Someone had tried to clean up the kitchen. One counter was clear, the sink was clean, and the table was empty enough for Daniel to set down the care basket. The kitchen smelled better, too, in part because there was something baking in the oven.
“Bruschetta,” Heather said, using a stack of paper napkins to remove a cookie sheet from the oven. She set it down on some more napkins on the one clear counter.
“I’m going to go find—”
Just then, a door on the other side of the kitchen opened.
“Jason,” Heather said. “Good.”
I wouldn’t have recognized him. He didn’t look much like the boy on a skateboard I’d caught a glimpse of the first time I was there. This kid looked clumsier, and his face was puffy. His head was shaved, and he was sporting a fuzzy tuft under his lower lip. Seemingly oblivious to two strangers in his kitchen, he shuffled across the room, slumped into a chair, grabbed a salami out of the care basket, and started peeling it like a banana.
“Hey, save that for later, baby,” Heather said. “Look what I made you.”
She handed him one of the circles of toasted bread covered with cheese and tomatoes. Jason set the salami back down, grabbed the toast from her hand, and devoured it in one bite. Then he got up, went over to the counter, and ate another one. Then another. Without pausing, he polished off the entire cookie sheet. Tomato juice dribbling out both sides of his mouth, he let out a burp, shuffled back to the table, slumped back into the chair, picked up the salami, and started gnawing on one end.
“Here, baby,” Heather said, handing him a napkin. “You need to wipe your face.”
Jason didn’t say anything, but he bared his teeth at Heather in a sort of distorted grin. I’d been staring at him the whole time he was eating, so I couldn’t help noticing his vampire fang of a tooth. Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet, brandishing the salami like a club. Then he stopped, bit a hunk off the end, chewed a moment, and spat out a piece of casing onto the floor. Shuffling over to the door from which he’d emerged, he disappeared back through it. I waited for it to slam, but it closed behind him with an almost inaudible click.
Heather sighed.
“He’s a roller coaster, that kid. He’s been on new meds the last couple weeks. Richard says they give him the munchies, but he figures eating is better than drinking. I just wish he weren’t so zombielike.” She sighed again and rinsed the cookie sheet off in the sink. “God, he was the cutest little boy, and smart like you wouldn’t believe. He used to read the encyclopedia for fun. And he loved Jeopardy. It’s hard to believe but that kid could—”
We all heard the crunching sound that meant someone was crossing the living room. A moment later, Richard filled the archway.
“Hey, Heather,” he said, and then, “Oh!”
“Friends of Victoria’s,” Heather said. “They brought you a Christmas present.”
Richard was wearing low-slung jeans and a faded black T-shirt. The short sleeves revealed his damaged left arm. A thick web of scars emanated from his elbow. His head was bare, and his alabaster dome almost glowed against the leathery tan of his face. He looked a lot older and wearier than the first time I saw him, but every bit as wary.
“I know you,” he said, squinting at me. “You’re with the paper.”
“She’s a friend,” Heather interjected. “Victoria trusted her.”
“Who’s the dude?” Richard said, tipping his head in Daniel’s direction.
“Oh,” Daniel said, moving toward Richard and stretching out his right hand. “I’m Daniel. Daniel Garside. Copper’s—friend.”
Richard ignored the hand and let out a nearly inaudible “Hmmph.”
“Merry Christmas, Mr. McKimber,” I said. “We just came by to bring a little—”
“Come on, Richard,” Heather said. “They’re friends.” She put her arm around his shoulder and guided him to a chair at the table. Obediently, Richard sat down. I’m not the only one Heather can boss around, I thought.
“I’m sorry the house is such a mess,” Richard said. “It’s been hard to get back to normal after—”
“Nobody’s blaming you, Richard.”
“I should hope the hell not! Goddamn bastards!”
“Copper’s helping with that, baby,” Heather said, patting Richard’s shoulder. “We’re gonna nail Bobby Marks. You’ll see.” She stroked Richard’s forehead, but he swatted her hand away.
“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the fuckin’ home invasion.”
“What are you talking about?” Heather asked.
“I’m sure it was Jason’s drug-dealing buddies trying to scare him. Because they didn’t take anything. Just trashed the place.”
“What?” Heather said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Hell, I thought I did.” Richard slumped back in the chair. His mouth stretched into a half smile under his mustache. “All this time, you’ve been thinkin’ I’m just a crappy housekeeper?”
“When did it happen?”
“I don’t know exactly. Couple days after Vicki died.”
“When I was in Reno.”
“I guess,” Richard said. He barked a laugh. “Damn! I still can’t believe you thought the house got this gross totally on its own.” He rubbed his head with his good hand. “Guess I should’ve made a better stab at cleaning it up. But—I don’t know—it did kinda take the wind out of my sails to come home after wasting a day with the cops to find my house trashed.”
“You called the police?” Heather said.
“About the burglary? You’ve got to be joking,” Richard said. “They were already trying to pin Vicki’s death on me. If they couldn’t blame the burglary on me, I figured they’d find a way to blame it on Jason.”
“Nothing at all was missing?” Heather said.
“Nope, just fucked up.”
I glanced at Daniel. His face was wearing a look I once saw on a ferret caught by accident in a skunk trap. I’m sure I was wearing a similar look. I’d learned more than I needed to know about the situation, and now all I could think was, “Get me out of here.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your house, Mr. McKimber,” I said, hoping I could segue into a polite farewell. “I know how awful it is. Something like that happened to me, too.”
He turned to look at me across the food basket.
“You bring this?” he said.
“Yeah,” I said. “A little Christmas cheer.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ve been working with Julia Saxon, too, and—”
“Saxon!” he said. “All that chick wants is her damn tape player.”
“What?”
“Some recorder she loaned Vicki. But I don’t have it. And I have no idea why it’s so damned important.”
“Victoria may have taped an interview with some guys from American Beauty,” I said. “There might be information in it that Julia can use to make the company pay.”
“She told me all that,” Richard said, “but it’s bullshit. She’s just using the missing tape as an excuse. She doesn’t want to bother with the case because we’re not cash clients, and her chances of ever collecting anything are probably zero.”
I was getting more uncomfortable by the second. I was just about to say something about having another appointment when Richard leapt to his feet.
“Shit!” he said, and we all followed his gaze to the door on the far side of the kitchen. Smoke was creeping out from under it.
Richard lurched across the room and yanked the door open. Black billows poured into the room.
Daniel followed Richard, and Heather ran out the back door. I hesitated for a moment, then figured the best thing for me to do was call 9-1-1. I glanced around the room but didn’t see a phone. I was reaching for my backpack when Jason erupted into the room with Daniel and Richard right behind
him. All of them were gasping and coughing. Then Heather burst in from the garage carrying a huge red fire extinguisher. Daniel followed her back into the smoke.
I pulled my cell phone from my backpack.
“Don’t even think about it!” Richard shouted.
“What?” I said. “I was just going to call—”
“9-1-1. I know. Don’t!”
“But—”
“Darlin,’ I’ve had just about all the government I can stand.” He glared at me. “Put—the phone—down!”
I obeyed just as Heather and Daniel reemerged from the fire zone.
“It’s out,” Heather said. “Only caught the bedspread and the curtain.”
“Are you sure?” I said. “I think I should call—”
“No!” Heather commanded. “Don’t call 9-1-1. Don’t call anybody.”
“Why not?” Daniel said. “It’d be a good idea to have them check—”
“No!” Heather and Richard said in unison.
Jason seemed okay, and the smoke was beginning to dissipate.
“Are you sure the fire’s really out?” I asked.
“Yeah,” said Heather. “That’s a very big fire extinguisher. Victoria and I had to get it when we bought inventory insurance for our business, because this is where we store everything that doesn’t fit in my trailer. Now I’m glad they made us do it. Jason’s room is full of that white crap.”
“You okay, Jay?” Richard asked. Jason didn’t say anything, but he grabbed the bag of chocolate Kisses from the care basket and tore it open with his teeth. His hands were shaking.
“Guess so,” Richard said. “Shit.”
“Well, if everything’s okay, I guess we’ll be going,” Daniel said. “We’ve got some other—”
“Yeah, who’d want to hang around a shithole like this on Christmas?” Richard said.
“We’ll be back,” I said, not quite knowing what I meant.
Richard snorted. “I don’t know, darlin.’ Staying away might be your best move.”
It hardly seemed appropriate to say “Merry Christmas,” so I just picked up my backpack. Daniel and I moved toward the living room, and Heather followed us.
“I still think we should call the fire department,” Daniel said as he opened the front door. “Fires can reignite, and it would be wise to—”
“No!” Heather said. We moved outside, and Heather put her arm around Daniel’s shoulder. “You don’t get it, do you, baby?” she said.
I don’t get it, either, and he’s not your baby! That’s what I wanted to say, but I figured it would only make things worse.
“Firemen are the man, and we can’t have the man around here.”
“Huh?” Daniel said it, but I was thinking it, too. Huh?
“They’d take one look at Richard and the disaster in that house and take custody of Jason on the spot. He’s only fifteen. Get it now?”
I guess we still looked blank, because Heather went on.
“This house is bad, but let me tell you something. Being a kid in the foster care system is worse. In Jason’s case—hell, I don’t even want to think about it. You saw his room, Danny. You know what he was doing in there.”
Danny! She called him Danny!
Suddenly, I was the one who had to get out of there, and no amount of Heatherness was going to stop me.
“Come on,” I said, tugging at Daniel’s arm. “We’ve got to go.” For a second, Daniel was the rope in a two-woman tug-of-war, because Heather hung on to his other arm.
“Um—” Daniel said.
“Come on,” I said. “We’re supposed to be at the vicarage.” I let go of Daniel’s arm. “I’ll be in touch,” I said to Heather in what I hoped was a confident tone. I headed toward the Max, fighting the urge to look back at Daniel. I’d already unlocked the driver’s door by the time he joined me.
My heart was hammering as I jammed the key into the ignition, and I wasn’t even sure why I was so upset. A house nearly burning down isn’t something minor, but there was more to it than that.
“What was he doing in that room?” I said to Daniel as I pulled out.
“What do you think?” he said. “It was classic funeral pyre. Smoking in bed.”
“Tobacco?”
“Like you have to ask.”
Of course it wasn’t tobacco. I don’t even know why I asked that, because my mind kept thinking “meth lab” and “crack pipe,” neither of which I knew anything about except that they involve flame.
“He was smoking a joint, listening to tunes, playing an electronic game, and—”
“Gnawing on a big salami?”
“You’ve got the picture.” He paused. “You know, Copper, I’m not sure we shouldn’t call the fire department. The house really could still be on fire.”
I had just reached the end of Chantilly Court. I looked over my shoulder before turning left onto Riviera Lane. Heather had gone back inside. The house looked peaceful and normal. There wasn’t the slightest hint that anything was the teensiest bit wrong. Even so, Daniel had a point. Even if the fire was out, Richard and Jason were close to meltdown.
“I don’t want to,” I said.
“What?” Daniel said. “You don’t want to? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I’d rather respect their wishes,” I said slowly. I was still trying to figure out exactly what was keeping me from making a call that might save lives.
I glanced at Daniel as I waited for the gate to swing open at the end of Riviera Lane. I didn’t like what I saw on his face. After I’d pulled onto the main street, I slowed to a stop next to the curb and shifted the Max into park.
Daniel turned a gaze on me I’d never seen before, the sort of look you might have if you were watching someone drown kittens.
“What would have happened if we hadn’t been there?” I asked. “They didn’t ask us to come.” I paused. “Well, Heather sort of did, but Richard certainly didn’t. I just can’t bring myself to be a meddling intruder.”
“What about a Good Samaritan, then?” Daniel said. “It’s not about whether we were invited. They need a lot more help than a hard salami.”
That hit home. I gripped the steering wheel and bit my tongue.
“I’m calling 9-1-1,” he said, fishing in his pocket for his cell phone. “What’s the address back there?”
“Guess you should’ve been paying more attention.”
“You’re not going to tell me?”
I put the Max in gear and pulled away from the curb. Daniel twisted his head around, but there were no street signs in sight.
“You should’ve waited in the car,” I said as I stopped for the light at Blue Diamond Road. “Like you said you were going to.”
“Fuck you,” Daniel said.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
I couldn’t quite believe it, but I had.
:: :: ::
It had been a Christmas of firsts. My first nephew, my first house fire, and now, to cap it off, my first “fuck you” from my first true love. I got on the freeway and headed north. It was the right direction to get to the vicarage, but I was feeling singularly reluctant to arrive at Christmas dinner in my current condition.
“Want me to drop you somewhere?” I asked Daniel.
Ordinarily, this would have been a cue for him to say something conciliatory, but I wasn’t surprised by his reply.
“Yeah,” he said. “Someplace on the Strip.”
“Where on the Strip?”
“I don’t care.”
He wouldn’t talk, and I wasn’t in a mood to cajole him. I was still reeling from the “fuck you.” That’s never a nice thing to hear, but somehow it’s worse when it comes from the lips of someone who actually has fucked you.
We covered the distance t
o Las Vegas Boulevard in silence, and I pulled into the main entrance of Mandalay Bay, the southernmost casino on the Strip. Daniel slipped the eggplant jacket off and left it on the seat when he got out.
“You’re on your own to make amends with my family,” I said. “I’m not making excuses for you.” He slammed the door and disappeared into a crowd of Asian tourists.
A taxi behind me started honking immediately, and I tailgated the limo ahead of me until I emerged back out onto Las Vegas Boulevard. I turned left, and then I was cruising the Strip alone on Christmas. Alone in Sin City in a car that seats seven with dedicated seat belts. I couldn’t help thinking about all those stories I’d read about suicide rates soaring over the holidays. Not that I felt suicidal. Disgusted was closer to it, although I couldn’t deny a strong current of sadness running right through the middle of it.
It was just beginning to get dark, which is a very pretty time in Neon Land. The sky was a clear dark royal blue. The lights on the huge marquees look more understated at dusk than they do against the night sky, like they’re just waking up and getting ready for a big night of partying. While the crowds milling along the sidewalks weren’t any smaller than usual, they weren’t any larger, either. If I hadn’t known it was Christmas Day, nothing would have given me much of a clue, unless you count the two old ladies in Santa hats weaving through the sidewalk throngs on a tandem tricycle.
For the first time, I truly understood why people who can’t stand the holidays come to Las Vegas. Las Vegas doesn’t destroy days like Christmas. It just hides them in 364 other days with equal wattage. As I moved past the MGM Grand, I was seized with a sudden desire to park somewhere, duck into a casino, and buy myself a martini.
I kept driving, but when I reached Flamingo, where it would have made sense to turn right and head for the vicarage, I didn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to show up there alone and feeling awful. Not only did I not want to make up a story about Daniel, I was still upset about what I’d seen at the McKimbers’ place. Daniel wasn’t wrong when he said they needed more than a salami, and he was probably right about calling the fire department, too. I hoped their house was still standing, but I still wondered if Heather was wrong about “the system” being such a terrible place for Jason. How could anything be worse than that cesspool of a house?
Full Service Blonde Page 20