Sinister Justice

by Steve Pickens

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean it’s the ritual you miss. If the teachings of Christ are truly what you believe in, then it really shouldn’t matter what wrapper they’re delivered in, should it?” He smiled and said, “I love you. Don’t stay up too late.”

  Sam pondered for a moment, then picked up the phone and dialed his mother’s number. “Hi Mom,” he said, hesitantly. “No, everything is all right,” he reassured.

  “Hey, I’ve got a question for you. Uh huh. Yeah. Um, can I go to church with you next Sunday?”

  * * *

  News of Leona Weinberg’s demise spread through the town like a midsummer conflagration. KABW heralded the news with a ten minute back-to-back playing of “Ding Dong, the Witch is Dead,” Randy Burrows dancing around the radio station while it was playing. The local ABC affiliate was up to cover the story, so Jake, Sam, and Jason had to duck behind the curtains and pretend no one was home when reporters came knocking. Thus far it had not made it to the press that they had been the ones to find the body. Jake sorely hoped to keep it that way, going so far as to put the thumbscrews into Jason.

  “Not a word to anyone.”

  “Who would I tell, little brother?”

  “J.D., you do work for a newspaper, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, but I’m not a reporter.”

  “Your old friend Derek Brauer is, isn’t he?”

  “Well…”

  “Not so much as an uttered syllable, okay? I know I don’t need to remind you about last year’s trip down a similar darkened pathway.”

  “I’ll just employ my usual diversionary tactic,” said Jason, with a grin.

  “Which is what?”

  “I start talking about fishing.”

  “That usually works?”

  “It has always worked on you,” said Jason, scratching his bearded chin. “It’s a subject that bores him senseless.”

  “Nice to know we have something in common. Start telling him about all the good fishing holes on Boulder Creek.”

  “What good fishing holes?” Jason asked, frowning slight. “You haven’t mentioned—”

  “J.D., if you’ve not discovered any fishing holes on Boulder Creek it isn’t my fault.”

  “Well, I’ve been spending most of my free time looking for work. Now that I’m employed again…” he trailed off, a gleam in his eye. He shook his head. “Anyway, fishing should do it, unless it is a really interesting story. Derek is very tenacious.”

  It was all Jake could do to keep from cursing aloud. Unhappily, Derek was also the reporter Alex had given all the pertinent materials on the entire Susan Crane affair to, judiciously excising everything involving Jake and Sam.

  “Ugh,” said Jake, his head starting to throb mildly. “Well, if fishing doesn’t steer the conversation from our dear departed neighbor, try bird hunting,” said Jake, peering out the kitchen window at Sam’s office. He could see Sam pacing in the garage apartment. “How long has Sam been up there?”

  “Since before I got up at six.”

  Jake frowned again. Tuesday morning, and Sam was already pacing. It was not a good sign. Either something was going wrong with the Chinook project again or someone at the Department of Transportation was haranguing him over the new ferries. Jake knew Sam was pushing to have at least one of them finished to Safety of Life at Sea certification and the DOT was resisting. He suspected it would only be a matter of time before the feds required SOLAS standards for all the boats, but the DOT was not going to go that route unless they absolutely had to.

  He clomped his way down the basement steps to the workout room. Today, unlike most days, he really didn’t feel like exercising. While certainly not depressed over the death of Leona Weinberg or even remotely upset, he was a little gloomy over the whole incident. He wondered how he’d ever be able to look over without seeing the bloated purple hand clinging to the apple on the white tile of the kitchen floor, or the gray pumps attached to the thick, purple ankles.

  He shook his head and got on the treadmill, walking at first and then working up to a run. He generally didn’t run, preferring a fast-paced walk, but some days he liked the feel of running. After sufficiently warming up, he did his usual hour on the weights, focusing on the upper body, his heart still not in it, but pressing ahead nonetheless.

  He couldn’t place what was bothering him. The revelation about his parents’ dissolving marriage was niggling at him, but not in a serious way. Jake found himself in the unenviable position of loving his mother dearly but not liking her very much. He’d discovered that at the age of twelve, and the relationship had been downhill pretty much from that point on. The knowledge that she suffered from a genuine psychological affliction had only tempered it so much. He realized someone could be mentally ill and still be an asshole. It was hard to take any comfort in that.

  As he finished his butterfly presses, he realized what was clanging around in the back of his mind—it was Leona Weinberg.

  It wasn’t exactly that she was dead, though that was part of it. Pausing for a moment to search his feelings, he eventually came around to what it was. It felt unfinished. And worse yet, he felt a familiar sense of entanglement in it, as if he were a spool that was slowly turning as the thread wrapped around and around him, gradually covering him. It was a sensation he’d had the year before in dealing with Susan Crane.

  Jake shook his head, trying to get the image out of his mind. He finished working out, showered and dressed, sitting down at the kitchen table for a cup of coffee and the Times crossword to take his mind off things. He finished it up leisurely, contemplating what he was going to do with his afternoon. Whatever it was, it was going to be something indoors as the idea of working outside anywhere near the empty Weinberg house gave him a case of what he could only think of as the “heebie-jeebies.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jake was about to head upstairs when the phone rang. Without thinking he picked it up, neglecting to read the caller I.D. He said, “Hello?” into the receiver only to be greeted with an odd snuffling sound. He looked at the receiver for a moment. “Hello?”

  “J-j-j-jake?”

  Oh no, he thought. It’s Amy.

  “Amy, is that you?”

  “J-j-ake! Isn’t it just awful!” moaned Amy, erupting into a spate of fresh sobbing.

  The throbbing in his head picked up. He began massaging his temple. “Let me guess. You just found out about Mom and Dad.”

  “Y-y—yes. Mom just called twenty minutes ago.”

  “She told me she had already talked to you. Sunday,” said Jake, angrily.

  “Well, she left a message on the machine. Hector and I were away getting boxes for the move.”

  “Move?”

  “Yes. Hector’s been offered a job at that liberal arts college near Mount Burlington. Considine University. Isn’t that near you and Sam?”

  Only too damn close, thought Jake. Jason’s going to be thrilled.

  “Fairly close,” said Jake, deliberately ambiguous.

  “Jake, what are we going to do?”

  “We? Do?” Jake asked, picturing his lithe sister with the ash-blonde hair, looking quite like a younger version of their mother, only with brown eyes. “I don’t see how we’re involved.”

  “But Jake, we can’t let them do this.”

  “Why not? They’re adults. They can do whatever they want.”

  “But it’ll break up the family. I mean, look at what it’s done to you and Jason.”

  “Amy, where have you been the last year? Jason’s here. He’s been living with Sam and me.”

  “He has?”

  “Do you not read your email? I sent that to you months ago.”

  “I’ve been busy,” Amy sniffed. “I’ve had so much to do with my degree.”

  “Oh? In what this time?”

  “Applied arts,” said Amy, the sniff leaving her voice. “And don’t you use that condescending tone of voice with me, Jake. I have the paperwork in and will be
awarded the degree at the December graduation. And I’ve got a job already lined up at the new college. I’ll actually be using my degree.”

  “Touché, Amy. I didn’t think you had it in you,” said Jake. He knew he was working up to a full-fledged migraine. “And as it happens, I’m writing full time now.”

  “Jake,” Amy implored. “Come on now, let’s not do this.”

  “You’re right. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks,” said Amy with sincerity. “I’m sorry if I’ve been out of touch. There has really just been so much going on. Jason is well?”

  “Um, yes.” He wouldn’t be discussing the Jennifer O’Hara/Amelia Darrow ordeal with his sister. “He’s got a job lined up here in town and is doing a lot of freelance work.”

  “That’s good.”

  Jake felt his anger starting to build again. “Listen, Amy, what is it I can do for you?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, the quiver returning to her voice. “I just am so upset.”

  “Come on. You didn’t see this coming? Don’t you remember what it was like the whole time we were growing up?”

  “Well, I always thought…” She paused. “I guess if I really think about it, they argued a lot. They never seemed particularly close. I just thought maybe after we left things got better.”

  “I expect with us gone, they only had each other to face,” said Jake, still rubbing his temple, happy Amy wasn’t there to see him staring at his shoes. “I think sometimes we acted like a buffer.”

  “It has gotten strange over the last few years. Look, Jake, I’ve really got to go, but…well, thank you. And let’s not let that happen to us, okay? I mean, falling apart. We’re the only family we’ve got, you know,” said Amy, ringing off.

  Jake groaned, replacing the receiver. Typical of his sister. Once she felt all right, it was time to go. He shook his head, got up, and began rummaging around in the pantry for the Excedrin. He knew Amy was correct, however. There was the family he had made for himself as well—Sam, Rachel, Caleb Rivers, Gavin and Jeff, Alex… They were certainly every bit as close to him as anyone he was related to.

  There’s the family you’re born to and the family you make, he thought. Where had he read that? Armistead Maupin, most likely.

  That made him think about Rachel again. In the last three weeks, she’d sent only one email, and all it had said was that she was “busy” and would write more soon. He debated about sending her an old-fashioned telegram inquiring if she had lapsed into a coma, but wasn’t even sure if anyone even did telegrams anymore. Stroking his chin, he thought maybe he’d send her something goofy in the mail she’d have to sign for.

  He swallowed two Excedrin with a gulp of orange juice, pondering whether or not he wanted to go lie down for a while and let the pills take effect. He knew he wouldn’t get any writing done with a headache and thought of some mindless tasks he might do instead. Given the events of the previous day, he felt he was due a little down time before delving back into the murder of his best friend.

  * * *

  Jake lay down on the living room couch and put a pillow over his eyes for a while in an effort to rid himself of his migraine. Dorothy and Sophia had parked on the couch and were not happy being displaced, but they resettled almost immediately at his feet. He let the sounds of the house flood into the darkness. The furnace had just kicked on, the blower whooshing as it circulated warm air throughout the bungalow.

  He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until the phone rang. Jake picked up the receiver from behind his head.

  “Hello.”

  “Jake, I just got the strangest goddamned letter,” said Rachel Parker.

  “I was just about to send you something embarrassing in the mail to sign for, Sadie McKee,” Jake said, calling his best friend by her old nickname.

  “I knew I should have waited another day before calling you,” said Rachel in mock lament.

  “Excuse me, darling, but where the hell have you been? And don’t tell me busy or I’ll place your photo in the Outsider personals under diva seeking man into high heels and having radishes thrown at him.”

  “Didn’t you do that to Amy once?”

  “How do you think she met Hector Suggs?”

  “Oh, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice,” she said. “And it is true, though. I have been busy. How are you doing?”

  “Oh peachy, but—”

  “And that handsome husband of yours?”

  “Sam is good, but Rachel—”

  “I know, I know. I’ve behaved horribly, and I owe you an explanation. Let me just apologize and say I know I’ve been a terrible, terrible bitch. I did the one thing I said I’d never do.”

  “You ate human flesh?”

  “I’d forgotten about that one,” said Rachel. “I fell in love.”

  “Oh. Well, if that is all…”

  “No, Jake. For real this time.”

  “Oh,” said Jake, taken aback. “Well, let’s hear all about him.”

  Rachel sighed. “There isn’t much to tell. It’s over.”

  “Oh Sadie, I’m sorry.”

  “Yet again, I picked the wrong one. He was a big, burly blonde Swedish god with a penchant for black turtlenecks and jackets with patches on the elbows. He knew all about cooking, classical music, and old MGM films. He had a body that wouldn’t quit and a libido to match. We spent hours making love on a bearskin rug at a lodge in Vermont and eating petit fours and drinking expensive cabernet. It was heaven, sheer heaven.”

  “What happened?”

  “I found out the son of a bitch was married.”

  “Ouch. When did that happen?”

  “Six weeks ago. I had a little nervous breakdown. I told my boss to go perform a sexual act on himself with both hands and an umbrella and walked out.”

  “At least you were creative.”

  “After that, I figured I needed some help and got on some anti-depressants and anxiety meds.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie.”

  “It doesn’t end there. My Swedish god still wants to keep things going.”

  “Without getting a divorce.”

  “Naturally. It’s a ‘marriage in name only’ and ‘she knows all about it’ and ‘we just stay together for the sake of the kids.’”

  “Ha, where have I heard that lately?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Nothing,” said Jake. “Where are you now?”

  “Well, you’ll be happy to know the condo sold, and I’ve left D.C. for good.”

  “I’d say I was bitterly disappointed, but since you said you’d be coming home last year, I can’t say I’m upset about that particular development,” said Jake.

  “I’m currently staying with my sister in San Francisco.”

  “Sadie,” said Jake, “Are you okay?”

  “I just take it day by day, Jake. Some days I think I’m perfectly fine, and some days I fall apart completely. I guess I’m having my midlife crisis a bit early.”

  “It’ll be okay. You’re one of the strongest people I know. You’ll get through it.”

  “Oh, I know I will,” said Rachel, drawing in a shuddery breath. “It just royally sucks. Here I am thirty-three and starting all over again.”

  “Sadie, you’re more than welcome to come here. We’re a little full at the moment, but we can make room.”

  “Jason still there?”

  “He is, but he’s doing a lot better,” said Jake. He told her what prompted Jason to leave San Francisco and his new job at the Examiner. He followed up with the recent events with his mother, but skipped over the recently deceased Leona Weinberg.

  “You know, J.D. and I have that in common,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “We have lousy taste in prospective spouses. I should just give up. Find myself a nice nunnery. Do they even have nunneries anymore?”

  “I’m not sure, outside of Shakespeare. You’d be better off with a houseful of cats. You’re more the craz
y cat woman who mutters to herself and throws oatmeal cookies at children when they walk by.”

  “Your writing must be going well, given that description. Maybe I should come up and we can have an all-night booze and bad TV fest like we used to.”

  “I’d love that.”

  “Love what?” asked Sam as he entered the living room.

  “Is that Sam? Tell him hello from the Magic Sweater.”

  “The Magic Sweater says hello.”

  “Rachel? Let me talk to her!”

  And because he knew he’d not be able to avoid it, Jake handed over the receiver to Sam and let the two chat for a while. Jake replaced the pillow over his head, enjoying the sound of Sam’s deep, melodic voice as he talked and laughed. After a few minutes, Sam handed the phone back to Jake.

  “You okay?” Sam asked.

  “Headache,” replied Jake, taking the phone back.

  “So it’s settled. I’ll be up for Thanksgiving.”

  “That would be fantastic,” said Jake as Sam sauntered out of the room.

  “Oh my God, I nearly forgot what prompted me to call. Other than a huge sense of guilt, of course,” she added hastily. “I got this bizarre letter from Tony, although it’s apparently Doctor Anthony Graham now.”

  “Oh really? What did he say?”

  “It was a very wordy apology for being a creep in high school. He seems to be trying to make amends. I’m wondering if he’s not in some sort of twelve step program.”

  “Twelve steps won’t be enough for Tony.”

  “I tend to agree. I’m still not happy with him for how he treated you after Chris’s death.”

  “My mother thinks I should just let it go.” Jake said.

  “When did you ever listen to her? Although I suppose she has a point. It’s probably more effort to be upset with him than just let it go.” She exhaled heavily. “Did you see the photo of him on his last book? Pretty hunky. Age may not have improved his personality, but it has improved his looks. Why wasn’t I born a gay man?”

  “You were. You’re just in a woman’s body is all. You know, you could always get a sex change.”