by Glenn Rogers
The movie was at a theater in Westwood. It was good movie, a romantic comedy that was actually funny. Afterward, we went to Sepi's for a drink. By the time we left the bar, Susan had attached herself to my arm.
When we dropped the girls off, Alex said goodnight to Kathy and she went inside. Alex went back to his Navigator, which left Susan and me alone at her door. She kissed me and said, “Maybe we should do this again, just the two of us.”
We stood for a moment, looking into each other's eyes. Her pupils were huge. Then I asked, “Has Alex told you about Elaine?”
She nodded and her eyes looked a little sad.
“You're a beautiful woman, Susan. And I like you. I enjoy being with you. But it's not time yet.”
She took a deep breath and nodded. “I understand,” she said softly.
“I don't know how long it will be.”
She nodded again.
I kissed her on the cheek and said, “I had a nice evening.”
As I walked back to Alex's Navigator, I thought, I had a nice evening? That's the best I could come up with? How lame.
*****
The drive to Tempe took me a little over seven hours. I had been in no hurry. I used my iPhone to find a place to stay. I don’t need fancy. For me, Days Inn is just fine. The place I selected was a few miles from where Jane had lived. I checked in and then drove by Jane's address. It was a small older house on a middle class street. There was a blue and silver F150 parked in the driveway.
I was hungry, so found a place to eat, El Zocalo Mexican Grill. I ordered the carne asada and plotted my next move while I ate. By the time I'd finished, I had decided on a direct approach.
I drove back to Jane's. I parked on the street and walked up to the tan stucco house. The front yard was a rock and cactus garden. I knocked on the door. A guy who could have been twenty-eight or thirty-one answered the door.
“Yes?” he said. He was close to six foot tall and looked to be in shape. He was tan, like he worked outside in the desert sun. He had sandy colored hair and blue eyes.
I handed him my card and said, “I'm Jake Badger. Badger Investigations. I'm looking into past events of Jane Alistair's life.”
“Why?” the guy asked.
“Her family hired me to.”
“What kind of events in her past?” he asked.
“Events surrounding her move from Los Angles to Tempe thirty years ago.”
He looked at my card and nodded. Then looked at me again, but didn't say anything.
“Have I got the right address? Is this where Jane Alistair lived?”
“Lived?” he said. “Past tense. As in used to live here?”
“I understand she passed away a few weeks ago.”
More nodding. “Yeah,” he said. “She's dead.”
“May I ask who you are?”
He said, “I'm her son.”
Chapter 23
“I'm Eric Alistair,” he said. “Would you like to come in?” He stepped to one side so I could enter.
“Thanks.”
The house was cool, a pleasant change from the 101 degrees it was outside—hotter than usual for April, even in Tempe, Arizona. The front room was furnished with comfortable but inexpensive furniture.
“Have a seat,” he said.
I sat in a chair that matched the sofa and sat at an angle to it.
“First, let me say how sorry I am for your loss,” I said. “My mother passed away when I was twenty-six.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Can I get you something? A Bud Lite, or a Coke Zero's what I've got.”
“A Coke would be good.”
He came back with two Coke Zeros and sat down in a second matching chair that faced the one in which I was sitting.
“So, why does anyone care about why my mother decided to move to Tempe?”
“How much did your mother tell you about her past and her family?”
“Just that there was a family and that something developed that made it impossible for her to stay. She said that they had a lot of money but that we didn't need it. She was right. We did fine.”
“She tell you anything about your grandfather?” I asked.
“Just that she loved him very much but that things didn't work out between them.”
“That's it?” I asked.
“Pretty much,” he said. “A few other details here and there over the years. But we didn't spend a lot of time talking about her past.”
“Did she tell you she had a twin sister?”
“She did tell me that. June Morrison. Mom wrote a letter to her and asked me to mail it.”
I drank some of my Coke. “How are you dealing with it?”
He shrugged. “Okay, I guess. I miss her. But one of the things she taught me was that you do the best you can with what life hands you. So I'm doing the best I can.”
“You working?” I asked.
“Yeah. Working helps.”
“What do you do?” I asked.
“Clean swimming pools. I started out working for a guy when I was in college. I learned the business. Now I have my own business.”
“What did your mom do?” I asked.
“She taught business and economics at Rio Salado Community College.”
“Did she have many friends, someone she was especially close to?”
“Not that I remember,” he said. “I mean, she had friends. People she worked with, neighbors, you know, like anyone else. But someone she was really close to? No. Mostly it was just her and me.”
“Who was she closest to among the faculty at the college?” I asked.
He thought. “Probably Stephanie Roberts. History professor.”
I repeated the name and he nodded.
He took a drink of his Coke and then asked, “Why do you need to know all this?”
“Because to your Aunt June, your mom's departure thirty years ago was both abrupt and unexplained. She described it as heartbreaking. She's looking for answers.”
“Why did she wait thirty years?”
“Because your mother asked her to respect her wishes and let her go. So she did.”
“What about her father? If he's wealthy, why didn't he try to find her?”
“Same reason, evidently. She wanted to go and wanted to be left alone. They respected her wishes.”
“And they say they don't know why she left?”
I nodded.
Eric said, “I can't tell you why because she never told me why.”
“Did she ever mention her father's business, what he did?”
Eric shook his head. “No.”
“She ever mention that she was working for her father in the family business when she decided to leave?”
“No.”
“Did you ask questions that she didn't want to answer, or did it just not come up?”
He studied me for a moment.
“The questions I asked, she had answers for. Simple as that.”
I'd gotten all I was going to get from Eric Alistair. Either he'd told me all he knew or wasn't going to tell me all he knew. But I was sure there was more to know.
I stood. “Thanks for the Coke,” I said.
He nodded.
“Just so you know, I've got a job to do, so I may be around for a few days, talking to people who knew your mom.”
“Sure.” He took a business card from his wallet. “Here's my card if you need to get hold of me. It’s got my cell on it.”
I thanked him. As I got to the door, I said, “Do you mind if I ask how old you are?”
“I'm twenty-nine.”
“And your birthday is in ...?”
“October.”
“Okay, thanks.”
It was late Sunday afternoon. Nothing I could really do until tomorrow, so I went to a movie and then went back to my room and read some more of Plato’s Republic until I fell asleep.
Chapter 24
I was eating breakfast at Denny’s when I realized I hadn't thought much about what I’d l
earned from Eric, not consciously anyway. I'd learned a long time ago that sometimes the best way to think about something was to not think about it, but to let my unconscious mind ponder it. And while my unconscious didn't always come up with spectacular stuff, sometimes it came up with another piece of the puzzle. The piece it came up with this morning was just a small calculation that probably had something to do with Jane's leaving. To be sure, I needed to talk to June.
After I finished my eggs and pancakes, I called her.
“Sorry to call so early on Monday,” I said, “but I need a piece of information.”
“No problem,” June said.
“You said Jane left thirty years ago.”
“Yes.”
“What month?”
“February.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Positive. She left a week before our father's birthday, which is February nineteenth.”
“Okay, thanks.”
I was going to end the call, but June asked, “Have you discovered anything yet?”
I thought about how much to tell her. I decided that she deserved to know what I had discovered so far.
“You have a nephew. His name is Eric.”
“A nephew? Jane had a son?” There was a touch of excitement in her voice.
“Yes,” I said.
“And?”
“Seems like a nice guy. I just met him, so I don't really know much. As I learn more, I'll let you know.”
The waitress brought my check and I paid and left. When I got in my Jeep, I sat for a moment and did the math. Jane had left in February. Eric's birthday was in October, which meant Jane had gotten pregnant, discovered it early, left in February and given birth in October. That's why she’d left. But why would her getting pregnant be a reason for leaving? It had happened in nineteen eighty-four, not in eighteen eighty-four.
I looked up Rio Salado Community College, where Jane had taught, got the address of the Tempe campus and put it into my maps program. It was thirty minutes away.
I went into the college administration building and asked where Stephanie Roberts’ office was. They told me. I also asked if she was Dr. Roberts. No, she wasn't. I was a little surprised that the woman to whom I was asking these questions didn't question me. But she didn't. She gave me the information I needed and I left to go find Stephanie Roberts.
Ms. Roberts' office was on the third floor. She had an hour and a half before her morning class. She was in her office and the door was partly open. I knocked. She looked up, smiled, and said, “Come in.”
“Thank you, Professor Roberts,” I said as I stepped into her small, functional office.
“Please,” she said, “call me Stephanie. How may I help you?”
I gave her my card and told her my name.
She read the card and said, “A private investigator? I don't think I've ever met a private investigator before.” She had a strong sultry voice, like Scarlett Johansson. She was a pretty fifty-something with short brown hair and brown eyes. Her makeup was understated. There was an air of confidence and intelligence about her.
“Well,” I said, “that's probably to your benefit, because as a whole we're a pretty unsavory bunch.”
She laughed. It was a pleasant sound. Then she said, “So how can I help Jake Badger?”
“I understand you were friends with Jane Alistair.”
The smile was replaced by a more sober expression. “Yes. Jane was a good friend.”
“I'm sorry for your loss,” I said.
“Thank you.”
“Did she tell you that she had a twin sister?”
Stephanie studied me for a moment. Then she said, “Tell me why you want to know.”
“Okay, we'll run this in the other direction. Jane's real name was Jane Lindell. Her father is Lyell Lindell, of Lindell Industries. Jane's twin sister, June, is now CEO of the family business. June hired me to discover what happened thirty years ago to cause Jane to walk away from everything that had been important to her. Did Jane share any of that history with you?”
Stephanie took a breath and studied me another moment. Finally, she said, “No.”
Now it was my turn to study her for a moment. Then I asked, “Did you ever get the idea, over the years, that she was hiding something?”
“I knew she was,” she said. “But part of being a friend is respecting your friend's privacy. So I did.”
“So she never told you why she moved to Tempe.”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Did you ever ask her about Eric's father?”
“Jane was pregnant when she was hired,” Stephanie explained. “I was on the committee that interviewed her. She was hired late in the spring semester to begin teaching full time in the fall. She told us she was pregnant and due in October. We understood what that meant. She'd start teaching in August, teach through the month of September, and then take the rest of the semester off to have her baby. She'd return in January at the beginning of the spring semester. She was something of a test case. Hiring someone you knew was going to be gone more than half of her first semester was more than a little controversial. But her credentials were excellent. We don’t get too many Harvard grads applying for jobs here. So we hired her.”
I smiled and nodded.
“But your question,” she said, “was about Eric's father.” Stephanie paused, deciding how to say what she was going to say. “I had helped her find an apartment and get moved in. We were about the same age. We hit it off, became friends. I was with her when Eric was born. I spent a couple of days with her after she came home from the hospital. One day I broached the subject of the father. She looked at me and said, He is the love of my life. And I can never be with him. And he can never know that he has a son. Please don't ask me anything else. So I didn't. Ever.”
“You were a good friend,” I said. “Jane was lucky to have you.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “I hope you find what it is you're looking for,” she said. “But I can't help you. I don't know anything about her life before she moved here.”
“Any ideas who might?”
“There was a therapist she saw for several years.”
“Know the therapist’s name?”
“Evelyn Schneider.”
“Thanks for talking about her with me. It's been more helpful than you realize.”
Chapter 25
Evelyn Schneider was easy to find. She had a website advertising her practice. Her office was ten minutes from the campus in a professional building on the second floor. I rode the elevator up and went into her office where I was greeted by an overweight, unattractive receptionist who did not smile when she asked if she could help me. That always annoyed me. I introduced myself and asked if I could schedule a consultation with Dr. Schneider.
She looked in the appointment book and asked what I needed to talk with the doctor about.
“Well,” I said, “I’d rather talk to the doctor about it.”
“I have to know what you need to see the doctor for.” She was somewhat impatient about it. I was beginning not to like her attitude. Actually, I was beginning not to like her. She was unfriendly and kind of snotty.
“Are you a doctor?” I asked.
“No.”
“Are you a licensed therapist?”
“No.” She was starting to get annoyed. Too bad. She should have smiled at me and been nice.
“Then if I tell you what my concern is, you’re not bound by the rule of confidentiality and you might reveal my personal concerns.”
“That is outrageous,” she said. “I would never ...”
Interrupting her I asked, “Is the doctor with a client right now?”
“No. Her first appointment is at ten.”
“Well, then, I'll just go on in.”
I started to step past her desk.
“Sir, you cannot just walk into her office.”
“I can't?”
“No.”
“Then
pick up the phone and tell her there is a gentleman here who would like to talk with her.”
I had frustrated her enough to get compliance. She picked up the phone and dialed an extension.
“There's a man out here who, rather insistently, says he needs a consultation with you.”
She listened.
“I did,” she said.
She listened some more.
“He won't,” she said. “He almost barged into your office.”
She listened some more. Then she looked at me. I smiled at her, but it was not a genuine smile.
“No, not really,” she said. I hoped Dr. Schneider had not asked her if I was good looking.
She hung up and said, “The doctor will be right out.”
“See,” I said. “That wasn't all that difficult, was it?”
The door to the inner sanctum opened and an attractive forty-something professional woman emerged. What a contrast to her receptionist. The doctor was slim, had silky black shoulder length hair, gray eyes, was well dressed, and had a smile on her face.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
I handed her my card. “I'm hoping you can,” I said. “My name is Jake Badger.”
“I see that. And you’re a private investigator.”
I smiled.
“Perhaps you should come in,” she said.
I smiled at the receptionist. I wanted to stick my tongue out at her, but I'm way too professional for that sort of adolescent behavior. I followed Dr. Schneider into her office.
We sat and I explained what I was doing.
“Mr. Badger, I understand what you've been asked to do. And I appreciate the position Jane's relatives are in. I sympathize. But I cannot discuss my clients. And I know you understand this.”
“Yes, I do. And I'm not asking you to betray any confidences.”
“It sounds like you are.”
We'd been talking about ten minutes. I liked her. In addition to being quite attractive, she was intelligent and had spunk.
“Okay,” I said. “How about this. I don't want to talk about Jane Alistair or Jane Lindell or any other Jane. I want to ask some hypothetical questions about people who may feel guilty or at least regretful of past behavior.”