THIRTY-SIX
David
I popped in to see Ethan before he was out of bed, told him I had a lot of things to do today, and that he’d have to get himself to school. No ride.
“Okay,” he said.
“You feel better?” I asked. It was meant as a general question. Did he feel better about Carl, after their meeting the night before? After showing him Dad’s model railroad? And after getting the pocket watch back?
“My tummy’s okay this morning,” he said. So he’d taken the question more literally, but in a way, answered the question I thought I’d asked. If he wasn’t feigning illness, and wasn’t anxious about attending school, then maybe he did feel better about things generally.
I hadn’t planned to have breakfast, but Mom had already put a cup of coffee at my place at the table. I grabbed it without sitting down, took a sip, set it on the counter.
“I have to go,” I said. To Dad, who was struggling as usual with the tablet, jabbing it like he was Moe poking Curly’s eyes out, I said, “Ethan can walk today. Scoot him out in plenty of time to get to school.”
“Sure. He gonna have any more trouble with that boy?”
“I hope not.”
Dad nodded. “That’s good.”
There was something different about him today. Actually, I’d noticed it first late yesterday. He was more pensive. When he’d put his arms around me in the garage and intimated he wasn’t the good man I’d always thought he was, I’d wondered what he was beating himself up about. Maybe it had something to do with Mom. I could tell something was going on with her. That she was becoming more forgetful, that Dad was covering up her mistakes. I could see that getting him down, but if Dad was being any less attentive, less supportive, the evidence wasn’t there. He seemed as devoted to her as always.
“I saw that girl,” Mom said, sitting down with her own coffee.
“What girl?”
“The one who came over last night with her boy. She seemed nice.”
“You didn’t even talk to her, Mom. I didn’t even know you’d seen her.”
“I was looking out the window,” she said.
Ethan and I had to get out of this house.
“Yes, she seemed nice,” I said. “But she’s got plenty of baggage.”
“Who doesn’t?” Mom asked. “You think we didn’t have baggage when we met each other?”
Dad looked up from the tablet. “David doesn’t need to take on another woman with a checkered past,” he said. “What did that detective say?”
“What detective?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”
“In the books. There were a whole bunch of them.” Dad had read a lot of crime fiction over the years. “This one had ‘money’ in the title, I think. The detective says something like, ‘Never go to bed with a girl who’s got more troubles than you do.’”
“Donald!” Mom said.
The thing was, Dad, or the detective he was quoting, was right. I didn’t need more problems. I had something of a history trying to rescue damsels in distress and it had not gone well. Sam Worthington sounded like another one. An ex-husband serving time for bank robbery and nasty in-laws who wanted custody of Carl.
That wasn’t a checkered past. That was a shitstorm.
And despite that, I hadn’t stopped thinking about Sam all night.
I needed to get her out of my head. I had more than enough to worry about. I had a new job working for Randall Finley, and was committed to looking into Marla’s situation, hoping I might find something that would help her.
I’d start with that.
“I really have to go,” I said. I took one more sip of the coffee and poured the rest into the sink.
When I opened the door, I nearly ran down my aunt, but managed to stop short.
She was just about to ring the bell. “Aunt Agnes,” I said.
“David,” she said. “I apologize for coming by unannounced.”
“No, that’s okay. Come in.”
As she stepped inside she said, “Your mother’s been calling about Marla, and I thought I’d drop by and bring everyone up-to-date.”
I called into the house. “Mom! Agnes is here!”
I heard a chair scraping across the floor. A second later Mom appeared and hobbled toward her sister. Her leg was still hurting. The two of them threw their arms around each other. Despite my aunt’s reputation for coldness, and the strain that sometimes existed between her and my mother, I guessed that deep down, they still cared for each other. Aunt Agnes just wasn’t very good at showing it sometimes.
“How is she?” Mom asked. “How is Marla doing?”
“She’s okay,” Agnes said. “Hello, Don.” Dad had made his way out of the kitchen to see what was going on. “I know you’ve been phoning and I thought I’d just stop by and tell you she’s probably going to come home today, although frankly, having her at the hospital is great, because I can wander up there anytime I want to see her. But it’s the wrong place for her. She needs to be home. Gill and I are going to spell each other so there’s always someone there.”
“What about . . .” Dad started to ask. “You know, the baby, and the woman . . .”
Agnes smiled, clearly understanding what he was trying to ask, but didn’t want to put into words. “The police are doing what they have to do, and we’re doing what we have to do. I’ve got Natalie Bondurant on it.”
“Do you really think Marla should be going home this soon?” Mom asked. “I mean, considering what she tried to do, wouldn’t it be better—”
“I think I know what I’m doing where my own daughter is concerned,” Agnes said.
“Of course,” Mom said. “Of course you do. All I’m saying is, if something did happen again, if there was another . . . incident . . . it might be better if she was already at the hospital and—”
“Arlene, please,” Agnes said.
Mom said nothing, at least for a couple of beats. I guessed she’d gotten the message. Back off.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Mom said. “You think I don’t know anything.”
“I didn’t say that,” Agnes said. “I’m just making the point that Marla is my daughter, not yours, and I resent that you would suggest that I don’t have her best interests at heart.”
“My God, I never said such a thing,” Mom said. “You’re putting words into my mouth.”
“For Christ’s sake, stop it,” Dad said. “Both of you. Arlene, your sister’s going to know what’s best for her own daughter.”
Mom glared at my father for what she surely saw as treason. She took a second to compose herself, underwent an emotional reboot, and said to Agnes, “I’m very sorry if you thought that was what I meant. Anything you need, you just ask. You know we think the world of Marla and would do anything to help her.” She reached out and took her sister’s hand in hers. Agnes didn’t do anything to stop her.
“Thank you,” my aunt said, her voice still slightly frosty.
“And David’s going to help, you know.”
Agnes shot a smile at me that seemed genuine. “I know. And I appreciate that. I truly do. Listen, I must get to the hospital, for more reasons than I can count. David, I seem to have caught you as you were leaving. I’ll head out with you.”
Agnes allowed Mom to give her a half hug and kiss, and Dad offered the same gesture. Heading down the steps, she said to me, “I’m glad I caught you.”
“Yeah,” I said. “This is good.”
“I know the kind of signals I send off. That I don’t need anyone’s help. That I know everything. That I’m too proud to accept assistance.” Maybe she was waiting for me to contradict her. When I didn’t, she smiled. “I know yesterday, when I found you and Marla at the Gaynors’ house, I may not have seemed very appreciative of what you’d done. Trying to get to the bottom of things.
And for that I apologize.”
“It was a stressful time,” I offered.
“Indeed.” We had reached her car, a silver Infiniti sedan. “But I have to put my ego aside. This is about Marla. I know she may not always speak highly of me, but she’s the most important thing in the world to me, and all I want is for her to get through this.”
She placed a hand on my wrist, and I could feel it tremble.
“She’s my baby,” she said. “My one and only. I’ll do anything to help her with this.” Agnes kept a grip on my wrist. “I have one request, however.”
Slowly, I said, “Okay.”
“This is very difficult for me.” She swallowed, looked up the street for a second to avoid eye contact. “It’s about your uncle Gill.”
“What about him?”
“What I would ask is, anything you might learn about Gill, would you be discreet?”
“What are we talking about here, Agnes?”
She released her grip, managed to look me in the eye. “Your uncle and I have . . . we’ve had some issues. I know sometimes I lord it over your mother about how I chose a career and she chose to make her career in the home . . . and I’m sorry about that. I know there are times you must all think I’m a total . . .”
Agnes almost smiled. “I was about to say control freak, but I can’t help but wonder what word you thought I was going to say.”
I wasn’t about to share.
“Anyway, what I’m saying is, for all I may have achieved in the working world, your mother has it all over me in the marriage department. What I’d give for a man like Don. Someone who’s there for you, who you can trust.”
“What are you trying to say, Agnes?”
“I don’t know any other way to say this.” She let out a long breath. “Gill doesn’t always come home at night, if you get my understanding. And when you start asking questions, maybe someone’s going to tell you that. If they do, I’d be grateful if you could keep it to yourself.”
“Whatever’s going on between you and Gill is none of my business,” I said. “I’m sorry you two are having problems.”
She grimaced. “It is what it is. Let me know what you find out. Not just about Gill, but anything else. Good or bad. I’m wondering whether I need to hire a private detective for this. That’s not to diminish what you’ll be able to do, but if you think I need to bring someone else in, you tell me.”
“I will. There is something I’d like to ask you right now.” Agnes blinked, surprised, maybe, that I was already at this stage.
“Go ahead.”
“Tell me about Dr. Sturgess,” I said.
“Jack?” Agnes said. “What about him?”
“I just . . . What’s your take on him?”
Agnes shrugged. “On a personal level, he’s been our GP for years. For the last ten, I think. And professionally, I have the utmost confidence in him. He’s on the board at the hospital. He’s someone whose opinion I value in a number of areas.” She eyed me with concern. “This is about what happened when Marla was having the baby.”
“Well—”
“David, I was there. That man—that man and I—did everything we could to save that baby. It was the worst moment of my entire life, let me tell you. There’s not a minute of any day since then that I haven’t thought about what happened. If there’s anyone to blame for what happened, it’s me. I should never have insisted Marla give birth anywhere but the hospital. We were in the midst of that outbreak and—”
“I’m not talking about that,” I said.
She was taken aback. “What, then?”
“At the hospital last night, when I said I was going to help Marla by asking around, he tried to talk me out of it. Belittled the effort.”
“He had no business doing that,” Agnes said. “Why would he try to stop you?”
“I don’t know. There’s another thing.”
Agnes waited.
“He’s also the GP for the Gaynor family.”
Agnes’s mouth opened half an inch in what clearly looked like astonishment. “Are you sure about that?”
I nodded. “He told me. He was cautioning me against talking to Bill Gaynor. Said the man wouldn’t be up to it. So he must have known Rosemary Gaynor. Has he mentioned that to you?”
“I don’t . . . I’m not sure.”
“You’d think, in the last twenty-four hours, that it might have come up,” I said.
Agnes considered this. “You would, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah. Regardless of what Marla did or didn’t do, there has to be some kind of connection between her and the Gaynors. There may be several out there we don’t know about, but one that we know for certain is, their family doctor is Jack Sturgess.”
“Thank you for this, David,” she said quietly. “Thank you very much.” Her face hardened. “If that son of a bitch has been anything less than honest with me, I’ll haul him into the operating room and cut his nuts off myself.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
MARSHALL did not go to the ATM for money for Sarita Gomez.
Once he was a few blocks from his home, he pulled into the lot of a McDonald’s and got out his phone. He entered a number, put the phone to his ear, and waited.
There were four rings. Then a pickup.
“Hello?”
“Is this Mr. Gaynor?”
“Who is this? If you’re some goddamn reporter I have nothing to say.”
“Is this Bill Gaynor or not? Because I’m telling you right now, you better not fuck around with me. Because if you do, you’re going to be pretty goddamn sorry.”
Dead air. Then: “Yes, this is Bill Gaynor.”
“That’s good. Now we’re starting off on a good foot here.”
“Who is this?” Gaynor asked. “Tell me who this is or I’m hanging up right now.”
“Now we’re starting off bad again. I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen. Okay? Trust me; it’s in your interests.”
“What do you want?”
“What do I want? I want to do you a favor, that’s what I want. I’m trying to be a good citizen here by keeping quiet about things I know. Things that if they came out could cause you a fucking boatload of trouble.”
“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” Gaynor said, but his voice lacked confidence.
“Oh, I think you do.”
“Look, I don’t know what kind of crazy shakedown you’re trying to pull, but it’s not going to work. I don’t know who you are, so fuck you. Something horrible happens to someone, and every nut comes out of the woodwork. Jesus, what the hell’s wrong with people? For God’s sake, I’ve just lost my wife. Have you no sense of decency?”
Marshall pressed on. “I’m trying to do the decent thing here, Mr. Gaynor, if you’d only shut up and listen. And yeah, I know about your wife. And I’m betting you know a lot more than you’re letting on. Am I right? I’m guessing there’s a whole lot you haven’t mentioned to the cops about your perfect little family. The sort of thing I could mention if I wanted to.”
The other end of the line went quiet. Marshall figured Gaynor was thinking it through. Finally the man said, “What is it you want?”
“Fifty thousand.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Fifty thousand dollars. You get that to me, and I won’t breathe a word about what I know.”
“I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Give me a break. Guy like you? Nice house? Flashy car?” The truth was, Marshall had no idea what kind of car Bill Gaynor drove, but he was betting it was a nice one. A whole lot nicer than his shitbox van, that was for sure.
“I’m telling you, I don’t have fifty thousand just lying around,” Gaynor insisted. “You think I keep that kind of money under my mattress?”
“What if I gave
you till noon to get it? Would that help?”
“Goddamn it, who are you?”
“You already asked me that.”
“Does this have something to do with Sarita?” Gaynor asked. “Did she put you up to this? Are you working with her?”
Marshall found that more than a little troubling, that the man put it together that fast. But it made sense. How many people other than Sarita could know what was really going on in the Gaynor household?
Marshall told himself to stay cool. He could do this. He could squeeze enough money out of this guy to give Sarita a fresh start somewhere else. In fact, if he could really get fifty thou out of the guy, it would be enough for both of them. They could run off together. They could both kiss their shit-ass jobs good-bye. Fifty grand, that would be more than enough to set themselves up somewhere else. More than enough to stay off society’s radar for months.
“I don’t know who this Sarita person is and I don’t care,” Marshall said. “You pay up, or you’re fucked. I make an anonymous call to the cops. If that’s what you want, I can do it.”
“Okay, okay, let me think,” Gaynor said. “I can probably raise most of it. I’d have to cash in some investments, go to the bank when they open.”
“You do what you have to do,” Marshall said. “Bank opens at what? Ten? So you should have the money by eleven?”
“I’m going to have to call you back.”
Marshall was about to say, Yeah, right, like I’m going to give you my number, then realized Gaynor would already have it on his phone now. “Okay,” he agreed. “If I don’t hear from you by ten thirty, I call the cops.”
“I get it. I’ll be in touch.”
Gaynor ended the call. Marshall smiled to himself. This was going to work. He was sure this was going to work.
Sarita, she’d be upset with him at first when she found out what he’d done. But when she realized it was enough for them to have a life together, she’d come around. He knew it.
Love would conquer all.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Broken Promise: A Thriller Page 23
