Fool Me Twice

by Michael Brandman

  She thought about it.

  “All right,” she said.

  “You’ll give me the money?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now?”

  “I don’t keep that kind of cash around.”

  “You could write me a check.”

  “All right,” she said, after a moment.

  She reached into her purse, took out her checkbook, and wrote one for twenty-five thousand dollars. She handed it to him.

  He looked at it. He put it in his pocket.

  “Please leave now,” she said.

  He nodded.

  He turned and walked to his car. “Thank you,” he said, looking back to her. But by then she had made it safely into the house.

  15

  Jesse pulled to a stop in front of the Community Services Building, a Federal-style red-brick behemoth, built in the early 1900s as the original Paradise High School. It was now home to several municipal offices, including the Department of Water and Power.

  Jesse entered the office of William J. Goodwin, the longtime DWP commissioner. Goodwin had held the position since the mid-1980s, making him the longest-serving public official in Paradise.

  He and Jesse had met on a number of official occasions. Goodwin was a tiny man, quiet and unassuming. He dressed immaculately, favoring expensive suits worn with bow ties. He spoke in a high-pitched tenor that often made him the butt of ill-intentioned humor.

  Behind the desk in the outer office sat Ida Fearnley, Goodwin’s longtime assistant.

  Miss Fearnley was a large woman in middle age, well known for the shortness of her patience and the tartness of her tongue.

  “Chief Stone,” she said to Jesse. “What a nice surprise.”

  “Miss Fearnley,” he said. “Still guarding the fort, I see.”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “And life remains good up here at W and P?”

  “It’s pretty much the same as always. How can we help you?”

  “I’m sorry to show up unannounced, but I wonder if the commissioner might have a few minutes to spare.”

  “He’s in there. Let me go see what he’s up to.”

  She left him and entered the commissioner’s office.

  Jesse walked the outer office, glancing at the many citations and awards on the office walls. Most reflected appreciation for Mr. Goodwin’s long years of service.

  The door to his office opened, and William J. Goodwin appeared.

  “Chief Stone,” he said. “An unexpected pleasure. Do come in. Can we get you anything?”

  “Thank you, no,” Jesse said.

  The two men shook hands, and Goodwin gestured for Jesse to enter ahead of him.

  Goodwin’s office looked like the set of a London men’s club in a forties movie. Lots of leather and mahogany.

  He ushered Jesse to a pair of glossy brown leather armchairs. They sat. Goodwin’s feet barely touched the floor.

  “I’m sorry to be a bother, Mr. Goodwin,” Jesse said, “but I’ve recently had some inquiries regarding your department, and I thought it better to direct them to the source.”

  “Me being the source?”

  “Exactly.”

  “To what inquiries are you referring?”

  “Do you know of any recent rate increases regarding water usage?”

  “None. We purchase our water directly from the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, and the rates have been constant for quite some time. I can’t say I agree with the state’s decision to maintain these rate levels, but clearly my opinions count for very little.”

  “What are your opinions,” Jesse said.

  “It’s my belief that our society has little respect for this most precious of our natural resources. We use it capriciously and wastefully. When you consider the shortage of potable water on our planet and the manner in which we squander our share of it, I find it shameful that it costs so little, the result of which allows us to deplete our supplies as recklessly as we wish.”

  Jesse didn’t say anything.

  “My beliefs, however, go largely ignored at state,” Goodwin said. “Try as I may to voice them.”

  “What would you have them do?”

  “I’d have them charge a usage rate that would force restraint. One out of every seven people on the planet doesn’t have access to clean water. Unless things change, we’ll soon be facing a global disaster.”

  “Sounds like a problem for the environmentalists.”

  “The environmentalists have become so politicized that it’s impossible for them to argue such an issue without the concurrence of lobbyists and power brokers. Electability is all that these morons care about.”

  “This is all above my pay grade,” Jesse said. “For what it’s worth, I agree with you. I’m afraid, however, that I’m only here to determine whether or not any rate hikes have occurred in Paradise.”

  “Would that that were the case. But, alas, it’s not.”

  Jesse stood.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Goodwin. And for sharing your insights.”

  “My irrelevant insights,” Goodwin said.

  16

  Ryan drove directly from the mansion to Marisol’s bank. He handed the check to the teller and asked her to cash it. She examined it and said, “I can’t authorize this much cash on my own. I need to speak to my manager.”

  He nodded.

  She locked the cash drawer and left her station.

  Ryan stood waiting at the window for an inordinately long time.

  Then the teller returned, accompanied by a severe-looking older man. The man stepped to the window.

  “You’re Ryan Rooney,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “A stop-payment order has been placed on this check.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that the check is no good.”

  “What do you mean it’s no good. I just received it.”

  “Be that as it may, I’m unable to cash it.”

  Ryan raised his voice. “It is good,” he said. “I just got it. Give me my money.”

  Ryan was attracting the attention of other bank customers.

  “Please lower your voice,” the man said.

  “I want my money,” Ryan said loudly.

  The man looked at him. Then he signaled to the bank guard, who was already headed in their direction.

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave,” the man said.

  “Not until you give me my money,” Ryan said.

  “Harold,” the manager said to the guard, “would you please escort Mr. Rooney from the premises.”

  Ryan was enraged.

  “I’m not leaving until I get my money,” he said.

  The guard grabbed Ryan’s arm and twisted it up behind his back, which caused Ryan to cry out in pain. He clamped his other hand on Ryan’s neck and hustled him out of the building. Once outside, he shoved Ryan away.

  As he struggled to gain traction, Ryan lost his footing and stumbled. He fell to the pavement, ripping his pants leg as he landed. He leapt back up and made a move toward the guard.

  Then he heard the sound of sirens in the distance. He stopped and listened as they drew closer.

  He wheeled around and walked quickly to his Prius. He jumped in and swung it out of the parking lot, moments before a police cruiser pulled in.

  This isn’t over, he thought.

  17

  Molly wandered into Jesse’s office. He was seated behind his desk, staring out the window. He turned around when he heard her come in.

  “There’s good news and bad news,” she said.

  “Okay,” Jesse said.

  “Do you want to know which is which?”

  “Have I a choice?”

  “The bad news is Carter Hansen wants to see you.”

  “And the good news?”

  “I’m having an excellent hair day.”

  —

  I’ve already had two calls from Portia Cassidy,” Carter Hansen s
aid. “She appears to be out for blood.”

  “How so,” Jesse said.

  “She thinks you’re terrorizing her daughter.”

  They were sitting in Hansen’s office. He had reluctantly provided Jesse with some coffee.

  “Courtney Cassidy is an unrepentant, obnoxious adolescent who seems to take a perverse pleasure in breaking the law.”

  “What were you doing in front of her house this morning?”

  “Sightseeing,” Jesse said.

  “I wish I found your attempts at humor amusing. Were you stalking the girl?”

  “I was surveilling.”

  “Stop being obtuse. What were you doing in front of her house?”

  “I suspected that Ms. Cassidy was a chronic abuser of the law, and I was right. She was talking on a cell phone when she drove past me.”

  “So what? People drive and talk on cell phones all the time.”

  “It’s against the law.”

  “Everyone knows it’s a dumb law.”

  “But it’s state law nonetheless. You could look it up.”

  “So you ticketed her?”

  “I did. Her driver’s license can now be revoked for a period of six months. She’s a two-time offender.”

  “And you believe that a judge will actually revoke her license?”

  “An honest one will.”

  “Oh, please,” Hansen said. “I want you to stop harassing her. It’s bad for business.”

  “‘Harassing her’?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you instructing me to look the other way when a crime is being committed?”

  Hansen didn’t say anything.

  “This girl has already been the cause of an accident that seriously injured someone, to which she responded in an arrogant and willful manner. I will continue to challenge her until the authorities can no longer afford to ignore her.”

  “Don’t,” Hansen said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t keep challenging her.”

  Jesse stood.

  “We’re done here,” Jesse said. “As we have previously discussed, your position enables you to fire me but not to tell me what to do.”

  Hansen looked away.

  “Unless you’re firing me, I’m going back to work.”

  Hansen didn’t say anything.

  “Stay out of it, Carter,” Jesse said. “You don’t need any part of this fur ball.”

  Hansen watched as Jesse left his office.

  18

  Jesse pulled into the driveway of the Wilburforce School, where Courtney Cassidy was a student.

  After waiting in his outer office for several minutes, Jesse was ushered into the office of the principal, Dr. Rodger Pike.

  Pike was a portly, fiftyish man, a pipe smoker who was still fretting over the school policy that prevented him from lighting up indoors. To compensate, he picked up his pipe and placed it in the corner of his mouth.

  “What can I do for you, Chief Stone,” he said, sucking on the pipe.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you on such short notice, Dr. Pike, but I have a couple of questions regarding one of your students.”

  “Of course,” Pike said. “Which student?”

  “Courtney Cassidy.”

  “Just so you understand, Chief Stone, our student information is confidential.”

  “I’ve recently had a couple of run-ins with Ms. Cassidy, and I’m curious about her.”

  “‘Run-ins’?”

  “Yesterday she was the cause of a rather serious traffic accident. She was driving and texting. Today I cited her for driving while talking on a cell phone. I’m concerned that she might be a danger to herself, as well as to the community.”

  “What is it you want from me,” Dr. Pike said.

  “Answers to some questions.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “What kind of student is she?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning are her grades good? Is she well behaved? Does she obey the rules? Is she in any way difficult?”

  Dr. Pike removed the pipe from his mouth and returned it to his desk. He carefully wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. He stood up, walked to his office door, and softly closed it. He then returned to the desk.

  “Your reputation precedes you, Chief Stone. My understanding is that you have a noble track record when it comes to dealing with delinquent juveniles. For that reason, and not for attribution, I will tell you that the Wilburforce School has had its share of difficulties with Courtney Cassidy. She is resistant to authority. She has issues with her peers. She is frequently sullen and uncooperative.”

  “Why do you keep her?”

  “Her father is the school’s largest contributor.”

  “Aaah,” Jesse said.

  “Aaah, indeed,” Dr. Pike said.

  “Thank you for your frankness.”

  “It’s really a shame.”

  “What is?”

  “Off the record, she’s generally a pain in the ass. But I somehow believe she’s not a bad girl at heart. Were I a psychiatrist, I might even suggest that she’s acting out a desperate need for attention.”

  “Is she a good student?”

  “Heavens, no.”

  “Does she socialize?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Does she have many friends? Any boyfriends?”

  “Again, I’m not really at liberty to say. Off the record, however, she does get along with a number of the other girls, but not the truly popular ones. No boyfriends that I know of.”

  “Thank you again for your candor,” Jesse said, standing.

  “I do hope you can help this child,” Dr. Pike said.

  “I do hope this child can be helped,” Jesse said.

  19

  Molly handed Jesse his phone messages as he walked by her desk.

  “Frankie Greenberg called,” she said.

  He nodded and went into his office.

  He returned her call first.

  “Help,” she said.

  “‘Help’?”

  “Marisol Hinton arrives tomorrow. I need a respite.”

  “‘A respite’?”

  “Stop repeating everything I say. I need relief. I need to feel the wind in my hair. I need to be lifted off the earth and transported to a magical land where nymphs play and angels sing.”

  “I know just the place.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “My house,” he said.

  “What time?”

  —

  This is just what I’d imagined,” Frankie said as she entered the house. Jesse ushered her into the living room, where she dropped her things on a chair.

  She looked around. The kitchen caught her attention.

  “You’re cooking?”

  “No.”

  “You’re kidding, right,” she said, inhaling deeply.

  “Vito Rezza did the cooking,” Jesse said.

  “Who’s Vito Rezza?”

  “The owner of Vito’s Ristorante, of course.”

  Frankie looked at him questioningly. “On tonight’s menu, we have a Caprese salad, along with freshly baked garlic bread. Our entrée is veal piccata served on a bed of linguini aglio e olio. And for dessert we have Vito’s legendary tiramisu.”

  “Wow,” she said. Jesse grabbed a pair of wineglasses and poured an already decanted Lungarotti Rubesco.

  “This is fabulous,” she said, after tasting it.

  “Respite enough?”

  “Pinch me, I’m dreaming.”

  Jesse took her wineglass and put it down on the counter. Then he put his arms around her and kissed her.

  “Wow again,” she said.

  “And we haven’t even gotten to the appetizers.”

  He kissed her again, then paused.

  “We have a dilemma,” Jesse said, leaning back slightly.

  “Oh?”

  “Although we have an amazing dinner simmering on the
stove, in point of fact, it could benefit from simmering a bit longer.”

  “How much longer?”

  “If I showed you around upstairs, it’s entirely possible we might become distracted long enough to allow it to simmer to maturity.”

  “By all means.”

  “By all means what?”

  “Take me upstairs.”

  “With pleasure,” he said.

  —

  Frankie was swimming in Jesse’s extra-large white cotton bathrobe, which she wore with the sleeves rolled up past her elbows. Jesse had on a gray PPD sweatshirt and a pair of blue-and-green-checked pajama bottoms.

  Having finished the salad, they now eagerly worked on the veal and the pasta. Frankie was sipping the Rubesco. Jesse had switched to Sam Adams Winter Lager.

  Saving the tiramisu for later, they retired to the living room, where Jesse settled himself into one of his armchairs. Frankie made herself comfortable on his lap.

  Mildred Memory was camped out on the adjacent chair, watching them through half-closed eyes.

  Frankie put her arms around Jesse’s neck and rested her head on his shoulder.

  “I think I’ve just discovered the meaning of life,” she said.

  Jesse kissed the top of her head. She looked up at him and raised her face to his.

  “I could get used to this,” she said.

  She kissed him once, then again with urgency.

  She adjusted herself on the chair until she was straddling him. They stayed that way for some time.

  20

  Jesse saw Courtney’s Lexus pull into the Wilburforce School parking lot from his spot across the street. She negotiated the left turn while holding her cell phone to her ear.

  Jesse stepped out of his cruiser and walked to the lot. Courtney was slowly circling it, looking for a parking space. When she spotted him, she slammed on her brakes and dropped the phone.

  Jesse approached the car, and when he was beside it, he motioned for her to get out. She opened the door and stepped out.

  “What,” she said.

  “Pick up the phone and hand it to me.”

  “Pick it up yourself.”

  Jesse noticed that they had attracted the attention of a number of students, who milled around, watching.

  “Please hand me your driver’s license and your car keys.”