I had missed the grand reopening for reasons I don’t remember, so this was my first look at the place since the fire. I was impressed to discover that Mary Pat Mulally didn’t just repair the building; she remodeled to give it a more authentic look and feel. Based on the number of customers at the tables inside and out, I guessed it had recovered quite nicely.
Maria Nunez met me at the door. She seemed happy to see me; even said I was “looking good,” which kind of threw me. We compliment women all the time on their appearance, yet we seldom mention it to men unless we’re surprised by something.
What did she expect? my inner voice asked. That you’d fall apart in the seven months since she last saw you?
We didn’t speak about Arnaldo. What information I had suggested that Juan Carlos Navarre disappeared immediately after I left him on his mother’s stoop. Whether Arnaldo killed him and hid the body or accepted the bribe I told Navarre to offer in exchange for his life remains unclear. I do know that Navarre spoke the truth—FinCEN traced his money to a bank account in Basel, Switzerland, and after some high-level finagling, the Department of Justice was able to recover it. So wherever Navarre was, alive or dead, he was broke.
Maria led me to a table near the railing of the patio with a splendid view of Gideon Bay. Riley was already waiting for me. I didn’t recognize her at first. Her hair was still short, but she had allowed it to return to its natural auburn color. And she was wearing a pristine black business suit over a white silk blouse.
“Look at you, all grown up,” I said.
Riley came out of her chair to hug me.
“You look great,” she said.
“People keep saying that. Is it that much of a shock?”
“Given what you do for fun and games…”
Riley reclaimed her chair, and I sat across from her. Her eyes sparkled in the bright sunlight.
“So, what brings me here?” I asked.
Riley glanced behind her for a moment, saw no one, and turned back.
“I’ll tell you in a minute,” she said. “How’s the lovely Ms. Truhler?”
“As lovely as ever. How’s your family?”
She laughed at the question. When she finished, she said, “McKenzie, have you ever read King Lear?”
“Yes. I’ve seen it performed, too.”
“What was Lear’s big mistake?”
“He divided his property among his children while he was still alive.”
“My grandfather put the Pointe in my name as a Christmas gift. Actually, he was trying to avoid the death tax, but still.”
She laughed some more.
“Why is that funny?” I asked.
“By New Year’s I had moved my parents in—both of them.”
Now I was laughing, too. “How did Mr. Muehlenhaus take it?”
“How do you think?”
“You are such an evil little girl.”
“Since then, my father has lost nearly sixty pounds. I helped him secure additional financing for his building—he’s happy as a clam. My mother—the last time I saw her was at Club Versailles. She was drinking raspberry ice tea and dancing with my father. On the other hand, both my grandparents seem to be drinking more these days. Oh well.”
“Do they talk? What do they say when they pass each other on the way to the bathroom?”
“How should I know? I don’t live there.”
Riley laughed some more. While she was laughing, Mary Pat appeared with a tray of margaritas. She set a drink in front of me, gave me a hug, and kissed my cheek. She must have left a smudge of lipstick, because she brushed at the spot with her fingertips.
“A toast,” Riley said.
She lifted her glass with her left hand. That’s when I saw it—the green eyelike gleam of an emerald set in a white gold band. I glanced at Mary Pat’s left hand, third finger. She was wearing an identical ring.
“I’ll be damned,” I said.
“That’s not the toast I was going to give,” Riley said. “But it’ll do.”
Both she and Mary Pat sipped their drinks. I quickly joined them
“Congratulations,” I said. “When’s the big day?”
“I want you to mark your calendar, McKenzie,” Riley said. “That’s why I called you.”
“You’re not going to blow us off this time like you did my grand reopening,” Mary Pat said.
“The wedding’s going to take place the first Saturday after I get the state legislature to allow gay couples to marry,” Riley added.
When you get the legislature to allow…? my inner voice said.
At the same time I flashed on a headline I saw that morning in the Minneapolis Star Tribune newspaper—“Minnesota’s same-sex marriage battle goes behind the scenes.”
“I guess that means you’re taking over the family business,” I said.
“I think of it more as a hobby,” Riley said. “Besides, I’m really busy these days. Grandfather was involved in so many different enterprises—there doesn’t appear to be any synergy, any cohesion at all. It’s like he invested in one thing, got bored, and invested in something else almost on a whim. Now I’m the one who’s supposed to make sense of it all. The teachers at the Carlson School of Management did not prepare me for this kind of chaos.”
“Nobody said it would be easy being the Muehlenhaus Girl.”
“No, they didn’t.”
“As long as you come home at night,” Mary Pat said. “That’s the main thing.”
The two women leaned in and kissed each other. I turned my head toward Gideon Bay to give them some privacy.
There were any number of different watercraft sharing the huge lake and I thought about Navarre’s boat, the Soñadora, and I wondered what became of it. Did it crash and burn like its owner? Probably not. Probably it had been shrink-wrapped in blue polyethylene film and dry-docked until the next dreamer came along to claim it.
I suppose that’s what Navarre was—a dreamer. But his dream was rotten at its core. Navarre believed that if he stole enough and lied enough to enough people, if he pretended hard enough, he could become the man Riley Brodin wanted to marry. Only it wasn’t a man Riley had been searching for all her young life. It was love—pure and simple. And that’s something that cannot be stolen or bought or faked.
In the end, Navarre thought he had almost made his dream come true. He was mistaken. The truth was, he never had a chance.
I drank my margarita and watched the boats some more. I wished them all a safe harbor.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I wish to acknowledge my debt to India Cooper, Pat Donnelly, Tammi Fredrickson, Maggie Hood, Keith Kahla, Mark MacDonald, James McDonald, Anita Muldoon, Alison Picard, Dan Polachek, and Renée Valois.
ALSO BY DAVID HOUSEWRIGHT
Featuring Rushmore McKenzie
The Last Kind Word
Curse of the Jade Lily
Highway 61
The Taking of Libby, SD
Jelly’s Gold
Madman on a Drum
Dead Boyfriends
Pretty Girl Gone
Tin City
A Hard Ticket Home
Featuring Holland Taylor
Penance
Practice to Deceive
Dearly Departed
Other Novels
The Devil and the Diva
(with Renée Valois)
Finders Keepers
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DAVID HOUSEWRIGHT has worked as a journalist, an advertising copywriter and creative director, and a writing instructor. He has won the Edgar Award and is a three-time winner of the Minnesota Book Award. He lives in St. Paul, Minnesota.
Visit the author’s Web site at www.davidhousewright.com.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE DEVIL MAY CARE. Copyright © 2014 by David Housewright. All rights reserved. For information, addres
s St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein
Cover photograph: Branches © K-Kwan Kwanchai/Shutterstock.com
eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to [email protected].
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Housewright, David, 1955–
The Devil May Care / David Housewright.—First edition.
pages cm.
ISBN 978-1-250-00961-6 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-03740-4 (e-book)
1. McKenzie, Mac (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Private investigators—Minnesota—Fiction. 3. Mystery fiction. I. Title.
PS3558.O8668D48 2014
813'.54—dc23
2013050960
eISBN 9781250037404
First Edition: June 2014
The Devil May Care Page 26