by Lois Greiman
“Of course I am. It’s still too early to be sure.”
“What!”
“Still joking.”
“I hate you.”
She laughed. “Wouldn’t it be great, though? Can you imagine what Dad would say?”
“That a woman should not lie with the beasts of the fields.”
She ignored me. “Maybe we’ll have a son who looks just like Jeen.” Her expression was goofy. She’d obviously gone mad. “We’ll name him after you.”
“Jesus,” I said.
“No, Christopher. Christopher Jeen Solberg.”
“You were such a nice little kid.” I stared at the wall behind her desk, still hazy. “I remember it well—buck teeth, scraggly hair. Ugly as sin, sweet as a dumpling.”
She laughed.
“Honestly, Laney, I don’t know why you got so mean.”
“It’ll come to you,” she said, then, “So, good news or bad news first?”
I was beginning to get the feeling back in my hands. The thought of Solberg procreating always makes me go numb. The thought of him procreating with Laney makes me want to crawl into my refrigerator and never come out. I felt discombobulated. “Good…no, bad…Good!” She was staring at me like I’d lost my mind. But what did she expect? “How bad is the bad?” I asked.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Jeen got some information about Hohl,” she said.
“And?”
Standing up, she lifted a file from her desk and handed it to me. I flipped it open. A grainy photocopy lay at the top of the pile. I skimmed the article, but my attention was really snagged by the photo. It was Daniel in front of a cluttered white board, his face emitting scientific zeal as he addressed an enraptured audience of supergeeks. Peachtree was standing off to one side, looking proud and leaning on a thick, silver-knobbed cane.
“There are other photos,” she said, “but Jeen was having trouble getting them to you via e-mail.” Because my computer was still pouting. “So he just printed them.”
I flipped through them. There were several of Salina. More of Daniel. He looked damned good in formal wear. A banner that read “True Health” was draped above the heads of the revelers. I glanced up. “Is this the good news or the bad news?”
She scowled. “I’m afraid it’s only going to encourage you to do more of your life-threatening snooping.”
“Ahhh. So what’s the good news.”
She drew her shoulders back dramatically and straightened to her full height. Then she turned with haughty slowness to stare at me in regal retrospect. I stared dumbly back, but suddenly it hit me.
“Holy crap!” I could barely breathe the words.
Her eyes were gleaming. Her mouth trembled a little.
I stumbled to my feet. “You got the part.”
She curled her fingers against her mouth and nodded, eyes misty.
“You’re Xena.”
“They said I was perfect.”
“Oh, Laney.” I pulled her into a hug. “You are perfect. You are.” I shook my head. “I just…This is…” I paused, stunned to silence as I pushed her to arm’s length. “You did it.”
She nodded, eyes damp.
As for myself, I was crying full out. “I can’t believe it.”
“We’re supposed to start filming next week.”
“You’re kidding.”
“On Tuesday.”
“I’m so…” Overwhelmed. “I am so proud of you.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Do? Oh, I don’t know.” I rolled my eyes and cackled a laugh. “Turn them down?”
“What about my job here?”
I gaped at her. “What about it?”
“You need a receptionist.”
“Oh, no,” I said, squeezing her arms. “You’re not going to feel bad about this.” I leaned forward, staring into her eyes. “This is why you left sunny Chicago.”
“I know, but we’ll be filming in Oregon.”
I felt momentarily stunned. She wouldn’t be here every morning to pull me out of the pit of myself. “Well, that’s only…” Half a continent away. “Not so far.”
“You’re the greatest, Mac,” she said.
And I laughed. “Geez, Laney, I’m so happy I could kiss you!”
I couldn’t tell if she was laughing or crying. “You say that to all the girls.”
I pulled her in and kissed her on the lips just as the door dinged behind me.
We glanced at it in unison.
“Mrs. Trudeau,” Laney said.
The church lady glared at us, backlit by the glass door.
“You’re here bright and early.”
Her lips were pursed, her eyes squinty. “I have a nine o’clock appointment.”
It wasn’t yet 8:45.
Laney smiled. “She who rises with the sun rises with God. That’s what my father always said.”
“Your father…”
“A Methodist minister,” Laney said, and gave Mrs. Trudeau another thousand watts. “He would appreciate your punctuality.”
“I try to be on time.” She was giving me the evil eye, but her heart wasn’t in it. It’s almost impossible to be really nasty when Brainy Laney turns on the charm, I thought. And in that moment I realized the truth. Everything wasn’t all right. I couldn’t live without Elaine.
Twelve hours later I was already finished for the day. Determined to ignore the funk caused by Elaine’s looming departure, I’d offered to take her out to celebrate, but she hadn’t informed Jeen of the impending life change and thought she should do so soon.
I didn’t tell her how much it meant to me that she’d told me first. I also didn’t tell her I was pretty sure I would be unable to function without her behind the front desk. What a brave little soldier I am.
By the time I reached home I felt like I’d been charged with high treason and faced a firing squad. There were two overdue bills in my mailbox, an oversized dog on the counter, ears flattened by the ceiling, and a message from Mom on my answering machine.
I shoved the bills in a cubby I have for things I hope to forget about, coaxed Harlequin off the counter with a chunk of green cheese, and listened to the message.
Holly was due to deliver in three months. So far, she still refused to marry Pete. Which impressed me no end, since having a melon-size being growing in your belly has to put a lot of pressure on a girl as far as husband-finding goes. Then there’s Mom. She could put pressure on a rock.
In fact, she had called to say that if I didn’t tell Holly to marry Pete posthaste, well, I was just going to have to live with my conscience.
The entire message made me sit down and think. I mean, ten years ago, she would have had a lot more ammo than a guilty conscience. Please. I had a shitload of more interesting stuff to feel guilty about.
The fact that, despite my love for Laney, I was feeling a little bit depressed by her success, for instance. She’d finally gotten her big break. And that was great. But it seemed sometimes that life was speeding by, leaving me in its dusty wake. Laney had made her dreams come true, Solberg had gotten Laney. Even my brother Pete was progressing. True, troglodytes tend to procreate like champions, and any imbecile with a functioning brain cell and a couple good swimmers can spawn, but still…
No. I rose to my feet, cleared my dishes…well, dish…and gave myself a firm talking to. I had a good career, a nice house, and I was seeing someone. Well, okay, my career involved pretty much doing the same thing I did as a cocktail waitress—listening to people’s problems, sans the tips. My septic system was plotting world domination, and the guy I was seeing was a possible murderer.
So there might be better things to do than slurp down a hundred thousand calories and ruminate on my brother’s ability to procreate. Such as sleuthing.
Three hours later, I had no proof of Rivera’s guilt or innocence. I had Googled Daniel Hohl. There was a shitload of stuff about him. Some of it simply echoed what I already knew. Some of it was about his environmental
efforts, some about his work with needleless medications. In January he had spearheaded True Health, a small but avant garde nonprofit company that had attracted some of the brightest minds in the world. He was a scientist, a doctor, a fiancé. My mind stopped and spun backward. He was engaged? I clicked to the photo. I wasn’t sure, but I thought his engagee, Cindy Peichel, was the same girl I’d seen at Salina’s visitation. Pretty, blond, leggy. So why the hell was he coming on to me? Was I getting close to something…or was he just a man?
“Cindy Peichel.” I said the name out loud, then on a whim did an Internet search for her. Nothing came up besides her noteworthy engagement. Daniel Hohl was Boy Wonder, son of Mr. and Mrs. Boy Wonder. She was, well…an employee of the State of California.
Nothing much else was revealed.
I scowled at my screen. That was strange. I mean, Hohl came from a family that seemed to have one degree of separation from God himself. Surely he wouldn’t just marry a nobody. She had to have roots, and probably a buttload of money.
Or maybe she was some penniless hick from Elkhorn, Alabama, who had taken on a false identity, seduced him, and planned to steal his family fortune. Maybe she’d killed Salina. Believe me, stranger things have happened.
Then again, maybe he was actually marrying her for love.
I glanced at their engagement photo again. They were as pretty as poetry. As pretty as Rivera and Salina would have been together, fighting crime and making babies.
I sighed. My mood was taking a belly flop. I thought about Holly and Pete and the little troglodyte-to-be.
Depressed, I stood up. Harlequin thumped his tail against the floor and lifted his head. I stroked his ears and stared at the phone. It scowled back at me.
“Listen,” I said, “it’s not my fault my brothers are cretins. I mean, against all odds, Holly’s no fool. What am I supposed to do about that? Tell her to suck it up and marry some nimrod who made me eat sheep droppings as a kid? Hey, so baby’s not going to inherit the revered McMullen name. Big deal.”
Harlequin dropped his head and rolled up big sad eyes.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” I said, and dialed the phone.
21
There isn’t much a pan of warm brownies and a glass of milk won’t fix. Unless it’s low grain prices. Or poverty. Or the national debt. I guess there are a few things, but nothing you have to worry about right this minute.
—Mavis McMullen, Chrissy’s favorite aunt
QUESTIONS NAGGED ME. Was Hohl correct? Had Rivera been suspended? And if so, how would he cope? He was a cop through to his soul. It was more than what he did. It was what he was. A small child grown, needing to find value despite his father’s disapproval. Maybe it’s what we all were.
Holy crap, I was philosophical, but the memory of his haunted eyes disturbed my sleep, making me jittery and restless. The week had slipped away from me. Saturday morning dawned gray and uncertain. I fought for good sense, lost, and finally called Rivera. He didn’t answer.
I glanced around, feeling disoriented. My little house was dirty, I had laundry piled up to my chin, and if I didn’t go jogging soon, my fat molecules would eat my lungs. But I turned back to my desk and spent the morning alternating between the Internet and the phone.
I knew I shouldn’t. Told myself the same.
But a couple of things kept bothering me. If Danny Hohl hadn’t seen Salina in more than a year, how did he know she never got the sniffles? And if he was engaged, why was he holding my hand? And how the hell was I supposed to believe that a man, any man, would lose interest in Salma Hayek?
By noon I finally hit pay dirt. At 1:25 I was chugging down the 5 toward the Los Angeles Zoo and Botanical Gardens. I admit it was no coincidence that that’s where Cindy Peichel worked. Two hours of slogging investigation had told me as much.
Ponytail stuck through the hole of a Dodgers baseball cap, I hurried down blacktop walkways and wound my way past the ATM machines and choo-choo train. A group of kids in party hats were hopping and screaming and crying in front of the flamingo pond. A little girl dressed all in pink seemed to have a lollypop stuck in her hair. Grape, I think. Danny Hohl’s work in contraceptives had never seemed more important.
The World of Birds show had already begun. I climbed up the bleachers and sat among a few dozen other zoogoers. Down below, two guys were holding large, angry-looking predators on their gauntleted wrists.
“But perhaps most spectacular of all,” said a disembodied voice, “is the golden eagle.”
A bird the size of an SUV swooped out of nowhere, dove low over the gasping crowd, then flew a high circuit in the metal gray sky.
The voice chanted about wingspan and thermals. The bird dipped and soared, then swooped back over us to land with a flourish on a strategically outstretched arm.
It wasn’t until that moment I realized a woman had joined the guys on the woodsy stage. She was somber, tall, tan. It took me a minute to be sure it was her. Cindy Peichel. Fishing binoculars from my earth-friendly cotton bag, I studied her with the rest of the mesmerized mob.
She looked somewhat older through the glasses. Fine lines crinkled the corners of her eyes and the beginnings of a single crease showed between her brows, as if she’d spent some time gazing at distant horizons.
Her hair was the color of Cousin Kevin’s wheat fields and her stance was straight. At the visitation I had only seen her from the back and had assumed she played Barbie to Daniel’s Ken. Now I wasn’t so sure. Barbie looked like she might be able to handle herself in a street brawl.
“With your help we can save these wonderful creatures,” she was saying, and maybe it was just rote, but there seemed to be a certain amount of zeal in her voice. “For ourselves and for generations to come.”
The threesome remained onstage for a while, displaying the grouchy predators to the oohing audience. As for me, I’d come prepared. Keeping an eye on the bird folk, I slipped behind a wooden building, removed my jacket and cap, and popped them into my bag. Pulling the binder from my hair, I sauntered toward the Zoopendous Center, gazing at nothing in particular through my binoculars.
It took almost fifteen minutes for Peichel to emerge from the aviary. I followed at a safe distance, pausing now and again to pretend to read a placard.
She finally stopped at a brightly colored food stand, paid for an order of fries, and sat down at one of the umbrellaed tables. I stood in line and pretended to study the menu. She didn’t seem to be going anywhere too fast. The line moved along. I ordered an ice cream parfait with hot fudge and peanuts so that I wouldn’t look conspicuous. What a trooper.
Then, juggling the plastic dish and my bag, I skirted her table and stopped.
“Excuse me,” I said.
The crease between her eyes deepened a little as she glanced up at me, and I could see now that freckles were sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. She wore absolutely no makeup. That could only mean one of two things: She’d had to rush off to work that morning, or she was the bravest woman I had ever met.
“Yes?”
“Hi.” I reached out, still fumbling with the bag and laughing a little at my own ineptitude. I may be as batty as hell, but I was becoming a kick-ass actress. If Laney ever needed pointers…“I’ve seen you at the aviary several times. I try to come at least once a month.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t the type who felt a need to smile for social acceptability. Which didn’t seem quite appropriate for her stage persona. So perhaps it was her environmental fervor that had helped her land her current job. Or her fiancé’s clout. “You enjoy the birds?”
“They’re wonderful. Awe-inspiring, really. So beautiful.”
“Yes, they are.”
“I think we may have met before. I volunteer at the Northridge Nature Center from time to time.”
My ice cream was beginning to drip. I made helpless motions with my hands.
“Have a seat,” she said, still somber.
“Thank you.”
“So
you work with Chip there?”
I glanced up, deer in the headlights. Who the hell was Chip? Or what? I took a spoonful of heaven, but wasn’t able to appreciate it fully, what with Eagle Woman gazing at me. “I don’t get there nearly as much as I’d like.”
She was neglecting her fries. “You should make more time,” she said. “They have a good program there.”
“Don’t I know it. But my company is on the verge of a big—” I made air quotations. “—hair restoration breakthrough, and I’m working overtime—”
“Hair restoration?”
“Yeah. Sharpe Pharmaceuticals. They’re treating the introduction of this product like Christ’s second coming. Like the planet’s biggest problem is follicular failure. Don’t they know we’re losing one hundred and thirty-seven species a day?” I was chanting Hohl’s words to her, reeling her in with our common bond. Maybe.
She was watching me closely. My nerves felt like they’d been bleached and hung out to dry. I couldn’t even guess what she was thinking, so I shoveled in some calories.
“Well, that’s two things we have in common,” she said.
I wiped ice cream off my hand. “You’re a messy eater, too?”
Her lips quirked up the slightest degree. “My fiancé works for Sharpe. Not on hair loss. Improving contraceptives mostly. The funding is for human use, of course, but it could be a huge boon to the veterinary industry, too. Less danger to the handler. Less stress to the animal. It’s only a small step from there to its use on exotics.”
I’d been right. She was a zealot. “That’s fascinating,” I said. “What’s your fiancé’s name?”
“Daniel Hohl.”
“Danny?” I gave her my surprised face. “I thought he was…” I stopped the spoon halfway to my mouth, eyes wide. Move over, Meryl Streep.
“What?” Her tone was level, her expression unchanged.
“Nothing. I’m sorry.” I didn’t have to will myself to blush. I was sweating like a fat quarterback. “What a coincidence,” I mumbled, and shoveled in ice cream.
“What were you going to say?”
“I just…” I shoved my spoon into the parfait and fidgeted. “I just thought he was still dating Salina Martinez when she…when she passed on.”
