Y Is for Yesterday

by Sue Grafton

  I sat in a matching chair. Only then did I notice the dog lying nearby. This had to be Sloan’s dog, Butch. I’d never seen a Pyrenees Mountain dog, but this guy was big, with a white coat, a plumed tail, and coarse hair that formed a shaggy ruff at his neck. His snout was gray and the hair around his eyes had turned milky white with age. He roused himself and stood politely, then approached in a halting gait that suggested arthritic pain. He crossed the distance between us and placed his chin on my knee. My guess was that his sight might be failing, limited to light and dark. I felt the tears well up unbidden. I let him sniff my fingertips, though I wondered if his olfactory sense had faded as well. I rubbed his silky ears and smiled, watching as he closed his eyes. “This is Butch?”

  “Yes.”

  “What a sweet guy. How old is he?”

  “Thirteen, which is old for a big dog like him, but he’s in good health. He’s a sweet-natured fellow and I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

  “I’m not a dog person myself, but he’s a dear.”

  This was apparently sufficient small talk for her purposes.

  She said, “You came to ask about the tape Sloan was rumored to have had in her possession when she died.”

  “How much do you know about it?”

  “Just that it was thought to be the motivation for the shooting. I should tell you, however, that when the police searched her room, there was no sign of it. Why is it so important after all these years?”

  “You know Fritz is out of prison.”

  “I read about that in the paper. I hope you’re not going to tell me he’s a good friend.”

  “Not at all,” I said.

  “Then what’s this have to do with me?”

  I was quiet for a moment, trying to figure out how much I was at liberty to tell her. “Ordinarily I wouldn’t discuss a job without my client’s express permission, but I don’t see how I can ask you to trust me if I don’t trust you.”

  “Fair enough. I do know how to keep matters to myself.”

  “I hope so because I’m counting on your discretion. Fritz McCabe’s parents hired me because someone threatened to send a copy of that video to the district attorney’s office if the McCabes don’t hand over twenty-five thousand dollars. Again, this is confidential. I’m telling you because I hope you can help.”

  “I don’t see how,” she said, perplexed.

  “I talked to Poppy Earl and she told me you decided to open Sloan’s room a couple of weeks ago and dispose of her effects. The time frame coincides with Fritz McCabe’s release.”

  “You think the two are connected?”

  “It’s a possibility worth pursuing. I think his release generated the blackmail scheme. What I don’t know is whether someone’s been holding the tape all these years or whether the tape came to light when Sloan’s room was emptied.”

  “I can assure you the police turned her room upside down at the time and found nothing. I locked the door the minute they were gone. Have you watched the tape?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you going to tell me why it would be so damaging if it were sent to the authorities?”

  “Essentially, what was recorded was a sexual assault on a minor. This was a case of aggravated rape and it’s possible the participants would be held accountable even at this late date. I was told it was meant to be a joke, a pornographic spoof, but the scenes that would support that claim have been excised.”

  “I take it Fritz McCabe is one of the accomplices.”

  “That’s correct,” I said. “I know Poppy helped clear Sloan’s room. I’m wondering if anyone else was involved?”

  “Sloan’s two stepbrothers, Justin—and Joey, whom you just met. Joey was the one who talked me into it. He’s Paul’s older boy. He said keeping her room intact would never bring her back. Others have told me the same thing, but the finality of it didn’t sink in until I heard it from him. He adored her and if he was letting go, I knew I should do the same. I couldn’t handle the job myself, so I asked some of her friends to pitch in. Four of them agreed.”

  “What did you do with her belongings?”

  “I asked those same friends if they’d like to choose something of hers as a keepsake. Three chose an item. After that, Joey and his fiancée had a yard sale that netted them a couple of hundred dollars. Anything that didn’t sell, we donated to the Goodwill.”

  “Do you remember who took you up on your offer of a keepsake?”

  “Poppy Earl was one.”

  “Really. She didn’t mention it.”

  “She and Sloan were very close for years. She was upset when she saw the room again. I’m sure it brought back memories.”

  “May I ask about the other three?”

  “Of course. Patti Gibson, Steve Ringer, and Roland Berg. It was a very emotional experience for them.”

  “What about you? How have you fared over the years? I don’t have children, so I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through.”

  “It’s kind of you to say so. Paul and I divorced a year after my daughter died. He said he couldn’t go on living with me. Some thought he was callous, but I couldn’t fault him. I was impossible in those days. I drank heavily throughout Sloan’s adolescence. Once she was gone, I realized what that must have cost her, but I had no way to atone. I couldn’t even ask her to forgive me. I stopped drinking the day of the funeral, which took every ounce of strength I possessed. Beyond that, I had nothing left to give. My two stepsons moved in with us that first year, and when Paul left, they elected to go with him, of course. When Sloan died, they were thirteen and fifteen and their presence only caused me pain.”

  “Grief’s a tricky proposition,” I said. “When my Aunt Gin died of cancer, I was relieved. She was a difficult woman and raised me according to her own strange views of femininity. The relief didn’t last long and what arrived in its place was pain, but at least I knew her death was coming. Violent death is something else altogether. I don’t know how you make your peace with it.”

  “I will never make my peace with it. Sloan was my only child and she’s dead. I say that because it’s the central fact of my life. She’s been dead for ten years and she’ll be dead for the rest of time. She died when she was seventeen and that’s all the life she gets. In the paper, Fritz claims he’s paid his debt to society, but he hasn’t paid his debt to me. He calls what he did a ‘mistake’ that he’s now putting behind him so he can move on with his life. A neat dodge on his part, but he’s not off the hook. Why should he enjoy happiness when mine was taken away?”

  I knew she didn’t expect a response, but I was chilled nonetheless.

  She continued in a tone of voice that was deceptively mild given the content. “I’ve given this a great deal of thought and what I’ve realized is that revenge doesn’t have to be an eye for an eye. Retaliation can take any number of forms. It doesn’t need to be crude or obvious. The point is, the pain should be equivalent; not tit for tat but something comparable.”

  “I’m not quite following.”

  “It’s simple. When Fritz killed Sloan, he robbed me of what I loved most in the world. You’d think in order to even the score, I’d have to kill the person he loves most, but there are other ways to ruin someone’s life. I think about what I’d do to him if I could. I want my pound of flesh.”

  “Even after ten years?”

  “The passage of time isn’t relevant. What I care about is right now, finding a way to make him suffer as I do. Not the same loss, but one that would carry an equal weight. I plan how I’d cover my tracks, what I’d say if the police showed up at my door.”

  I said, “You’d find that tougher than you think. Guilt makes your hands shake. It makes the blood drain out of your head. Suddenly, you’re not as cool and composed as you thought you’d be. I’ve been on both sides of the law and you don’t want to go
down that road.”

  “So I’ve been told. My friends keep urging me to forgive, but that’s ridiculous. Sloan’s gone and she’s never coming back, so if I weave my bloody little fantasies, what difference does it make?”

  “None, as long as you don’t act them out,” I said.

  Even as the words came out of my mouth, I could see the application here. She was not an entirely unlikely candidate for devising an extortion scheme. Not an eye for an eye, but misery for misery.

  “My dear, acting out is not the point because then the game would end. If I gave up the hope of reprisal, I’d forfeit the anger, which is better than pain.”

  “Let me ask you this. If you’d found the tape, what would you have done?”

  “I’d have walked it straight to the district attorney’s office.”

  “You wouldn’t have considered trading your silence for twenty-five thousand dollars?”

  “I already have all the money I need. What I don’t have is satisfaction. That, apparently, will have to wait.”

  “Until what?”

  “Until the final piece falls into place, whatever that may be. In the meantime, I find ways to keep busy. I call newspaper editors. I talk to journalists. I send out copies of the articles about the crime.”

  “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but why would you do that? There’s no mystery about ‘whodunit.’”

  “I’ll admit, as time passes it’s becoming harder to generate interest in the story. Sometimes I go back and read the transcript of the trial, just to remind myself what went on. It’s old news, but what other choice do I have? I’ll keep pushing as long as Austin Brown’s still out there. If I can keep the story alive, there’s a chance someone will spot him and turn him in. At any rate, you didn’t come here to listen to my sad song. Is there anything else I can help you with? I’m afraid I have nothing to say about where the tape has been.”

  I could feel myself shaking my head. “I think the point is that whoever had the tape saw Fritz’s release from prison as a way of making him sweat,” I said. “I would like to have Joey and Justin’s contact information.”

  “I hope you don’t think either one of them is behind the threat to the McCabes.”

  “Not at all. I’m just hoping one or the other has something useful to contribute. I’d also like to talk to Patti, Steve Ringer, and Roland if you’ll put me in touch with them.”

  “Of course.”

  I gave her my business card, and in exchange, she gave me the requisite names, addresses, and phone numbers. Having just added five players to the list, I couldn’t claim I was narrowing the field, but the focus was getting sharper.

  20

  THE POOL PARTY

  June 1979

  Sloan ran the usual circuit of roads in Horton Ravine with Butch prancing along at her side. She kept him on a lead though it wasn’t necessary. He was accustomed to her rhythm and her pace and he enjoyed the morning air as much as she did. She preferred making the run early, six o’clock at the latest, but that morning she’d slept in, a rare luxury for her. The school year was over, and in another two weeks, she would take on her responsibilities as a junior counselor at the church camp, which was located twenty-five miles north in the Santa Ynez Valley. The meadows at the campsite would be sunny and hot, smelling of sage and bay laurel. It would be cooler in the shadow of the mountains, though the creek beds would be dry and any remaining grass would be parched to a yellow haze.

  At eight that morning, her parents had left for Tucson to pick up Justin and Joey, Paul’s sons from his first marriage. The boys were thirteen and fifteen and they would be attending the first two-week session of church camp, which they’d done the previous three summers. In the meantime, the plan was for the four of them—Margaret, Paul, and the two boys—to head north from Tucson to the Grand Canyon, where they’d spend a few days exploring before they returned to Santa Teresa. Sloan was happy to be on her own. She had a summer reading list and looked forward to spending her days in the hammock on the back patio with Butch asleep in the shadow of the netting. She and Bayard had mapped out a bike trip, but the departure date was a week away.

  She’d reached Randall Road, which went uphill in a long, slow arc that would put her back in range of the house. She was panting from the climb, sweat trickling down the side of her face and accumulating at the small of her back. She heard a vehicle coming up behind her, Jackson Browne’s “Running on Empty” blaring at top volume. She veered to the right and glanced back as Troy’s pickup truck came into view. Austin’s head and right shoulder extended from the passenger-side window as he beat time on the truck side with the flat of his hand. Troy slowed and then kept pace with her, peering at her across the front seat while Austin smiled at her lazily as she jogged.

  He said, “Pool party. End of school. My parents offered the use of the cabin, so we came to ask if you’re free.”

  “Today?”

  “You’re entirely correct.”

  She came to a halt, breathing heavily, leaning over with her hands on her knees. She shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re inviting me. Last time we spoke, we were at each other’s throats.”

  “My fault entirely. Far as I’m concerned we have a truce. I called off the shunning, so that’s a done deal. Hand over the tape and we’re square. Everything turns out to the good.”

  “What brought this on?”

  “This is me behaving like a grown-up. You can do the same. You already have a head start on me. So what do you say?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Come on, kiddo. No hard feelings, okay?”

  “We just forgive and forget?”

  “Why not? It’s summer. Life’s too short to hassle. You have something else on your busy social calendar?”

  “Nope. My folks are gone. I’d have to feed the dog and take a shower.”

  “No problem. We’re making a grocery run and then we’ll pick up a keg. I’m taking Mom’s station wagon. Troy can swing by to pick you up in an hour. Bring your bathing suit.”

  “Where’s the cabin?”

  “Up the pass on the 154. Horizon Road goes off to the left shortly before the summit. The cabin’s another two miles down.”

  “Give me the address and I’ll meet you there. I’d rather take my own wheels.”

  “Won’t work. Parking’s limited. We’re keeping the number of cars to a minimum so the neighbors won’t raise a stink. Stringer’s bringing a crew in his van. Maybe a dozen of us altogether, so it should be fun. We can party into the wee hours if we so desire.”

  She wasn’t really in the mood, but it seemed churlish to decline when he was offering peace. It wasn’t as though her time was spoken for. “Okay, but I can’t stay long. Couple of hours.”

  “No biggie. Poppy has a family thing, so she’s leaving at four. I’m sure she’d be willing to give you a ride.”

  “That should work. Can I bring anything?”

  Austin shook his head. “Thanks, but we’re covered. Ciao!”

  The two sped off and Sloan stared after them with Butch looking up at her in happy anticipation. Whatever she did, he was up for it, ready, willing, and able. She met his eyes with a smile. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you home.”

  The two jogged slowly the remaining distance to the house.

  She took him to the backyard, where she freshened his water, filled his bowl with kibble, and left him munching noisily as she secured the gate. He’d be fine in the backyard for a couple of hours. His dog house was close by and he could take shelter from the sun if he needed to.

  She went into the house through the back door and took the stairs two at a time, peeling off her T-shirt. She considered taking the tape to the party, but decided to leave it where it was until she was sure Austin was sincere. He was capable of manipulating anyone, but if he meant what he said, she was willing t
o make the deal. He was right about life being too short. Fighting took energy and she had better things to do.

  Once showered and dressed, Sloan was about to dry her hair when she heard the doorbell ring. Shit. Troy was early. She set aside the hair dryer and secured her mane of damp hair on the top of her head with a big plastic clip. She anticipated an afternoon swim, so there was no point in worrying about it. She tucked her hairbrush in the gym bag with her bathing suit and carried it with her as she trotted down the stairs. When she opened the front door, instead of Troy, she found Poppy standing on the porch. She seemed thinner, her T-shirt and shorts hanging loosely on her delicate frame. Her pale hair was parted in the middle, the long strands wispy and thin. She had her car keys in hand and her 1955 pale green Ford Thunderbird parked in the drive. Her parents had given her the two-seater the September when she turned sixteen. She’d twice flunked the written portion of her driver’s test and therefore didn’t have her learner’s permit, so Sloan ended up driving the car before she did. That was a lifetime ago, when everything between them was fine.

  She and Poppy were still technically friends, but the distance between them was palpable. She put on a bright smile. “Hey. This is a surprise. How are you?”

  “I’m good. I hope it’s okay to drop by without calling first.”

  “Not a problem,” she said. “Troy’s picking me up shortly. You’re going to Austin’s party, aren’t you? They said you’d be there.”

  Poppy nodded. “I’m giving Iris a lift. I’m on my way over to her house now and then we’ll head up the pass. She’s supposed to be at my house, so her parents better not find out or my ass is grass.”

  “Austin told me you have a family obligation at four and I was hoping I could bum a ride back with you.”

  “Sure.” Poppy shifted her gaze to the side yard and then to Sloan’s face. “Mind if I come in?”

  “Oh, of course. Sorry.” Sloan held the door open and Poppy stepped into the entryway.