by Julie Smith
If Miz Clara had shot her husband, she must have had a damn good reason.
Was it about me? she thought, remembering her worry that he’d molested her, that that was what the silence was all about.
If it was, she didn’t want to know.
Chapter 17
Eddie was in the office early, even before Eileen, having slept barely at all. Listening to Audrey cry like that, knowing he couldn’t go to her, was probably the hardest thing he ever had to do. It made him think of something else almost as bad— the time the maid had called him at work and told him to meet Audrey at the emergency room.
When he got there, he could hear his son screaming behind walls and curtains, stranded somewhere in a labyrinth of treatment rooms he couldn’t have navigated even if he’d managed to penetrate the shield of bureaucracy that was the first hurdle.
The boy had been five, stricken with acute appendicitis, but at the time Eddie didn’t know that, knew only that his son was in agony somewhere that Eddie couldn’t go. It was the first time he realized how much he loved his son, how crazy he’d go if anything happened to him.
It was the night he’d taken the vow, too. The vow. The pledge. He’d completely forgotten. And that was what this whole ten-year thing was all about.
He thought about that. He’d forgotten the thing this was all about, the thing that was so important it had kept him from speaking to his son for a decade.
He could get mystical about that, if he let himself, his taking the vow, never being able to break it, then forgetting it, and now Anthony back and Audrey reminding him of it with her crying. There were people who’d say things about it being meant to be and everything happening for a reason, but Eddie didn’t have two seconds for people like that.
So far as he was concerned, there was nothing beautiful or symmetrical about this, it only made him feel like a piece of crap, which was what Audrey thought, anyway. Angie would, too. Maybe he should try to get to her first, before Audrey or Anthony.
But what would I say? he thought. “I can explain?” He couldn’t, not even to himself.
The vow was this: I’m going to send my son to college no matter what.
How was he supposed to explain that it had become the most important thing in his life and that Anthony had made it impossible for him to keep it? The damn vow had become more important than the kid.
He brushed at his face, as if he could make it go away. It just got out of hand, was the best he could do.
That was so lame it made him want to puke. He couldn’t say something like that to Angie. He couldn’t say anything. Hell, let her think he was a piece of crap; he thought so himself.
His mind wouldn’t stop. It kept going on like that, never giving him a minute’s peace. Finally, he’d just gotten up and dressed in yesterday’s clothes. He thought he’d go to the office, at least try to make peace with his business— do something right. Audrey had come into the kitchen while he was puttering around. She’d walked up to him and taken his hand and squeezed it and looked into his eyes, her own overflowing.
He didn’t know what to do. His tongue seemed to be nailed to the roof of his mouth. Finally, she said, “Eddie, ya did what ya thought was right,” and released his hand. She poured herself a cup of the coffee he had made, all the while keeping her back to him, and finally, she said, “Ya look terrible. At least go put on some clean clothes.” And that was how he knew he was once again welcome in the bedroom.
So here he was with a bad taste in his mouth from too much coffee too early, and a head spinning from the barrage of memories, the fusillade of guilt that had besieged him in the night. He was staring balefully at the pile of papers on his desk, trying to think of a way to avoid it, when he was startled by the phone.
He looked at his watch. Eight-thirty. Way too early for anyone to call. Still, it beat unloading his in-box. He picked up and was once again startled by a little female gasp; of horror, it sounded like. “I was going to leave a message. I didn’t think anyone would be there.”
He was surprised that he recognized her voice. “Good mornin’, Ms. Scott. Lovely mornin’, don’t you think?”
She’d apparently gotten over her initial panic, and moved on to haughtiness. “Mr. Valentino. I’m in a terrific hurry. I called to leave you a message. I won’t be needing your services any longer.”
He pulled out his drawl for her. It was slow and sounded halfway stupid; with arrogant people, it tended to put him at an advantage. “Well, I reckon not. Ms. Wallis tells me she’s about got to the bottom of things.”
“Ms. Wallis! Ms. Wallis is who I want to talk to you about.”
“I thought you didn’t want to talk to anybody. Isn’t that why you called so early?”
“I don’t have time to talk to anybody. But it would seem that we’re talking. So let me be brief and to the point. I am extremely sorry to report that Ms. Wallis has behaved unprofessionally. She came highly recommended and indeed I chose your firm because of her reputation. But I do not feel she is an asset to you, and I feel you should know. She has been very disappointing, and that is why I am turning the case over to another private investigator.”
Eddie reflected how strange it is that people stop using contractions when they get up on their high horse. He made his voice even slower and sleepier than before. “Well, now. Just what did Ms. Wallis do to get ya so upset?”
“It wasn’t what she did to me. It was what she did to my daughter.”
“And what was that, ma’am?”
“She badgered her. She visited her at choir practice and then again at our private home, trying to get her to identify a man Cassandra has never met. As a matter of fact, she behaved as if Cassandra were the suspect rather than the victim. She made her cry, Mr. Valentino. She made my fourteen-year-old daughter cry!” Her voice rose with every sentence. Eddie made sure his dropped.
“Well, now, I’m real sorry to hear that.” He spoke so softly he even annoyed himself. “Ms. Wallis is one of my best investigators.” The words came out about one every three seconds.
“I was under the impression she is your only investigator.”
He allowed himself a chuckle. “Well now, I guess you’ve got me there, ma’am. Tell me, what exactly did Ms. Wallis say that Cassandra found so offensive?”
He heard her draw in a breath. He could almost hear what she was thinking: If I’d been able to leave a message, this conversation wouldn’t be happening.
“It wasn’t what she said, it was her manner.”
“And what was that, ma’am? Was she belligerent?”
“I’m not sure I’d…”
He didn’t let her finish. “Was she threatening?”
“She just wouldn’t let up.”
“Ah. She was persistent.”
“You can call it what you like, Mr. Valentino. My daughter’s been in tears ever since her visit.”
That he could believe. “I want to thank you for tellin’ me about this. I’m gon’ make a note to give Ms. Wallis a talkin’ to.”
“You do that, Mr. Valentino.”
“I enjoyed meetin’ your lovely daughter. I wonder if I could tell her so myself?”
“I think she’s been upset quite enough.”
“Well, I enjoyed meetin’ you too, Ms. Scott. Let me know if I can do anything else for ya.”
“I think that, under the circumstances, you ought to return the retainer.”
He’d known that one was coming. People like Aziza Scott didn’t cut you an inch of slack. “I don’t know, Ms. Scott. We put in a lot of work on this. Maybe we could negotiate something in between.”
“If a check for the entire amount is not on my desk before the end of the week, you will be hearing from my lawyer.”
Once again, she’d lost her contractions.
“Well, like I said, it’s been real nice workin’ for ya.” He figured even she would see through the sarcasm, but he didn’t have it in him to excise it.
* * *
Eile
en was at lunch when Talba arrived, but the minute her foot crossed the threshold, Eddie’s voice boomed out, “Ms. Wallis, get in here.”
She almost wished she’d stayed out the whole day. She was in no mood for Eddie’s blustering. Something about her face must have made that clear. She’d gotten only as far as his door when he said, “Good God, what is it? I give ya the morning off, and ya come in looking like ya haven’t slept.”
“Not to be rude, but that’s a perfect description of you.”
“Touché, Ms. Wallis. Touché.” He shook his head and his eye bags jiggled. They looked to be developing cellulite. “Sit down, why don’t ya? Now tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s nothing. I mean, it’s nothing to do with the case. I just… you know, a female thing.”
It was all she could do to suppress a giggle when, on cue, Eddie’s color deepened. She didn’t know all that much about white men, but one thing she knew well— any mention of menstruation, no matter how oblique, and they were on the next train out of town. She truly treasured this about them; it afforded her the one foolproof form of manipulation she had. She wished she could remember to use it more often.
She shrugged, as if in apology. “Sorry. You asked.”
“Hey, I got a wife and daughter. Hell, Eileen too. Misses three days every month. You gonna do that?”
She even loved the way they got defensive about it. “Uh-uh. I’m going to give you worse things to worry about.”
“I got a little taste of that first thing this morning. Client called and fired us.”
Nice segué, she thought. Just when we were playing so nicely. “I’m not surprised,” she said. “I got the feeling she’s rethought the whole situation.”
“How so?”
“I don’t think she really wants to find the guy. I think she’s thrown money at it and assuaged her conscience. End of story.”
“That sounds a little self-servin’, don’t ya think?”
Alarm bells went off. “I don’t understand.”
“She complained about ya, Ms. Wallis. Said you’re unprofessional, and she’s hiring another detective.”
“I see. And what was the nature of her complaint?”
“I think you know.”
Frantically, Talba flipped back through her encounters with the Scotts. Nothing came up. “I’m not getting anything. I wonder if it had something to do with what happened at the Bergerons’.”
“Said ya made the kid cry.”
“Oh. She didn’t cry while I was there. She was damn surly, though.”
“Did ya reprimand her?”
“That’s not my place.”
“Did ya cuss her?”
She was outraged. “No! Did Aziza Scott say I did?”
He chuckled. “Take it easy, Ms. Wallis. I’m teasin’ ya.”
Talba closed her eyes in frustration, sorry she’d taken the bait. “Well. Sorry she wasn’t pleased. Does this mean we don’t get paid?”
Eddie drummed his fingers as if the question wasn’t worth his time. “Ah, hell. It ain’t no big deal.”
“Well, what was that we just went through, then? What was, ‘Ms. Wallis, get in here.’”
“That was me bringing out the rubber hoses. If you were guilty, you woulda confessed.”
“Oh, come on. Pretty gentle for an interrogation.”
“If you were guilty, it wouldn’t have been. But you weren’t. I can read people.”
Oh, right, she thought.
“I put a pile of stuff on ya desk. See if ya get through it today. If you’re done by four o’clock, I’ll start showing ya the books— so you can take ‘em over.”
Her chair scraped on the wood floor as she got up. “I was hoping you forgot.”
She turned on her computer and checked her email. Tony Tino had written her. Had thanked her and invited her to write him again. She didn’t know if she dared.
There were various other missives from various friends— mostly fellow nerds— and there was something so unexpected she wondered if it were real:
Talba— I’m writing on a cokmputer at school. I enjoyed meting you. lm really really relaly worried about paemla. dont tell anyone i wrote you. cassandra
She printed it out and took it in to Eddie. “What do you make of this?”
He read it and looked up at her, keeping his chin down, so that his eyes looked like two brown moons over the purple ponds of his eye bags. “The kid’s scared to death.”
“If I’m the only one she can talk to, she really is in trouble. Before this, I’d have said she hates my guts.”
“You think this thing’s authentic?”
“All I know is, it really did come from her school. Xavier Prep, if you recall. I don’t think any of the other players would have access to it. Shaneel goes to Fortier.”
Eddie drummed his desk. Talba noticed that he did that a lot. “We’re out of it,” he said.
“What about Pamela?”
“We’ve got to assume if she was missing, her parents would report her missing.”
She was disappointed. She realized she’d been expecting more; hoping for more.
I’m losing it, she thought. I’m getting a dad thing for him. For times like this, she kept a diary file in her computer.
She went back to her office and started messing around in it: Repeat after me, please: Eddie Valentino is no knight in shining armor. He’s just a guy in business. If nobody pays for it, it isn’t his job, okay? You got that?
Yes ma’am, Miz Talba, yes ma’am. You sure are one good mama— darn near as good as Miz Clara herself.
Good. Now go do your job. Think you can manage that?
I don’t know. What if I went to Skip Langdon and told her everything?
You’ve already done that, idiot. She knows about Toes.
Yes, but Pamela.
You can’t report a missing person if you don’t know she’s missing. What are you thinking of? Just do your job.
Okay. Pep talk over.
It was as good a way as any to warm up for work. For a while, she hacked away at the pile of employee checks Eddie had put on her desk. Fortunately for their potential bosses, they were all upstanding citizens. Unfortunately for her, however— it was turning out to be one of the most boring afternoons she could remember. And to top it off, she was about to have dinner with Corey and Michelle. That didn’t sound a whole lot livelier.
About four, Eddie popped his head in. “How ya comin’ ?”
“Drowning in paper.”
“Now ya know what this job’s all about. Forget about the mean streets. Ninety-nine percent of it’s as routine as filing ya nails. Listen, let’s do the books another day— I’ve got to go see Angie about something.”
“Sure. I’ve got plenty to do.”
“By the way, Pamela’s okay. Her parents sent her out of town for a while.”
A sunburst of relief fanned out in Talba’s chest— and it had nothing to do with Pamela. “How do you know that?”
“I’m a private dick— you hadn’t heard?”
But something was funny about it. “Why would they send her away in the middle of the school year?”
“Distraught about her sister— near nervous breakdown.” He put on his sport coat. “It happens. Have a nice weekend.”
Talba stared after him, feeling like a dog newly rescued from the pound— falling in love with the hand that feeds it. Love was about right. The moment she realized he’d checked up on Pamela, she had an unreasonable surge of affection for him. The trouble was, she knew what it was; she knew exactly what it was.
And that old white man is most assuredly not my father! she told herself. He’s not even a good father. Ask Tony Tino.
In the end, she did. After a premarital investigation (or sweetie snoop, as she’d quickly dubbed it) that had proved to be lots of fun— Impostor Caught Red-handed by Brilliant Computer Jockey— she emailed Tony, and caught him online.
He wrote back, “Shall we have a drink? Meet
me in my favorite cyber-bar.”
A few directions later, they were ensconced in a private chat room.
“Got your martini?” he asked.
“I’m having tea. You?”
“Beer— this is Texas. Listen, I have a lot to thank you for. You know how long it’s been since my dad’s spoken to me?”
“Ten years, I gather. He’s born again, Tony— a completely new person. He even took me out to dinner last night.”
“Your treat, I’m sure.”
“I’m not kidding. I think he wasn’t quite ready to tell your mother he’d talked to you. Also, he wanted to tell me about you.”
“All bad, of course.”
“He’s really missed you.”
“Actually, I called my mother and told her. And I found out something really bad.”
Talba’s mouth went dry. “He’s not sick, is he?”
“Nothing like that. I’m not ready to talk about it yet— and probably shouldn’t, to one of my dad’s employees. Still, unloading to a stranger is what chat rooms are all about. Families are a pain— you know that? Didn’t you say your dad passed away? I’m sorry about that.”
“No, because I didn’t know it when I wrote you before. I think I just said, ‘You’re lucky to have a dad.’ Since then, I found out he is dead. But it’s not like I ever knew him.”
“D-i-v-o-r-c-e?”
“Yes. But there’s some big mystery going on— nobody in the family ever mentions his name— and I mean that literally. I didn’t even know it till this week— I mean I didn’t know it for sure. Get this— his middle name’s La Rose!”
“La Rose by any other name…”
“As far as I can tell, nothing about him smelled sweet. I’ve started to have flashbacks.”
“Of memories? Do you think your family’s protecting you from something?”
“They even say they are. You know what I think? I think I was there when he died— and I know he died of a gunshot wound. That’s a matter of record.”
