by Sue Grafton
“Thank you. I appreciate that. You’re too kind,” I replied. “I’ll leave the gun in your mailbox.”
She shuddered involuntarily. “Keep it. I hate guns.” I tucked the gun in my waistband at the small of my back and hopped nimbly to the dock. When I looked back at her, she was clinging weakly to the mast.
I left my business card in her mailbox and tucked another one in her door. Then I drove to Michael’s.
Chapter 19
*
I could see lights on in the rear. I bypassed the doorbell and walked around to the backyard, peeking in every window I passed. The kitchen revealed nothing except counter surfaces piled with dirty dishes. Cardboard moving boxes still formed the bulk of the furnishings, the crumpled paper now massed like a cloud bank in the comer. When I reached the master bedroom, I saw that Juliet, in a grip of home decorating tips, had draped hand towels over tension rods, effectively obscuring my view. I returned to the front door, wondering if I’d be forced to knock like a mere commoner. I tried the knob and discovered to my delight that I could walk right in.
The television set in the living room had gone on the blink. In lieu of a color picture, there was a display of dancing lights equal to an aurora borealis. The sound that accompanied this remarkable phenomenon suggested tough guys with guns and a thrilling car chase. I peered toward the bedrooms, but I couldn’t hear much above the squealing of car brakes and the firing of Uzis. I took out Renata’s gun, pointing it like a flashlight as I eased my way cautiously to the back of the house.
The baby’s bedroom was dark, but the door to the master bedroom was open a crack and light slanted into the hall. I gave the door a little push with the barrel of my gun. It swung back with a creak, the hinge singing on its pin. Before me, on a rocking chair, Wendell Jaffe was sitting with his grandson in his lap. He made a sharp, startled sound. “Don’t shoot the baby!”
“I’m not going to shoot the baby. What’s the matter with you?”
Brendan was grinning at the sight of me, flailing his arms in a vigorous nonverbal greeting. He wore a flannel sleeper with blue bunnies, and his back end was bulky with a disposable diaper. His blond hair was still damp from a recent bath. Juliet had brushed it up in a delicate question mark on top. I could smell the baby powder halfway across the room. I put the gun away, tucking it in my blue jeans at the small of my back. This is not a cool place to carry, and I was perfectly aware that I risked shooting myself in the butt. On the other hand, I didn’t want the gun shoved down in my handbag, where it would be even less accessible than it was wedged up against my rear.
As family reunions go, this didn’t seem to be that good. So far, Brendan was the only one who was having any fun. Michael stood to one side, leaning against the chest of drawers, his expression withdrawn. He studied Wendell’s class ring, which he seemed to use like a meditation, turning it on his finger. I’ve seen professional tennis players do that, focusing on the strings of a tennis racket to maintain concentration. Michael’s sweatshirt, soiled jeans, and mud-caked boots suggested that he hadn’t cleaned up after work. I could still see the ridge in his hair where he’d worn his hard hat that day. Wendell must have been waiting when he walked in the door.
Juliet was huddled at the head of the bed, looking tense and small in a tank top and cutoffs. Her feet were bare, legs drawn up, her arms wrapped around her knees. She was keeping herself out of the way, letting the drama play out as it would. The only illumination in the room was a table lamp, something imported from Juliet’s childhood bedroom at home. The shade was ruffled and hot pink. At the base there was a doll with a stiff pink skirt, her body wired to the fixture, her arms extended. She had a rosebud for a mouth, and her lashes formed a thick fringe above eyes that would open and shut mechanically. The light bulb couldn’t have been more than forty watts, but the room seemed warm with its ambient glow.
Juliet’s features were etched in sharp contrasts, one cheek hot pink, the other cast in shadow. Wendell’s face looked craggy and wooden in the light, his high cheekbones carved. He seemed haggard, and the sides of his nose were shiny from cosmetic surgery. Michael, on the other hand, had the face of a stone angel, cold and sensual. His dark eyes seemed luminous, his tall, lanky frame easily the equal to his father’s, though Wendell was heavier and he lacked Michael’s grace. The three of them were caught in a curious tableau, the kind of picture a psychiatrist might ask you to explain to gain insight into your mind-set.
“Hello, Wendell. Sorry to interrupt. Remember me?”
Wendell’s gaze shifted to Michael’s face. He cocked his head in my direction. “Who’s this?”
Michael stared at the floor. “Private investigator,” he said. “She talked to Mom about you a couple nights ago.”
I gave Wendell a little wave. “She works for the insurance company you cheated out of a half a million bucks,” I inserted.
“I did?”
“Yes, Wendell,” I said facetiously. “As odd as it sounds, that’s what life insurance is about. Being dead. So far, you’re not holding up your end of the bargain.”
He was looking at me with a mixture of caution and confusion. “Don’t I know you?”
“We crossed paths at the hotel in Viento Negro.”
His eyes locked on mine in a moment of recognition. “Were you the one who broke into our room?”
I shook my head, inventing lies on the spot. “Uhn-uhn, not me. That was an ex-cop named Harris Brown.”
He shook his head at the name.
“He’s a police lieutenant, or he was,” I went on.
“Never heard of him.”
“Well, he’s heard of you. He was assigned to the case when you first disappeared. Then he was taken off for reasons unknown. I thought you might explain.”
“Are you sure he was looking for me?”
“I don’t think his being there was a coincidence,” I said. “He stayed in three fourteen. I was in three sixteen.”
“Hey, Dad? Could we finish this?”
Brendan began to fuss, and Wendell patted at him without much effect. He picked up a small stuffed puppy dog and waggled it in Brendan’s face while he continued his conversation. Brendan grabbed the animal by the ears and pulled it in close. He must have been teething because he gnawed on its rubber face with all the raw enthusiasm I reserve for fried chicken. Somehow his antics became an odd counterpoint to Wendell’s conversation with Michael.
He apparently picked up from a point he’d been making prior to my arrival. “I had to get out, Michael. It had nothing to do with you. It was my life. It was me. I’d just screwed up so bad there wasn’t any other way to handle it. I hope you’ll understand someday. There’s no such thing as justice in the current legal system.”
“Oh, come on. Spare me the speech. What is this, a political science class? Just cut the shit and don’t talk to me about fucking justice, okay? You didn’t hang around long enough to find out.”
“Please. Michael. Let’s stop this. I don’t want to fight. There isn’t time for that. I don’t expect you to agree with my decision.”
“It isn’t just me, Dad. What about Brian? He’s the one suffered all the damage.”
“I’m aware he’s off course, and I’m doing what I can,” Wendell said.
“Brian needed you when he was twelve. It’s too late now.”
“I don’t think so. Not at all. You’re wrong about that, trust me.”
Michael seemed to wince, and his eyes rolled toward the ceiling. “Trust you? Dad, you are so full of shit! Why should I trust you? I’m never going to trust you.”
Wendell seemed disconcerted at the harshness of Michael’s tone. He didn’t like being contradicted. He wasn’t accustomed to having his judgment questioned, especially by a kid who was seventeen when he left. Michael had become an adult in his absence, had in fact stepped in to fill the very gap that Wendell had left. Maybe he pictured himself coming back to mend the breach, cleaning up old business, setting everything to rights. Maybe he�
�d thought an impassioned explanation might somehow compensate for his abandonment and neglect. “I guess there’s no way we can agree,” he said.
“Why didn’t you come back and face what you did?”
“I couldn’t come back. I didn’t see a way to make it work.”
“Meaning you weren’t interested. Meaning you didn’t want to be asked to make any sacrifices in our behalf. Thanks a bunch. We appreciate your devotion. It’s typical.”
“Now, son, that’s not true.”
“Yes, it is. You could have stayed if you wanted, if we meant anything to you. But here’s the truth. We didn’t matter to you, and that was just our tough luck, right?”
“Of course you matter. What do you think I’ve been talking about?”
“I don’t know, Dad. As far as I can tell, you’re just trying to justify your behavior.”
“This is pointless. I can’t undo the past. I can’t change what happened back then. Brian and I are going to turn ourselves in. That’s the best I can do, and if that’s not good enough, then I don’t know what to say.” Michael broke off eye contact, shaking his head with frustration. I watched him consider and discard a retort.
Wendell cleared his throat. “I have to go. I told Brian I’d be there.” He got to his feet, shifting the baby against his shoulder. Juliet swung her legs over to the side of the bed and got up, prepared to take Brendan from his grandfather’s arms. It was clear the conversation had upset her. Her nose was pink, her mouth swollen with emotion.
Michael shoved his hands down in his pockets. “You didn’t do Brian any favor with that fake jail release.”
“That’s true, as it turned out, but there was no way we could know that. I’ve changed my mind about a lot of things. Anyway, this is something your brother and I have to work out between us.”
“You’ve got Brian in worse trouble than he was in before. You don’t move fast, the cops’ll pick him up and throw him back in the slammer and he won’t see daylight ‘til he’s a hundred and three. And where will you be? Off on a fuckin’ boat without a care in the world. Good luck.”
“Doesn’t it occur to you that I’ll have to pay a price too?”
“At least you don’t have a murder charge hanging over your head.”
“I’m not sure there’s any point in going on with this,” Wendell said, ignoring the actual content of Michael’s remark. The two of them seemed to be talking at cross purposes. Wendell was trying to reassert his parental authority. Michael wasn’t having any of that shit He had a son now himself, and he knew how much his father had forfeited. Wendell turned away. “I have to go,” he said, holding one hand out to Juliet. “I’m glad we had a chance to meet. It’s too bad the circumstances weren’t happier.”
“Are we going to see you again?” Juliet said. Tears were spilling down her cheeks. Mascara had formed a sprinkling of soot beneath her eyes. Michael seemed watchful, his expression haunted, while grief poured from Juliet like water bursting through a wall.
Even Wendell seemed affected by her open display of feeling. “Absolutely. Of course. That’s a promise.”
His gaze lingered on Michael, perhaps hoping for some sign of emotion. “I’m sorry for the pain I caused you. I mean that.”
Michael’s shoulders hunched slightly with the effort to stay disconnected. “Yeah. Right. Whatever,” he said.
Wendell hugged the baby to him, his face buried in Brendan’s neck, drinking in the sweet, milky smell of the child. “Oh, you sweet boy,” he said, his voice tremulous. Brendan was staring fascinated at Wendell’s hair, which he grabbed. Solemnly he tried to put a fistful in his mouth. Wendell winced, gently extracting the baby’s fingers. Juliet reached for Brendan. Michael watched, his eyes pooling with silver before he looked away. Sorrow rose from his skin like steam, radiating outward.
Wendell passed the baby to Juliet and kissed her on the forehead before he turned to Michael. The two grabbed each other in a tight embrace that seemed to go on forever. “I love you, son.” They rocked back and forth in an ancient dance. Michael made a small sound at the back of his throat, his eyes squeezed shut. For that one unguarded moment, he and Wendell were connected. I had to look away. I couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to find yourself in the presence of a parent you thought was dead. Michael pulled back. Wendell took out a handkerchief and swiped at his eyes. “I’ll be in touch,” he whispered, and then let out a breath.
Without looking at them, he turned and left the room. His guilt probably felt oppressive, like a weight on his chest. He moved through the house, heading for the front door with me right behind him. If he was aware of my presence, he didn’t object.
The outside air had picked up a sting of moisture, wind tossing through the trees. The streetlights were almost entirely blocked by branches, shadows blowing across the street like a pile of leaves. I intended to bid the man a fare-thee-well, get in my car, and then play tag with him, following at a discreet distance until he led me to Brian. As soon as I got a fix on the kid’s location, I was calling the cops. I said good night and moved off in the opposite direction.
I’m not sure he even heard me. Preoccupied, Wendell took out a set of car keys and crossed the grass to a little red Maserati sports car that was parked at the curb. Renata apparently had a fleet of expensive autos. He unlocked the car and let himself in, quickly sliding in under the steering wheel. He slammed the car door. I unlocked my VW and jammed my key in the ignition in concert with his. I could feel Renata’s gun pressing into the small of my back. I pulled it out of my waistband. I torqued myself around to the backseat, where I snagged my handbag and deposited the gun into the depths. I heard Wendell’s engine grind. I fired mine up and sat there with lights out, waiting for his front and rear lights to come on.
The grinding continued, but his engine didn’t turn over. The sound was high-pitched and unproductive.
Moments later I saw him fling open his car door open emerge. Agitated, he checked under the hood. He did something to the wires, got back into the car, and started grinding again. The engine was losing hope, batteries surrendering any juice they had. I put the VW in gear and flipped my lights on, pulling forward slowly until I was next to him. I rolled my window down. He leaned over from the driver’s seat and rolled his down.
I said, “Hop in. I’ll take you to Renata’s. You can call a tow truck from her place.”
He debated for a moment, with a quick glance at Michael’s. He didn’t have much choice. The last thing in the world he wanted was to go back in with a chore as mundane as a call to triple A. He got out, locked his car, and came around the front, getting into mine. I turned right on Perdido Street and took a left before I reached the fairgrounds, thinking to hit the frontage road that ran along the beach. I could have hopped on the freeway. Traffic wasn’t heavy. The street leading to the Keys was just one ramp away, and just as easily reached by this route.
I turned left when I reached the beach. The wind had picked up considerably, and there were massive black clouds above the pitch black of the ocean. “I had a nice chat with Carl Monday night,” I said. “Have you talked to him?”
“I was supposed to meet with him later, but he had to go out of town,” Wendell said, distracted.
“Really. He thought he’d be too mad to talk to you.”
“We have business to settle. He has something of mine.”
“You mean the boat?”
“Well, that, too, but this is something else.”
The sky was charcoal gray, and I could see flashes out at sea, an electrical storm sitting maybe fifty miles out. The light flickered among the darkening cloud banks, creating the illusion of artillery too far away to bear. The air was filled with a restless energy. I glanced over at Wendell. “Aren’t you even curious how we picked up your trail? I’m surprised you haven’t asked.”
His attention was fixed on the horizon, which was illuminated intermittently as the storm progressed. “It doesn’t matter. It was bound to happen someti
me.”
“You mind telling me where you’ve been all these years?”
He stared out the side window, his face averted, “Not far, You’d be surprised how few places I’ve been.”
“You gave up a lot to get there.”
Pain flickered across his face like lightning. “Yes.”
“Have you been with Renata the whole time?”
“Oh, yes,” he said with just a hint of bitterness. A small silence fell, and then he stirred uneasily, “Do you think I’m wrong to come back like this?”
“Depends on what you were hoping to accomplish.”
“I’d like to help them.”
“Help them do what? Brian’s already on his path, and so is Michael, Dana coped as well as she could, and the money’s been spent, You can’t just step back into the life you left and make all the stories come out differently. They’re working out the consequences of your decision. You’ll have to do that, too.”
“I guess I can’t expect to mend all my fences in the course of a few days.”
“I’m not sure you can do it at all,” I said. “In the meantime, I’m not going to let you out of my sight, I lost you once. I don’t intend to lose you again.”
“I need some time, I have business to take care of.”
“You had business to take care of five years ago!”
“This is different.”
“Where’s Brian?”
“He’s safe.”
“I didn’t ask how he was, I said ‘where.’ ” The car began to lose speed. I looked down with bafflement, pumping the accelerator as the car slowed. “Jesus, what’s this?”
“You out of gas?”
“I just filled the tank.” I steered toward the right curb as the car drifted to a halt.
He peered over at the dashboard. “Gas gauge says full.”
“What’d I just tell you? Of course it’s full. I just filled it!”
We had reached a full stop. The silence was profound, and then the underlying thrum of wind and surf filtered into my consciousness. Even with the moon obscured by storm clouds, I could see the whitecaps out in the water.