blood pressure. Everything.”
“They say that’s when it can happen.”
“Maybe.” She clamped her lips together.
“What?”
“Well,” She hesitated. “I do know he was pretty angry that morning.”
“Angry?”
Someone came to see him. Right after I took Sam to school. When I came home, I saw the car out front. They were in Edward’s den, but I could hear them arguing.”
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t hear the words. Just the shouting.”
“You think it had something to do with the—the situation?”
“I don’t know. I went out for tennis—I didn’t even say goodbye…” She blinked several times. “And when I came home….”
I leaned forward. “Lisa… did you tell the police about this?”
“Of course.”
“What did they say?”
“Well, since I couldn’t identify who was here, and no one else in the house saw him, they didn’t do much. And then when the autopsy came back with the heart attack, well, they basically said there was nothing they could do.” She balled up the tissue and pitched it into the trash.
***
When I got home, I went online and checked out Riteway. It was part of Comron, a huge conglomerate that a
pparently had made the transition from bricks and mortar to high tech. In addition to Riteway, Comron owned a gallery of businesses, including network servers, ethernet cards, even a pharmaceutical division.
I also did a search on Edward, which bore out everything Lisa said. Edward had been a geek who studied at MIT, then did research at Xerox Parc with the Alan Kay crowd. He’d been working on his own when he came up with the disc drive spring. His first wife was from Lake Forest, and after the wedding, they moved from Silicon Valley back to the Midwest. They had two children, a boy and a girl, but a few years later, his wife died of cancer.
Just out of curiosity, I did a search on Lisa. I was surprised by the results. Twelve years ago, under the name of Dorset, Sam’s middle name, she bylined a couple of articles that appeared in something called “The Grapevine.” When I clicked on the URL, I discovered that “The Grapevine” was the company newsletter for Riteway Corporation.
Company newsletters are generally authored by the company’s PR or communications department. Which meant that Lisa Dorsett Kaiser—at some point—must have worked for Riteway.
***
A week later I was doing paperwork upstairs, longing for jonquils to poke through the snow when a white Mercedes SUV pulled to the curb. I watched through the window as Lisa Kaiser opened the door and climbed out. A skimpy tennis skirt hung below her down jacket, but her long legs, tan even in winter, were bare.
“Hi, Ellie,” she said when I answered the door. “I’m sorry to bother you, but something strange is going on.”
I looked at her legs.
“I didn’t change—I jumped in the car as soon this came,” she said. “I was spooked.”
“Why? Was it an article in the Riteway company newsletter?” I hoped my voice sounded as irritated as I felt.
Her eyes widened. “You did a search on me.”
“You said you didn’t know anything about Edward’s business dealings. But you worked for the company that bought his invention.”
“I—I didn’t think it was important. Yes, I worked there. That’s how I met Edward.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. I wrote the press release about the license agreement. I interviewed him, and it just kind of took off from there.”
Nice Girl Does Noir -- Vol. 1 (Intro by William Kent Krueger) Page 5