Bad Moon Rising

by Ed Gorman

  She arrived a few minutes after twelve. When people are late the least they can do is rush in out of breath and start their apologizing even before they reach the table. Goddesses are excepted from this rule. In fact, I’m pretty sure there’s a constitutional amendment about that.

  I’d managed to get a table along the wall that gave us moderate privacy. But I wasn’t sure why I’d bothered. She did as much glad-handing as a politician ten points behind on the day before the election. She was chignon-ready with a golden linen dress and two-inch heels that gave her the air of importance she wanted. Given the heat, the other women here wore simpler outfits, comfort being at least as important as style. By the time she reached our table the public smile had become grotesque, as if it had been pasted on like a Groucho Marx mustache.

  As with all good goddesses, apologizing was out of the question. She stood by her chair, apparently waiting for me to leap up and be a gentleman, but after she got over that foolishness, she yanked out the chair and seated herself, the smile still in place. “Do you have a match?”

  “You want me to give you a hot foot?”

  “Are you supposed to be funny?”

  “My five-year-old nephew thinks I’m hilarious.”

  “I don’t doubt that. Now be a gentleman and give me a light.”

  I pitched the matches across the table.

  “You are really a disgusting little man.”

  “Do you want to hear what I think about you?”

  She lit her cigarette the way a Vogue model would—with that perfect angle of head—and then sailed my matches back to me. “I really don’t give a damn what you think about me. I know you’ve been snooping and that’s what I want to talk to you about. Or wanted to, past tense. I didn’t realize till now that you’re one of them.”

  “Martians?”

  “Locals.”

  “The great unwashed. And you’re right, I am one of them.”

  “Then this will be a complete waste of my time and yours. I came here ready to confide in you but now I’d never give you the time of day.”

  “You were late.”

  She sat back and stared at me. Then she began laughing. It was a very merry laugh and I liked it despite myself. The sound conveyed pleasure and irony. “God, is that why you’re being such a jerk? Because I was late?”

  “You owe me an apology.” As soon as the words came out I realized how pathetic they were. An eight-year-old sulking because his feelings had been hurt.

  She laughed again, damn her. “Well, then, we’ll just have to do something about your little feelings being hurt, won’t we? I happened to have had a flat and didn’t feel up to changing a tire—which I’ve done many times, I assure you. I didn’t want to ruin this dress which I like, so I had to walk up to a house and ask the woman—one of the ‘great unwashed,’ as you said—if I might use her phone. She said yes. She was very sweet. I called the service station where we take our cars. The woman let me wait inside and even gave me coffee and a very tasty cookie. Chocolate chip, homemade, if you’re interested. I would’ve called here and left a message for you but I thought the station would send a truck sooner than they did—both their trucks were busy at the same time. But here you were suffering for thirty-four minutes all alone and unloved, cramming breadsticks into your mouth. Flecks of which, by the way, are all over your tie and jacket.”

  Fortunately, the waiter appeared and I didn’t have to respond to her. Her smile was always smug but now it was downright scornful. Before I could get a word out, she said, “I’ll have a glass of Chardonnay and this little fellow here will have a Coke. I’m sorry to see he’s been sitting here all this time without ordering anything. They tried to teach him manners at the home but sometimes it’s a slow process. We’ll need more time to decide what we’ll want to eat. And do you happen to have a bib he could use?”

  The young waiter’s face shifted from confusion to amusement and back to confusion. He wanted to smile about all her imperiousness but was that proper when the guy sitting across from her was from some kind of “home”? This could mean anything from cooties to frontal lobotomy.

  After he was gone, she said, “I’m pretty sure that Paul will be joining us. He followed me here.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “He doesn’t want me to talk to you.”

  “I hope he’s calmed down some since he was in my office. He was ready for a net and the bughouse.”

  And then he was there and in the Cotillion. He was a celebrity. By now the restaurant was filling up with credit-card businessmen who recognized the most resplendent of the peacocks among them. Paul Mainwaring. Where his wife had made a ballet out of finding her table, Mainwaring moved relentlessly, flicking nods and waves to people, but never smiles. We both sat silently watching him invade us which he did with dispatch and economy.

  “I don’t want to make a scene here, McCain. Otherwise I’d pound your face in right now.”

  “And very nice to see you, too, Mainwaring. And thanks for sparing me the trouble of kicking you in the balls while you were pounding my face in.”

  The goddess, displeased, rolled her eyes. “Will you two shut up for God’s sake? This is ridiculous. And by the way, Paul, I don’t appreciate you following me around.”

  He pulled a padded brown leather chair closer to his wife and sat down. Then his hand went up like a spear and the waiter rushed for us as if summoned by not one but two popes.

  “The usual scotch and water, Mr. Mainwaring?” A slight tremor in the young voice.

  “Of course.”

  To Eve, the waiter said, “All we have is a lobster bib, Mrs. Main-waring. Would that be all right for this—” He eyed me as if I was road kill. “This little fella?”

  “Oh, a lobster bib would be perfect.”

  He started to bow from the waist then caught himself. “I’ll bring it back with Mr. Mainwaring’s drink.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  Mainwaring’s eyes had narrowed; his mouth was a bitter slash. The moment the waiter was out of earshot, he snapped, “You’re still doing that stupid ‘bib’ gag? Isn’t it about time you give it up, Eve?” He had shifted his wrath from me to his wife.

  “Oh, that’s right, forgive me. I apologize for trying to have some fun. That’s against the rules, isn’t it?”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, my daughter is dead. I know you two didn’t get along and most of that was her fault but couldn’t you at least try to fake some regret?”

  The first thing I tried to figure out was how sincere her tears were. They were silver and lovely against her perfect cheekbones, and even the single sob was just as startling as a cynic might say it was meant to be. But there was always the possibility that Mainwaring’s words had had their desired effect and had actually surprised and hurt her.

  Mainwaring sighed, glanced at me, shook his head, and leaned over to slide his arm around his wife’s shoulders. Her head was down now. She was quiet. “Forgive me, Eve. I—I’m just confused and I’m taking it out on you. With Van gone—I don’t need to deal with a scandal on top of this.”

  He put a big hand under her chin and raised her head. The tears were gone from her cheeks but stood in her eyes. She used her starched napkin to dab her nose and then eyes. “And right in front of McCain.”

  “You were the one who wanted to meet him. I asked you not to.” But his voice was sympathetic this time. He kissed her on the cheek.

  She placed her hand over his. “But he already knows some of it.” She inclined her head toward me as she spoke. “Maybe if we explained things to him—”

  He was a man long accustomed to getting his way. Since things weren’t going so well now he took his arm from her shoulders and sat there glowering. “Why don’t we just get a microphone and tell everybody in the restaurant?”

  “I was trying to be helpful, Paul. He’s going to find out anyway.”

  “You think I’m going to sit here while you’re telling him?”


  Irritation was in her voice and eyes now. “You don’t have to be here while I do it if you don’t want to. Maybe I can persuade him to see things from our side.”

  “He’s a private investigator who works for Judge Whitney. He’s not exactly a good prospect for keeping a secret.”

  She looked directly at me and said, “Paul and I have an open marriage.”

  PART THREE

  17

  So there we had it. Open marriage was something I read about in Playboy and the kind of paperbacks Kenny writes. Sometimes you see brief stories about it on TV news but it’s always reported as if the newsman is handling feces. Even the swankiest of people—despite the protestations that they love their spouse devoutly and are positive that sleeping around has no effect on the children—come off as selfish and decadent. What’s wrong with these people? Haven’t they ever heard of plain old all-American adultery?

  The sexual revolution, which we heard about as often as we heard the Pentagon lies about the war, had come to Black River Falls, Iowa.

  “Well there, you’ve said it, Eve. Happy now?”

  “Oh, sure, Paul. I’m delirious. Can’t you tell?”

  “Did your girls know about this?”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” Mainwaring was ready for an argument.

  “You said Vanessa changed after Eve came. I wonder if she ever found out about your arrangement.”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “We were very discreet.”

  “Look at his face,” Mainwaring said. “He just can’t wait to tell everybody he knows.”

  “You’re right, Paul. I’m thinking of calling Walter Cronkite.”

  “I’m so damned sick of you. I wish I’d never hired you.”

  “Believe it or not, Paul, I’m not going to tell anybody. If your arrangement doesn’t have any bearing on Vanessa’s murder it doesn’t matter. But I have to remind you that being discreet in a town this size is difficult. Your friends at the Sleepy Time got guilty and called you, but if they told me, how many other people did they tell?”

  “I’ll talk to them and they’ll be damned sorry. Damned sorry. They needed money a few years ago and were overextended at the bank. I loaned them several thousand dollars at three percent. I can call that in any time I choose.”

  Again, Eve put her hand over his. “They’re friends of ours, Paul. Keep that in mind.”

  “Some friends.”

  “I just want to ask one more time—”

  Eve spoke before Mainwaring could. “The girls didn’t know anything about it. We were very careful. They disliked me simply because I was trying to replace their mother. That happens all the time with widowers.”

  Not that it could have had anything to do with Eve’s personality or the way she treated Marsha or her need to be number one babe in residence.

  “Are we about done here?” Mainwaring had taken to drumming his fingers on the table. As chairman of the board he believed that when he was through talking the meeting was over. Who wanted to hear the prattle of lesser beings?

  “We haven’t eaten yet, Paul.”

  “Are you really hungry, Eve?”

  She bowed her head slightly as if in prayer. I’d just demoted her from a fine actress to a ham. A very clumsy move. “No, I guess you’re right. Van’s dead and that’s all that matters.”

  Suddenly, soap opera actors looked pretty good to me.

  “I told you what I’d pay you to write that letter, McCain. Twenty thousand. Now I want you to add a line about our marital arrangement. That you’ll stay silent about that, too.”

  “I won’t write it.”

  “Then you’re a fool.”

  “No, I’m not. You’ll just have to take my word for it. I won’t tell anybody as long as it doesn’t have any bearing on your daughter’s death.”

  “Which means that you’re going to keep on asking questions and putting your nose into things that aren’t any of your business.”

  “That isn’t my way of looking at it but yes, I still don’t think the Cameron boy killed your daughter. And I don’t think he committed suicide, either.”

  “I was hoping we were going to be friends, Sam. You’re making that impossible.” I wasn’t sure what the word “friends” meant to her, but I was probably flattering myself if I thought there was a hint of lust in her definition.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Mainwaring had taken her arm and popped her out of her seat so that they were both glaring down at me accusingly. “If I see you anywhere around my property, McCain, I’m going to have you arrested.”

  “You’re a very big disappointment to me, Sam,” Eve said.

  As soon as they started to leave, the waiter returned. “Aren’t they going to eat?”

  “No, but I am.” I gave him my order. “Is there a pay phone nearby?”

  “Just off the lobby.”

  “Thanks.”

  When Marsha answered, she said, “The Mainwaring residence.”

  “Marsha, it’s Sam.”

  “You sound as if something’s wrong.”

  “You didn’t get this call, Marsha. I just had lunch with Paul and Eve—well, we planned to have lunch, let’s say—and they both made it clear that they don’t want anything to do with me. So please don’t tell them I called.”

  “All right. I won’t.”

  “I appreciate it, Marsha. Is Nicole there?”

  “She’s up in her room. She’s got a small TV up there and rarely comes down. This morning I brought her breakfast up to her.”

  “Does she have a phone in her room?”

  “The girls each had their own line. I can’t imagine what Mr. Mainwaring had to pay the phone company every month.”

  “Would you mind going up there and asking her if I could talk to her?”

  “That’s no problem, Sam. But you’ll have to call her back.”

  “That’s fine. I just don’t want to be on the phone with her when Paul and Eve get back. They wouldn’t be very happy to know she’s talking to me.”

  “I’ll hurry.”

  “Thanks again, Marsha.”

  “I imagine she’ll talk to you. She told me she likes you. I’ll be right back.”

  The wait was only a few minutes. “Here’s her private number. She said she’d be happy to talk to you.”

  “Marsha, I’m sending you a Cadillac.”

  I could feel her smile through the phone. “I’d settle for a new Plymouth. My old one is wearing out. It’s ten years old and needs a lot of help. It’s sort of like me.”

  “You sure didn’t look like it when I was out there.”

  “You sure can sling it, Sam. Good luck with Nicole.”

  While I dialed I thought about Paul and Eve Mainwaring. They had a secret worth keeping. Paul worked in a military environment, and while generals likely had frequent orgies with various animals, the Pentagon made sure that these were considered as top secret as nuclear warhead locations. People with military secrets were blackmailed all the time. Mainwaring had opened himself up to that and to being tainted with the stigma of perversion if his behavior was made public.

  When Nicole came on the phone, she said, “My father is going to be mad I talked to you.”

  “I know that. And he may well be on his way home right now. I had lunch with him just a few minutes ago.”

  “I don’t give a shit what he thinks, Mr. McCain. I just said that to warn you.”

  “Is there a place we could meet around four o’clock?”

  “I ride my bike up to Whittier Point a lot. There’s a pavilion up there. I like to sit in the corner of it and read.”

  “That’d be great. Four o’clock, all right?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  I spent the next hour and a half in the office working on a probate case. Somewhere at midpoint the phone rang and Jamie said, “It’s Commander Potter, Mr. C.”

  Potter said, “You won’t like me after this call.”

  “What mak
es you think I like you now?”

  “Very funny, asshole. Paul Mainwaring just left here and he’s convinced the chief that you’re to be arrested if you keep bothering people about his daughter’s death.”

  “What would he arrest me for?”

  “He’ll figure out something. He’ll haul you in and then you’ll bail out and then he’ll haul you in again when you start bothering people again. And so on. Why don’t you save yourself and me a lot of trouble and just give it up?”

  “Maybe because I’m onto something.”

  “Uh-huh. If you were on to something you’d have called me about it already.”

  “You make a lot of assumptions.”

  “Just give it up, Sam, because I’m the one who’ll have to bring you in and that won’t be fun for either of us.”

  “I can’t do that, Mike.”

  “Well, then I can’t keep from arresting you.” And with that he hung up.

  I went back to work on the probate case, more distracted than ever. Mainwaring was moving in on me now. As Potter had hinted, this was nothing more than harassment. But Mainwaring knew many powerful people in this state, including the governor himself. If Mainwaring wanted to call in some favors, he could. For relief I kept glancing at my wristwatch. I had an hour and a half before I drove out to Whit-tier Point. At least the scenery would change.

  The probate case I was working on was ridiculous but modestly profitable so I’d taken it. When their old man died, leaving two thousand dollars and a shotgun to his daughter, his son came to me and said he wanted to contest it. This seemed curious to me because the son was a prominent psychiatrist in Iowa City. He’d grown up here with his old man and his sister. It was the latter he was after. According to him, the old man had always favored her. She got all the new clothes, all the money to go east for college and, more than anything, all the love and support because she reminded his father of his late wife. He was close to tears while he was telling me, biting his lip and twisting his hands. I felt like the shrink listening to a patient. I wouldn’t be recommending his services to anybody I knew.