by Lora Roberts
I had always regarded her as possessing some innate wisdom about how to be female. Beside her grace and assurance, I’d always felt awkward and lacking in charm.
“Do you wear miniskirts, now that they’re in again?”
“What?” The question put her off balance. “Of course not—never again.” She studied me as I leaned against the car. “At least, I have some interest in clothes. You never did, as I recall—just wore those jeans and work shirts constantly. Almost like a prison—”
“Yeah, a lot like a prison uniform.”
She looked at the ground for a moment. “I never felt so humiliated in my life,” she said quietly, “as I did when my baby sister went to jail. I can never forgive you for that.”
“Man, all you people really know how to hold grudges.” I studied those downcast eyes. Her makeup was much more subtle now, but she still wore a lot of it, still looked fashionable and with-it, the kind of mom kids don’t mind being seen with. “I’ve been working on overcoming mine.”
“Don’t you understand?” That well-manicured hand shot out and gripped my arm with amazing force. “They blamed me. Mom—Dad—even some of my own friends were asking how I could let that happen. Like I was supposed to be in charge of your life still, as if I hadn’t had you around my neck constantly from the moment you were born—”
“Come off it, Molly.” Her grip was harder to shake off this time. “You wrote me off just like the rest of them when I married Tony. The one time I came to you for help after he beat me, you told me to go back to him, that marriage was forever—”
“So it is,” she said fiercely. “You’re not the only one who didn’t get what she bargained for in marriage. You’re just the one who dragged her family’s name in the mud trying to get out of it. I would never do that, never.”
“You’re a Fahey now, not a Sullivan. It wasn’t even your name.”
Her hand dropped from my arm, and she sighed. “Denver isn’t really such a big place. There’s always someone who knows where you came from. I was slated to be PTA president that year. but after people started whispering that I was your sister, it evaporated. Now that I’m up for school board and this close to being elected—” her fingers measured an infinitesimal distance “—you do it again.”
I couldn’t help it. I started to laugh.
“Damn it, Liz!” Molly reached out to shake me again. “It’s funny to you that I had to work so hard to get accepted without a college degree or the advantages you threw away!”
I backed away from that angry hand and controlled myself.
“Sorry. It’s not really funny. You’re right. I blew my college education on a guy who regularly hammered on me. I went to jail, spent years hiding from him. And all the time you were being stigmatized by the PTA. Pardon me, Molly. I was so out of line.”
She folded her arms and gave me a cold, level look. “It all came out of your own bad decision. Take some responsibility, Liz. Stop blaming us for your problems. Everybody’s got problems, especially when it comes to marriage. At least when I married Bill, I knew there would be a comfortable future for us, for any kids we would have. You were just in a hormone haze. That’s no way to make a decision about a lifelong commitment.”
“What do you know about marital problems?” I gestured back at the house. “Live-in help, strapping boys—Mom showed me a picture of your house. Very fancy.”
“Bill and I worked hard for our success.”
“So if you made such good choices, so much better than mine, what’s the problem now?”
For once she looked unsure of herself. “None of your business
Silence settled between us. I waited for her to climb into the chrome-laden sport utility vehicle behind my bus, which I assumed was her upward mobile.
“Well, this is all beside the point. What I wanted to say was, if you drag Byron into your problems, I’ll see you put away again.” She said it casually, but I didn’t doubt the sincerity.
I wondered what had happened that morning to rile Biff, and if his mother knew. Somehow, I doubted that. Molly would have been a lot more pointed if she knew that Biff believed I’d told the police he was involved in Tony’s murder.
“Look, I barely met your son. As far as Dad’s gun goes, I know nothing except that the police want that gun and Dad doesn’t have it anymore.” I was getting tired of explaining myself. Obviously I couldn’t have taken it, since I was only in the house for half an hour, with Amy or Mom the whole time, before Tony was tossed on the porch.”
She winced. “Poor Tony.”
The words were muttered, but I caught them. “Poor Tony? So you had a soft spot for him, did you? Is that why you wouldn’t help me out?”
She flushed. “Not a soft spot, but he wasn’t the monster you made him out to be. There are two sides to everything, Liz, and your behavior frustrated him so much.”
I had heard similar sentiments from Maud. I didn’t care any more for them when they came from my sister.
“So, had you been seeing him all along?”
“Certainly not,” she said, affronted. “I wasn’t ‘seeing’ him to begin with. I simply ran into him every so often. We had lunch a couple of times.”
I remembered that when Molly lied, her earlobes turned red. They were glowing rosily now.
“Had you seen him lately? Do you know what he was doing to make a living?”
“Really, Liz.” She backed away. “I don’t have to answer these questions.”
I followed her, until she was pressed against the shiny flank of her vehicle. “You’ve already made it clear that you’d have no hesitation about getting me jailed. Why should I feel differently about you? Let me tell you, Molly, I feel threatened. And I think the police would be interested to know that you were buddies with Tony.”
“We weren’t buddies.” The words burst out. “I did use him, and we had lunch once in a while. That’s all.”
“Use him? How?”
“I mean, used his placement service.” She took a tissue out of her wallet-on-a-string and dabbed at her eyes. “You’re really upsetting me, Liz. It’s true that Tony worked under the table to avoid taxes. A lot of people do that. There was nothing wrong with it.”
“Wrong with what? What did he do?”
“He helped people hire domestic workers and such.” She gestured toward the house. “He found my last three housekeepers, including Conchita. It’s a good deal for her as well as me.” Her voice was defensive. “I treat her well, and make an effort to teach her English, give her time off for ESL classes and everything. I’ve gotten all the materials together for her so she can work toward being a permanent resident.”
“So Tony was dealing in wetbacks.”
“Shh, Liz. That’s such a derogatory term.” She actually glanced around to check if anyone could hear me. “They really hate to be called that. Besides, she has a green card. I insisted on that.”
“How did Tony get hold of her?”
“I don’t know. He found people on a corner somewhere, I guess.” She shrugged her indifference, but her face was uneasy. “This has nothing whatever to do with his death. How could it?”
“I don’t know.” I didn’t follow her when she scuttled around to climb into her vehicle. But I did know that Officer Eva would find it very interesting.
Chapter 21
I didn’t want to go looking for Eva at the police station. I’d already decided O’Malley wasn’t on my side, and now that I knew who probably had Dad’s missing gun, I wanted even less to encounter him. Despite what I’d said to Molly, I had no desire to get Sullivans or Faheys in unnecessary trouble. But certainly, given the family solidarity Molly showed, I wasn’t taking the rap for any hulking young nephew who came along.
I drove slowly past the police station, but I couldn’t recognize Eva’s cruiser from anyone else’s. I decided to go back to Andy’s and call from there, hoping to escape O’Malley somehow.
The way led past Amy’s high school. Judging by the
crowds of bizarrely dressed young people milling around, school was just letting out. I remembered how much battling had gone on over the first slackenings in the dress code during my high school days—what a big deal it was when girls were allowed to wear shorts or jeans, just as boys were. Now there seemed to be no limits on dress, other than not being naked. The kids showed an incredible range of tribal costumes.
Amy was in a cluster of people of hair color, as I had started terming them during the summer. She saw me, gave a big wave, and hustled over, dragging Kimberly with her.
“Hi, Aunt Liz. Are you picking me up?”
“If you want a ride.”
“Can we give Kimberly a ride, too?” Her companion looked up through a fringe of green-tipped black spikes—and those were just her eyelashes.
“Sure. Hop in.”
They hopped in, with Amy making much of Barker and introducing him to her friend. “What a cool dog,” Kimberly enthused. “I totally feel that you, like, belong together.”
Amy giggled. “I could bleach my hair and put some black spots on, to match him.”
Kimberly gave this serious consideration. “Not bleach, Amy. It, like, totally wrecks your follicles. You can strip it instead, but I don’t know.” She picked up a lock of Amy’s persimmon-colored hair. “Some damage there already.”
“Right.” Amy blew upward through her bangs, causing them, for a moment, to stand along her hairline like gaudy sentinels. “I’m thinking maybe I’ll let it all grow out. I’ve kinda forgotten what color it was to start with.”
“Give it a chance to heal,” Kimberly agreed. “And Ronnie Layton might like it better, too.”
I could swear Amy blushed, from the peek I stole in the rearview mirror while I negotiated the streets. “So what?” She was defiant. “Like, who cares what that pimp thinks?”
“Pimp?” I was so astonished that I forgot the first rule of being an acceptable grownup—always pretend you hear nothing. “Someone at your school is a pimp?”
“Well, yeah,” Kimberly said, giving me a puzzled look. “I mean, some of them are pimping all the time, you know?”
Amy reached forward and gave me a condescending pat. “Aunt Liz. Whatever that meant in the olden days, it just means a guy who sleeps around a lot and gets as many women as he can, and stuff.” She turned to Kimberly. “It used to have some obscene thing to do with sex, probably,” she confided. “That’s how they react to that.”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Kimberly nodded wisely. “Like hoes. Whores,” she enunciated carefully. “That used to mean getting paid for sex, you know. Now it just means girls who sleep around a lot or act like they do.”
“Not even that,” Amy contradicted. “Some guys will call you that if you won’t sleep with them.”
“Right.” Kimberly twisted in her seat. “My house is down there,” she said, pointing to a street of houses much like Andy’s. “I’d, like, ask you in, Amy, but I’m grounded. Math bomb,” she added dolefully.
I pulled up where she told me, and she hopped out, after a final pat for Barker and belated thanks shouted toward me.
“She seems nice,” I remarked, surprised at how inane it sounded. Rule Number Two for being an acceptable grownup—never comment on the friends of your teen, at least not out loud. Simply agree with any assessment the teen offers. I was really blowing it big-time.
“Kimberly? She’s always grounded.” Amy coaxed Barker to the seat beside her—not a difficult task. “At least I get my homework turned in.”
“The math bomb—is that heavy-duty homework?” I broke Rule Number Three—never ask questions.
Amy was in a tolerant mood. “It means you’ve gotten a warning notice and you’re cruising for an F,” she said. “They never give you an F unless you’re a total screw-up, though.”
I hoped I hadn’t used up my quota of answers, because I had more questions. “Amy, about your cousin Biff. Do you see much of him?”
“Biff is scum,” Amy said vehemently.
“You don’t like him.”
Amy appeared to get a grip. “Let’s just say he sends the needle off the vomit meter.” Her face was screwed into an expression of distaste. “He went to another school last year, but they kicked him out. So now he goes to my school. And he’s even in my grade now, because of being held back a year.”
“Is he stupid?”
She considered this. “Well, not really. He just acts like an asshole all the time. Aunt Molly wants to be on the school board, partly because she’s always fighting with the teachers over Biff.”
“What’s the worst thing about him?” This question is much better at eliciting answers than the blander, what-kind-of-person-is-he type.
“He backed me into a corner at Aunt Molly’s Labor Day cookout.” Amy sniffed. “Not the first time, either. He’s always trying to feel me up, going like this—” she made smacking noises with her lips “—and telling me we’re kissing cousins. He stuck his hand right down my T-shirt!”
I love Amy dearly, but she brings out the reactionary in me. I had to bite my lip to keep from telling her that girls who wear low-cut, skimpy Tshirts are asking for negative attention from creeps like Biff. My brain says women should be free to wear whatever they want without suffering masculine harassment. But my gut wants to stand up and shout, “Beware, young ladies! The world is not a fair place, and it’s run by men!”
I didn’t do that. “So what happened? Did you tell your parents or Molly?”
“My mom says if I don’t want him to do that, I shouldn’t dress like I do.” Amy’s curled lip showed what she thought of that advice. “And Aunt Molly yelled at me because she’s always afraid Biff will knock up some girl and have to pay her off.” She sniffed. “As if I’d let his dick anywhere near me!”
“So what did you do?”
“I kneed him,” she said calmly. “You know, Aunt Liz. You’re the one who showed me how.”
“Well … good. Guess that took care of it.”
“He was in a lot of pain.” Amy looked undecided. “I mean, it served him right, but I almost apologized. Then he said he would make me sorry, and I told him if he bothered me again I would spread it around that he tried to have sex but couldn’t get it up, and that his weenie was really the size of a Vienna sausage.”
I pulled up in front of Andy’s house, fighting the impulse to burst into hysterical laughter.
“Besides, he stole Grampa’s gun,” Amy added, and the laughter congealed.
“Are you sure?”
“He stole Grampa’s gun. I told Daddy, but he just brushed me off—don’t think he even heard me.” Amy’s lower lip stuck out. “They never listen to me. Anyway, Biff’s had the gun at school a couple of times. Once he was showing it around his group of moronic friends, and my friend Shayla told the principal, but he cut school that afternoon so they didn’t find it when they searched his locker.”
“Does he still have it?”
“Maybe.” Her eyes grew round. “Aunt Liz—do you suppose—nah, even Biff wouldn’t kill someone just because he thought his mom was banging him.”
I sorted through that confused sentence. “Biff thought Molly was having an affair with Tony?”
Amy looked undecided. “He saw Aunt Molly with some guy in a bar one afternoon. In the assembly next day he was sitting behind me, and I heard him tell one of his so-called friends that if some dickhead was moving in on his mom, he’d make dog meat out of him. Maybe it was Tony—I don’t know.”
“Did anyone else hear him say that?”
“Yeah, about half the school is all. He’s really loud.” Amy looked at me. “Are you going to turn him in?”
“No.” I hadn’t known what I thought about it until the word was spoken. “After all, he’s my nephew. And he’s probably no more likely to have murdered Tony than I am.”
“You didn’t.” Amy sounded positive. “I’ve planned your defense for you. We all have alibis—except Daddy, and he was just hanging around waiting for Gr
ampa to get out of the VFW meeting.” She breezed on past this little nugget before I could quite take it in. “Mom was cooking dinner, and I had so much homework I hardly lifted my nose from the computer until just before dinnertime. Gramma was sick in bed, and Grampa didn’t have his gun anymore, anyway.” She faltered a bit. “I don’t know about Aunt Molly and Uncle Bill, but Uncle Dan’s been in Montana with the oil rig crew for the past three weeks, and Aunt Dot went up there with their boys last week to spend a few days. So you see, we’re all okay, except probably for Biff.”
“What about his brothers—Brewster and—who’s the other one?”
“Brendan.” Amy dismissed him with a wave of the hand. “Brewster’s at the Air Force Academy—that’s in Colorado Springs, you know.”
“I know.” I blinked. “He must be pretty smart. I thought it was hard to get into that.”
“Aunt Molly put pressure on some government guy Uncle Bill was working with, and got Brewster a recommendation.” Amy shrugged. “He’s not dumb—none of those guys are. And he’ll grind some. He wants to be a Top Gun.”
“I see.”
“And Brendan’s at UK in Lawrence, Kansas.” Amy waved in a vaguely eastern direction. “Biff’s the only one who says he doesn’t want to go to college. He works construction with Daddy in the summers.” Her lower lip stuck out. “Daddy thinks he’s so cool because of that. As if any jerk couldn’t form concrete.”
