by Allen Eskens
After she’d gone, he took a seat in the chair next to me. I had come there with a thousand questions that I wanted to throw at Bob, questions that all led to the same final point—how do I get my money? But Bob had something heavy on his mind, something more serious than my game-show winnings, so I waited for him to start.
He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Joe, I want to tell you some things, but before I do, I need to know that you will never reveal what I have to say. I need your word on that.”
His solemn tone sobered me right up. I leaned forward to mirror his posture and to better hear his whispery voice. “I promise to keep this conversation a secret,” I said.
He nodded. “As you know, I worked for the State Department for several years. In that time, I made a lot of friends and personal connections—people who know how to get information, if you know what I mean.”
I nodded my understanding.
“Well, after you told me about Charlie Talbert’s partner getting killed in a fire, I had a good friend of mine look into it. Turns out, there was an investigation, but no charges ever came from it. They found evidence of an accelerant, so they knew that it was arson. But the question had been: who set the fire? It started in the upstairs office, and they found Charlie’s partner dead at the bottom of the stairs with a crack in his skull. Kind of looked like the partner dowsed the place with gas and fell down the steps after striking the match.”
“What about Charlie?”
“He had an alibi. Not a good one, but good enough that it muddied things up.”
“You don’t believe him?”
“It’s not my call. But my friend spoke with the investigator on that case, and they don’t believe him. The office had a sprinkler system, and they found traces of epoxy on one of the sprinkler heads. Sprinkler heads are heat activated. They have solder that melts when the temperature gets hot enough. The right kind of glue might keep the solder from melting, slow things down, or maybe even stop the sprinkler from working altogether. That epoxy would have taken some time to dry, and the partner had just gotten back from a trip the afternoon of the fire. Also, the partner had no smoke damage in his lungs or esophagus. That means he died before the smoke got to him.”
“Charlie killed him?”
“That’s the thing. None of this proves that Charlie was involved. The partner could have put epoxy on the sprinkler head days before. And they don’t know how long the man lay at the bottom of those steps before he died. It could have been a minute or two, in which case he could have set the fire, or he could have lain there for twenty minutes while Charlie sloshed gasoline around the place. In the end, though, Charlie never got charged, and he was the sole beneficiary of the insurance policy. One point five million.”
“Can you use this to stop Charlie from becoming Angel’s guardian?”
“Not a word of it. It’s technically still an open investigation. What I just told you is confidential information. It will never find its way into any background study on Charlie. On paper, he looks like a white knight riding in to save the day. I spoke to Miriam Baker, who’s doing his background study, and she’s completely gaga over the prospect of Charlie becoming Angel’s guardian. He’s got the judge on his side too. Hell, the whole town is falling in love with this guy. I’ve never seen such a concerted effort to fast-track the appointment of a guardian.”
“Charlie’s a conniving prick,” I said.
Bob smiled at that one. “Not only that, but he has everyone convinced that you are a violent, irresponsible gold digger. The word at the courthouse is that you’re only here to cash in on the Hix money. Miriam is telling everyone that she saw you beat up Harley Redding down at the Snipe’s Nest and that you lost your own autistic brother.”
“That son of a bitch,” I said. “He’s been undercutting me this whole time.”
“The man knows how to work the system,” Bob said.
“But he won’t hurt Angel—if he becomes her guardian. I mean, he can only get at her money if she lives, right?”
Bob leaned back in his chair, crossing one knee over the other. “Charlie’s smart. If he becomes her guardian, he’ll have control over her interests until she turns eighteen. But there’s a good chance that Angel will have cognitive issues when she comes out of her coma—if she comes out of her coma. In either case, Charlie could have control of her inheritance for life. But I don’t think that’s good enough for Charlie.”
“What do you mean?”
“On Friday, Charlie’s lawyer filed adoption papers. Charlie’s going to adopt Angel.”
“He can’t do that, can he?”
“I think he can. Angel’s fourteen. At fourteen, the child doesn’t need to consent to the adoption, and with her being in a coma, that part is settled. The only consent they would need would be that of the guardian—and Charlie’s going to be the guardian. I suppose the court could put the brakes on if the judge had any concerns, but Charlie’s got them all hoodwinked.”
“But how is being her adoptive father any different than being her guardian? Either way, he’ll siphon her money away.”
Bob looked at me with the seriousness of a hangman and said, “As her adoptive father, he inherits all of her assets if she dies.”
“You…you think that he might kill her?”
“He’ll make it look like an accident or natural causes, but yes, I think Charlie would kill Angel to get at her money. Charlie puts on a big show, but my source tells me that he’s a huge gambler and is in debt up to his neck. His whole life’s an act. He needs that money, and if he killed his partner to get a big payday, why not a girl he’s never met before?”
“Can you stop him?” My words sounded weak and impotent, even to me.
“No. But I think you can.” Bob paused, waiting for me to catch up, but I didn’t see it. “Joe, you have to become Angel’s guardian.”
“Me? I already have a ward. I couldn’t—”
“If you became Angel’s guardian, the court would need your consent for the adoption.”
“I don’t even know her.”
“But we’d have to get your petition to the court as soon as possible. Charlie’s got a big head start. It’s the only way.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I know I’m asking a lot, especially of a young man like yourself, but Angel needs you.”
“I’ve been taking care of my brother, Jeremy, for nearly six years now. It’s hard; you have no idea. Sometimes I get so frustrated, I can’t breathe. I feel like I’ve been taking care of my brother my whole life, living for him, sacrificing for him. Now you want me to take on another one?”
“I understand,” he said. “I really do.”
“I don’t think you do.” I stood and paced to the opposite side of the fire pit, fighting the urge to run that pulled at my legs. “You’ve lived all over the world. You’ve had an exciting life. You’ve done what you wanted to do. I’ve never even been on a plane.” I turned my back to Bob so that he wouldn’t see my frustration tightening along the muscles of my jaw. “You’re asking too much of me.”
Bob waited for my ranting to die away. Then he said, “Can I tell you a story?” It was a rhetorical question because he launched into his story without pausing for my input.
“I understand your desire to see the world. Hell, I grew up here in Buckley. But sometimes the world looks prettier from a distance.”
I turned to face Bob, who had his gaze set on a patch of pines in the distance, a melancholy smile curling up on his cheeks as he gathered his thoughts.
“Sarah and I dated all through high school. I think I fell in love with her before we even shared our first kiss. But like you, I had that wanderlust, and I couldn’t bear the thought of staying here in Buckley, or in Minnesota for that matter. It was hard, but after graduation, I broke up with Sarah and set off to see the world.
“And I did see some amazing places, cities and countries that most people only dream about. B
ut every time I woke up in a new bed—every time I gazed out of my window at some view that I had dreamt of as a child—I felt…well, empty. It didn’t matter how blue the waters or how white the snow, there was always something missing. I began to realize that I was terribly unhappy. Lonely.
“One day, I was sitting on a balcony overlooking the Alps, trying to remember if I had ever been happy in my life, and I thought of Sarah. That’s what brought me back here to Buckley. Sarah was a widow by then, and I had never married. I guess life has a funny way of working out sometimes. I don’t know how to explain it, Joe, except to say that sometimes home isn’t a place, it’s a person, and my home had always been right here, with Sarah.”
Bob pulled his gaze away from the pine trees and looked at me. “You’re a young man, though. You’ll have to figure these things out for yourself. Hell, back in the day if some old fart had tried to tell me that the great out there wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, I would have told him to mind his own damned business. You know the stakes. All I can ask is that you think about it before you say no.”
Sarah came out of the house carrying a tea tray.
“But you have those great experiences,” I said. “That has to count for something.”
Bob glanced at his wife, and his disquiet seemed to melt away. “At the end of the day, Joe, only one thing counts. Everything else is just shiny baubles and empty noise.”
Chapter 35
I left Bob’s house more confused than when I’d arrived. Back at the motel, I sat on my bed and contemplated the enormity of what he was asking of me, calculations of selfishness and regret and virtue all fighting to be heard. I knew what was right, but also knew what I wanted, and those two ends remained miles apart.
I pulled my phone out and considered calling Lila. Would this too be a selfish act? I wanted her opinion, but more than that, I needed her calming influence. She would know what to do, but it seemed unfair to spring this on her so close to her bar exam. As I stared at the phone, going back and forth, I noticed that I had missed a call from Allison Cress. That was all I needed—one more angry cat to toss in the gunnysack. I called her back.
“Hi, Allison, what’s up?”
“Hi, Joe. I need to talk to you about something. You got a second?” I could tell by Allison’s tone that the news was not going to be good.
“Sure,” I said.
“I wanted to let you know that we wrote a follow-up story to your article on Senator Dobbins.”
“A follow-up?”
“Yes, Joe. We’re running a story to explain how we know about Dobbins assaulting his wife. We’re going to identify the source.”
“But…you can’t do that. I gave my word.”
“I’m sorry, Joe. This is coming from higher up. I wrote the story myself. It’ll go online Wednesday.”
“You’ll destroy her family. Penny trusted me. You can’t give her up. I won’t allow it.”
“Joe,” she said sharply, but then in a softer voice continued, “Joe, you can’t stop the story. The decision’s been made. I’m just calling to give you the heads-up.”
“They made the decision without even talking to me?”
“It’s not your call.”
“Well, it’s my call whether I’ll work for an organization that would do something like this.”
“Joe, don’t.”
“Allison, if you run that story, I’ll have no choice but to quit.”
The words came easier to me than I would have thought, and I wondered whether I would have said them at all if I didn’t have the promise of three million dollars in my back pocket. Maybe I wasn’t meant to be a reporter. Maybe my calling would be to gather needy half-brothers and sisters to my home and take care of them. Perhaps Allison’s call was what I needed to make up my mind about Angel.
“I hate to hear you say that, Joe, but I understand. If I were in your shoes, I’d probably do the same thing. You’re a good reporter, and I’d hate to lose you.”
“You’ve been a good boss,” I said. And with that, we said our goodbyes.
I looked around my empty motel room and felt the urge to be anyplace but there. Buckley may not have had a nightlife, but it had fresh air and sidewalks aplenty. And if that didn’t do the trick, there was always the Snipe’s Nest, which appealed to that small part of me that felt like basking in my imminent prosperity.
As I made my way toward Main Street, I could hear the sounds of laughter and loud talking coming from a nearby park, where a group of men stood gabbing and drinking beer. I thought I could see the tail of Uncle Charlie’s car parked in the line of vehicles down there. I turned and walked in the opposite direction. Half a block later, I found myself at the door to the Snipe’s Nest. I peeked in before entering, just to make sure that Harley Redding wasn’t inside. The bar was fairly empty of customers, which wasn’t surprising given that it was still well ahead of suppertime.
Vicky was leaning against the bar, studying some papers in front of her.
“Is the kitchen open?” I asked.
“Has to be,” Vicky said. “We can’t sell beer on Sunday unless we also sell food. What’ll you have?”
“Can I get a cheeseburger basket and fries?”
As she relayed my order to Marv, I glanced at the papers she’d been looking at and saw that it was an application to Minnesota State University in Mankato. “You’re applying to college?” I asked, unable to keep a big smile from stretching across my face.
“Yes, I’m applying,” she said, with an impish grin. “That doesn’t mean that I’ll get in or get enough financial aid to make it happen, but yes…I’m applying.”
“Well, that is outstanding.”
“I have a long way to go before this happens—if it happens—so don’t get too excited.” She slid the application off the bar and picked up a clean glass. “Beer?”
“Sure—no, wait. You know what? I’m in the mood for something special tonight. I haven’t had a Jack and Coke in forever. How about one of those?”
“You got it.” She scooped ice into a glass and started pouring the whiskey, letting it flow until it was more of a double. “What’s the occasion?”
“Well, I guess I’m celebrating.”
“And what are you celebrating?”
“I’m Toke Talbert’s son,” I said. “The DNA test came back today.”
“Well, hot damn and pass the gravy. I think that deserves a drink on the house.” She slid my Jack and Coke to me. Then she grabbed a bottle of vodka and started pouring a drink for herself. We clinked glasses and took a drink. The whiskey went down like butterscotch.
“So whatcha gonna do with all that…you know…”
“Inheritance?” I finished her question for her. I took another pull from my drink as I gave her question some thought. “I don’t know. What would you do?”
“I’d get the hell out of Buckley, that’s for sure. I mean, with that kind of scratch, you could go anywhere.”
“Where would you go, if you could go anywhere?” I asked
“Where wouldn’t I go? I’d love to see Europe. Did you know there’s castles in Germany where you can rent a room like it’s a hotel?”
“I did not know that,” I said.
My whiskey-Coke tasted good. I finished it off and put my glass down so she could pour me another—which she did.
“Could you imagine making love in a castle that’s hundreds of years old?” Her eyes lit up as she spoke. “Lying naked in a room where some king put it to his queen?”
“Or to his chambermaid.”
“There you go.” She held her glass up, and we clinked them again.
“With my luck, I’d book the room that used to be the privy.”
“The privy?”
“The bathroom.”
“Aw, come on. What would be cooler than doing it in a castle?”
“How about on a beach?” I said.
“You’ve obviously never had sex on a beach.”
“I’ve never e
ven been to a beach, not one with an ocean attached to it.”
“You’ve never seen the ocean?”
“Never.”
“Oh, Joe, you have some living to do.”
“Well, that’s the plan now that I’m about to have the means.”
“Then, here’s to Toke Talbert.” She raised her glass a third time, and I raised mine.
“To the founder of the feast,” I said, channeling a little Charles Dickens.
This time, instead of a quick clink, Vicky moved her glass slowly in until the rim of her tumbler touched mine, holding it there before raising it to her lips.
At that moment, the front door to the Snipe’s Nest opened.
“Well, look at this shit,” Harley Redding hollered, his words stumbling over a drunken tongue. Uncle Charlie stood next to Harley with a big grin slapped on his face. They walked toward us, Harley holding the edge of the bar to keep his balance. Charlie didn’t seem to have the same issue.
I turned in my seat and was about to stand to meet them when Charlie nudged the younger man into a booth a few feet shy of my position. Harley fell into the booth and laughed.
Charlie called out to Vicky, “A beer and a shot for me and my new friend here.”
“I ain’t giving that drunk skunk nothing,” she said.
Harley’s head wobbled on his neck as he leaned out of the booth. “Who you gotta…fuck around here…to get a goddamn drink?” Then he burst into laughter and pointed at Vicky. “That’s right.” He laughed so hard he could barely get the words out. “I gotta fuck you.”
Vicky turned to the kitchen, where Marv was working on my dinner, and whispered something to him—apprising him of the situation would be my guess. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Charlie stand and make his way toward the bar. I didn’t turn.
“Could I get a couple shots of whiskey?” he asked politely.
To that, Vicky raised an eyebrow and said, “I’m not serving Harley. He’s too drunk already.”
“They’re not for him; they’re for me—both of ’em.”
Vicky kept her eyes trained on Charlie as she lifted a bottle and began to pour.
