Suspicion of Betrayal

by Barbara Parker

  "I was just about to go look for you." He stood up. "I'm all done."

  "So. It was the air handler," Gail said.

  "Sure was. When was the last time those coils were cleaned? I bet you don't know how." He walked toward the hall. "Come here, I'll show you."

  "No. I'll see it later."

  He was still pointing in that direction. "It only takes a minute."

  "I'd rather not. How much do I owe you?" "Seventy-five dollars. Cash."

  "Do you mind waiting outside? I'll be right back." She held the door.

  His brows rose. "O-kay."

  She locked the door, ran upstairs to take the money from her purse, then back down. She opened the door far enough to give him the money. "Thank you so much."

  He looked at her strangely. "You have any trouble, give me a call."

  "Yes. Thank you. I will." After she heard the engine crank up, she pulled the curtain aside and watched the van back out of the driveway.

  She found Karen in the kitchen, holding a piece of sliced ham just over Missy's head. The little cat meowed and batted at it. "Oh, Karen, don't tease her." Gail took the rolled chicken breasts out of the refrigerator and put the pan into the oven. She cranked the temperature gauge to 325 degrees, lit a kitchen match, and stuck it into the hole where the pilot light would be, if it worked. The gas hissed. "Come on, come on." With a pop, blue flames spread out under the black metal plate at the bottom. Gail slammed the door.

  "Mom, can I take Missy outside?" Karen nuzzled her nose in the white fur under the kitten's chin. "She has to pee."

  "Put her in her litter box."

  "She likes to go in the grass."

  "Fine. Stay in the backyard." Gail went out on the terrace to make sure. "I mean it." Karen sat on a swing and spun around, twisting the chains. Missy was stalking a lizard. Gail called out, "Don't go anywhere."

  "I won't."

  As Gail went back inside, the telephone started to ring. They had put caller-ID on every phone in the house, including the one on the wall in the kitchen. The screen said w. SWEET, but she recognized the number at Jamie's house.

  Jamie was drunk. Not roaring drunk or falling-down drunk, or even giddy. It was a dark, lonely drunk, one that wants to sleep and never wake up, and had even thought of ways to do it, but Bobby knew how to call 911, and what if they got here too soon? And anyway, Jamie told Gail, the kids haven't had dinner yet.

  Then she laughed.

  They sat in the chaos of the living room, talking over the whir of the fan in the window. Jamie had turned off the air conditioner to save on the electric bill.

  Gail said, "I'll be right back." She went out to the back porch, where Karen was keeping an eye on the three Sweet children. Gail had explained the situation in general terms: One of my clients is sick, and she needs to talk to me. Could you help with the kids? While Gail was changing clothes, Karen packed her backpack full of Beanie Babies, coloring books, and markers. They had been here fifteen minutes, and already Karen was organizing the construction of a house out of old cardboard boxes and duct tape. The older boy was taping, the girl was drawing a window, and the toddler went in and out the door.

  "Karen, you want to see what there is in the kitchen to eat? It's after six o'clock. I'll bet they're hungry."

  "Okay." She stood up and said to Becky, "While I'm gone, color some flowers on the side. Not yellow, it doesn't show up."

  Gail had explained it more fully in her note to Anthony, which she had left on the kitchen table at home. Wendell had paid his wife another visit. She was threatening to kill herself. Gail had added a postscript. Take the chicken out at six-thirty. I love you.

  Arriving at the Sweet house determined to call the police regardless of what Jamie might say to the contrary, Gail had been surprised to find no bruises or blood. She had found the half-empty bottle of Southern Comfort that Jamie had been sipping all afternoon.

  When Gail came back to the living room, she sat on the edge of the coffee table. "Jamie, I have to leave soon. Could you call the lady next door to come over?"

  "Yeah. I'll call her. She said to, anytime. I'm sorry for draggin' you out here. I'm glad you came, though. Real glad." She pushed her fingers slowly through her hair, lifting it back from her face. Her hair was bright on the ivory-colored sofa.

  "Are you sure you're all right now?"

  Jamie smiled. Her lips were pale. "You want to know what Wendell did?"

  Gail looked at her. "Tell me."

  "He . . .made me do it with him. He said it would show me what I been missing." She laughed. "It wasn't near as good as I remember."

  Barely able to speak, Gail whispered, "Oh, Jamie." She reached for her hand. "Let me call the police."

  She shook her head. "I'm not hurt."

  "Yes, you are."

  Jamie suddenly put her hands over her face.

  Gail said, "Where were the children?"

  "In the playroom." The hands fell away. "They didn't see anything."

  "Call the police. Please."

  "No. He would say I wanted him to."

  "But you didn't."

  One side of Jamie's mouth rose. "I don't know. I don't know if I did or not. Isn't that weird? At first, I mean. And then ... I just wanted it to be over." She closed her eyes. "I want it all to be over, Gail. Please."

  Harry Lasko owned—and after sentencing would lose to the U.S. government—a penthouse at the Seacoast Towers on Miami Beach. By the time the elevator opened in his foyer, the building was casting a long shadow across the sand.

  Harry had just been for a swim, and he was still wearing a striped terry-cloth robe. His rubber sandals slapped on the marble floor as he led Gail and Karen into his apartment. Low sofas faced each other across a glass table. Windows were reflected in a mirrored wall, and the room seemed endless.

  Gail had called Harry Lasko from the lobby downstairs, having obtained his address from Jamie. She had not, however, called Anthony to say she planned a detour before coming home.

  Walking over to the hall, Harry called out, "Dorothy?"

  A woman appeared in the tunic and heavy shoes of a nurse's assistant. Gail assumed she took care of Harry's wife, Edie.

  "I think this young lady needs some cookies, maybe a little juice, whatever she wants. She can watch TV in the kitchen. How's that, Karen?" He patted her cheek. His inverted eyebrows canted at even more of an angle when he smiled. Karen thanked him and said she would rather draw, since she had brought her colored markers and some paper.

  Declining a drink, Gail followed Harry across the living room. He slid open a door, and they went out on the terrace.

  "That's a very bright girl," Harry said. His robe was loosely belted, revealing a brown, leathery chest, curly white hair, and a chain with a gold starfish.

  "I hope you don't mind her coming along."

  "Naah. I love kids. My grandkids are great. My son is an idiot, but what can you do?" He set his drink on a small plastic table between two chairs.

  Gail leaned on the railing. Her hair blew back from her face. The sea was dark blue at a distance, paler at the shore, breaking into lace on the beach. The heat had let go, and dozens of people were out, tiny from this height.

  "I'm gonna miss the view," Harry Lasko said.

  She turned around. He had sat down and lit a cigarette. Age had thinned his calves, and a sandal dangled from his toe. The wind teased the thinning white hair on his sun-browned scalp. The lenses of his glasses had darkened only slightly here in the shade, and she could see through them.

  "What do you need, Gail?"

  "It's what Jamie needs. You said you wanted to help."

  "Name it."

  "Your records on the sale of the casino at Eagle Beach."

  Still looking at her, Harry exhaled smoke, and the wind swept it away.

  Gail said, "You and Wendell both participated in the sale. He won't give me any of his documents, but if you have Eagle Beach, at least I'll have something to go on."

  "Have you ta
lked to my lawyer?" Harry Lasko chuckled and reached for his drink. "Dumb question. If Quintana knew, you wouldn't be here."

  "The records won't be filed in court," Gail said. "I won't tell Wendell I have them. I just want to see them."

  "This divorce was supposed to be settled already. Jesus. I thought you could negotiate with Wendell's lawyer and get Jamie a decent settlement."

  "I thought so too, but Wendell's trying to wear her down." Gail sat in the other chair. "We lost in court today. The judge is going to reduce Jamie's support if I can't prove Wendell can afford it. Jamie won't last, Harry. She's been drinking. She's so depressed I'm afraid of what she might do to herself. The children are what's keeping her going. She might go back to Wendell because she thinks she has no other way to take care of them, or because she's too tired to fight anymore."

  "Tell her to forget Wendell. How much does she need for the kids? I can help her."

  "Why should you? They're Wendell's kids. If he has the money, he should damn well support them."

  Harry made a noncommittal noise and picked up his drink. He wasn't avoiding her, he was thinking, so Gail sat back in her chair and waited. Finally he said, "Gail, I can't do it. If this got to the feds ... Do you understand?"

  It was on her lips to assure him again, to remind him that he was the only one who could help, that he had to . . . Gail nodded. "I understand." She watched the ocean for a while through the railing. "Maybe it's personal. I hate to lose. I was so angry at Wendell. I lost today, and I wanted so badly to win."

  Harry pointed his cigarette at her. "In my business, you win if you can walk out with what you came in with." He picked up his drink, then put it down again. He shifted in his chair. "I don't have documents. Not like you see in a usual closing. It wasn't like that. It was memos, a handshake, and some wire transfers. Besides, our names don't appear anywhere, so even if I gave you everything I've got, it wouldn't help." He took a deep drag on his cigarette.

  He was changing his mind. Afraid to push him too hard, Gail spoke quietly. "You could tell me what the memos mean, though. Couldn't you? And . . . explain how the money came in and where it went?" Gail remembered what Anthony had told her: Wendell Sweet and Harry Lasko had bought and sold the casino using a corporation registered in the Caymans, which in turn had hidden their names under layers of trusts. "And if there are any documents or trust agreements showing ownership . . ."

  "What are you doing to me, sweetheart?" His laugh trailed off into a long sigh. "You could make sure Jamie gets everything here in the States?"

  "I think so, yes, if I can follow the trail and find out where his money is."

  "What the hell." Harry looked over at her, brows in a quizzical slant. "Should we tell my lawyer? It's up to you."

  "He should know," Gail said. "Let me handle it."

  Harry got up and leaned his elbows on the railing, smoothing his hair, looking out at the ocean. "That fucking Wendell."

  Gail stood beside him.

  "Guy like that ought to be taken care of. It would be no problem. I'm tempted."

  "Don't do that, Harry."

  He flipped his cigarette over the edge. "In life you don't get a lot of people you really click with. Four or five if you're lucky. People who, if you didn't see them for twenty years, and then bam, there they are, you could pick up the same conversation where you left off. My Edie was one of them. There was a guy I knew in Vegas, but he's gone now. Couple of friends still in the business. And Jamie. She's another one. She told me, Harry, when you get out, I'm gonna throw you a party like you never saw. And she will. She'll be there."

  Gail smiled at him. "I think you're a little in love with her."

  "Come on. She's a kid." Harry leaned his back against the railing, arms spread. "I still say it would be easier if you let me give her some money. Not all at once—that draws attention—but whenever she needs it."

  "Keep it for yourself and Edie."

  "I have enough, and there's somebody to take care of things while I'm away, so don't worry about whether she'd get it or she wouldn't."

  Gail ventured to ask, "Who?"

  He shrugged. "Someone I trust."

  Meaning someone he trusted to manage a great deal of what was probably illegal cash maintained somewhere beyond the reach of U.S. authorities, and whose name he preferred not to reveal.

  Gail stepped on the bottom rail and leaned out as far as she dared, and the wind whipped the hem of her shirt and tossed her hair. The clouds that towered over the eastern horizon reflected orange and pink from the west.

  She felt Harry's hand on the back of her shirt, holding on. "I'm sure gonna miss this view," he said.

  At the house on Clematis Street, Anthony was in the study downstairs working. Gail had used it as a storeroom, but when Anthony moved in, he had turned it into a small office, pushing the boxes against one wall, adding shelves and a desk.

  The sky past the window was gray, and he had turned on the lamp. The papers on the desk were not pleadings in a criminal case but financial statements, most likely another project for his grandfather.

  She bent down to kiss him. "Did you eat already?"

  "No, I was waiting for you and Karen." He turned toward her. "Your mission of mercy went well? How is your client?"

  "Not good. We'll talk about it later. I'm starving, aren't you?"

  At the door Karen said, "Mom, I forgot to bring Missy inside, and I called her, and she won't come."

  "She will. Call her again."

  From the desk Anthony smiled at her. "Hi, Karen. How was your day?"

  "Fine." She looked back at Gail. "What if she's lost?"

  "She's not lost. Cats like to explore. Put some food out, she'll come home." Gail turned Karen toward the door. "Why don't you set the table? We'll be right there." When Karen's running footsteps had faded— she rarely walked—Gail held out her hand toward Anthony. "Dinner is served."

  "In a minute. Close the door."

  Smiling, she clicked it shut and went over to him. Anthony put a hand on her waist and tugged twice at the belt loop of her slacks. "And how was your day— aside from the Sweet case?"

  Gail could sense something but didn't know what it was. "I didn't really learn anything new from the police. I took them the list. And they showed me the other photograph of Karen." His tie was loose, and Gail untied it. "I'm going to talk to her tonight. She needs to know—not everything, but enough."

  "Yes. She should know. Nobody likes to be in the dark." Anthony pulled his tie out of his collar and folded it. "So what else happened? Anything of interest?" He raised his eyes.

  "Not really. Why?"

  He put his tie on the desk. "I asked Hector Mesa to go by Karen's school to see if he noticed anyone with a camera. Today he saw you with Dave. Could you tell me about that?"

  Stunned into silence for a moment, Gail finally said, "So Hector was looking for someone with a camera. I don't believe that. Did you ask him to follow me?"

  "I asked him to go by Karen's school." Anthony's words were like sharp pebbles, tossed one after the other. "I suggested that it would be a good idea to watch for anyone suspicious, and to make sure Karen was all right, and for the past three days Hector has been there. Today he saw Dave and you, together, and I would like to know, if you don't mind, what you were doing."

  "Why didn't you ask me that when I came in?" Her cheeks burned. "Oh, let's see if Gail tells me on her own. I mean, if she doesn't tell me herself, then she is obviously guilty. Guilty of something."

  His head turned to follow her across the room. With his back to the light, his face was in shadow.

  "And what did Hector say? I can imagine how he embellished it. What did he say, Anthony? I would like to know."

  Anthony's palm lifted from the desk. "That he had his arms around you. That he kissed you."

  "Too bad Hector didn't have a directional microphone. He could have heard Dave telling me that he dropped the custody case. It was emotional, and I'm not going to apologize." Gail looke
d steadily at Anthony. She would not tell him the rest of it. The loan. How Dave had begged for her help.

  Anthony reached for her. "Forgive me." He put his head on her stomach. "Discúlpame, cielo. I was going crazy sitting here, waiting."

  "You have to stop this." Gail wound Anthony's hair around her finger, then stroked his temple. A few silvery strands glistened in the rich brown. "I love you. Nobody else."

  They both heard the scream, then the footsteps coming nearer. They looked toward the door, which flew open. Karen hurtled across the room, her mouth open in a high-pitched wail of terror.

  Gail caught her and stumbled backward.

  "No! Mommy, no! Mommy mommy mommy—" Karen was hanging off Gail's arms, jumping up and down at the same time. "Maaaaaaaaaa—" Her legs went out from under her, and she fell to the floor, still clinging.

  "Karen! Karen! Oh, my God!"

  Kneeling, Anthony pulled her around, touching her quickly. "Is she hurt? I don't see anything."

  "Karen! What happened? Sweetie, please!"

  "M-M-Missy is killed! She's dead!"

  "Dead?" Gail looked at Anthony.

  "Where? Dime, mamita. Where is she?"

  Still the awful keening went on, punctuated by ragged gasps for breath.

  Gail wiped her sweaty bangs off her face. "Karen, tell us. Maybe she's all right."

  "She's not, she's not."

  "Where is she?" Gail rocked her. "Where, baby?"

  "The—the swings."

  Anthony held her shoulders. "Karen, listen to me. Is anyone out there? Did you see anyone?"

  "No." She gulped in a breath. Her eyes opened, reddened and swollen.

  He looked at Gail, then stood up.

  With her arm around Karen, Gail followed Anthony through the house. The kitchen door was open, and a flashlight lay on the floor, where Karen must have dropped it. She had been out looking for her kitten.

  He picked up the flashlight and flipped a switch on the wall. Light flooded the terrace, illuminating the metal railing down the steps, then gradually fading to darkness. The tubular frame of the swing set was barely visible.