Four Sue Grafton Novels

by Sue Grafton

  We trudged through a hundred yards of soft sand between the parking lot and the surf. At the water line, icy waves tumbled perilously close to our bare feet, but the sand was damp and packed hard, easier to walk on. I said, “So what’s the deal with Beck?”

  She flashed me a smile. “That blew me away, running into him like that.”

  “Really. That’s odd. I was under the impression you’d arranged it in advance.”

  She laughed. “No, not at all. Why would I do that?”

  “Reba.” I got the big brown eyes turned on me.

  “Honest. He’s the last person in the world I expected to see.”

  I shook my head. “Nope. Not honest. Lying through your teeth. That’s why you sat on the far side of the booth so you could watch for him.”

  “That’s not true. I had no idea he’d be there. I was totally surprised.”

  “Wait, wait, wait. Just hold on a second and I’ll bring you up to speed. I’ve been telling lies for years and believe me, I know when someone’s maneuvering the truth. I got a bullshit meter working ’round the clock. I watched the two of you last night and it was ding ding ding! I was strictly window dressing, the person, in the olden days, they referred to as a ‘beard.’ You called him from the parole office and told him where you’d be.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “Maybe. But I wasn’t sure he’d come.”

  “Oh, he came all right, if his behavior in the car was any indication.”

  Her head whipped around and she looked at me in disbelief. “You were spying on us?”

  “That’s what I’m paid for. You don’t want to be seen, you shouldn’t do it in public.”

  “What a bitch!”

  “Reba, your father cares about your welfare. He doesn’t want you to end up in the shit again.”

  She clutched my arm, looking at me earnestly. “Don’t tell Pop. Please. What purpose would it serve?”

  “I haven’t decided what I’m going to do. It might help if you told me what’s going on.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Oh, give it a whirl. You want me to keep quiet, you better fill me in.” I could see how tempted she was. Who can resist talking about a guy that you’re so smitten with?

  “I’m not sure how to explain. I worked for him for years and he’s always been supportive…”

  “Not the long version, dearie, just the salient points. You’re having an affair, right?”

  “It’s much more than that. I’m crazy about him and he’s crazy about me, too.”

  “The crazy part I’ll buy. Since when?”

  “Two years. Well, four if you count the two I was gone. We’ve been writing back and forth and talking on the phone. We planned to get together tonight, but there’s an AA meeting I’m supposed to attend. I thought I better show up in case Holloway checks. Beck called me at Pop’s and said he couldn’t stand the wait. I thought of Rosie’s because her place is so out of the way I couldn’t imagine running into anyone we know. I guess I should have told you up front, but I wasn’t sure you’d approve so I just went ahead and did it.”

  “What’d you need me for? You’re big boys and girls. Why not go to a motel and get it over with?”

  “I was scared. We haven’t been together for so long, I was afraid the chemistry might be gone.”

  “I don’t get it. What’s the timing on this? Were you bonking the guy while you were ripping him off?”

  “It isn’t ‘bonking.’ We make love.”

  “Oh, sorry. Were you ‘making love’ while you were making off with all his hard-earned cash?”

  “I guess you could put it that way. I mean, I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t help myself. I felt awful. I still do. He knows I’d never do anything to hurt him.”

  “Losing that much money didn’t hurt? I’d be cut to the quick.”

  “It wasn’t personal. I took money from the company—”

  “Which he owns.”

  “I know, but I didn’t look at it that way. It was just there and nobody seemed to notice. I kept thinking I’d score big and then I’d put it all back. I never meant to keep it and I certainly wouldn’t steal.”

  “Reba, that’s what stealing is. You pocket someone else’s money without their knowledge or consent. If you use a gun, it’s called robbery. Either way, it’s not behavior that’s designed to endear.”

  She shrugged uncomfortably. “I saw it as a loan. It was just a temporary thing.”

  “The guy must have a big heart.”

  “He does. He tried to help me. He did everything he could. I know he’s forgiven me. He said it all again last night.”

  “Hey, I’ll take your word for it, but it’s weird. I mean, it’s one thing to forgive, but then to go on with the affair? How does he rationalize that? Doesn’t he feel used?”

  “He understands I have a self-destructive streak. That doesn’t mean he condones it, but he doesn’t hold it against me.”

  “Is that why you never went to trial? Because of him?”

  “Partly. When I got arrested, I knew I’d hit bottom. I was guilty as shit. I just wanted to take my licks and get it over with. A trial would’ve been an embarrassment for Pop. I didn’t want him to suffer another public spectacle. I’ve caused enough trouble as it is.”

  “Your father tells me Beck’s married. Doesn’t his wife figure into the equation somewhere?”

  “That’s a marriage of convenience. They haven’t been intimate for years.”

  “Oh, come on. Every married guy says that.”

  “I know, but in his case, it’s true.”

  “What a crock of shit. You think he’ll leave her for you? It doesn’t work that way.”

  “Wrong. You are so wrong,” she said. “He has it all set up.”

  “Like what?”

  “This is all part of his game plan, but he has to bide his time. If she finds out about me, she’ll take him for everything.”

  “I know I would.”

  “He told me last night he’s close to pulling it off.”

  “Pulling what off?”

  I got the double whammy—the big imploring eyes, plus the arm clutch denoting her earnest intent. “Promise you won’t tell.”

  “I can’t promise you that! What if he’s planning to rob a bank?”

  “Don’t be dumb. He’s getting his finances in shape. Once he has his assets under wraps, he’ll broach the subject of divorce. By then, it’ll be a done deal and what’s she going to do? She’ll just have to face facts and accept reality.”

  “Would you listen to yourself? You’re telling me he’s worked out a way to cheat his wife. What kind of man is he? First he runs around on her and then he rips her off? Oh wait. Skip that. Just occurred to me that you ripped him off first so maybe you’re the perfect pair.”

  “You don’t even know what love is. I bet you’ve never been in love in your life.”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”

  I rolled my eyes, shaking my head in despair. “You are such a nincompoop.”

  “So what? It’s not hurting anyone.”

  “Oh, right. What about his wife?”

  “She’ll come around eventually, once it’s out in the open.”

  “Are there any kids?”

  “She never wanted kids.”

  “That’s a blessing at any rate. Look, babe. I know where you’re coming from. I was once involved with a married man myself. At the time they were separated, but they were married all the same. And you know what I learned? You have no idea what goes on between a husband and wife. I don’t care how he represents the relationship, you shouldn’t tread on sacred turf. It’s the same as walking on hot coals. Doesn’t matter how much faith you have, your feet are going to burn.”

  “Tough. It’s too late. It’s like playing craps. Once the dice leave your hand, you can’t do anything but watch.”

  “At least break it off until he’s fre
e,” I said.

  “I can’t. I love him. He’s everything to me.”

  “Oh shit, Reba. Go see a shrink and get your head on straight.”

  I watched her face shut down. She turned abruptly and started walking away, addressing her comments to me over her shoulder as the gap between us widened. “You don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. You only met the man once so you can keep your friggin’ opinions to yourself. It’s none of your business and it’s none of Pop’s.” She walked on, heading toward the parking lot. I was left with no choice but to trot along behind.

  We barely spoke during the drive to her father’s house. By the time I dropped her off, I figured that was the end of the line for me. She was out of prison. She was home. She had her driver’s license back and a closet full of clothes. Nothing she’d done—namely, screwing—was in violation of her parole so her actions and behavior were no concern of mine.

  She got out of the car and retrieved her packages from the backseat. “I know you mean well and I appreciate your concern, but I’ve paid for my sins and now my life belongs to me. If I make bad choices, it’s my tough luck. It has nothing to do with you.”

  “Okay by me. Have a good life,” I said.

  She closed the car door. She paused and leaned in the window briefly. I thought she meant to say more, but she decided to let it ride. I watched her until the front door closed behind her and then I headed for the office. Once there, I typed up an invoice, billing Nord Lafferty the five hundred dollars a day for the two days I’d worked. I put the bill in an envelope, which I sealed and addressed. On the way home, I drove past the post office, where I slowed to a stop and dropped it in the box at the curb.

  9

  For supper, I fixed myself a hot hard-boiled-egg sandwich slathered with mayo and heavy on the salt, vowing in a vague and insincere way to rectify my diet, which is woefully short of fruits, vegetables, fiber, grain, and nutrition of any sort. I’d intended to make an early night of it, but by seven I was feeling restless for reasons I couldn’t name. I decided on a quick trip to Rosie’s, not so much for the bad wine as a change of scene.

  To my surprise, the first person I saw was Henry’s older brother Lewis, who lives in Michigan. He stood behind the bar with his suit jacket off, his arms bare to his elbows and plunged in soapy water while he washed assorted glasses and beer mugs. I crossed to the bar, saying, “Well, this is a surprise. Where did you come from?”

  He looked up with a smile. “I flew in this afternoon. William picked me up at the airport and put me straight to work.”

  “What brings you to town?”

  “Nothing in particular. I needed a change. I came up with the plan on the spur of the moment. Charlie was busy and Nell wasn’t in the mood, so I booked a seat and made the trip by myself. Travel’s invigorating. I’m full of beans,” he said.

  “Well, good for you. That’s great. How long will you be here?”

  “Until Sunday. William and Rosie are putting me up. That’s why he’s teaching me to tend bar, so I can earn my keep.”

  “Does Henry know you’re here?”

  “Not yet, but I’ll call him as soon as William lets me take a break.”

  He rinsed the last of the beer mugs and set it on a rack to drain, then dried his hands on the white towel he’d tucked in his waist. He put a cocktail napkin on the bar in front of me and shifted into bartender mode. “What are you drinking? If memory serves, you prefer Chardonnay.”

  “Better make that a Coke. Rosie’s changed ‘vintners,’ though the term hardly applies. The wine she’s serving has all the subtlety of solvent.”

  He hosed me a Coke and placed it in front of me. For a gentleman of eighty-nine, he was the picture of efficiency, his manner brisk and relaxed. Watching him, you’d have thought he’d been tending bar all his life.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re entirely welcome. My treat.”

  “Well, aren’t you nice! I appreciate that.”

  I watched him amble toward the far end of the bar to wait on somebody else. What was going on? I’d never known Lewis to fly out unannounced. Had William put him up to it? That seemed like a bad idea. I turned and glanced over my shoulder at the smattering of patrons. My favorite booth was occupied, but there were numerous other seats available. I carried my Coke and crossed to a table near the entrance. Fresh air wafted in with each opening and closing of the door, thus dispelling some of the accumulated cigarette smoke, which lay on the air like fog. Even so, I knew I’d get home smelling like soot and have to hang my clothes on the shower rod overnight to eliminate the stink. My hair was doubtless already reeking, though I wear it too short to hold a strand to my nose. Smokers listen to these prissy-ass complaints as though the charges were trumped up simply to annoy and offend.

  I was scarcely settled when I sensed the welcomed shift in air current that signaled someone entering the place. Cheney Phillips stood in the doorway. I felt one of those lurches you experience on a plane that leaves you wondering if the flight will be the last you take. I watched him scan the assembled patrons, apparently looking for someone who hadn’t yet arrived. His clothing was the usual mix of expensive fabrics and fine tailoring. He favored crisp white dress shirts or soft-collared silk in shades of cream or buttermilk. On occasion, he shifted to a tone-on-tone, usually in dark hues that lent him a faintly sinister air. Tonight, he wore a cinnamon sueded silk sport coat over a rust-colored cashmere turtleneck. I lifted my hand in greeting, wondering if the sweater was as soft as it looked. He sauntered over to my table and pulled out a chair. “Hey, how’s by you? Mind if I sit?”

  I gestured assent. “Our paths cross again. I haven’t seen you for months and now I’ve run into you three times in the past four days.”

  “Not entirely accidental.” He pointed to my glass. “What the hell is that?”

  “Coke. A soft drink. It’s been around for years.”

  “You need something stronger. We have to talk.” Without waiting for my response, he caught Lewis’s eye and gestured, indicating the need for service.

  I turned in time to see Lewis hustle out from behind the bar and head toward our table. “Yes, sir.”

  “Two vodka martinis, straight up. Stoli if you have it, Absolut if not. And a side of olives.” Glancing at me, he said, “You want ice water?”

  “Oh, why not?” I said, ever the bon vivant. “This is Lewis Pitts, my landlord’s brother. You’ve met Henry, haven’t you?”

  “Of course. Cheney Phillips,” he said. He rose to his feet and shook hands with Lewis, who said a few pleased-to-meet-you-type things with the usual pleasantries thrown in. I found myself noting the texture of Cheney’s hair, springy dark brown curls that looked as soft as a poodle’s coat. I’m not a dog lover at heart. Doggies tend to bark their bad breath in my face, preparatory to jumping up and parking their cumbersome paws on my chest. Despite numerous sharp commands, most dogs behave any way they please. There’s the occasional exception. The week before, in a rare moment of goodwill, I’d stopped to chat with a woman who was walking a breed I’d never seen before. She introduced me to Chandler, a Portuguese water dog who sat on command and gravely offered to shake hands. The dog was quiet and well mannered with a coat so curly and soft I could hardly keep my hands to myself. Why was I thinking about that now? Having missed the bulk of the conversation, I tuned in as Lewis was saying, “Be right back.” It was like waking up in the middle of a TV movie. I had no clear idea what was going on.

  As soon as he was gone, I turned to Cheney. “I take it you’re here to meet someone.”

  His attention was focused on faces halfway across the room, his gaze shifting at precise intervals like a corner-mounted camera. He’d been a vice cop for years and he had a letch for hookers and dope dealers the way some guys are fixated on the size of a woman’s boobs. His eyes flicked to mine. “Actually, I came in looking for you. I stopped by your apartment and when I didn’t find you there, I figured you’d be here.”

&
nbsp; “I didn’t realize I was so predictable.”

  “Your best trait,” he said. His gaze caught on mine again and the effect was unnerving. I glanced at the bar, the front door, anywhere but him. Where was Lewis and what was taking him so long?

  Cheney said, “Don’t you want to know why I’m here?”

  “Sure.”

  “We have an interest in common.”

  “Oh, really. And what would that be?”

  “Reba Lafferty.”

  The answer was unexpected and I could feel my head tilt with curiosity. “What’s your connection to her?”

  “That’s why I went to see Priscilla Holloway. I heard someone was driving down to CIW to bring Reba back. I didn’t know it was you until I saw you that day.”

  Cheney glanced up at Lewis, who’d appeared with our martinis on a tray. He set them down with great care, watching the liquid tremble. The stemware was so cold I could see ice flakes sliding along the outer surface of the glass. The vodka, just out of the freezer, looked oily in the light. I hadn’t drunk a martini in ages and I remembered the sharp, nearly chemical taste.

  I can never decide what makes Cheney’s face so appealing—wide mouth, dark brows, eyes as brown as old pennies. His hands are big and it looks like he busted his knuckles pounding someone in the chops. I studied his features and then caught myself, thinking I should slap my own face. I’d just lectured Reba on the folly of a dalliance with a married man and here I was idly entertaining the very thought myself.

  Cheney said, “Thanks, Lewis. Can you run a tab for us?”

  “Of course. Just let me know if you need anything else.”

  Once he was gone, Cheney lifted his glass and tapped its edge against mine. “Cheers.”

  I took a sip of my drink. The vodka was smooth, forming a column of heat that sank down my spinal cord and into my shoes. “I hope you’re not saying she’s in trouble.”

  “I’d say she’s teetering on the brink.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “How well do you know her?”