The Broken Promise Land

by Marcia Muller

  “It shocks you, doesn’t it?”

  The whole time we were growing up, Charlene had taken perverse delight in being able to shock her older sister. It irked me that she would still think it possible.

  Sarcastically I said, “Nothing that you or anybody else in our family could do could possibly shock me.” Then, seeing her hurt look, I relented some. “Listen, what you’ve done is no big deal. Ma was seeing Melvin for months before she told Pa she wanted a divorce. John blew up Karen’s car when she left him; it was only blind luck she wasn’t in it at the time. Joey’s spent his life either behind bars or in them. Patsy’s kids all have different fathers—none of whom she bothered to marry. And my own history isn’t uncheckered; I’m just sneakier.”

  “You didn’t mention Pa.”

  “I should mention him, just because he’s a manic-depressive who hides out in the garage when he’s down, and when he’s up scandalizes the neighbors by bellowing dirty ditties?”

  Charlene managed a weak grin. “Well, then, whatever problems I have are probably genetic. Speaking of the family, do any of them know you’re down here?”

  “I haven’t even called John. This trip is strictly business.”

  She sighed. “Good. I’m not looking forward to having to break the news to Ma. She’ll either say, ‘I told you he was no good when he got you pregnant,’ or she’ll side with Ricky.”

  “This doesn’t have to be a sides-taking situation.”

  “Try to tell that to Ma.”

  It was a task I didn’t think I’d ever be up to. I went to the adjacent kitchen for more coffee, came back and said, “I need to ask you something. I overheard you and Ricky fighting before. You mentioned something that happened three years ago, and a woman’s name—Patricia Terriss. Who is she?”

  Charlene looked away.

  “I’m not asking out of idle curiosity,” I added. “A woman he… saw briefly three years ago may be behind this campaign of harassment.” I related the gist of my conversation with Arletta James.

  By the time I finished, Charlene had turned very pale; her eyes focused on the distance and she absently fingered a bruise that had formed on her cheek where Ricky hit her. After a moment she said, “I thought a woman was behind it. He was only with this one in Texas for a weekend?”

  “That’s what he told Letta.”

  “My God. I went through all of that—put him through it, too—because of a wrong assumption.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “A little over a year ago Ricky asked me to go through some old files on Little Savages; he and the others had started to talk about forming the new label, and he wanted cost figures on the studio. Anyway, some of them hadn’t been entered into the computer, so I went into his office files looking for them. And I found an attorney’s bill.”

  “For?”

  “All it said was, ‘IN RE Patricia Terriss.’ It was dated two years earlier. It wasn’t from Ethan, who’s strictly his music attorney, or the man we use for our personal affairs, but I recognized the name. He’s a very high-powered guy who specializes in divorce, palimony, things like that. So I made an appointment and went to see him.”

  “Why didn’t you just ask Ricky about it?”

  “Things already weren’t very good between us. This house was being built and we were in that rented place in Pacific Palisades. It was too small and we’d lost everything in the fire, and the kids resented that we were going to move down here and take them away from their friends and schools. They were acting out something terrible—that was right after the incident with Mick and the board of education’s computer, remember? And also I was… hearing things.”

  “Such as?”

  “Nothing specific. Just buzzings in our circle of friends and associates. You know how, when people think there’s something wrong in your life, they’ll give you those sympathetic looks that’re more nasty than compassionate? That was happening a lot to me. And people would say things like, ‘If you need to talk, I’m here for you,’ and then if I asked why, they’d dismiss the question. After a while I decided that something was going on with Ricky that everybody knew but me. So I couldn’t ask him about an attorney’s bill with a woman’s name on it, that he’d deliberately concealed from me.”

  “Did the attorney tell you anything?”

  “No. He cited client confidentiality and told me if I wanted to know why my husband had consulted him I should ask him. He did, at least, promise not to tell Ricky I’d been to see him.”

  “So then what did you do?”

  “Nothing but brood. Sure, I knew Ricky fooled around out on the road; I even caught him that one time. But the women weren’t important to him, and he always came home to me. This was different: If he’d consulted that type of lawyer about the Terriss woman, she had to be more than just a casual lay after a concert. She might’ve even been somebody who was significant to him. I guess I just didn’t want to know. Eventually I got so depressed that I could barely make myself get up and go to my classes at USC.”

  “Did Ricky notice?”

  “Yes, but he attributed it to our living situation and the kids’ behavior. And he wasn’t home much, anyway; that was when he was touring for Broken Promise Land.” She laughed bitterly. “Did the title of that album ever have significance for me!”

  “And you never told anybody what you suspected?”

  “Only Vic. Vic Christiansen, a guest lecturer in my department who taught the honors seminar in international finance that I was taking. One day after class he stopped me and asked me out for a drink. I went, and we talked, and finally he said he’d been observing me and was concerned about my emotional state. He’s open and easy to confide in, so I told him everything.”

  “And you fell in love with him.”

  “Not right away, but over the next few months I did, yes.” She hesitated. “Shar, do you know what it’s like to live somebody else’s dream and never have one of your own?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, I do. That’s the way my life had been since I was sixteen. Our whole marriage was about Ricky and his dream. His drive and talent just plain overwhelmed me, and I ended up placing my wants and needs after his. Enrolling at USC was the first thing I’d ever done for myself. Falling in love with Vic was the second. Now he’s convinced me I should go on for my MBA; at last I’m going to have a dream of my own.”

  “But do you have to break up your marriage to do that?”

  “I love Vic,” she said gently. “He’s part of the dream.”

  “What about your kids? Don’t you love them? Don’t they fulfill any of these needs you seem to have?” My voice was rough with anger. Wasn’t anybody thinking about my nephews and nieces?

  Charlene put her hand on my arm. “Shar, I’ve never been the sort of mother who tries to live her life through her kids. That’s not enough and, besides, it’s not healthy for them. A good parent knows that at some point she’s going to have to let go and allow her kids to make their own way in the world. If they were all I had, I’d cling, and they’d suffer for it.”

  “But doesn’t a good parent also put her kids’ needs ahead of her own?”

  “Yes, and I’ve known for a long time that the one thing my kids need most is a peaceful and loving home. Ricky’s a good man and a wonderful father, but he’s also talented and single-minded, and people like that are takers. We had a passionate relationship, but it was also painful and, in the past few years, mutually destructive. Kids shouldn’t have to live in that kind of atmosphere, and with Vic and me they won’t.”

  “So you’re just going to take them away from their father, whom they love, who loves them?”

  She sighed. “I’d never do that to them or to Ricky. He’ll be able to have the kids anytime he or they want. But you’ve got to face reality, Shar: Ricky’s on the road a lot; the business takes up most of his time, and with the new label it’s going to take up even more of it.”

  “You’ve really made up
your mind.”

  “Yes, I have.”

  I was silent, thinking over all that she’d said. Hadn’t Ricky hinted at the same kind of destructive marriage last night, when he’d talked about rubbing himself raw on the ragged edges of the relationship? Maybe it was better it ended before more serious damage was done.

  “All right,” I finally said, “I understand your reasons, and I’ll support you—particularly when Ma comes around to meddle.” Then I turned my attention back to the immediate situation. “This Patricia Terriss—Ricky didn’t mention her when we were discussing who might be responsible for the harassment. That strikes me as odd.”

  “Very.”

  I thought about Rae’s contention that my brother-in-law was feeling guilty about something that had nothing to do with Charlene or the kids. Something to do with the Terriss woman, perhaps? “Well,” I said, “he’s going to have to tell me about her. Let’s go to the office and see if Kurt has located him.”

  She got up and led me through the maze of hallways. At the office door she stopped and said, “You know, I don’t like this house any more than Ricky does. I’ll be glad to sell it.”

  When we stepped inside, Ethan Amory, Kurt Girdwood, and Hy were gathered in conversation by a window overlooking a wooded slope. Amory glared at Charlene, blaming her for this latest crisis, but Girdwood came over and held out his arms to her. “Honey, I’m so sorry,” he said. She went to him.

  “Anything?” I asked Hy.

  He shook his head. “Kurt tried Ricky’s cell phone and it was busy, so he’s in touch with someone. I’ve already dispatched a team to Little Savages.”

  “Good. I think you and I should fly over there—”

  The office line buzzed. Hy picked up. “… Yeah, she’s right here, hold on.” He handed the receiver to me. “Rae.”

  I thought of Mick, felt a spark of anxiety. “Yes, Rae. What’s up?”

  “Can you talk? Privately, I mean?”

  “Uh, sure. Let me call you back.” I gave the receiver to Hy, excused myself, and hurried out—anxiety at full flame now. Mick would make a natural target, I thought, further proof that the note writer could get to Ricky and his family members at any time and in any place.

  In the guest house I sank onto the bed and dialed my home number. Rae picked up after only half a ring. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Is Mick okay?”

  “He’s fine. I’m in the guest room with the door closed and he’s in the kitchen fixing tacos, so he can’t hear us. What the hell has happened down there?”

  “How’d you know something did?”

  “Ricky’s been calling me on and off ever since he got home yesterday. The last time was a few minutes ago from his car. He described an awful scene with your sister, said it was all over between them. What precipitated it?”

  “A combination of things. But it’s over, believe me. I was present at the demise. Where is he?”

  “On his way to Arizona.”

  “Thank God! We’ve got a security team en route. How did he sound?”

  “Angry. Hurt. Relieved, too.” she hesitated. “Shar, he wants me to meet him there.”

  For a moment I was too shocked to speak; then I said sarcastically, “Didn’t take him long to bounce back from this anger and hurt you just mentioned, now did it?”

  It was Rae’s turn to be silent.

  “Are you going?” I demanded.

  “I think so. He’s calling the air-charter company he uses to see if he can get me a flight.”

  “Jesus, Rae, you can’t be serious!”

  “Shar, he’s my friend. He needs somebody to talk to.”

  “Just talk?”

  More silence.

  “You know, you could be getting in way over your head.”

  “It’s my head, Shar.”

  I closed my eyes, gripping the receiver hard. I wasn’t handling this well. Confrontation never worked with Rae; reason did.

  I said, “What about work? I’m down here, and somebody’s got to keep the agency running.”

  “I wrapped up the last two cases you assigned me on Friday.”

  “What about Mick? You’re supposed to be looking out for him.”

  “Ricky spoke with him when he called. The news wasn’t any surprise to Mick; he heard that song dedication at the concert. Ricky asked him to go home, be there for his mother. He’s already booked a flight.”

  Everything was reeling out of control, out of my hands. “But there’ll be nobody left in the office.”

  “I called Ted. He’ll be in touch with you if anything urgent comes up; routine stuff he’ll refer to your friend Wolf.”

  Not only out of my hands, but into the hands of others! “Did it ever occur to you that we need the business?”

  “Shar, business has been good lately and, besides, I know how much you’ll be making off Ricky’s case.”

  What, had he said I was charging too much? I’d taken a smaller retainer than usual because he was a family member! No, Ricky wouldn’t say a thing like that. Rae meant she knew I’d be making a fair amount because it promised to be a major investigation.

  Get a grip, McCone!

  I took a deep, calming breath and asked, “I can’t talk you out of going down there?”

  “No, you can’t.”

  And if I kept on trying, I’d end up screaming at her, threatening to fire her. What good would that do? I’d already made my position clear, and so had she.

  “Shar,” she added, “I’m sorry. I know this upsets you, but it’s something I feel I have to do.”

  Time to tread softly, for the friendship’s sake. “Okay, I understand.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help with the investigation? Any information you need from him?”

  After a moment’s consideration, I said, “Actually, there is. The note writer’s escalated his or her activities.”

  “You mean the shooting?”

  “No, there’s more, things I haven’t even had the chance to tell Ricky.” I filled her in on the Carolina jessamine that had been left in the trailer and the CD that had appeared with Jamie’s birthday presents. “You remember I told you about the woman from Texas who was harassing him? Well, now I’ve got a name. Get him to talk to you about Patricia Terriss. Charlene found a bill from an attorney Ricky consulted about Terriss, and she brought her up while they were arguing this morning; that was one of the things that precipitated the break.”

  “Patricia Terriss. Spell the last.”

  “T-e-r-r-i-s-s.”

  “Got it.”

  “You know, you were right about his feeling guilty. He’s hiding something important from me, and he deliberately put himself at risk by leaving this house alone. It’s almost as if he wants to be punished for whatever it is. I think Terriss may be at the root of that—as well as being the person behind the harassment.”

  “Well, I’ll get it out of him. He really needs to talk.”

  This time I restrained myself from making a sarcastic and pointless comment. Instead I asked, “Rae, are you sure you’re going to be okay? Ricky’s… well, he’s been breaking hearts all his life.”

  “And I’ve been getting mine broken all my life. Maybe some things never change. Or maybe they do.”

  Twelve

  EXCERPT FROM RAE KELLEHER’S DIARY:

  Some people hate the desert. It’s too big, too empty, too overwhelming. My old boyfriend, Willie Whelan, is like that. His idea of a trip to the desert is a package weekend in Las Vegas. But me, I love it. There’s something comforting in all that vastness. Makes you realize how insignificant your problems are in the grand scheme of things.

  Maybe, I thought as the plane began its descent over the reddish-brown landscape south of Tucson, maybe that’s why Ricky’s running here. Maybe he knows the emptiness will put his anger and pain in perspective. Must be, because he’s like me in so many ways.

  Through the intercom the pilot said, “We’ll be on the ground in five minutes, Ms. Kelleher. Better
fasten your seatbelt.”

  I’d never taken it off, but I checked to make sure it was tight. The whole trip I’d been watching the mountains and the flatlands below and trying to ignore the knot of tension in my stomach, as well as the fact that I really don’t like to fly. Shar has explained aerodynamics to me, but I still don’t see any reason for planes staying up there; as a result, I expend a lot of psychic energy helping them do so when I’m aboard. And then there was the matter of this hastily undertaken trip. And Ricky. God, I was beginning to wish I was back in San Francisco, eating leftover tacos and staring at the tube with his son! As Shar had suggested on the phone earlier, maybe I’d gotten myself in way over my head this time.

  I could see buildings now—reddish-brown brick that blended with the landscape. Most clustered around a swimming pool and tennis courts; a few more backed up to a mesa a fair distance away. Gnarled saguaros that looked like they were shaking fists in the air grew everyplace, as well as weird spiny ocotillos and clumps of sagebrush. A long concrete runway stretched out to our right, its freshly painted markings totally unreassuring. A man leaned on a Jeep beside it. Not Ricky. Our descent got steeper, and I took a deep breath and shut my eyes till I felt the wheels touch down.

  When the plane taxied to a stop I grabbed my bag and purse and climbed out, taking the pilot’s hand for balance. The heat was ungodly—it had to be over a hundred and ten—and the early evening sun blinded me. At first I saw the man walking over from the Jeep only as a silhouette; then my eyes adjusted to the glare and I noted shaggy black hair and Indian features that reminded me of Shar.

  “Ms. Kelleher,” he said, “I’m Miguel Taylor, Rick’s sound engineer. Welcome to Little Savages.”

  “Thank you.” I shook his hand. “Please, call me Rae.”

  “And you call me Mig. I’m meeting you because Rick phoned from the road an hour ago. He had some trouble with the Porsche overheating, but it’s fixed now and he should be here soon.”

  It probably overheated because Ricky was driving like an asshole, I thought. I don’t know why it is, but you put a perfectly normal person behind the wheel of one of those cars, and his absolute worst tendencies come out—especially when he’s just broken up with his wife.