Whittaker 03 The Secrets We Keep

by Donna White Glaser

I cleared my throat. “All part of the job.”

  “Right,” she laughed. “Well, you can bet he isn’t going to like it.”

  “He doesn’t have to like it.”

  “Ooh, so tough. Maybe I should hire you as a bodyguard, then I wouldn’t have to worry about our alarm system.”

  “You’re still having problems? Must be pretty frisky raccoons.”

  “Total sluts. Speaking of which, at some point we have to get back to Taz and track down the owner and his mistress. Plus, now we have to check out that church you and Eli saw. Guess who the pastor of it is?”

  My eyebrows shot up.

  “Looks like you guys guessed right about Trinnie’s activities during the holidays. The mysterious late arrival was Reverend Lyle Gibson, and he says he got to know Trinnie when she started coming to church around then. She joined groups, and got pretty involved. Apparently, he counseled her, but he wouldn’t say why. We can guess, though: booze or affairs. He did seem very distraught over her death, and started going on about repentance. It was borderline creepy. I finally asked him what Trinnie had done that necessitated forgiveness. His whole face got red. My guess? Something went wrong in that church.”

  “Like what?”

  “A married man.”

  “Her pattern. Did the good reverend have a ring on his finger?”

  Beth’s face fell. “I didn’t notice. Damn.”

  “Let’s check out Taz tomorrow night. If we get those questions cleared up, we can move on to the church. After all, sometimes you find out more about a person from her enemies than from friends.”

  “Ain’t that the truth. She certainly left plenty of each.”

  The next morning, I tried calling Paul. His mother answered and told me he was unavailable. I left a message, but since she hung up halfway through, I doubted he’d get it. He went back on my worry list.

  Judge Fochs and I met at Tippy’s, a cozy restaurant several rungs higher than my recent hang-outs. I’d had the evening to ponder his motives in asking me to lunch, but had come up blank. I’d told Beth I didn’t think he was interested in me, and aside from a brief vanity pang, I was good with that. But then what did he want?

  He was too politically suave to make teasing out his motivation easy; I’d have to pick through his words carefully. Unfortunately, after fussing with the menus, he fell into small talk, smooth and effortless, but as shallow as a rain puddle on cement. It soon became obvious each of us were waiting for the other to take the conversational lead.

  Which told me that he wanted to know something from me.

  Most people will avoid awkward moments like a cat avoids baths, but therapists are made of sterner stuff. After several minutes of nothing but salad-chewing noises, Fochs gave a slight smile of concession.

  “I appreciate your willingness to meet with me,” he said. “As you mentioned the other night, Trinnie’s murder leaves many unanswered questions. It’s been difficult for everyone who knew her.”

  “I’m sure it is.” I popped a cherry tomato in my mouth to avoid saying anything more definitive.

  “Especially, I would imagine, for you.” He studied my face carefully as he waited for my reply.

  The obvious follow-up question was “Why should it be more difficult for me?” But something in his intent examination made me wary of blurting out a response. I camouflaged my expression by patting my mouth with the napkin.

  “Because I found her, you mean?”

  “Well, that, yes. But I know how much Trinnie looked up to you. Relied on you, in fact. That’s common between AA members and their sponsors, isn’t it?”

  I experienced severe multi-system organic dysfunction: my heart slowed, thudding dully against my ribcage, sweat glands exploded, and my brain hit the switch into warp-speed. How did he know I was Trinnie’s sponsor? Why was he saying this? Why did he care? Was he going to report me? I could lose my license. Why the hell would Trinnie have disclosed my name to him? To anybody? How could she?

  I set my fork down with a clink, not bothering to pretend he hadn’t scored a hit. I took a deep, steadying breath.

  Fochs reached across the table to hold my hand. “My dear, I’m so sorry. I’ve upset you.”

  Liar. I pulled my hand away… but slowly. Didn’t want to offend the rat bastard who held my livelihood in his nasty, little-girl hands. I took a drink of water, being careful not to drop the glass from shaking fingers.

  “You surprised me,” I said. And the International Award for Understatement goes to me. I tossed out a casual fake-laugh, just in case he was an idiot. “Trinnie… Trinnie shouldn’t have told anyone. After all, one of the A’s stands for anonymous.”

  “Of course, it does. And for good reason, too. Even in today’s tell-all environment, such a revelation could be devastating to… ” He broke off as though he hadn’t meant to remind me of the dangers.

  The waiter chose that moment to bring our food. I was grateful for the distraction. We fussed a bit with napkins and silverware, moving dishes aside, as the waiter set the plates down. Despite the interruption, I knew better than to hope Fochs would be diverted from the subject, but it had given me some much needed time.

  Sure enough, as soon as the waiter left, Fochs returned to poke the wound. “At any rate, let me say how much I admire your courage in addressing your weakness. Not everyone can. Poor Trinnie obviously couldn’t.”

  Despite wanting to re-kill Trinnie for exposing me—especially to this man—I still felt protective of her. “We don’t know she couldn’t have. There’s always a chance for an alcoholic. Even for Trinnie. In fact, she had reached out… “

  Fochs’s eyes bored into mine. “‘She called you?”

  I hesitated. With his contacts, he could easily have access to anything the investigation turned up. He could even have a report of her phone contacts, especially since I’d made such a point of it to Belch. Was he afraid she’d told me something? And was his concern for himself or for Trinnie’s family?

  “Before,” I fudged. “She’d reached out once before and came to AA. If she hadn’t been killed, she’d have had a lifetime of opportunities to get sober. In fact, her odds may have even been better than most. Her family obviously has limitless resources at their disposal. That is, if they’d chosen to use them.”

  His pause was almost undetectable. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that financial resources don’t necessarily ensure a close knit family. Quite the opposite, in fact. Which is why Trinnie must have felt the need to reach out to others.”

  “Such as yourself,” I said.

  His eyebrows shot up, and he tilted his head quizically. It was the most animated I’d seen of his expressions. It looked the most fake, too.

  “She must have felt comfortable if she confided in you about AA,” I said, in answer to his implied question.

  “Ah. Well, you see, I’m a very close friend of the family. When George died, the family finances were left in a horrible mess. I stepped in to help Kitty straighten them out. I suppose I was available at a time when Trinnie was searching for a confidant.”

  “A father-figure?”

  A shadow crossed his face. “A mentor. So, you and I shared that role, although certainly not concurrently.”

  Of course, he’d want to distance himself. “You’re saying she hadn’t confided in you recently?”

  “No, she hadn’t. I suppose that’s one reason I wanted to meet with you. I knew she’d felt close to you. I suppose subconsciously I was trying to reconnect with her.” He smiled. “But my point was that Trinnie was used to reaching out to others. Kitty is an absolutely wonderful woman but after George’s death, she and her daughter became estranged. Harsh things were said. And, of course, with their history, you couldn’t expect Trinnie to turn to Bruce.”

  He stopped abruptly, looking abashed… but waiting.

  I played along. “What history?”

  He shook his head, gazing out into the dining room as though debating whether he should answer.
Then, “I wouldn’t normally discuss this.” He turned back to face me. Significant eye contact ensued. “But if you’re going to date Bruce, you should be aware of some things.”

  My stomach curdled, both at the thought of “dating” Bruce as well as the nagging reminder of how much Fochs seemed to know about my actions.

  “Of course,” he stabbed the table with his forefinger. “This can go no further. I am counting on your discretion.”

  Discretion. Right.

  TWENTY TWO

  “He killed her cat?” Beth’s jaw almost ricocheted off the sticky table top.

  It was Thursday evening, and I’d picked Beth up from her house for our trip back to the Taz bar. We sat in the booth were Eli had studied the last time we were here. He hadn’t showed up yet, which suited me just fine. I had a lot of information to fill Beth in on, much of it needing to be screened before Eli arrived.

  “That’s what Fochs said. Apparently, Bruce was pissed off at the maid and basically used Trinnie’s cat as retribution.”

  “What exactly did he do?”

  “Kitty liked the dishwasher to be run at night, so as not to disturb the family or something. For some reason, Brucie gets pissed at her—the maid, I mean—and stuffs Trinnie’s kitty into the dishwasher. Hot cycle. He left it there for the maid to find the next morning.”

  “That is the sickest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “I know. There’s no question that’s a seriously disturbed action, but on top of that, look at what it says about his relationship with Trinnie. He wasn’t even mad at her, but it didn’t stop him from causing her enormous pain. She meant nothing to him.”

  “How old was he?”

  “About twelve, so that’s certainly old enough to recognize what he was doing. And as far as what happened after, Fochs said it was one of the few times that George blew up and put his foot down. He insisted Bruce go to therapy. Kitty had a fit, but George stayed firm, and even took Trinnie and moved out of the house until she agreed. Kitty put Bruce in treatment somewhere, but after a few sessions and after George returned, she let Bruce drop out.”

  “Isn’t cruelty to animals a sign of something? Like antisocial stuff.”

  “The Macdonald Triad, along with bedwetting and fire setting, but that’s one of those things that sound cool, but have never really been proven. I don’t have enough info to make a clinical diagnosis. It doesn’t matter. The action speaks for itself.”

  Beth sat quietly, eyes darting back and forth as she chewed her lip. “And this is the guy you’re going to dinner with?”

  “I have to check him out. There was bad blood between him and Trinnie, and he’s capable of violence. As far as I can see, he’s at the top of the list, suspect-wise. So far, anyway.”

  “We don’t have any motive,” Beth reminded me. “Current, I mean.”

  “Exactly why I need to meet with him,” I replied.

  “Here’s the thing,” Beth said. “If he is the murderer, he knows you were at Trinnie’s. Even if you didn’t see him, he got close enough to you to knock you out. If he’s the murderer, he’s going to know what you’re up to.”

  “That’s true no matter who the killer is. But it’s possible the killer doesn’t realize I didn’t see him.” I frowned. I’d confused myself with my own logic. “I mean, for all he knows I can identify him. Or, more likely, you can. Either way, we’re in danger.”

  Beth sat back against the cracked leather of the booth, pressing her fingertips over her eyes. Hard. It did not look comfortable.

  “I am the one who saw him.” She said the words slowly, as though tasting them.

  “I know,” I said.

  “I don’t think I’d be able to recognize him. It was just a blur. I was so shook up by that banshee wail of yours, I wouldn’t have recognized my own mother. But he doesn’t know that.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Shit.”

  “Right again.”

  She blinked hard, then scanned the bar grimly. The customers, the few present, sat scattered around the dingy main room.

  Stan and his buddies were back; the two studs had ignored me when we walked in, but Stan had tipped a friendly wave in my direction. Further down the bar, two buxom females sat drinking tap beer, eyes turned to the TV set up in the corner. Wheel of Fortune—the same show I’d see if we were at the club. Huh. There was an irony there that I didn’t want to explore.

  “You know what else bugs me about this whole Bruce story?” Beth asked.

  “Why is Fochs telling me all this?”

  “Exactly. What’s he up to?”

  “I’ve been asking myself that since the funeral. At first I thought he was trying to find out what I knew. But how did he know I knew anything?”

  “He knew you were Trinnie’s sponsor,” Beth said. “If she was going to spill secrets, you’re the likely candidate. I’m thinking he did a little more than just mentor her.”

  “Agreed. It felt like he was warning me off, too. Kind of like offering a quid pro quo for keeping secrets. Except I don’t know his. Yet.”

  “Could he have been warning you away from the family? If he’s hooked up with Kitty, he could be protecting her.”

  “Then why tell me anything about Bruce?” I held my head in my hands to keep from banging it against the wall. “If I told anyone about that, it would certainly cast the family in a bad light.”

  “Well, Bruce anyway. Besides, that story is already at risk. The maid knows, unless they had her sign a non-disclosure, so she could have told any number of people. Or maybe he thought it would be enough to steer you away from Bruce. Lord knows, it should. Still, even though it was animal abuse and a particularly despicable form of retaliation, it was years ago. It might not even be illegal.”

  “Maybe he’s setting Bruce up as a fall-guy,” I said.

  “Or he knows Bruce did it and that’s what he’s protecting.”

  I massaged my forehead.

  “Got a headache?” Beth asked.

  I nodded, searching my purse for acetaminophen..

  “It’s gonna get worse. What are you going to tell Eli about your little escapades?”

  “I have no idea. Any suggestions?”

  “Only one. Make it quick. He just walked in the door.”

  Reaching our booth, Eli leaned down and bussed Beth on the cheek, then slid in next to me. Before I could blink, he leaned in and brushed my lips gently with his own.

  Shiver.

  “Ladies,” he greeted us. “What kind of trouble are you stirring up tonight?”

  “Good question,” Beth said. “We haven’t really talked about tonight’s agenda, have we, Letty?”

  “Right,” My lips were still tingling. “We need to find Dora, a.k.a. Endora. Beth and I think Endora might be the same woman the owner was having an affair with.”

  “So who wants to tackle Leo and find out who Dora is?” Eli asked. “I’ve met him a couple times, but it’s not like he and I get along real well, especially since Manny started making money out of Bruisers.”

  Beth answered him. “I’m just gonna ask Jerry to point her out. Keep it simple. Plus, that’ll give you two a chance to talk.” Before leaving the booth she leaned over and patted my hand. I was so used to her razzing me that her solicitude had the opposite effect. Even Eli looked surprised. Great. Now he was on alert.

  He turned to me, eyebrows raised. It’s a good thing as a therapist that I’m trained in talking about discomforting subjects. I plunged right in.

  “So… How’s the car running?”

  TWENTY THREE

  “Is that what Beth thinks we should talk about?” A little bit of lawyer peeked out as he ignored my non-sequitur.

  “Well, no. Not really. Okay, then.” I chugged along waiting for my conversational train to hit the tracks. “See, there’s this thing that I’ve got to do that might bother you a little. Although it shouldn’t. Bother you, I mean.”

  “Uh huh. What ‘thing’?”

  “We
ll, um, I’m going out tomorrow night with Trinnie’s step-brother. For supper. To check him out.” I cringed. “I mean, not check-him-out check him out. But, you know, just to get information from him. And see if he maybe killed his sister. Like Mata Hari, but for the good guys.” I stumbled to a halt, humiliated. Mata Hari? Mata-freakin’-Hari?

  While I’d blathered on, Eli had assumed a patient expression. “Let me see if I have this clear. You’re planning to date a murder suspect?”

  He certainly knew how to simplify things.

  “And how do you feel about that?” If he was going to lawyer-up, I’d go therapist on him.

  He looked at me sourly, then turned to give me his profile, thinking. His reply, however, was quick and direct. “I don’t like it.”

  “I didn’t think you would.”

  “I know I don’t have any say in this—”

  “Actually, I think you might,” I said. Holy crap, I said that out loud.

  His gaze snapped back, eyebrows raised.

  “I, um, didn’t think you did, but now, I don’t know. It feels like… Not like veto-power or anything. But an opinion might be okay.”

  His eyes met mine, golden-lights sparkling, and for absolutely no reason at all, I blushed.

  “Not exactly what I expected,” he said.

  “You and me, both. Maybe this would be the right time to mention I also had lunch today with a handsome judge.”

  He sighed. “A handsome judge?”

  “But just a tiny one.” I held my fingers an inch apart, indicating how tiny.

  “I still don’t like it. Can we at least establish they aren’t real dates?”

  “Do you have any idea how much you’re already thinking like a lawyer? You break things down and clarify them, piece by piece.”

  “Not a date?” he repeated.

  “Persistent, too. But to answer the question, clearly and definitively: no. Absolutely in no way would this be considered a date, except obviously by Bruce. He has a potato-nose.”

  “Is that the only reason it’s not a date?” he asked, a mock-indignant smile teasing his lips.

  “Well, he is awfully rich,” I equivocated. “And an in-law like Kitty is kind of hard to resist.”