Time and Trouble

by Gillian Roberts

  And whatever energy had driven him from his home this morning to Sausalito, to here, was suddenly and completely dissipated. What the hell was he doing? And why? Who cared? He’d been so furious with her—still was—that he was proving a meaningless point by hammering it into the ground.

  Probably all he wanted was to be important, be the guy whose wits had broken an old, unsolved case. Maybe his ego was just that pathetic. He wandered back toward the street. The hell with it. They’d go home to San Geronimo and make a plan—not about the stupid pendant, but about her future. Which had to take place away from him.

  “Thanks again for accepting that package,” a light voice said as he emerged from between the houses. “They insist on delivering them the one hour I have to—”

  “Hey!” a male voice said. “What are you—?” Stephen looked over to where a middle-aged woman stood holding open the front door of her house for a guy in a maroon sweatshirt. The guy who was shouting at Stephen, coming his way, double-time. “You looking for somebody?” He’d seen too many Clint Eastwood movies, acting like Stephen was here to blow up the neighborhood.

  “I’m looking for Mrs. DeLuca,” Stephen managed.

  “She’s not there.”

  “Yeah, I…I thought maybe she was out back.”

  “No.”

  “Okay,” Stephen said. “I’ll try some other—”

  “What about?” the man asked.

  “About?”

  “What do you want to see her about?”

  “Nothing important. A question.”

  “You selling something?”

  Stephen shook his head again and backed off a step. A lunatic vigilante with nothing to guard against. But he had only himself to blame. He should have dropped the issue way sooner. He attempted a half-nod, the sort of thing that signaled leave-taking when there was no relationship whatsoever.

  The man looked at the shingled house, then at Stephen. “You want to leave a message? Your name? What this is about?”

  Stephen shook his head. “Thanks, but no.” He repeated his sociable, impersonal half-nod and walked by the man, toward the corner.

  And realized the man had gone inside the shingled house. He lived there. That’s why he was so worried to see Stephen prowl around it. He lived there, so he must know Penny. He’d go back—he was here, after all. Anyway, he wanted to establish that he wasn’t some kind of neighborhood creep.

  The man in the maroon sweatshirt answered the bell and looked annoyed by the sight of him. “Kids are napping,” he said, interrupting Stephen’s attempt to introduce himself. “Could you keep it down?”

  “Yessir. Just wanted to say sorry if I worried you. I didn’t realize this was your house. I’m here on behalf of Penny Redmond. You know her, right? I believe she baby-sat for your wife.”

  “Is Penny okay? Do you know where she is?”

  Jesus. Why was the guy so eager? How did he even know she was gone? It had only been a few days. “This is actually about a gold heart she found. Apparently, your wife has, or had, one that looked like it.”

  “And? I don’t get this yet, and I’m more concerned about where Penny is.”

  Stephen was getting a really bad feeling from this, like DeLuca and Penny… Maybe he was one of her many secrets.

  “And how does she know my wife, let alone my wife’s jewelry collection?”

  “Penny? Because she sat for—”

  “Me. Penny sat for me when I was on deadline. I’m a writer.”

  He said it belligerently, as if Stephen had asked him what he was doing home in the middle of the day. Maybe too many people did.

  Mr. DeLuca checked that the door was unlocked, closed it behind him and stood warily on the top step, arms folded over his chest.

  Stephen tried to speak softly and clearly and to make his point, even though he could barely remember it. “Look, Mr. DeLuca, if I— Could I maybe just show it to you and you can tell me if she had or has something like it? See, Penny says the design is really common, that lots of girls had them. That’s all we’re trying to establish here.”

  “Man, you’re not making sense. It’s not like Penny to get worked-up about whether something’s too common or not. What have you done to her? And you forgot to say your name, too.”

  “Stephen Tassio.” He should have said Mr. Tassio to the asshole. He held out the pendant and chain. “Is this familiar-looking?”

  DeLuca seemed ready to fit a butterfly net to Stephen’s head.

  “She found it in a field in West Marin. Near where they found those bodies. I say she should take it to the police, that maybe it’s important. She says it’s so ordinary it can’t mean anything. That’s all I’m trying to find out. She says your wife had one like it. Either your wife showed hers to Penny or told her about it. So did somebody else she sat for. If that’s so, then probably she’s right and I should get off her case. And I don’t want to be like a jerk with the police, if every girl really had one…”

  DeLuca looked at Penny’s trinket, then at Stephen. “I have no idea. You could have taken it out of Betty’s jewelry box this morning and I still wouldn’t know, except she wouldn’t wear it now. It’s not power dressing. But she wasn’t as conservative when we were undergrads.” He shrugged and looked at it again. “And she wasn’t in a sorority, either. Against her principals to join anything back then. So maybe. Times and taste in jewelry change, so she probably had one if she said so. Although when Penny would have met Betty…” There was something creepy about the guy. Why shouldn’t Penny know his wife? Was she buried in the cellar? Or was Penny his, as if he owned her?

  “What color car do you drive?” DeLuca asked abruptly.

  “Yellow, why?”

  He looked at Stephen, then put a hand on the doorknob. Interview over. “You want to give me your number? So I can ask Betty about that thing?”

  Stephen didn’t want to, but he’d look like more of a phony if he refused, so he wrote it on the back of his business card.

  “Listen,” DeLuca said as he pocketed the card, “if you know where she is…do everybody a favor and make sure she gets home. Soon.”

  “I’m trying, sir,” Stephen said.

  “Good, then,” DeLuca said. He grabbed the edge of the door, ready to close it.

  “One question,” Stephen said. “Why did you mention sororities?”

  DeLuca took the charm back and pointed at the tracery. “The Greek letters here. I just assumed they were the name of a sorority.”

  “Vux? You mean that?”

  DeLuca shook his head. From inside the house, Stephen heard a sharp wail. “Not Vux. It’s Greek.”

  “Greek? It doesn’t look like—”

  “Greek script. Three letters.”

  “Do you know which—”

  “Gamma Mu Chi,” DeLuca said with a shrug. The wail intensified. “And now, you can hear, I assume, that if there’s nothing further—”

  “No, sir. Thanks for—”

  DeLuca nodded and closed the door behind him.

  Stephen heard the lock turn. That had been humiliating, and stupid. Time to go home.

  She was sitting in his car, pouting. “What took so long?” were the first words out of her mouth. Like she didn’t know where he’d been, or why. “Can we get some food now?” was the second question. She didn’t even ask what he’d found out.

  Something that had softened inside him solidified again. He was not going to be bossed around by yet another crazy woman. Maybe Penny was right about the jewelry being common—but he was right about finding it out. He drove to her old neighborhood.

  “For God’s sake, don’t park near my house,” she snapped. “You want my mother to see me? And don’t park where the Marshalls can see, either. It’s not like everybody doesn’t know I left in this car, or are you turning me in?”

  He kept his voice calm, the way animal trainers did with wild things. “I want this over with, Penny.” Somehow, he realized, he’d come to equate getting this heart thin
g settled with getting Penny herself settled. Which was to say—out of his life. “You said Sunny Marshall—that’s her name, right?—had one like it.”

  “So what? She was a rich girl, my mother says. She probably had everything.” She slumped down into the seat. “I’m hungry,” she whined.

  “Answer me this,” he said. “How come you can waste your life snooping after your dad when what he’s doing is wrong, but not criminal, but you can’t spare a minute to maybe provide information about a double murder?”

  She crossed her arms over her midriff and slumped lower in the car.

  “And what was it with you and DeLuca?” he asked. “He’s a real creep. Arrogant asshole.” Knew Greek and acted like everybody should.

  “Creep? He’s nice. And smart. Like, wise.”

  And Stephen heard a familiar sound, a tone inside her voice that she’d used on him, when he was her hero. So what had DeLuca been, and for how long, and what happened between them?

  “Could you at least leave the radio on this time?” she said.

  “No.” He opened his door. “I’ll keep the keys to myself, thanks.”

  She closed her eyes and moved even lower in the seat. “My mother is going to recognize the hearse and call the police. Then you’ll be happy, right?”

  “I can’t see your house from here, which means she can’t see me. She’s in a wheelchair, for God’s sake, what is she going to do? Leap up screaming, ‘I’m healed’? Admit she’s faking it? Why don’t you think about what you’re going to do about your life instead of worrying about hers. Why don’t you consider changing your mind and going home to work things through?”

  He didn’t look back as he walked up the three steps onto the Marshall’s porch. Even from around the corner, Penny’s eyes bored into his back. He could feel her hair’s red tendrils reach for him. Forget R&R, vacations. He couldn’t wait to get back to work—even if Yvonne decided to once again lurk in the parking lot every damned morning. At work, difficult projects were doable. Creating new worlds was easier than dealing with women.

  He studied the large house. Its yellow was almost the same as his car’s—with thin lines of emerald green and turquoise banding the froufrou designs. The porch was filled with white wicker furniture with plump turquoise pillows. Really nice, he thought. And this is what Penny found obnoxious.

  A woman with red-gold hair responded to his ring, a baby perched on her hip. She smiled at him, as if she expected strangers to be pleasant.

  Pretty. The word registered and reverberated.

  Gorgeous. Even though she was older than he was, a mother. Gorgeous.

  “This is going to sound weird, I know,” he began after he’d told her his name. “But I’m a friend of Penny Redmond’s, and I understand—”

  “Penny?” She clutched her baby closer, as if maybe the fat-legged infant would hear Penny’s name and be inspired to run away herself. Or himself. “Do you know where she is? Her parents are worried sick. Awful thing to do to your mother when she’s already in a wheelchair.” Then she looked at him for real this time. “But that’s not why you’ve come here, is it?”

  Smart, too. “No, ma’am.”

  She studied him, then moved her head toward the innards of the house. “Come on in,” she said. “But let’s not make too much noise. My husband’s trying to work and these babies are cooperating for just this minute.” She waved him in with her free hand. He heard a cry from a back room. Sunny sighed and shook her head, but didn’t look angry, or as if she ever could be angry. The baby on her hip scrunched its face and sobbed, too.

  “Doesn’t have a clue what’s bothering his twin, but he’ll cry all the same. Or maybe they do have a special ESP. Anyway, let me go relieve my husband, who will never get a single thing done, don’t I know, while he’s with the kids.”

  She didn’t say whether Stephen should follow her, but he wanted to. Wanted to be near this shining, calm, and happy person. Waiting in the hallway seemed stupid, anyway, like a delivery boy, so he walked a few paces behind, toward a kitchen bright with the same yellows, whites, green, and turquoise as the house’s exterior. Sunny’s name seemed also her favorite color.

  A thin man in running shorts sat at the kitchen table, a legal pad and ballpoint pen in front of him and a yowling baby in a high chair next to him. The man looked up with obvious relief as his wife entered.

  “Can’t get much done, can you?” she said. “Maybe you should talk to the Shriners about how it is to try and work around children. Go take your run and clear your head.”

  Talkman nodded wearily, then noticed Stephen. “And who might this be?” he asked.

  Stephen marveled that the voice, rich and creamy—“words of white chocolate,” somebody had said—was the same in a kitchen as over the air. He’d somehow assumed the sound was electronically enhanced. It coated each syllable and made a phrase such as, “And who might this be?” sound fraught with meaning.

  “Stephen Tassio, sir, but Mrs. Marshall told me you were working and I don’t mean to interrupt.”

  “He’s Penny Redmond’s friend,” Sunny said. Both babies had stopped crying upon sight of each other. Another child was on the floor, coloring on an oversized paper. He—or she—stared at Stephen, a red crayon held immobile.

  Talkman lifted an eyebrow as if waiting for more. For what?

  “But I’m not here about her,” Stephen said. “Except indirectly. I’ll only take a minute of your time, I promise, but I’m here because of something Penny mentioned, and I thought you could help about it. Mrs. Marshall, actually. About telling the police. You might have additional information you or I could give them.”

  “The police?” Talkman looked puzzled and mildly amused. “Why? About what?”

  “Coffee?” Sunny Marshall asked brightly. “It’s fresh. Peet’s, too—the best beans in the world.”

  Stephen wondered if Sunny was her real name, or, if not, when she’d been given the nickname. At what point in her life had she become herself? At what point would he? Penny’s resentment of this woman made him still angrier with her.

  “Sit down, Stephen, why don’t you?” Talkman said. “If you can stand the ruckus. Two-year-olds are actually robotic aliens. Their brain cells are way less developed than their motors, and the possibilities are terrifying. And when you get two two-year-olds and a four-year-old big brother, it’s the domestic equivalent of a nuclear disaster. On the other hand, so far you aren’t making particularly good sense yourself.”

  Stephen pulled out a bright green chair with a matching cushion and seated himself where somebody—Sunny, of course—had been reading an article about air-conditioning. He liked being where she had been. Envied the man across from him. Talkman seemed too unkempt for her. Too…unimpressive. And the things he said on the air—the jokes he made about women—they infuriated Kathryn and Alicia, but both those women had weak senses of humor. It was obvious that the man liked women—look at the one he’d chosen. “I need to say that I really enjoy your show, sir,” Stephen lied, knowing that if he hadn’t said it, he’d feel like an asshole, and would somehow be insulting Sunny. He smiled, needed to verify that he knew what he was talking about. “‘When I was a lad in Nevada…’” he began, trying and failing to get the lush tone of the man across from him. “I like the anecdotes, the things you remember.”

  “Yes, well, thanks. It’s better’n diggin’ ditches, I always say. Push that stuff aside. Sunny’ll read it later. Or we’ll forget about air-conditioning. A thousand years, Marin didn’t need air-conditioning—now…this global warming or what? We’ll camp out at the beach all summer instead. That’s more fun, anyway.”

  Stephen grinned. “I’m hoping to do that today. I’m on vacation from work and this weather…” Why the hell was he babbling this way in front of her? He had to get a grip on and stop sounding like an idiot!

  “In February.” Sunny stood behind the center island, leaning on it. “I grew up in the Midwest, and I still can’t get over February be
ing like this. Even if it’s only for a day or two between storms. And to be so lucky as to have a beach a few minutes away, as if it’s all set up for whenever we need it!” She smiled again, then sipped her coffee. “Meantime, tell us what brought you here.”

  How to say it without involving Penny? He’d meant to think this through in advance and would have, if Penny weren’t so damned irrational. “About two months ago, Penny found a heart-shaped charm, a pendant—a thing you’d wear on a chain in a field, near where the police found those skeletons. Did you read about them?” He waited until both of them nodded. “Anyway, it wasn’t all that special, but she liked it.” He remembered that he had it with him. Where was his brain? “Wait—here it is.” He pulled it from his pocket and put it on the table.

  Talkman looked at it, then at Stephen without saying anything. He didn’t seem impressed or overly interested, but then Stephen hadn’t reached the point yet.

  “Her lavaliere,” Sunny said. “She wore it here, talked about it.” She nodded. “I just told a detective about it. Well, we talked more about the person who I suspect gave it to her than about it.” She smiled knowingly at Stephen, twinkling—the laugh she was controlling showing in her eyes.

  She’d been talking about him? She’d thought the heart had been a gift from him?

  “The police were here?” Talkman asked.

  She shook her head, and her hair bounced in the light. “A private investigator trying to find Penny.” She looked at Stephen with what she probably thought was a stern expression, but it was charming. “You obviously know where she is if you have the necklace, so you get her back home, young man. Her mother’s worried sick.”

  Stephen nodded, but he wanted to get away from the lecture that seemed to be readying itself and back to the topic.

  Talkman lifted the charm, turned it over, then shrugged and handed it back. “What about this?” he asked.

  Sunny’s eyes were wide and a small smile stayed on her face as she waited for Stephen’s answer.