The Complete Matt Jacob Series

by Klein, Zachary;

  Biancho’s mouth twisted. “It’s ironic Jacob, you got involved because you love someone, and I kept chasing you away for the same damn reason.”

  “I’d call what you’ve got a ‘jones,’” I said, preparing to leave.

  Biancho rose from his seat but Alexis didn’t even glance up, her mind far away.

  “I haven’t exactly covered myself with glory,” he said. “but I’m a better cop than you have reason to believe.”

  “I’ll tell you something,” I said waking toward the door as a conversation with Lou slapped me upside the head. “If love is your disease, it can make you do right or do wrong. And you’ve been doing wrong. Both of you.”

  I sat in the dark sedan and lit a cigarette and a joint. Mr. Bluebird still wasn’t perched on my shoulder and nothing was particularly “satisfactual.”

  And hadn’t changed by the time Alexis and Biancho left her office. He stepped close to her but she roughly shoved him away. The Chief shook his head despairingly and started down the block. Alexis scrambled into her Saab and gunned the car off the curb. Without returning his weak wave.

  Their farewell shook me out of my stuck. Goosed about the case, but once again bummed about close relationships. One for two. Probably the wrong one.

  But the right time for that conversation with Paul Brown.

  It was pretty late and Anne wasn’t very pleased to see me. “Paul’s not here and I don’t know when to expect him,” she said peering over a door-chain, her eyes baggy and bloodshot, her spearmint breath a poor hide for the booze.

  “I’m not here to see Paul,” I said in a moment of professional, or perhaps sleazy, inspiration.

  Anne’s head was already shaking before I finished. “Our last little talk didn’t help my home life.” No slur to her words, but the cadence was off.

  I nodded. “Heather told me. I didn’t mean to complicate things.”

  Anne’s face softened at the mention of her daughter, but the latch remained on the door.

  “She said I cause trouble wherever I go,” I admitted.

  “Heather exaggerates.” She unhooked the chain, but held her ground. “Why do you want to talk to me?”

  I took a deep breath. “I don’t know who else to turn to,”

  “Let me guess, you want to talk about Paul. Well, come inside. We can’t discuss him on the porch.”

  Anne led me to the room where we’d talked the last time. Everything but her slight stumble was the same, including the tilt to Heather’s picture.

  “Do you want something to drink?”

  “A beer and ashtray would be great. Do you know when Paul will be home?”

  “No,” she called from another room, “but it will be late. It always is these days.” She returned carrying a slanted tray with a couple of Sam Adams, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, a glass, and the same shell ashtray. “I have plenty of time to bum your cigarettes.”

  “Help yourself,” I said, placing the pack and lighter between us, ripping my eyes off the whiskey.

  “So you’re still worried about your father-in-law and Lauren?” Anne asked after we’d lit up and settled in.

  “I’m not comfortable with it,” I said. “Especially when I keep hearing different pieces of her family history.”

  “I’m not the person to put your mind at rest.”

  “Well, I suppose I’ll have to get used to it since they’re going to be together.”

  “This is not the first time I’ve heard about it.” Anne sighed, but almost looked relieved.

  She took a long sip of Jack. “I’m the last to learn about anything. It’s always been that way,” she said without looking up. “When Jim and I moved up here, the town was even more exclusive than it is now. We were lonely and isolated. I was pregnant with Heather and the move was a real disaster until we met the Browns.”

  “When was this?” I asked, though I hadn’t come here for history.

  “Seventy something. Too long ago to remember.”

  “During which of Lauren’s lifestyles?”

  Anne chuckled. “It’s hard to keep track. She’s been in everything that even smelled “alternative.” But our trouble didn’t start until she got into open marriages.” The humor left her face.

  “Lauren was my hero. Fearless, powerful. But no matter how much I worshipped her, Jim always came first. For Lauren as well.” Anne paused.

  “There was an undercurrent of sexuality between everyone,” she admitted. “At least after I gave birth to Heather,” she added, averting my eyes.

  “Lauren and Jim got together while you were pregnant, didn’t they?” I asked softly. The faster I got through the past, the closer I’d be to the present.

  Anne nodded, “Told you I was always the last to know. I didn’t find that out until Paul and I started living together. He thought I knew.” She bottomed up and drizzled another couple of fingers worth into her glass.

  “What makes it worse was how kind Lauren had been during my pregnancy. It’s sick, but I still don’t believe it was totally bullshit.” Anne shook her head. “Even sicker, I still don’t hate her.”

  “So you understand my mixed feelings,” I said.

  “Of course.”

  Anne was talking because she was closing in on drunk.

  And wanted to get there. She sipped from her glass. “After Heather was born we moved into the Hacienda. Caring for the babies together was much easier. For a long time the living arrangement was fun.”

  “But the air went out of the balloon?”

  “Control issues. Jim and I, especially me, always did what Lauren and Paul wanted. What Lauren wanted, really.”

  “But it was the open marriage that blew you and Jim apart?” It had been a half open marriage that had ruined my first. My first wife Megan’s half.

  “Experimenting with sex masked everything. For a while it was pretty exciting. I’d never slept with anyone but Jim, and Paul seemed so experienced.”

  “You didn’t feel threatened?” I asked, thinking about myself. “Jealous?”

  “Not at first. Lauren was almost ten years older than Jim and pretty wild looking. Sunburst hairdo, weird makeup, and tied-dyed tee shirts. I thought their sex trip was an extension of friendship, like mine with Paul. I actually imagined that Lauren and I were much closer than we were with our husbands.

  “It’s hard to believe how long it took me to catch on. I was devastated when I finally realized they’d fallen in love.”

  “Sometimes it takes a while for reality to sink in,” I said. Again, I couldn’t help thinking about my own rationalizations about Megan.

  “I thought she and I talked about everything with each other.”

  Anne took a deep breath, poured more bourbon into her glass, and snagged another cigarette. “As badly as it turned out, those were exciting years. And to be honest, most of the excitement was generated by Lauren.”

  Her voice dropped, “But so was the pain. Jim was so damn blind he didn’t believe we had problems. He thought I was captive to my ”bourgeois” background. For the longest time I agreed with him. The solution wasn’t to stop the experiment, but to “overcome the contradictions.” By the time we realized we weren’t going to overcome a goddamn thing, it was too late.”

  Anne took a deep slug. “Too late for everything but another fucked up marriage.”

  “Where was Paul in all this?”

  “Let me quote: ‘The way to keep a butterfly on your shoulder is to let it leave. Once the butterfly realizes it’s truly free, there’s no need for it to depart.’”

  “He was mistaken?”

  “About butterflies, but not himself. Paul was the same then as he is now. Lauren never made a move to keep him, and he never left.”

  Anne swiped another cigarette and puffed thoughtfully, not yet ready to return to the now. “When it became clear the situation was totally out of control, my family moved out.”

  “But it didn’t help?”

  “Jim and Lauren never stopped fuck
ing,” Anne said bluntly. “Our move was supposed to give the “friendships” an opportunity to heal. Believe it or not, I wanted everything back the way it used to be.”

  “You didn’t have any trouble breaking off your sexual relationship with Paul?”

  “Not really. Paul had been a radical departure from the rest of my entire life; anyhow, sex between us was nothing terrific. I thought the trouble was me. At least that’s what I thought then,” she added sourly. “I was naive and stupid.”

  “You were inexperienced.”

  “And you are tactful,” she smiled crookedly. Anne pulled her hands apart, then seemed confused about what to do with them. “You have to understand, we’re talking years to wipe the bloom from this rose,” she said, covering her sudden embarrassment.

  “But you stayed with Paul.” It had taken a while but we were finally where I wanted us. Wasn’t sure what I was searching for, but I’d know when it showed.

  “Our relationship deepened when Lauren deserted the Hacienda. She never said a word, just disappeared leaving a note that she couldn’t stand living in a nuclear family. To be fair, she stayed in touch with the kids which is more than you can say about Heather’s father.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “When Lauren disappeared he hung around for a while then left the country. I haven’t heard from him since. That woman breaks a lot of hearts.”

  “That’s when you and Paul linked up again romantically?”

  “Romance has never been a part of our relationship. When Lauren left, Paul wanted more than a friendship, but I was frightened I’d be abandoned the moment she returned. We didn’t sleep together until Lauren came back and kicked Paul out. Sounds like a soap opera, doesn’t it?”

  “Sounds like a lot of people who didn’t have their shit together. There are a lot of us like that.”

  “Some people never get it together.”

  I smiled, “Are you talking about Lauren or Paul?” Or me, I wondered, losing the smile.

  “Mostly about myself. And Paul.”

  “You know which end is up.”

  “Knowing isn’t doing. I should have left the moment I understood what makes Paul tick. I still should, but ending up on the meat market at my age is more than I can handle.”

  “What does make him tick?” I asked after a short draw on my beer.

  Her eyes flashed with pain and anger. “Lauren Rowe. Always has, always will. Time hasn’t changed a damn thing. The moment it became clear that Lauren’s relationship with Lou was unlike any she’d had before, all hell broke loose.”

  I nodded my agreement. “The kids were shattered.”

  “And it’s been even worse for Paul.”

  Winning number, aching gut. I’d found what I was looking for.

  “Once Paul understood how serious Lauren and Lou were, I thought he’d finally let go. Sorry, stupid me again.” Anne unsuccessfully tried to bury her anger. “Paul’s more withdrawn and even tighter about money. Now he’s barely around.”

  “Where does he go?”

  “I thought the bastard was putting in overtime. Turns out he’s playing Mr. Fix-it at the goddamn Hacienda. The rest of the time he’s with Vivian. He visits her after work, comes home for dinner, then goes back to watch television. And sometimes he just vanishes.”

  “Why does he spend time with Vivian?”

  “He says he feels compelled to look after her, it’s Lauren’s mother, after all. But it’s a load of shit. I think the two of them just sit around feeling unappreciated.” Anne shook her head with disgust. “Mr. Goodguy, that’s my Paul, as long as it’s a female Rowe or Brown and not a Heywood.”

  She heard her self-pity because she reached for the bottle. “You sure you don’t want any?”

  “No thanks,” I lied.

  She took another gulp. “Did Heather tell you much about the fight after your last visit?”

  “Just that it had to do with the divorce.”

  “When I confronted Paul he told me it was only a technicality. I asked him whether he understood that Lauren was planning to get married. Asked him if that meant he would finally spend time working on our house instead of the Hacienda. Fix our roof, clean out our basement, weather-strip our windows. Spend some goddamn time with me. If Lauren marries Lou, my significant other is out of a fucking job!”

  Anne reached for another cigarette. “I have to give him credit, the son of a bitch stayed calm. I thought scaring him about Lauren’s marriage would shake him.”

  “But it didn’t?”

  “He told me if Lauren married Lou nothing would change.” Anne shivered as if she just felt a chill. “He backed off that one fast. Maybe he saw the look on my face.”

  I watched her spill more liquor into her glass and onto the table. Paul’s response to the divorce, his access to the Hacienda, his unexplained absences: All of it opened a door. And a dark suspicion was walking through.

  “Anne,” I asked calmly, doubling back, “I know Paul stopped giving Lauren money months ago, but you say he’s still tight.”

  She placed her glass on the table with controlled care. “Lauren’s lying, or Paul’s been lying to me.” She took a long inhale but the cigarette had died and she halfheartedly tossed it toward the ashtray. “I don’t think it’s him. Paul lies to himself, not to other people.”

  “You still care about him, don’t you?” I asked. My intensity was heating but tried to hide it. I’d just hit the curve in the road.

  “I honestly don’t know what I feel. I became an adult with Paul and that’s impossible to write off.” Anne shrugged. “Truth is, we’re alike. Both of us are willing to go wherever the river leads.” She paused. “For Paul the river is Lauren and for me it’s Paul. I’ve been so angry these past months, it’s hard to admit how worried I am about him. He really has been acting strange.”

  A bleak despair permeated the small room and it seemed right at home. The shamus in me tried to wriggle out from under the gloom. Anne wasn’t the only person hauling history. If I let it, this conversation would land me back on my couch.

  But I couldn’t let it. I had a father-in-law to protect. If Lauren had been lying about the money and was still tied to Paul, what were her real reasons for being with Lou? Maybe Rowe and Brown weren’t as separated as Lauren wanted me—and everyone else—to believe. Maybe they weren’t really separated at all.

  Cherchez le cash. It might be cynical, but I was wondering whether Paul and Lauren had a scheme to separate Lou from his money. A scheme using Lauren’s stalking claims to create an explanation if something happened to Lou—like a furnace accident. I was suddenly angry I’d never asked Lou whether he’d added her to his frigging will.

  I felt my distrust of Lauren combine with all of my own baggage about relationships and deceit. The combination was lethal and I knew it, but I’d be damned if I was going to let Lou, at this stage of his life, walk a possible plank.

  Anne leaned toward the table so I held out the pack of smokes. But she ignored the cigarettes and reached for my hand. “You’ve been kind to listen to all this,” she said, her fingers stroking my palm.

  I tried to find a polite way to free myself. “You need more friends,” I said standing and helping her to her feet. “You’re locked into a very small circle. It would help having people to talk to.”

  She walked around the table and leaned her thin body into mine. “Right now I don’t want to talk,” she whispered, the Jack Daniels washing my face. Tonight she had a different river pulling her downstream.

  “You need a less incestuous world, not a new addition,” I said stepping back.

  Anne’s mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. “You’re not interested in a loser.” There was no heat to her words, just drunken resignation.

  “No law says you have to keep losing, Anne.”

  “Are you kidding? No one gets out of this. Look at Paul, me, the children, Lou. Look at yourself.”

  “Jim got away.”

  Anne reached
down to the table for the cigarettes, wobbled, pulled three, and handed me the pack. “Jim doesn’t even speak to his own daughter because he’s unable to face an entire portion of his life. You call that getting away? We all live in one big web. And Lauren is the spider.”

  Lauren and Paul or just Paul? There was only one way to find out—and it wasn’t through confronting Lauren while she was spending the night with Lou. But I’d run out of kid gloves and all my passivity. The weeks of emotional flip-flops had come down to right now. Lauren and Paul or just Paul. I was sick of maybes.

  Vivian Rowe’s apartment was located in what the billboard proudly dubbed a Senior Citizen Housing Community. The project resembled any other townhouse complex, though the grounds were shabby and bathed in yellow crime lights. The sign had neglected to add “Low Income” to its proclamation.

  It took two impatient drive-arounds through the sprawling low-rise community before I located Vivian’s vinyl clapboard two-story. At least I’d remembered to bring my list of addresses along with the gun.

  But when I pulled to a stop it looked as if I’d have no use for either. Vivian lived on the ground floor and the apartment appeared pitch black. Maybe Anne had it wrong—or maybe Paul had already left for home.

  I quickly toked off a joint before I decided to wake the old lady. And was relieved to hear a gravel voiced invite when I rang her doorbell.

  I stopped as soon as I entered her apartment, my eyes struggling to adjust to the strange light. Vivian lived in a studio with only a freestanding screen separating her sloppy bedroom and sloppier living area. A half dozen end tables were scattered through the larger section, all of them loaded with framed black-and-whites of the same woman. The “bedroom” had mounds of clothes strewn about, as if different ensembles had been tried and rejected. When my eyes grew accustomed to the crime light’s yellow stripes filtering through the Venetian blinds, I saw that all the walls were decorated with photographs. The pictures presented Vivian from early childhood to her mid-thirties. There were none of anyone else.