“Can we play in the trees?” Nora asked.
“Sure,” Walt said. “Of course. I just put up a light in there.” This staggered him. Mr. Binion, the trees … It had worked. His nonsensical plans to entertain the children had worked.
He and Eddie followed Nora over to the shed door and looked in. The shed was filled now with the glow from the lampstand. The light hung in the air like a mist, like translucent gold. The shadows beneath the trees were as deep as caves, and the green floor stretched away like a meadow. It was almost impossible to say just where the shed walls were, as if the light created the illusion of vast depth and width. The interior of the shed might have held an entire forest, and heaven knew what beyond that—a place with running streams, grass, deep skies, and moving clouds….
He realized that Nora was holding onto his leg, still staring with wide wonder into the light. He put his arm around Eddie’s shoulders and gave him a squeeze, and Eddie didn’t draw away as he usually did, but stood still, holding the picture of Mr. Binion.
How long they had stood there Walt couldn’t say, but after a while he heard the gate scrape open, and there came into his mind the idea that Argyle had returned for some desperate reason. And then abruptly he was aware of the smell of something burning—an electrical smell, like a hot wire. He shook his head to clear it. There was a low, electronic buzz, then a snap and spark from the lampstand plug. The light in the shed wavered and dimmed, and the magic evaporated on the instant.
Walt pushed Nora and Eddie out the door, away from the pine trees, which would go up like Hell if they caught fire. He stepped forward, grabbing the lampstand cord. It was hot and soft in his hand. He stepped down hard on the extension cord and jerked, yanking the two plugs apart in a shower of sparks like a waterfall.
“Whoa!” Eddie shouted, looking in through the door from the middle of the lawn.
Walt dropped the hot cord and closed his fist over the burn on his palm, touching the metal lampstand pole with his other hand. It was hot too. The bulbs were melted in their sockets, and the molten glass had run down the sides of the sockets like a sugar glaze.
“What happened?” a voice asked behind him.
“Nothing,” he said instinctively, and turned around. Ivy stood between Nora and Eddie, sheltering the three of them under her umbrella and looking into the shed skeptically.
“It’s these doggone cheap extension cords,” Walt said, smiling big at her. “No harm done.”
“Not yet anyway.” Then to the kids she said, “Go on into the house and find Aunt Jinx. I want to talk to Uncle Walt alone.” She didn’t look happy, but it wasn’t the lamp; it was something else.
The kids ran off, and when they were out of earshot Walt asked, “What gives?”
“Jack. He’s on his way over. He’s apparently got a lawyer. And he’s sober, too.”
“A lawyer?”
“Some crook, probably, but he means business.”
“That’s good. I’ll give him business.”
“Don’t start it up,” she said. “Stay cool this time, will you? Jinx’s lawyer friend is on the way—Mr. Goldfarb.”
“Good for him,” Walt said. “I’ll need a lawyer when I’m done with Jack. We might as well put him on retainer as soon as he pulls in. Call in a plastic surgeon, too, and alert the trauma center down at St. Joseph’s.”
“Cut it out, okay? Just stop. Can you watch the kids? Get them out here with you, maybe? Keep them tied up?”
He looked at her, considering this. Moments passed. “Sure,” he said finally. He was big enough to give it a try, to hold onto his temper. “Have them bring out some paper and crayons or something. I’ll be the last line of defense. If I turn out to be unnecessary, then you can tell me I told you so. But look, Jack can’t come into the backyard. If he does, I’ll make him sorry for it. It’ll be a bad thing, but I’m through talking with the man. He’s poison, like a snake, and if he comes back here or into the house, if he gets pushy in any way, says or does anything out of line, then I’ll feed him his head. So have Mr. Goldfarb do his job, whatever that is.”
“He’ll do it. Jack’s history.” She kissed him, turned around, and hurried away.
He stood there for a moment controlling himself, realizing that what he wanted to do was hit something hard, break something, smash something. Jack could drink himself crazy every night; who cared about that? With any luck he would drink himself to death. But his hurting Eddie, that made him an end-to-end creep, a stain on the human landscape, a blotch, a poison. A little bit of remorse would have lightened him up—any little effort to do the right thing. But there wasn’t any effort. His conscience had flatlined. How he had gotten that way just didn’t matter any more.
Walt caught sight just then of the stepping-stone, the blackened grass, the toadstools. The bluebird sat buried beneath the ground like an accusation, like a cancer, like the evil filth that it was. It occurred to him right then that it was astonishingly easy to condemn another man’s temptations—liquor, greed, lust, whatever they were—because they weren’t your own temptations. And when you yourself fell, you’d find that it was your own temptations that had nailed you, and never mind anyone else’s.
Suddenly seeing what he had to do, he shoved his hand under the edge of the stepping-stone and flipped it on end, then picked up the concrete slab with both hands and smashed the toadstools to mush, using the corner of the stone to reduce even the smallest of them to a pale green slime, which he beat deep into the earth. Then he threw the stone down and picked up the jar with the bird in it. Without looking at it, without listening to it, he drew his hand back and pitched it sidearm into the redwood fence, a fastball, dead center against a post. The glass shattered, spraying gin and shards in a wide arc. The bird fell straight down into the dirt of the flowerbed. He jogged into the garden shed and grabbed the shovel, then went back out and dug a hole in the wet dirt. He prodded the corpse of the bird into the hole with the tip of the shovel and buried it, packing the dirt back on top. Feeling considerably better, he threw down the shovel and went to meet Nora, who was just then coming out the door, carrying a book—the fairy-table book he’d read from the other night.
“Read us that one story,” she said. Eddie followed her, carrying the crayon box and paper.
“What story?” Walt asked, bending over to set the stone back into the hole. He stood up again, dusting his hands. “What was it about? You don’t really remember, do you?”
“Yes-huh,” she said. “It was that dummy, who they made him eat rocks, and it made him smart.”
“I guess you do remember,” Walt said, putting an arm around each of the kids. “I guess it’s me who keeps forgetting.”
67
JACK AND HIS lawyer arrived before Goldfarb, pulling in at the curb in a new BMW, clearly the lawyer’s car. Jack wore a tie, and from what Ivy could see of him, he was clean and sober, just as he’d threatened. The front door opened behind her, and Henry stepped out onto the porch.
“I think I can handle this,” Ivy said to him. There was no use in Henry’s getting involved at all. Jinx had agreed to stay inside the house, listening through the window. She could run information out to Walt if she had to, although Ivy wondered if it wouldn’t be better to avoid that kind of thing. There was no use working Walt up if it wasn’t necessary. And she was determined that it wouldn’t be necessary.
“I’d just as soon stay,” Henry said quietly. “For moral support. Walter thinks this man is a skunk, and I trust Walter’s judgment in these matters.”
“So do I,” Ivy said. “Thanks.”
Jack and the lawyer sat talking for a moment, then opened the door and got out, hunching through the rain toward the house, and then up onto the porch. The sun was going down, and Ivy opened the door back up, reached in, and flipped on the porch light and the Christmas lights.
“All right,” Jack said straight off. “I suppose you’ve got them ready to go this time?” There was no smiling this time, no joking arou
nd.
“Who?” Ivy asked.
“You know who, Ivy. Legally you don’t have a leg to stand on. Thank me for not charging you and Walt with kidnapping. And after that stunt in the street outside the school yesterday morning, with attempted murder, too.”
“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” Ivy said. “Who tried to murder you?”
“Get of it.”
“Were there witnesses?” She looked up toward the corner. Goldfarb was only driving out from Santa Ana; surely he ought to be here by now.
“You know damned well there weren’t any …”
“Watch your language, young man,” Henry said, interrupting him. “We don’t allow profanity on the premises. And I certainly won’t let you swear at my niece. If I’d have known what kind of creature you were, I wouldn’t have let you marry Darla, either, if I could have stopped it.”
“That’s rather more to the point, isn’t it?” the lawyer said, leaning in and waving the several sheets of paper in his hand. “Since my client is in fact married to Darla Douglas, my client, Mr. Douglas, is the legal guardian to”—he looked at the papers—“Nora and Eddie Douglas. Are the children on the premises? I believe I called to alert you to our coming. You haven’t in fact hidden them somewhere?”
“They’re not hidden anywhere,” Ivy said.
“Then if you’ll produce them, we’ll be on our way. I assure you that neither I nor my client wishes to file any sort of charges against you. This is a court order,” he said, showing Ivy the papers.
“What kind of charges don’t you and your client want to file against us?” She didn’t bother to look at the papers. For all she knew, Jack had gotten a court order, in which case the kids were gone, and there was going to be trouble with Walt, who wasn’t in a mood for court orders.
“Numerous possible charges,” the lawyer said. “Take my word for it.”
“Let me ask you one thing, Jack,” Ivy said.
“Shoot. Make it quick, though. I’ve got places to go.”
“Why did you abuse Eddie? Darla tells me you like to beat kids up. Is that only when you’re drunk, or do you like to do that when you’re sober, too?” As soon as she said it she wished she hadn’t. It was the kind of thing Walt would say.
Jack’s eyes seemed to glaze over, and his face turned red. He stood there silently, maybe counting to ten. The lawyer put a hand on his arm, and Jack shook it off.
“I’ll warn you against making false accusations against my client,” the lawyer said. “Please don’t attempt to provoke him. For the record, are you suggesting that Mr. Douglas intends to harm these children?”
“Intends? I guess I’m not suggesting that. I certainly hope he doesn’t.”
“Have you filed a notice of Manifest Bad Intent in regard to my client with Child Protective Services?”
She shook her head.
“Because this is a serious charge. I suggest you go through proper channels and eschew public accusations.”
“Let’s not get involved in that kind of horsecrap,” Jack said. “We’re here to pick up Nora and Eddie. That’s it. Case closed. And let me tell you something,” he said to Ivy, “anyone charges me with anything, there’s going to be more trouble than anyone wants.”
“Don’t threaten us, young man,” Henry said.
“Please,” the lawyer said. “Let’s avoid escalation here. The fact remains that Mr. Douglas is the children’s legal guardian by virtue of his marriage to Darla Douglas. If you refuse to give up the children, this will become a police matter. I’m trying to avoid that for the good of everyone involved, including the two children. I’m sure you understand that.”
“I do,” Ivy said. “Thank you. Maybe you think you’re doing the right thing, but I’m afraid that in this case you’re wrong. You might as well call the police on your car phone right now, because we’re going to be entirely uncooperative.”
“You’re damned right we’ll call the police,” Jack said. “We’re talking serious jail time here. This is a court order. I’ve had enough. Get ’em down here,” he said to the lawyer.
“Surely you …” the lawyer started to say to Ivy.
“Call ’em now.”
“Go ahead,” Ivy said. She took Henry’s arm and waited.
The lawyer shrugged, turned around, and headed down the steps toward the car. They watched as he placed the call, got back out, and returned to the porch. “I’m sorry it has to go this way,” he said to Ivy.
“I’m not,” Jack said. “And I’m not paying you to be sorry, either.”
They waited. The idea came into Ivy’s head to offer them coffee and cookies, and she almost laughed out loud. Then she saw that there was something near hysteria in her thinking, and the thought scared the laughter out of her.
“Where are they coming from?” Henry asked her.
“The police department’s down on Batavia. Call it five or ten …”
A Cadillac turned the corner off Chapman Avenue.
“Here’s the cavalry,” Henry said. “Thank God.”
68
IT WAS GOLDFARB in the Cadillac. He pulled up at the curb and got out, unfurling an umbrella and hurrying across to the porch. He wore a dark suit and tie and was short and heavily built, evidently Henry’s age, but fit-looking. He glanced at Ivy and winked, then shook Henry’s hand. Right then a patrol car rounded the corner and parked behind the Cadillac, and two uniformed officers got out. Before anyone spoke, the policemen joined them on the porch.
“It’ll be all right,” Henry said to Ivy, who nodded at him. It looked like doom to her, despite Goldfarb’s wink.
“I represent the Stebbins family,” Goldfarb said to the policemen. “I’m afraid there’s something wrong here that I don’t quite understand. I’m here to help clear it up. Just to put things in order, let me say that my clients have been caring for the two children in question. Mr. Douglas has attempted without success to take them several times. The Stebbinses refused to relinquish the children because Mr. Douglas was both intoxicated and irrational.”
“The hell if I was …” Jack started to say, but his lawyer shook his head to silence him.
“With all due respect,” Jack’s lawyer said, “that’s all beside the point. We have a court order mandating the release of the children.” He handed the papers to one of the policemen, who looked them over, showing them to his partner.
“Do you have anything other than a fax copy, sir?”
The lawyer shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I was out of the office, and my secretary was compelled to fax them to me.”
“Court’s closed by now,” the second cop said, looking at his watch. “Where’s your office?”
“Los Angeles, I’m afraid.”
Jack looked at his attorney, who watched the officer’s face as he looked over the fax again. The officer looked up at Ivy. “You’ve been caring for the children?”
“Yes. What Mr. Goldfarb told you is entirely true. Mr. Douglas has been drinking heavily for days. My sister left the kids in my care.”
“Well,” the officer said, “thank you for helping out, but Mr. Douglas doesn’t appear to be intoxicated now. According to this document, he’s the children’s legal guardian. At least until court opens tomorrow we’ll have to assume the document’s legal. I’m afraid you’ll have to get the children. Are they here?”
“They’re here,” Ivy said.
“Why do we assume the document’s legal?” Goldfarb asked. “I have reason to believe it isn’t.”
Ivy looked at Jack’s lawyer, who was stone-faced.
“That’s a lie,” Jack said.
“May I?” Goldfarb held his hand out, and the officer gave him the fax. “Well, this is odd,” he said after a moment.
“What the hell’s odd?” Jack tried to grab the fax, but Goldfarb snatched it away.
“The judge’s name. Benjamin Meng. He retired six months ago, didn’t he? I seem to recall that he moved up north, up to Oroville.
The date’s just right, though, isn’t it? How do you explain that? Has he come out of retirement?” He looked Jack’s lawyer straight in the face, but the man said nothing. The second of the two officers turned around and walked down the steps and out to the patrol car.
“What I think is this,” Goldfarb said. “I think you took an old copy of a court order, whited out the inaccurate information, typed in fresh information, then had it faxed to yourself in order to obtain a clean copy. You set this appointment up late in the afternoon because you knew that court would be closed and the document’s authenticity couldn’t be established. Am I right so far?”
“No,” Jack said. “We’re out here this late because these people”—he gestured at Ivy and Henry—“have had the kids hidden away. I call that kidnapping. I call that taking a man’s kids away, and if that’s not a crime, then it’s a sorry damned world we’re living in.”
“But then of course they’re not your kids, are they, Jack?” Ivy kept her voice even.
“I as good as raised them,” Jack said. “What they had, I bought them, didn’t I? They’d be on the street if it weren’t for me. Deny that.”
“Okay,” Ivy said, “I’ll deny it. They never would have been on the street. They’d have been here. They are here, aren’t they?”
Jack’s lawyer still said nothing.
The second officer came back up onto the porch. “Judge Meng retired last March. The order’s bogus.”
Jack’s lawyer shrugged. Jack shoved his jaw out, as if he were trying to bite his upper lip. “This is all crap,” he said.
“Actually,” Goldfarb said, “I’ve got a fax of my own from the San Diego County courthouse. Weren’t you married to Darla Schwenk in San Diego County, Mr. Douglas?”
“Yeah. So what?”
“There’s no record of any such marriage. I believe you were actually married in Tijuana.”
“So what? That’s legal. Isn’t that legal?” He appealed to his lawyer who rolled his eyes tiredly.
“I’m afraid I’ve been seriously misled,” Jack’s lawyer said to the two officers. “I’ve got someplace to be by six.” He looked at his watch. “So if I can’t be of any more service here …”
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