Smoke Screen

by Suzanne Ouimet

  Placing some smaller items on the existing workbench, she asked, “Think you can build me a computer desk?”

  “Sure I can. But what do you need a computer desk for? You don’t have a computer.”

  “I do now. I just bought one yesterday.”

  “Really? I don’t know that much about computers. What did you get?”

  “One of those new Windows systems. You know, by Microsoft?”

  “That’s the one with the graphical interface, right?”

  “Yes. Can you help me set it up on my dining room table later? I’d like to have a proper desk, though. It takes up a lot of space.”

  “You won’t be able to plug it in if you set it up in your dining room, MB. It’ll need a whole lot of electrical outlets, as well as a phone connection.”

  “Oh… Well, okay, we’ll see what we can do. But you will build me a desk, right? When you get time?”

  “I will. Yes. But, you’ll have to decide where you want it to go. What about the spare bedroom?”

  Tom had the workshop pretty well organized by suppertime. He told Marybeth he’d need an additional electrical circuit box in order for everything to work.

  “You get whatever you need, Tom.”

  “I’ll need to pay you extra for hydro,” he commented.

  They set up the new computer on a tea table in her bedroom, not ideal, but it worked well enough, being near electric outlets.

  Luckily they both had a sense of humour!

  “I can see this is going to take some time to learn,” Marybeth remarked, slightly frustrated, as they started loading programmes into the machine.

  “What are you going to use it for, anyway?”

  “Writing letters, maybe keep my record collection in a data base, keep track of my finances, stuff, like that.”

  “I’m getting an idea about a desk. I’ll draw it up for you to look at.”

  When Tom announced it was time to leave, she suggested, “Why not stay here, Tom, in the spare room?”

  “Cats, MB. Remember the cats? I have to go home and feed them. Clean the litter boxes. I need to take a shower before I go to work in the morning. I have to return the truck on the way home and pick up my car.”

  “Guess you’re right,” she answered, obviously disappointed.

  Tom gave her a light peck on the cheek and took his leave. That wasn’t even a real kiss. How come? And he could have showered here! He’s probably paying me back.

  Chapter 7

  Agnes and Nick

  Marybeth and Tom had decided to visit Lisa’s Aunt and Uncle, thinking the old couple might shed some light on Marilyn and Frannie deJean. They also hoped to learn more about Ben.

  “Ben was always sensitive,” Agnes told them when Marybeth expressed interest about her brother. Looking down at her hands, she thought for a moment or two, then added, “Over-sensitive, in my opinion. When President Kennedy was assassinated, Ben was so upset he almost had a nervous breakdown.”

  “In all fairness, Agnes, we were all upset,” Nick interjected. “That was the day Lisa and Alex were married, remember? It spoiled the day for all of us,” he told Tom and Marybeth. “We couldn’t really enjoy the occasion.”

  Turning back to Agnes, he said, “I don’t consider that being over-sensitive.”

  “So: you don’t agree he was over-sensitive, is that what you’re saying?”

  “No. That’s not what I’m saying. He could be a bit touchy sometimes. I know that.”

  “Thin-skinned too. Always was. Pain in the neck as a kid.”

  “Come on, Aggie. Now you’re being over-critical.”

  “You didn’t know him when he was a kid. I did. He was always whining.”

  Amused by their bickering, Marybeth and Tom smiled at each other.

  “Ben was very upset after he rescued that little girl.” Agnes told them, when they asked about the apartment fire. “He had a heart attack right after that, you know.”

  “Yes. That must have been upsetting for you, too. Were you close as children, Agnes? You and Ben?” Marybeth asked.

  “I was seven years older than Ben. Bert and Gloria came in between. They’re all gone now, all my siblings. I’m the only one left. Funny that, when you think about it. I’m the oldest and the only one still living.” Catching herself digressing, she came back on subject. “No, I guess you couldn’t describe us being close. Not as children anyway. Later, as we got older, he came to confide in me more often. We grew a little closer then.”

  “Were you were involved in his decision to adopt those two young Mexican boys?” Tom asked.

  Wringing her hands, turning the rings on her plump fingers around and around, Agnes replied, “Not, really. He’d already decided. He ran it by me, yes, but he’d already made up his mind. Only asked me because Margaret wanted my input.” It was obvious she was nervous talking about Ben and the boys.

  “They were great kids, those boys,” Nick told them. “I was very fond of them. We both were. They spent many good times here — even helped me in the orchard some. They were always welcome. Still are.”

  “Helped you with the roof, too, Nick, remember? They were great kids until they started to rebel,” Agnes said. “Not Lisa, of course, she was fine, a real treasure,” she added, smiling.

  “Yeah. Well. That was a rough time for the whole family,” Nick agreed. “Ben was pretty upset when they left, but I think Margaret may have been relieved. She had those little twins to look after by then and the big boys were a handful.”

  “Did you ever hear from them or see them after they left home?” Marybeth asked.

  Agnes and Nick looked at each other for a few seconds, then seemed to come to some agreement.

  “Well, yes, in fact we did,” Nick admitted. “Both of them came to visit us after. Quite a few times actually. As Agnes said, they even helped me put a new roof on the house.”

  “They didn’t stay all that long though and didn’t tell us why they left home, if that’s what you’re asking,” Agnes told them, still twirling her rings. “But, if you want my opinion, Ben was too tough on them, too rigid. He’d lost his way. For some reason he wanted them to turn into what he called ‘proper Indians’, which is kinda stupid, considering.”

  “He actually used that expression once,” Nick agreed, smiling at the memory.

  “Proper Indians? How do you mean?” Tom asked.

  “Well, first of all, none of us ever lived on a reservation. We went to regular white schools, same as our kids did,” Nick told them. “We’re what I guess you’d call ‘assimilated’. Sure, we take part in some of the tribal stuff and we support the council, but we aren’t really into it that much. Our families have been pretty much independent for several generations. We live on our own, not government land. Both our sons married white women, as did Ben. Some of our people judge us for this, say we’ve ‘turned white’.”

  “Yeah,” Agnes agreed. “Well, as I said; suddenly Ben wants to teach his adopted kids how to be Indians, when he didn’t really know how to be one himself. Then he got impatient with them when they didn’t fall in with all his ideas. I think he put a lot of pressure on those youngsters when the little twins were born and Margaret wasn’t available to soften things up, so they rebelled.”

  “Now I think about it,” Nick told them, “both of them, particularly Margaret, were focusing on the new babies a lot. Ben couldn’t seem to take his eyes off them. The older boys probably felt they’d been abandoned, yet again. That’s what I think, anyway. One thing, though, Ben was a good man. He never drank. Not like Agnes’s brother Bert. Some of my people have alcohol problems, too, you know. Not all, luckily.”

  “No, that’s a blessing for sure. He never drank. He had other faults though, lots of them,” Agnes remarked. “He was very selfish. He could never empathize with anyone else’s feelings about anything. Case in point: he couldn’t understand why Margaret might have a problem with adopting two older boys. He wanted to do it, and that was it. Argument over. Margar
et told me she had to go along with him on that. Not that she didn’t end up loving them; she did.”

  “Ben was never in the residential school system, was he?” Tom asked them. “Your generation just missed that enlightening experience, I hope? ‘Kill the Indian and save the man’? ”

  “That’s right. None of our family had that privilege, thankfully. Those places, here in Washington anyway, closed just before we were old enough to go, which was a huge blessing. Two of Nick’s uncles were actually kidnapped and sent away to a place called Chemawa, in Oregon. Some of our older friends have really bad memories of those places. Lives were spoiled. Anyway, I’m sure you know about all it. No use going over it now.”

  “Let’s have a cup of coffee,” Nick suggested, changing the subject. “Agnes made a lovely cake today; a black forest cake, I think, and I can’t wait to try it. Want me to do the honours, Aggie?”

  “I’ll help you,” Tom offered, following Nick into the kitchen, hoping to be able to ask him questions his wife might not let him answer if she was present. While Nick served the cake onto glass plates and put cups and cutlery onto a tray, he expressed doubts as to whether he and Agnes should be talking to them, told Tom he felt they were being disloyal.

  “I think Agnes wants to help you find out what’s been going on. We heard you were investigating that fire and she thinks it’s time some stuff came out. In my opinion, it’s family business, but it’s her family, so I guess I should stay out of it. Anyway, as far as I’m concerned, those boys wouldn’t hurt a flea. You’re barking up the wrong tree there, fella, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  Once the men were out of earshot, Marybeth asked, “Agnes, Tom and I were wondering if you could fill us in about Marilyn deJean. She was Margaret’s older sister, wasn’t she?”

  “Yes,” Agnes answered.

  “Did you know her husband? His first name?”

  “He was Pierre, called Pete.”

  “Frannie’s father?”

  “Well, I don’t what her birth certificate says.”

  “You doubt he was her father?”

  Agnes fell silent, didn’t answer.

  “Do you have any idea where Marilyn and Frannie went after the fire destroyed Marilyn’s apartment?” Marybeth realized Agnes was unwilling to reveal what she knew about Frannie’s paternity.

  “No idea,”

  Just then Tom and Nick returned, bringing cake and coffee. The conversation turned to more general things, like the weather and state politics. While they enjoyed their cake, Nick told them the orchard farmers in the area were concerned about tax changes being considered in the legislature, which could affect their livelihood.

  Suddenly, Agnes stood up. “I have a picture I’d like to show you,” she announced as she left the room. Returning a few minutes later, she handed Marybeth a white envelope. “Have a look.”

  Marybeth removed a small black and white snapshot of a young blonde woman holding a little dark-haired girl about four years old. The woman bore a striking resemblance to Lisa Kelly. Marybeth looked up at Agnes, awaiting an explanation.

  “Agnes,” Nick interjected. “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s been a secret for a long time. Maybe it should stay that way.”

  “Ben’s dead now, Nick,” she told him. “And so is Margaret. I think it’s time to clear things up. I know you don’t agree but I think it’s time.

  Turning back to Marybeth, Agnes said, “That’s Marilyn, Margaret Nordstrom’s sister, Lisa’s aunt. The little girl is Frannie. Frannie deJean, her daughter.

  “Marilyn married Pete deJean when Frannie was two and he adopted her,” she told them. “Her real father was my brother, Ben.”

  Tom was shocked. “Did Ben know?”

  “Yes, he did,” Nick answered. “We all knew, except Margaret. I don’t think she ever knew.”

  “I hope she didn’t,” added Agnes. “I really hope she never knew.”

  “What about Frannie? Did she know?” asked Marybeth.

  “Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t. I don’t know for sure.” Agnes answered.

  “Do you have any idea where they are – Marilyn and Frannie?” Tom asked. “We’ve been searching for them but there’s no trace.”

  “They might’ve moved to Canada.” Nick suggested. “Back with Pete deJean.”

  “Where in Canada?” Marybeth asked.

  “Did Sonny tell you he was going to go with them?” asked Tom.

  “Don’t know where in Canada,” Nick told them. “But Sonny and Cal both mentioned they’d like to go to Alaska some day. Maybe they did. Most likely though, they got drafted and went to Vietnam.”

  “Maybe Cal did, but Sonny wouldn’t have,” Agnes said, looking at Marybeth. “He had diabetes and bad asthma. I’m sure they wouldn’t have taken him. He had to take those insulin shots all the time. His health was always a problem, he constantly had to be on top of it.”

  “That’s right. I’d forgotten about that,” Nick said. “Remember that time we had to rush him to the hospital, Agnes? Low blood sugar, wasn’t it? He’d let himself run out of insulin or something. He actually fainted…”

  “It was hypoglycemia, Nick,” his wife answered.

  “Anyway, we don’t really know where they went. We haven’t seen them for a long time. I hope they’re all right, though. They were nice boys.”

  “So: Did Sonny knew Frannie?” Marybeth asked, steering the conversation back to the deJeans. “We wondered if he might be the father of her baby?”

  “We don’t know that,” Agnes said resolutely. “We’ve had no contact with either Marilyn or Frannie – not ever. Ben saw them, of course, which was only right, but we never met the little girl at all.”

  “We did see Marilyn a few times, Agnes,” Nick corrected his wife. “I think we met her first at Ben and Margaret’s wedding, didn’t we? And what about at Lisa’s wedding? I remember talking to her then. We talked about the Kennedy thing. But, not at Ben’s funeral; I don’t remember seeing her there.”

  “Of course we met her once or twice, Nick.” Agnes was annoyed. “I meant after we heard she’d had Frannie - we never did after that. I never wanted to see her again after I heard about her and Ben. What was he thinking, for God sake? His own wife’s sister.”

  “I think he loved them both, Agnes,” Nick told her. “You shouldn’t be so judgmental.” Turning to Marybeth and Tom, he added, “I really do believe he must have loved them both.”

  “I’m not really judging her, Nick. I just didn’t feel comfortable about seeing her is all,” Agnes said. “I felt embarrassed by my brother. Still do.”

  “Well, he’s dead now, and so is Margaret, so get over it,” Nick said, rather harshly, Marybeth thought.

  “How did you find out about the baby?”

  “Ben came over and told us. He wanted us to be friendly with Marilyn. As if we could.”

  “Do you happen to know the boys’– Sonny’s and Cal’s – legal surname, by any chance? The one on their birth certificates?” Tom asked the couple.

  At first they denied knowing but then Nick suddenly changed. “Juarez, that was their name. Yes. Juarez – before Ben changed it to George. Are you satisfied now, Agnes?”

  Tom and Marybeth glanced at each other, remembering the man they’d recently stopped for speeding. “Allesandro Juarez!” Marybeth blurted. “We just stopped him for speeding the other day!” Tom frowned, wishing she’d shut up.

  “Really?” Nick objected. “Surely it couldn’t have been ‘our Sonny’?”

  “Maybe not,” Tom quickly replied, while thinking it probably was.

  “Do you remember his address? Where he’s living?” Agnes asked.

  “I’m sorry,” Tom replied, looking at Marybeth, “I’m afraid I don’t recollect.”

  “It’s just we’d like to see him again, if he’s not too far away.”

  But Tom didn’t feel he was in a position to reveal the whereabouts of someone whom he wasn’t sure was actually their nephew.


  Finally having exhausted their list of questions, Tom and Marybeth said their goodbyes, thanking Nick and Agnes for their help.

  It was dark now, full night. A light rain was falling causing the car’s headlights to reflect off the wet road.

  “You drive, Tom. I hate driving at night when it’s wet,” Marybeth told him.

  “I wish you hadn’t told them we know Allesandro Juarez,” Tom said after a few minutes, looking over at her.

  “Sorry. It just popped out. Besides, we don’t really know him. What does it matter anyway?”

  “Well, it’s just the sort of thing you often do, MB. Like when we arrested Jerry Brown and you suddenly told him we knew he’d been smuggling Chinese boat people into the country. Before making sure we all knew about it.”

  “Come on, Tom! Surely you’re not still upset about that?”

  “Now and again it rankles me, yes, sometimes you don’t seem to think before you speak, you know?”

  “Well, I apologized then. And I’m still sorry, but I don’t want to have it shoved in my face all the time.” Marybeth felt steamed, hurt that he’d criticized her. Finally mollified, she said, “I’ll try not to do it again.”

  They drove on through the dark rainy evening, heading back to Leffler, not speaking for several miles, both in a huff,

  “What did you and Nick talk about in the kitchen?” Marybeth finally asked, unable to stay angry with him.

  “Not all that much, actually,” Tom answered affably enough. “He did tell me, though, that Ben had suggested to them that Sonny might have started the mall fire. Just like in that note he wrote. Nick told me he couldn’t have, as both boys were with them the whole night before and the next morning. Of course he didn’t tell Ben they were there. And he said Sonny would never do anything like that anyway. His exact words were ‘they wouldn’t hurt a flea.’”

  “Nick was absolutely certain they were there the whole night and next morning?”

  “Yes, he seemed completely sure. He was very sincere about it and I believed him.”

  “Do you think Nick and Agnes were telling the whole truth about everything? Like they where the boys are, but aren’t letting on?”