by Meg O'Brien
“Jeffrey,” Sol says, “I think you’re exaggerating the importance of this visit from the Secret Service. They obviously want to know about Marti Bright, not you.”
Jeffrey makes an impatient gesture. “You know better than that. Once you open a can of worms…dammit, Sol, I want you to get them off our backs. Throw a few bills at them.”
Sol looks at me, and I shrug and walk to the window, staring out at the fairy lights over the arbor gate. We’re getting into fantasyland territory now, I know. Jeffrey’s fantasy—that money can fix everything.
“I promise you, Jeffrey,” Sol says, “that would only make them want to question you more. Look, this will pass. They’ll find a suspect. And if it ever does come out that you and Abby were questioned, you both say it was all part of a routine investigation. Which it was. Right, Abby?”
“Right, Sol.”
But I can see from his eyes that he’s not so sure.
“I don’t care, I don’t like it,” Jeffrey says angrily. “I didn’t even know that woman. Sol, I’m telling you, I won’t talk to them. Let Abby handle it.”
“My, how gallant of you, my husband.”
“For God’s sake, Abby, there’s more at stake here than a little inconvenience for you! And it makes sense for them to question you, while it makes no sense whatsoever for them to question me.”
But Sol is adamant. “You will have to talk to them, Jeffrey. This is the Secret Service, not the kinds of political clowns you’re used to dealing with. I will go with you to this meeting in the morning, and you will tell them everything you know—or don’t know, which is more to the point. They will be satisfied that you cooperated and that will be the end of it. Otherwise—” he shrugs, as if washing his hands of his client “—I don’t see how I can help you.”
There is a long silence as the fire crackles and Jeffrey considers his options. Finally he sighs.
“All right, all right. But I want you to be a buffer, Sol. Like in a courtroom. Don’t let them grill me or anything.”
“For heaven’s sake,” I snap, “what the hell are you so worried about? What could you possibly say that could incriminate you in Marti’s death?”
It is a hypothetical question, one of those things you say when you fully expect the answer to be, “Absolutely nothing.”
Jeffrey gives me a look I can only interpret as fear. It startles me, and after a moment I look away, confused.
“Sol?” I say. “Go home and tend to your ulcer. And thanks for coming. We’ll be okay.”
He nods. “I’ll see you in the morning, Jeffrey. Meet me at the Carmel P.D. a few minutes before ten so we can get all our ducks in a row.”
Jeffrey is already reaching for his coat and briefcase, which he keeps by the door. “Wait up, Sol. I’ll walk you to your car. Abby? Don’t forget to lock up. I’ll be late.”
Meaning, he won’t be home at all.
“Right,” I say, downing my drink. “Give my best to my sister.”
After Jeffrey and Sol leave, I go into the kitchen to finish up with the cleaning and to think. This news about Justin has thrown me; I don’t know where to go from here. Speak to me, Marti. Tell me what to do.
But my old friend is as silent now as she was for the last three months of her life.
I am at the sink, washing a plate, when I sense movement behind me. I should be alone. All the guests went home hours ago.
Murph? No, Jeffery put Murph in the garage to keep him away from the guests. In all the turmoil, I’ve forgotten to let him out.
I go stiff, my hand gripping the sponge as my mind runs wild. I have a blue belt in Kenpo, but that doesn’t even occur to me now. My fingers find a knife at the bottom of the dishpan, and I grab it, whirling around.
“Hey, easy! It’s only me!”
The fight goes out of me, but not the fear. I lean back against the sink, breathing heavily.
“Tommy? What the hell are you doing here?”
He smiles a bit nervously. “Actually, I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I never left. See, you left me in here, and then I saw you go into your office down there in the hall with those guys, and I heard your husband sending everyone home. Then he was on the phone and I wasn’t sure what to do…so I just went out and waited on the patio. When I saw you in here again, I came back in. I’m sorry if I startled you.”
My pulse is still racing. “You were out there all this time?”
He nods. “Most of it. I came back in once to get a drink of water. Look, are you going to jab me with that thing?”
I am still shaky, but I drop the knife in the sink, dry my hands on a towel and collapse into a chair at the kitchen table.
“You sure have quick instincts,” Tommy says, seating himself across from me.
“You scared the hell out of me,” I say.
“I really am sorry. I know it’s been a tough day for you. Can I get you something?
I shake my head. “I’m just tired. I really need to be alone now. If you don’t mind?”
“Sure. I’ll go. Can I just ask you something first?”
“I suppose.”
“Why do you stay with that jerk husband?”
My breath catches. “You were listening to us?”
“I only heard a little bit when I came in for that water. But it was enough. Abby, I always thought you, like Marti, would take the world by storm.”
“I didn’t even realize you noticed me, Tommy.”
“Sure I did. You just didn’t notice me.”
To that, I have no answer.
“Can I ask another question?”
Oh, for God’s sake. This is like dealing with a five-year-old. I rub my face with my hands, push back my hair and sigh. “Go ahead.”
“Abby, how come you’re not taking the world by storm? You were a really good writer. Still are, judging by that great piece you did for the Chron, about water rights. How come you didn’t keep writing that stuff? Why are you wasting your time on some little column in a local newspaper?”
“It’s not just ‘some little column,’” I argue. “I enjoy it. That other stuff is behind me.”
“You sound like your life is over, or you’ve given up, or something.”
Again I sigh. “Tommy, I’m far too busy for my life to be over. I’m also far too busy to write serious stuff.”
“Too busy giving parties for your jerk husband, you mean?”
I shove my chair back. “That’s enough! Where the hell you get off talking to me like this, I can’t imagine. You come here, a virtual stranger—”
“It’s because I’m a stranger I can talk to you like this, Abby. I haven’t got anything at stake. You throw me out, I’m gone. It’s over. But I hope you don’t do that. You sure need somebody to talk to.”
“I have somebody to talk to.”
“The cop? You can’t talk to him about everything. He’s too involved.”
Tommy is right about that. There are things I keep from Ben all the time.
“Look, I’m fine,” I argue. “Except that I’m tired. Please leave, Tommy. I’ll call you a cab to take you back to the hotel, or the airport, or whatever.”
“The hotel,” he says. “I think I’ll stick around a while.”
“Like I said, whatever.” I am too exhausted to think what this means.
“Abby, I’ll leave now. But may I come back tomorrow?”
He sounds like that five-year-old again, asking if he can have an ice-cream cone. I look at his earnest, thin face and give in. He, too, has lost someone this week.
“Yes, you can come back tomorrow. But I’ll be busy in the morning.”
“I know. With the Secret Service.”
My voice turns sharp. “Dammit, no, Tommy, that must be something you missed. Jeffrey is the one they want to see tomorrow.”
It is only now I realize I never told him about Ben, either. He said “the cop.” How did he know about Ben?
“Tommy…” I stand facing him with my arms folded. “You are n
ot who I thought you were. Are you?”
“Maybe not.” His eyes are dead serious. “But you aren’t who I thought you were, either.”
6
When Tommy is gone, I call Ben. While it may be true that I keep things from him at times, my cup runneth over. I need to download.
I also need to know if Mauro and Hillars told him about Justin by now. If so, what is everyone—or anyone—doing to find him?
“Can you come over?” I ask Ben when I reach him. “I really need to see you.”
“What about Jeffrey? I’d prefer not to have a repeat of the other night.”
“He’s with Karen.”
“Oh. The bimbo.”
I smile. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Ben is one of the men Karen put the moves on, back when he was still married. He fought her off, and there’s no love lost between them now.
“Give me thirty minutes,” he says. “I need to shower.”
“Make it fifteen. We’ll shower together.”
“Did I ever tell you you’re the love of my life?”
“I can’t believe you came here, after the other night.”
We are on the floor before the fire, and Murphy is wriggling under our blanket, doing his best to insert his very large body between us.
“You sounded like you meant it when you said you needed me,” Ben says. “Ouch. Darn it, Murph. Go ’way.”
“He didn’t bite you, did he? Murph, go lie down.” Murphy wiggles out from under the cover and plants himself by the hearth with a solid, unhappy thump.
“No, but his nails are sharp. Almost as bad as yours.” Ben nuzzles my ear as I run my nails along his back, showing him just how sharp they can be. He comes inside me in a friendly, comforting way. We lie together silently for several moments.
“You feel good,” he murmurs.
“You feel better.”
He begins to move slowly, not rushing things.
“Oh, even better.”
“Tell me about your day,” he says.
“Now?”
“Sure, we can make it last longer that way.”
I very much doubt that, but I try.
“Well, it’s been a, uh, horrible day,” I manage, wrapping my legs around him and pulling him closer.
“The funeral, you mean?” His breath quickens. “Or something else?”
“Something…something else. The Secret Service. Were. Were here.”
He moves faster suddenly, and it’s all I can do to think straight.
“Mauro and Hillars?” He pants. “What the hell did they want?”
“They…they were asking…dammit, Ben, slow down, I can’t…no, don’t slow down, don’t slow down, don’t…”
“Questions,” he breathes. “They were asking you…”
“Marti. About Marti.” I roll us over till I’m on top. It won’t be long now. I start talking faster. “They wanted to know all kinds of things about her, yeah, that’s it, who she knew, if she’d had an affair, yeah, right there, and I’m pretty sure they know about the baby—”
“Baby,” Ben breathes.
“Marti…baby.”
“Baby,” he breathes again, over and over, as we come together. Grabbing my hair, he brings my mouth down to his and moans “Baby, baby,” against my lips. After a few moments he rolls us both onto our sides, staying inside me.
Finally he lets out a loud, “Oh, God,” and falls back. “I don’t think I’ve ever interviewed a witness like this before.”
“You don’t think?” I punch him on the shoulder.
So much for making it last.
“I don’t get it,” Ben says. We are in the kitchen, drinking fresh-squeezed orange juice. “What do they want with Jeffrey? He didn’t really know her, did he?”
“No. He never wanted to. I always felt he was jealous of our friendship.”
Ben shakes his head. “There’s something else going on here.”
It is at this point I would ask him, if I were going to, if he knows about Justin’s kidnapping. But something holds me back.
“You think maybe they’re after Jeffrey for something,” Ben asks, “and investigating Marti’s death is a cover story?”
“That never even occurred to me,” I say, surprised. “What would they be after Jeffrey for?”
“Hell, Abby, Jeffrey is involved in so much crap. Who knows? By the way, who was that guy I saw you leaving the funeral with?”
“His name is Lawrence. Tommy Lawrence. I knew him in high school.”
“I thought you went to an all-girl school.”
“I did. He had a thing for Marti and used to come over from St. John’s and hang around. That’s why he came for her funeral.”
“That was a nice touch,” he muses, “putting flowers on her grave.”
I’m used to Ben thinking like a cop, but this time I look at him sharply. “You think it wasn’t genuine?”
“I don’t know, what do you think?”
“It seemed real enough to me. He came back to the house and helped me in the kitchen. We talked.”
“Where is he now?”
“At the La Playa. Said he decided to stay a few days. Ben, there is one thing. He was here when Mauro and Hillars were talking to me. I thought everyone had left, but Tommy had just gone out to the patio, and at some point he came back inside. I think he overheard a lot of what we said.”
“Did he tell you he heard?”
“Not Mauro and Hillars, but Jeffrey and I were talking afterward, and it wasn’t a pleasant conversation. Then Sol came, and he asked me a lot of questions. All this time I thought we were alone in the house, but Tommy was out there listening.”
“He admitted that?”
“He asked me why I stayed with Jeffrey. ‘That jerk,’ he called him. And he seems to know an awful lot about us. Even you. He says he asked questions at the hotel bar because he was curious.” I shrug. “He’s a writer.”
“You think that explains it?”
“It could.”
“Maybe,” Ben says. “And maybe I should have a talk with this guy.”
“Ben…if you do, be gentle, okay? He was pretty broken up over what happened to Marti.”
“Maybe,” he says again.
I look at him. “Okay, tell me.”
“Nothing I can put a finger on. I just have a feeling about the guy.”
As I’ve said before, I have come to respect Ben’s instincts. I, too, have not been entirely at ease with Tommy Lawrence. Still, I can’t help saying, “Ben, I know from these past couple of days what it feels like to be treated as a suspect. I just wouldn’t want that to happen to him—not if he’s innocent, that is.”
“Don’t worry,” Ben says. “And don’t worry about yourself, either. I told Mauro and Hillars you were okay.”
“Okay?”
“Not a suspect, so far as the Carmel P.D. is concerned. I told him I’ve known you for years and you’re pure as the driven snow.”
I smile. “Well, that might be a bit of an exaggeration.”
“Actually, that’s what Mauro said.” Ben grins.
“And Hillars?”
“Stiff upper lip, no comment.”
“Not likely. I’ve got a feeling Hillars is commenting all the time. He just doesn’t do it out loud.”
Jeffrey not only doesn’t come home that night, he doesn’t come by in the morning for clothes. When he also doesn’t show for the meeting at ten with the Secret Service, an agitated Sol—followed by an even more agitated Agent Mauro—calls here, demanding to know where he is. I tell them both he’s probably at Karen’s and give Agent Mauro the number.
“I’ve already tried that,” Mauro tells me.
“You know about Karen?” I say. “Why, of course you do. I’ll bet you have a camera in her bedroom.”
“Ms. Northrup, please don’t test my patience,” he responds with a sigh. “Not today.”
“I’ll do my best. So Jeffrey wasn’t there?”
/> “She says he never showed up last night.”
“Then I don’t know where he is.”
“No idea at all?”
“Look, Agent Mauro, I’m sure you’ve already checked his office in Carmel. So no, I haven’t a clue.”
“You don’t sound surprised that we can’t find him.”
“I’m not. I’ve had a lot of practice at not knowing where my husband is.”
“Ms. Northrup,” he says in the tone a teacher uses when warning a student to get his homework in on time, “it’s my duty to inform you that if we haven’t heard from your husband by noon, we’ll have to consider him a suspect. I won’t hesitate to have an APB issued for him at noon sharp. You might tell him that if you hear from him.”
“An All Points Bulletin? Cool. I hope they have more luck finding Jeffrey than I ever have.”
Agent Mauro hangs up on me.
I ruffle Murphy’s fur and think about Marti, hanging there on that bleak, ungodly hill.
Marti, where is Justin? Who would kidnap him, and why? Is he being taken care of? Is he cold? Injured? Afraid?
Or worse?
Compared to this, nothing seems important enough to worry about—not Jeffrey, and definitely not the goddamned Secret Service.
After a while I make my way to the kitchen for a second cup of coffee. Taking a lined yellow pad and pencil, I sit at the table in the breakfast nook and begin to write.
Point one: Mauro and Hillars are working in the dark, despite all their surprising knowledge of Jeffrey, Marti and me. They wouldn’t have questioned me last night if they really knew anything, or even had a good lead on Justin’s kidnapper and Marti’s killer.
Point two: They haven’t told Ben about Justin’s kidnapping. If they had, he would have mentioned it to me. I think.
Point three: I haven’t mentioned the kidnapping to Ben. Why not?
And finally: How in the name of God are the Ryans handling all this?
A bright, white sun drifts through the tree over the patio, warming my arms with dappled light. The mental fog I’ve been walking around in since the day my friend was murdered begins to lift. It is almost as if Marti is talking to me: “You promised you’d watch over him, Abby. Don’t let me down now.”