Blowing Smoke

by Barbara Block

  “Where the hell are we going?” I asked Manuel as we bounced along. We were closing in on a copse of trees, and as far as I could tell, there was nothing there.

  “You’ll see,” Manuel said. A moment later, we came upon a broken-down wire fence. “Stop here,” he instructed.

  I parked the car on the dirt, and we got out. Manuel took the lead. We stepped over the wire fence and onto a meadow. Manuel started walking.

  “What’s here?” I asked.

  “This place used to be a farm, but the owner got killed, and now it’s nothing. Come on.” He gestured, his eyes darting nervously to the left and right. “Let’s get going.”

  It was funny, but you could drop Manuel in the middle of the worst neighborhood in Syracuse and he’d be fine, but put him in the middle of the country and he started to twitch.

  About four minutes later, Manuel pointed in front of him. “There it is.”

  At some point, the shack must have been used for storing farm equipment, but that had been a long time ago. Now it was collapsing in on itself. There were holes in the boards toward the ground where the moisture had seeped in and rotted them out. There was also a hole near the roof so big that you could see through it to the other side. Weeds and vines twined up around the structure, covering it and pulling it back where it had come from.

  “Bethany,” I cried as we approached. “It’s Robin Light. I have a friend I’d like you to meet. Please don’t run. I promise I’m not going to take you back to your parents, I’m not going to tell them where you are. We just want to talk to you.”

  No one answered. When we stepped inside, two mourning doves fluttered their wings and flew out the door. I looked around. Someone was camped out here. They’d made a bed of straw in the corner of the shack that still had its roof intact. A small cache of food sat on a cardboard box. I picked up the box of Cookie-Crisp and put it down. A man’s shirt and a pair of jeans were hanging from one of the tines of an upturned pitchfork. I removed the clothes and went through them. A small journal was nestled inside the shirt pocket.

  I opened it up. On the front page was written, “These are the private thoughts of Bethany Peterson.” I started to read.

  “You shouldn’t do that,” Manuel said.

  “I know,” I said as I thumbed through it.

  “Don’t know what to do,” one passage read. “Karim says I shouldn’t say anything. So does Michelle. Maybe I’ll consult my Tarot cards.” In another passage, Bethany had written, “My mother said I have to lose weight. No more sweets. Snuck five candy bars into the house. She found them and grounded me for a week. My father says I’m going nowhere fast.” Another page contained the phrase “I love Matt.” She’d written his name on page after page and surrounded it with hearts and curlicues. Looking at it reminded me of myself in the ninth grade. I closed the book and put it back where I found it.

  Manuel and I waited around for an hour, but Bethany didn’t show up, and eventually we got in the car and went home. I had to get back to the store, and Manuel was meeting some friends downtown.

  “I’ll come back and check later tonight,” he told me.

  “With what car?”

  “T’s.”

  “Fine.” I didn’t say anything about the fact that Manuel didn’t have a license. He’d been driving since he’d stolen his first car at fourteen. That he couldn’t legally get a license till he was twenty-one because of a variety of legal mishaps didn’t seem to hinder him.

  It was nine at night, closing time at the store—not that I couldn’t have closed the place down earlier considering the day’s business—when Geoff and Moss Ryan walked through the door of Noah’s Ark. Up to that point, we’d taken in a grand total of twenty bucks. Not even enough to cover the day’s operating expenses. I was half-lost in thought watching two marbled angelfish languidly swimming between the tall, waving grass fronds, their fins trailing behind them like bridal trains, contemplating everything I had to do and wasn’t doing when I saw the black Mercedes pulling up. I waited to see what the two men were going to say to me. Somehow I didn’t think they were coming to deliver any compliments.

  “Rose wants to see you,” Moss Ryan said as he approached the counter. He had to raise his voice to be heard over Zsa Zsa’s barking.

  “Now,” Geoff added for punctuation. He’d changed out of his tennis whites and looked quite spiffy in his pressed linen slacks and polo shirt.

  I stubbed out the cigarette I’d been smoking and dropped the butt into the coffee mug I was using as an ashtray. Somehow a strand of tobacco stayed on my tongue. “That’s nice,” I said after I’d picked it off. “Have a good game of tennis?”

  Geoff did a double take.

  “I saw you at the club.”

  “What were you doing there?”

  “Looking for Bethany Peterson.”

  “Oh. So you’re the one they hired.” He smoothed back his hair with both hands. “I’m sure she’ll turn up eventually. They always do.”

  I shushed Zsa Zsa and moved the tally sheet I was supposed to be working on to one side. “Hopefully.”

  Geoff’s glance strayed to the picture Raul had given me. I’d taped it to the front of the cash register on the off chance that one of our customers would recognize him, since there are a fair number of Hispanics who lived in this part of town.

  “Do you know them?” I asked.

  “No.” He gave a self-conscious laugh. “I usually don’t come across people like that.”

  “You have people like this working for you.”

  Geoff adjusted his Rolex. “I meant socially. Anyway, Rose deals with the household help.”

  “If you don’t mind,” Moss Ryan interjected.

  As I turned my attention to him, I saw he was wearing a lightweight navy suit, white shirt, and navy tie. I wondered if he ever wore anything else.

  “Rose wants to speak to you about Pat Humphrey.” Ryan stopped, waiting for me to say something. After a couple of moments of silence on my part, he reluctantly continued. “She appears to have taken off.” He waited again. I continued to keep quiet. He folded his hands behind his back and looked somber. “One of her neighbors said they watched you go into her house.”

  “So? The door was open.”

  Moss Ryan put his hands up. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not accusing you of anything.”

  “Then what are you saying? Exactly.”

  “Rose is concerned. She still can’t reach her. That’s most unlike Pat.” Moss Ryan dabbed at the beads of sweat on his forehead.

  I closed the cash drawer. “If she’s that concerned, she should go to the police and file a missing person’s report.”

  Moss Ryan stuffed his handkerchief back in his suit pocket. “It’s a little more complicated than that. Mrs. Taylor will explain.”

  “What if I don’t care to speak to her?”

  “I’m hoping you will. She’s extremely upset,” Moss told me while Geoff strolled over and began looking at the fish tanks. “I’m hoping that speaking to you will make her feel better.”

  “Why?”

  Moss Ryan’s brittle smile flashed on and off. “Just come.”

  By now Zsa Zsa had retreated to my legs and was whining the way she did when she wanted to go out.

  Moss Ryan shot his cuffs. “I think you’ll find Mrs. Taylor is a most generous employer. From what I’ve found out, you could stand to benefit from her largesse. Shall we say you’ll be there in an hour to an hour and a half?”

  “And if I’m not?”

  He pursed his lips. “She’ll hire someone else. But I think you’ll find that you’ve missed a good opportunity.” And he gestured to Geoff to follow him out the door.

  In the end my curiosity got the better of me, and I loaded Zsa Zsa into the car and drove out to the Taylor estate. As I rounded the curve where I’d found Raul, a picture of him flashed through my mind. I should have gone to the hospital sooner. I tried not to picture him lying in a drawer, covered with a sheet, waiting
for someone to claim him and no one coming. Where did they bury people like that? I reached for my cell. I needed to speak to someone. I called Manuel, George, and Calli. But no one was home. I didn’t leave any messages.

  Rose Taylor’s maid was waiting for me. She didn’t say anything about the ketchup stain I’d just gotten on my shirt from the two Big Macs and fries I’d eaten in the car on my way over. She didn’t comment on the fact that I’d fixed the thong of my left sandal with duct tape or the fact that the make-up I’d started the day with had long since worn away. She didn’t even say anything about Zsa Zsa. In fact, she didn’t say anything at all. Just opened the door before I’d even rung the bell and motioned for me to follow her.

  She looked weary, as if the day had eaten away at her reserves of strength. The wrinkles in her face were deeper. Her uniform was creased. Her gait was slower. She’d developed a slight limp in her leg from when I’d last seen her. As we walked through the hall, the noises our shoes made on the marble floor echoed in the dim light.

  The maid led me to a room off the main hall. Looking around it, I had the feeling that this was where Rose Taylor actually lived. Relatively small, maybe twelve by twenty, it was furnished with a comfortable-looking light brown sofa and two club chairs, a desk piled high with correspondence, and a large wall unit containing a television and stereo. The walls were hung with pen-and-ink drawings. An assortment of magazines sat on the coffee table next to a box of tissues, a cup, and a tray filled with pills.

  Rose Taylor was reclining on the sofa. One side of her mouth had a definite tremble to it, but other than that, she looked the way she had when I’d last seen her. Geoff and Moss Ryan were clustered next to her. Geoff was sitting in one of the club chairs, stroking her hand, while Moss Ryan was saying something to her that I couldn’t hear. Rose made an imperceptible movement with her shoulders when she saw me, and the two men moved back slightly.

  “You shouldn’t have brought the dog,” she told me. “Sheba doesn’t like them.”

  “I can leave if you want,” I replied, looking around for the cat. It was nowhere in sight. Maybe it had taken off along with Pat Humphrey. “I shouldn’t be here, anyway.”

  “No. Sit down.” Rose Taylor rang for the maid while I sat in the free club chair. When she came in, she told her to keep the cat in the kitchen until further notice and ordered coffee to be brought. “Now, then.” She turned to me after the maid left. “Hillary told me everything you told her.”

  “Is that what you called me here to tell me?”

  “Partly. I wanted you to know that Pat had already shared that information with me, so Hillary wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. But you did a good job, which is why I want you to find Pat Humphrey for me. I know you know she’s disappeared.”

  “I’ll repeat what I told your lawyer. Go to the police. They’re better equipped than I am to find someone who has gone missing.”

  “That’s your advice?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see.” Rose Taylor carefully rearranged a fold of the caftan she was wearing. Bright blue with gold threads, it looked as if it were worth more than everything I had in my closet. “Have you ever made a mistake?” she asked me when she was done.

  “Frequently.” Out of the corner of my eye I watched Zsa Zsa sniffing around the corner of the desk.

  “I think I might have made one.”

  “Just one? That would make you a fairly unusual person.”

  She frowned. When I didn’t say anything else, she continued. “You’ve met my children.”

  I nodded at the rhetorical question.

  Rose Taylor stopped talking when the maid came back in with the coffee. “Consuela, put the tray down here.” She gestured to the coffee table. Consuela did as told and left. Geoff got up and served both Rose and myself. Rose took a sip of her coffee, then continued. “A couple of days ago I got a call from Pat. She was furious. She said my children had offered to buy her off.”

  “Like parent, like child,” I murmured below Rose Taylor’s hearing. “How much were they offering?” I’d been under the impression the three of them didn’t have a spare nickel between them.

  “Twenty thousand dollars if she left town. Naturally, she told them no.” Rose Taylor stirred her coffee. The teaspoon clinked on the edge of the china cup.

  “Naturally,” I said. Why settle for a little when you could get a lot more.

  Rose Taylor went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “I was so angry ... so mortified that my children ...” Her voice drifted away. She fluttered her hands in the air. “I ... I told Hillary I was changing my will ... that I was going to include Pat Humphrey in it ... and that I was thinking of allowing her to use one of our country houses.”

  “She must have loved that.”

  “She became extremely angry. Abusive, really,” Rose Taylor admitted. “I would never have talked to my mother the way she talked to me.”

  “Did you say anything else?”

  “I told her that if she didn’t leave Pat alone and stop bothering her, I’d take more drastic steps.”

  I folded my arms across my chest and watched Zsa Zsa meander over to where I was. “In short,” I told Rose after a minute of silence had gone by, “you’re afraid that one of your children has something to do with Pat Humphrey’s disappearance?”

  Rose nodded slightly. If I hadn’t been watching, I would have missed it.

  “I still don’t get what you want from me.”

  Moss Ryan gently interrupted. “What Rose is saying is that we want you to find Pat Humphrey and make sure that she’s all right.”

  I thought about the running water and the uneaten toast in Pat Humphrey’s backyard. I thought about the opened back door. “And if she’s not?”

  Moss Ryan bit his lip. “If something has happened to her, the police will naturally come to Rose’s children first. We would like a chance to prepare for that eventuality.”

  “I’m glad Sanford isn’t alive to see this.” Rose’s voice quavered. She rubbed one hand on top of the other. They were covered with liver spots. Suddenly, she looked old. “His heart wouldn’t be able to take this. I’m not sure mine will, either.”

  Geoff leaned over again and patted her hand again.

  “Of course, we’ll be willing to compensate you for your time,” Moss Ryan said to me.

  “Of course.”

  “Please,” Rose Taylor said. Her lower lip quavered. Tears began trickling down her cheeks.

  I told her I’d take the job. For three reasons. One: God knows why, but I felt sorry for her. Two: I could use the money. Three: I wanted to nail Pat Humphrey.

  I went to look for Shana Driscoll. We had a few things to discuss.

  Chapter Ten

  It was still hot outside. The air was thick with the smell of honeysuckle and the promise of rain to come. Little pinpricks of light flickered on and off. Fireflies. The grunks of croaking frogs floated back from the lake. Moored sailboats, looking like toys, bobbed in the water. Over by the hills, a flash of lightning lit up the sky. Fairy lights marked the path that led to the cottage Shana was living in. I followed it while Zsa Zsa ran ahead and to the side of me, chasing moths with translucent wings.

  The pool was a still oval of transparent water. The chairs around looked bereft, as if they were waiting for a party. Someone had lit two citronella candles. The smell, a mixture of lemon and wax, wafted over me, reminding me of summers spent at my aunt’s camp near Saratoga Springs. A glass, half-filled with a dark liquid, sat on a small round table. As I got closer, I noticed someone treading water in the deep end of the pool. It was Shana Driscoll, out for her evening swim.

  I walked over and hunkered down at the edge of the pool while Zsa Zsa pawed at a bug crawling along the edge of the concrete apren.

  Shana’s face was tipped up, a white oval in the shadows. “What do you want?” she asked.

  “To talk to you.”

  “That’s fairly obvious.” But she climbed out,
water streaming off her body, and toweled herself off in a slow, deliberate fashion just as Zsa Zsa nosed the bug over the edge and into the pool.

  “Where’s your dog?” I asked Shana as I watched the beetle frantically try to paddle its way back to the side.

  She flung the towel on one of the chairs, then plopped on its arm, her left foot swinging like a metronome. “Maurice is back in the cottage.”

  “You’re not on duty, I take it?”

  “I go off at seven.”

  I took my cigarettes out of my backpack and lit one.

  “You should quit.”

  I acknowledged the suggestion with a grunt, then swatted at a moth that had come too close to my face. “So you must have had a pretty rough day today, what with the state Mrs. Taylor was in.”

  Shana ran a hand through her hair, tugging and patting the strands into place. “Poor, dear lady. Don’t you know that all stroke patients tend to become overemotional? It’s one of the side effects.”

  “No, I didn’t know that.” I exhaled and watched the puff of smoke drift upward. A plane flew overhead, its wing lights winking red and blue.

  “It’s the truth.”

  “So you think Mrs. Taylor is overreacting to Pat Humphrey’s disappearance.”

  “Disappearance is a strong word.”

  “You think she’ll show up?”

  “That I couldn’t say.”

  “And why not?”

  Shana blew out her breath in irritation. “Because I don’t know. And now if you’ll excuse me ...” And she picked up her towel and hung it around her neck.

  “So you haven’t heard from her, either?”

  “Mrs. Taylor’s friend? No. Why should I have?” Shana took a step to the side and nearly tripped over Zsa Zsa, who had planted herself next to her feet.

  “I just thought...”

  “What?”

  “Given your phone call.”