by Sharon Potts
“Any animosity?”
He was surprised by her vocabulary. “No. It seemed good-natured.”
“And Irving Luria? How’d your mom get along with him?”
“He’s much older than my mom. He was like her mentor.”
She waited.
“I guess they got along okay.”
“And what about your father? Can you think of anyone who may have had a grudge against him?”
“He was a college professor. A harmless college professor. Shit. He even wore a jacket with patches on the elbows.”
“And everyone loved him?”
“I guess. I don’t know. He used to bitch about the administration. And he was always writing stuff that pissed people off. But you don’t get killed for that, do you?”
“You’d be surprised what people get killed for.” She turned to another page in her notebook. “Do you know his boss? The dean? Let me see if I can find his name.”
“Dr. Winter,” Jeremy said. “He’s an asshole.”
“I see. You know him.”
“Not really, but my father hated his guts.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t pay much attention.”
She looked back down at her book. “And what about your father’s graduate assistant, Marina Champlain?”
He shook his head.
“You’ve never met her?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh, you’d remember her if you did.” She closed her book. “Anyone else we should be talking to? Anyone who came to mind when you heard what had happened?”
“I can’t imagine anyone wanting to kill them.” He crushed a muffin crumb between his fingers. “They were just ordinary people. A mom and dad with jobs and a family. Who kills a mom and dad with a family?”
“We’ll try to figure that out. Right now, all we have is the guy with the laptop case, but we’re also checking other possibilities. Lotus Island has a pretty good security system. We’ve looked at the records and videos of everyone who got on and off the island that night. The suspect drove onto the island around eleven p.m., then off after midnight.” She took the stack of wrappers and folded them together in half, then in quarters, in a neat little package. “But the house was pretty clean. No usable fingerprints. It hasn’t been easy, Jeremy. And I’m sure you can appreciate how eager everyone is to put the murderer behind bars.”
“So what you’re saying is it’s better to have a suspect, even if he didn’t really do it, than to come up empty-handed.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“It seems to be your partner’s approach.”
“Well, I’m not ready to put it to bed. The problem is, there’s just so much information I can get from interviews. Without getting on the inside, it’s almost impossible to learn if anyone close to your parents had a motive.”
“Plant a mole,” Jeremy said. “Someone undercover.”
“Nice idea.” She half-smiled. “Like in the movies. Anyway, if you think of anything else that might be helpful to us, call me.” She handed Jeremy her card. Detective Judy Lieber. “And do you have a cell phone and e-mail address where I can reach you?”
He took her pen and scribbled on a napkin. “I’m not sure I can be much help to you,” Jeremy said. “I’m probably heading back to Europe in the next day or so.”
“But—” She closed her mouth abruptly. “I see.” Then she gathered up the coffee, napkins, gum wrappers, and Kuzniski’s crumpled muffin liner and threw them away. She extended her hand. “Well, good luck to you, Jeremy. Rest assured while you’re busy seeing the world or whatever you rich kids do out there, we detectives won’t rest until we find your parents’ murderer and bring him to justice.” She scowled and tapped her lips. “I believe that’s how they say it in the movies.”
Then she looked pointedly at the woman with the stroller and left the coffee shop.
Chapter 5
She was out of line, Jeremy decided as he drove toward his grandfather’s house. Lieber had completely misread him. People did that. Assumed they knew him. That he fit some stereotype. Self-centered rich kid. But that wasn’t what it was all about. It had never been that. But she figured she’d lay a guilt trip on him. Make him feel lousy about leaving. As though there was something he could do here. Like find his parents’ murderer.
He held the wheel tighter. But he had no control, didn’t she understand that? He had no control over anything except getting on a plane or train and going to the next place. Then the next one. Being home left him feeling ungrounded. Terrified, even.
So he’d do the one thing he was good at. He’d say good-bye to his grandfather, straighten out the mess with Dwight and Elise, and get the hell out of here.
Jeremy turned left and maneuvered through the labyrinth his grandfather’s Coconut Grove neighborhood had become. Palm trees and tangled foliage clogged the streets. Nature was running away with the place. Jeremy imagined one day the houses would be completely inaccessible to humans. Just tiny animals and birds would be able to creep through the thickets.
The house was the only small one left on their street. His grandparents had lived there since before Jeremy’s mother was born while neighbors came and went— each new generation building bigger and more garish houses than the ones they replaced.
Jeremy pulled his mother’s Lexus up behind his grandfather’s old gold Honda Accord.
The last time he’d been here was right after his grandmother had died, over a year ago. That was back last December, halfway into his senior year at NYU. He’d practically grown up in this house, his grandparents watching him when his parents worked late, occasionally with the added treat of a sleepover. So his grandmother’s death had been devastating for him, but nothing compared with its effect on his grandfather. Hershel and Mimi Lazar had been like one person, always together. And after she died, Hershel could barely tie his own shoes.
His grandmother had left Jeremy some money in her will and Jeremy believed it was a message to him to get away. “You never know where you’ll find your true self, Jeremy,” she used to say when he was a little boy. “Never stop looking.”
But she was dead. They were all dead.
The screen door creaked open. A frail shape hovered on the porch.
“Grandpa.” Jeremy hugged his grandfather, almost dislodging his thick-lensed glasses from the bridge of his nose. This was the man who used to carry him around on his shoulders, throw him up in the air. His grandfather was practically bald except for a few wisps of gray hair, and his cheeks were even more sunken than Jeremy remembered.
“Come in, Jeremy.”
The dark living room smelled sour, like used towels. “Would you care for something? A glass of milk?”
“Thanks, Grandpa, but I don’t need anything.” Jeremy sat down on the worn ottoman near the sofa.
“A glass of milk,” his grandfather mumbled. His shirt was stained and misbuttoned. He’d once been a CPA with a successful accounting practice. “How stupid of me. You’re a man. You don’t drink milk like a little boy.”
The coffee table, covered with photos and knickknacks, needed dusting. Jeremy would ask Flora if she could come here one day a week to help out. Do his grandfather’s laundry.
“Are you okay, Grandpa? Can I get you anything while I’m here? Groceries?”
“I’m managing. I don’t want you worrying about me, Jeremy.” He closed his lips together tightly. “I was very angry with your uncle. Not waiting for you at the funeral. But he wouldn’t listen to me. I talk and it’s like I’m invisible.”
“It’s okay.” Jeremy reached for his grandfather’s hand. His fingers were rough and cold and Jeremy massaged them between his own. Last night he’d massaged Elise’s foot. How soft it had been.
“How’s your sister? Should you be leaving her alone?”
“Flora’s with her. The housekeeper.”
“I wish I could be more help.” His grandfather took his glasses off, absently rubbed the
m with the bottom of his shirt, then put them back on. They were still smudged. “You’re a good boy to come visit me, but you should be with your sister. I’m managing. I told you, I’m managing.”
“I know you are, Grandpa. But I wanted to see you. It’s been a long time.”
“Well that’s what happens. You young people don’t like to stay in one place very long.”
“I need to ask you something, Grandpa. Dwight’s making up stories about Elise’s guardianship.”
His grandfather brought his lips together.
“Do you have copies of the wills?” Jeremy asked. “I checked at the house, but I couldn’t find anything.”
His grandfather picked up a photo from the table. A graduation picture of Jeremy’s mother. “Who could imagine such a thing?” He took his glasses off and covered his eyes. “It’s not natural to lose a child.”
“I’ll go, Grandpa. I shouldn’t be bothering you now.”
“They’re on my desk. The wills are on my desk in my office.” His grandfather put his glasses back on. “I’m sorry, Jeremy. I’ve let you down.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your parents redid the wills after Mimi— your grandmother— passed away. We had always been named guardians in case anything happened to your parents.” He licked his lips. “But after Mimi left us, your parents were concerned. I could hardly take care of myself. How could they depend upon me to watch over Elise?”
“What are you saying?”
“They tried to work it out the best they could.”
“But they wouldn’t have named Dwight. They’d never have done that.”
“What choice did they have? There are no other relatives. No close friends they could rely upon.”
“But not Dwight. Not to take care of Elise. They would have come up with another option.”
“You’re right, Jeremy. And so they did.”
“Not Dwight?”
“Their wills stipulate that you’re Elise’s guardian. That Dwight’s the alternate only if you’re unable or unwilling to serve.”
“Me? But that can’t be right. You said they wrote new wills after Grandma died. I was in Europe, so how could they name me as guardian?”
“Perhaps they hoped you’d come home.”
Jeremy went to the window and pulled the drapes open a few inches. A piercing light broke through. The small backyard was completely overgrown.
“You’re angry,” his grandfather said.
“I don’t know, Grandpa. I’m not sure how I feel.”
“You think they were trying to manipulate you.”
A cat had wandered in from a neighbor’s yard, poised to jump on something in the bushes.
“So you’ll spite them, Jeremy? You’ll leave your sister to Dwight because you don’t want your father pulling your strings?”
Jeremy let the curtain fall back. The room returned to darkness. “I don’t know, Grandpa. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
Jeremy was awakened by a noise. He sat up in bed, his heart pounding wildly. It was a little before midnight. Just about the time his parents had been murdered. Was this how his mother had felt that night? Had she heard something? Recognized a threat? Or had she been fast asleep?
He hoped she had been asleep.
The noise was coming from down the hall. Not Elise’s room. He got out of bed and grabbed his old baseball bat from the closet. The door to Elise’s room was open. The white comforter was thrown back, the bed empty. Was she sleepwalking? Getting something to drink?
The sound was in his mother’s office. Like falling papers.
The office was dark. He could make out his mother’s desk, the small sofa, bookcases, scattered papers on the Oriental rug. Leaning against the base of the wall was his sister. Her hair covered her shoulders and arms like a cloak. She was bent over a clipboard.
“Hey.” He swooped down next to her. “What are you doing?”
Her hand was clenching a pen, making small precise marks on the paper.
“Elise?”
Her eyes were wide open, but she didn’t seem to be seeing.
The paper was filled with tight squiggly lines. Up and down, up and down. Not real writing. It was what she used to do when she was four or five while Jeremy would do his homework. She would sit at the table with him and fill up pages with tight squiggly lines. “I’m a big girl,” she’d say. “I can write just like you.”
“Elise.” He put his hand over hers. He could feel the rhythm of her methodical strokes. “It’s late, Ellie.”
He gently took the pen from her hand and pulled her up. She was wearing a tee shirt and sweatpants like she always slept in. The tee shirt was stained with three brown spots that looked like teardrops. He guided her back to her room and helped her into bed.
“Good night,” he said.
“Stop him,” she mumbled, her voice sounding strangely similar to their mother’s. “I have to stop him.”
Jeremy slipped on a pair of gym shorts and tied his sneakers. Geezer had gone into Elise’s room and was lying beside the bed. Just in case Elise woke, Jeremy left a note on his pillow. “Went for a run. Back soon.”
He double locked the front door behind him, then knotted the key onto the shoelace of his sneaker.
Stop him, she had said. I have to stop him.
And what was he doing?
Jeremy jogged past the guardhouse and over the bridge that connected Lotus Island to the mainland of Miami Beach. He ran wide, avoiding the security camera, then glanced over at the guardhouse. No one noticed him. Detective Lieber had said they’d checked the security records and videos of everyone who came and left the island that night. But they wouldn’t have a record of a jogger or a bicyclist. Anyone who wanted to get on and off the island without being seen could have done it. But that was for the detectives to figure out, not for Jeremy.
Stop him, she’d said in her sleep.
When he’d returned from his grandfather’s house tonight, he hadn’t said anything to Elise about the guardianship. He’d wait to tell her in another day or so. Let them be together without the knowledge hanging over her that Jeremy would soon be leaving.
It was unusually humid and muggy, and his shirtless chest began perspiring shortly after he started down North Bay Road. He’d wrapped a red bandanna around his head to keep the sweat from dripping into his eyes. He went from a jog to a run. Occasionally a car would pass him, but otherwise he was alone.
His sneakers pounded against the pavement. Faster and faster. His dad loved to run. Jeremy used to run beside him when he was still in elementary school. His dad would go ahead, come back, then jog alongside him until Jeremy was tired and wanted to stop. The first time Jeremy didn’t need to quit was when he was fifteen. He and his father were maybe a hundred yards short of where they normally finished the run. They glanced at each other, then simultaneously sprinted toward the imaginary finish line. Jeremy’s heart was pounding in his chest like it might break through, but he had kept going, faster, faster. All his focus on winning. And then he crossed the line at the same moment his father did. His father was laughing as he dropped down in the grass, pulling Jeremy on top of him. Wet, slippery chest against wet, slippery chest. He could feel his father’s heart beating in time with his own. “What are you trying to do? Give your old man a heart attack?” And Jeremy remembered feeling angry. Angry that his father hadn’t taken him seriously.
Jeremy was sprinting now. He’d passed Mount Sinai Hospital and was racing over the Julia Tuttle Causeway toward downtown Miami. Cars passed him. Jeremy ran on the path beside the road, trying to catch them. Why couldn’t he catch the cars?
The last time he’d seen his parents had been just over a week ago. His parents, sister, and he were sitting at a corner table in a restaurant in Madrid, but they weren’t paying attention to the suckling pig specialty they had each ordered. Jeremy’s dad had been livid, and Jeremy had felt a familiar frustration growing inside himself.
“We ca
me here to keep you from screwing up your life,” his father had said.
“Traveling and seeing the world isn’t screwing up my life.”
“It’s irresponsible.”
“Just because my lifestyle doesn’t fit with yours and Mom’s doesn’t make me irresponsible.”
“We just want you to come home, Jeremy,” his mother said.
His sister watched him with wide, worried eyes.
“You’re running away because you’re afraid to behave like an adult,” his father said. “Afraid to take responsibility.”
“Or maybe I’m not inspired by what I see in the adults around me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve sold out. You and Mom.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The CPA and the college professor. You obey your masters and get big fat paychecks, but what are you really contributing to society?”
“And you are? Backpacking in a drunken stupor from one fleabag hostel to the next. That’s your idea of contributing?”
“It’s better than following in your footsteps.”
“Fine.” His father slammed the table. “If that’s how you see us, stay here and rot. I’m sorry we wasted our time coming out here.”
“Danny.” His mother rested her hand on his father’s.
But his father had pulled away. “I should have known— you’ll never grow up, Jeremy. Never.”
Jeremy reached the other end of the causeway. The downtown Miami skyline spread before him, but sweat stung his eyes so that he could barely see.
That had been the last time, their last exchange. He’d stormed out of the restaurant, packed his bag, and gone to the train station. He caught the next train out. It was going to Lisbon, Portugal.
He was covered with perspiration when he got back to the house. He grabbed a towel and checked on Elise. She was fast asleep, hugging a pillow. Her hair covered her face. He pushed it aside. She was moving her lips, like a baby bird waiting for food. But no mother would be coming home to feed her.
You’ll never grow up, his father had said.
Jeremy went into his bathroom. He squeezed the sweat from the red bandanna and laid it out flat on the counter top. He could almost see his father’s face beneath the camouflage of his own long hair and beard as he examined himself in the mirror. He had the same dark deep-set eyes, the same high cheekbones, broad forehead, flat, upturned nose that looked like it had been smashed in a bar brawl. His chest and arms were deeply muscled and defined. Although he had wiped them off, they glistened with perspiration as his body continued to cool down.
