Blind Shuffle
Page 26
He told Hubbard the detective’s instinct’s had been right all along. Stressed out by the impending challenges of single motherhood and feeling unsure of her ability to meet them, Marceline Lavalle had taken an impromptu trip out west to visit a friend in Las Vegas. She’d gotten into a petty argument with Prosper and exacted revenge by not notifying him of her plans, a cruel ploy she’d come to regret. Father and daughter had since reconciled and she was now restored to her position at the Bon Coeur ward, at least until taking her planned maternity leave.
No crime, no foul play, just a mundane family dispute that turned a little ugly. It was certainly out of character for Marceline Lavalle to do a runner like that. But people act out of character all the time, as the detective himself had noted.
Hubbard remained silent for most of the phone call, grunting once or twice as Rusty wove his fabric of bullshit. The silence remained after Rusty stopped speaking, and a terrible moment passed when the subject of Joseph Abellard seemed sure to storm the conversation.
Had the casino boss been reported missing by his men at the Carnival, or someone else? Had officers from the Livingston Sheriff’s Department discovered three bodies at a remote estate miles from the nearest marked road? (Four, if they looked in the carriage house and found what was left of Claude Sherman?) Was Hubbard holding his lip just long enough to let Rusty hang himself by saying too much?
The detective put those paranoid speculations to rest by clearing his throat and saying was he glad the girl turned up. To his credit, he resisted the urge to add anything along the lines of I-told-you-so.
Dan Hubbard wished him a safe flight home and ended the call. Rusty sat motionless for several minutes, allowing a cautious but growing realization to settle in.
It’s over.
• • •
“This is too much, Rusty.”
“Nope. Not by a penny. I don’t have any pay stubs, but trust me. It’s a fair accounting.”
Prosper set the envelope full of bills down on the table in his living room. He eased back into his favorite chair.
“I don’t recall making out that well. Guess it’s because the cost of living’s so much higher out there.”
“Don’t forget,” Rusty said with a nod to where Marceline sat on the couch. “Half of it’s hers.”
“She’ll end up with a damn sight more than half. I won’t spend a fraction of it in the time I got left.”
“Way to keep the conversation cheery, Dad.”
“You know what I mean,” he replied, reaching over to pat her knee. “I just want to leave you with as much as possible, and it ain’t like I got many extravagant desires at this point.”
“It is a little overwhelming,” Marceline said with a glance at the thick pile of hundreds. “Seeing so much in one lump. Drawing nurses pay for the last few years, I forgot what entertainment money looks like.”
“My advice,” Rusty said, “is to put a nice big chunk in a safe deposit box. Dip in as you need to. Diapers aren’t cheap, or so I’ve heard. Take the rest and set up a trust for the kid. Hire a good estate lawyer so you don’t get hosed on taxes.”
Marceline looked at him and started to say something, but Rusty spoke first.
“No thanks needed. This is just a payment for services rendered, and long overdue at that.”
“Still a wee bit presumptuous, aren’t you?” she said with a grin. “That mentalism bit only goes so far, you know.”
“Sorry. What were you going to say?”
“I was going to thank you, but not for the money.”
“No need for that either. Just text me a picture from the maternity ward. I can’t wait to get a look at the next great standard bearer of New Orleans magic.”
“You’ll be the first to get one.”
Rusty opened his arms and she stepped into them. He let her go and turned to Prosper. The old man rose to his feet before Rusty could tell him not to.
A simple shake of the hand served as a parting gesture. Their eyes locked for a long moment of wordless communication. It was more than enough. Rusty made for the door, never a fan of extended goodbyes.
Later that evening, he and Monday enjoyed dinner for two at Jacques-Imo’s. As they perused the dessert menu, he opened his mouth to tell her something he’d been avoiding for almost a week. She beat him to the punch, preemptively agreeing with what he was going to say. It was time for him to be heading back to Ocean Pines. He couldn’t crash at her place indefinitely, that was never in the cards.
They were each anxious in their own way to get back to whatever passed for routine before they’d crossed paths. This unexpected chapter in whatever it was they shared had come to a close. If the future held anything for them, they would find out in due time. Rusty wasn’t prepared to make any promises about relocating to New Orleans, any more than Monday was prepared to say she’d wait for him.
They both knew the score, why make a scene about it? Leaving the restaurant without ordering dessert, they shared one last fevered night together that took them clear through to the dawn.
Monday had an early shift at the ward so Rusty said he’d take a cab to the airport. She agreed, then changed her mind at the last minute. Getting a coworker to cover her shift, she drove him to Armstrong International, taking the interstate at slower speeds than he’d ever seen her follow.
They embraced in a temporary parking space at the departure level. Monday ended it, telling him to have a safe flight and then turning away before betraying too much with a look on her face.
There were no seats available in first class. Rusty got stuck in a window seat in row 28, which was fine. He told himself he was happy to be going home. Sleepy little Ocean Pines sounded like a tonic after a month in New Orleans.
The return flight was a lot less eventful than the one that brought him south, for which Rusty was grateful. Clear skies all the way. Not so much as a little hiccup of turbulence.
Best of all, he was able to see it. If not quite as clearly as he once might have, then close enough.
He didn’t make much conversation with his seatmates on the flight back to Baltimore, content to simply look out the window. His eyes got irritated after prolonged exposure to sunlight, lined with angry veins well beyond the standard description of bloodshot. He wasn’t too worried about that. The clinician had told him it might take months for the irritation to fully resolve.
He retrieved his dust-covered Lexus from the lot at BWI and made the familiar two hour drive. His favorite part of the journey, crossing over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge to reach Maryland’s eastern shore, struck him with a surprisingly depressive wallop. The sense of content anticipation he’d felt about returning to Ocean Pines while on the plane suddenly vanished.
What was there to feel good about? Once again, he was crawling back to the place where he’d grown up but where he’d never totally felt at home. Returning here after after spending the last month in another place that was once home but somehow never would be again, at least not in the same way.
As he drove along Route 1 toward Ocean Pines, Rusty reflected on a basic truth he’d somehow managed to avoid ever since that bleary dawn when he’d turned his back on Las Vegas and everything he’d built for himself out there.
He had no home.
Not Ocean Pines, comfortable as it was. Not New Orleans, despite the emotional bonds he’d formed there, both old and new. Certainly not Vegas, a place he was scared to even think about in any great detail.
How long could he keep hiding out here in coastal Maryland? Whiling away the days in his big rented house, seeing few people except for the occasional drink with his cop buddy Jim Biddison. Waiting for some kind of sign to arise, telling him he’d truly escaped the consequences of the past—or for some unseen ax to fall and bring the delayed punishment he’d long felt was due.
As he pulled his car into the pebbled driveway of 24 Echo Run, noticing the piles of leaves that had accumulated in his absence, Rusty just couldn’t make himself feel like h
e’d returned to a place where he could stay much longer. Something had to give.
He let himself in and set his bags down in the front hallway. Then he walked through the empty house with the uneasy gait of a trespasser. Rusty didn’t know exactly what had happened to make this place where he’d lived for over a year seem like it belonged to someone else. He didn’t know if it was a lingering sense of disorientation from the utterly insane events in which he’d played a role in Louisiana, or if it would prove to be a more lasting phenomenon.
All he knew for sure was that things had changed. Marking time here in Ocean Pines and waiting for an indication of what to do next was no longer an option.
He knew what to do.
He had to go back to Vegas, and find out exactly what was waiting for him out there.
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