All The Bells on Earth (14 page)

The man squinted at him sharply, as if the question were a trick of some sort. Then he nodded.

“Me, too,” Walt said. This seemed vaguely suspicious, although why it should Walt couldn’t say. Mail carriers and cops were both legendary for their doughnut consumption.

“It’s a large claim, Mr. Stebbins. That’s why we’re investigating.”

“So somebody
did
file an insurance claim?” That was interesting, if it was true—Argyle couldn’t have made any legitimate claim against the loss of the box, unless that half-rotted bird corpse was worth something after all.

“Claim’s been filed. That’s why I’m here, Mr. Stebbins.”

“What I mean is that he could probably tell you what’s in the box.”

“He who?”

“
I
don’t know, for Pete’s sake. Whoever filed the claim. I’m still waiting to hear what this has to do with me.”

“
Does
it have anything to do with you? You seem to be under the impression that the claimee is male. Anything to explain that?”

“No,” Walt said. “As far as I know the claimee is an ape. And don’t you mean
claimant
?”

He shook his head. “What you’re suggesting is not that simple. We didn’t actually talk to the party that instituted the claim. It was filed by number, apparently, before the party left town on business. Entirely routine, except for the size of the claim itself.”

“Well if I was the Postal Service,” Walt said, “I wouldn’t pay him a penny. The box was probably loaded up with rocks. My guess is that your man conspired with this postal clerk, who put his signature on … what was it? Some kind of bill of lading?”

The man nodded heavily. “Like that.”

“Okay, and then he threw the box into the ocean. That’s where you’ll find your box—at the bottom of the harbor. For my money this is some kind of insurance fraud.”

“Mr. Stebbins,” he said, “we don’t see it quite that way. We don’t think fraud’s an issue here. We’re pretty sure that the box was delivered—
to the wrong house
. Just a simple mistake. And either the mistake hasn’t been discovered yet, or else the homeowner
simply kept it
.” He inclined his head and squinted in order to underscore this utterance.

Walt nearly laughed out loud. No postal investigator on earth would come up to a man’s gate in the middle of the afternoon and outright accuse him of theft. That kind of thing was probably actionable. Thunder sounded just then, way off over the mountains, and Walt heard the first big raindrops hit the roof of the carport.

“More rain,” the investigator said, easing off now. “I guess the drought’s over.”

“Laid to rest,” Walt said. He wondered suddenly about Uncle Henry, out in the neighborhood on foot. Probably he should drive around in the Suburban and try to find him to give him a lift home. Except that the old man was almost certainly down at the All-Niter…. Walt was suddenly impatient. Life was too short to fritter it away hobnobbing over the gate with a man in a costume. “So what
does
all this have to do with me?”

“Nothing,” the man said, holding up his hands. “Don’t get me wrong. For God’s sake, we don’t want that.” He gestured, dismissing whatever it was that Walt might have been thinking. “What happened is that the delivery address is right here in the downtown, and it’s close to the same as yours, you see. That’s all. I’ve got … six more possibles.” He looked at his clipboard again, as if he wanted to be sure of himself. “I’m just running down leads. I don’t guess you’ve found any box, then?”

“No.” Walt shook his head, lying outright.

“Well that’s good,” the investigator said. “That’s what I like to find. The last thing in the world I want is to find out that something’s been … what the hell can I call it?
Stolen
, I guess. You know what I mean? A man’s life thrown away over a thing like this. Family embarrassed. Jail time. It’s a minimum sentence now, too, mail theft is.”

The rain was pounding down now, gurgling through the downspout that drained the carport roof. “You’ve got a job to do,” Walt said. “Somebody’s got to bring these people to justice.”

“Then we see it the same way. But it pains me to have to do it. It truly does. Half the time it’s what they call a crime of passion. A man makes the mistake in a bad moment, you know. He finds something in a box addressed to someone else, and it’s too much for him. He wants it. And he’s a good man, too—a good man who’s made a mistake. But the judge doesn’t care. The judge throws the book at him. Why?
Because the man ought to know better
. Postal theft is worth ten years of a man’s life, but I’ll be doggoned if he thinks of that. No, sir, he keeps the article, whatever it is.”

“I guess they call that temptation,” Walt said, shaking his head as if it were a pity.

“Let me tell you a sad story—one of my cases a couple of years ago. There was a man up in Bell Gardens who kept a little bitty crystal dog, meant for his neighbor. It came in from Czechoslovakia, cut by hand, you see. Worth a good deal. Well, he took one look at it and he coveted that dog. He thought, what the hell. Who’ll know? And like I say, he kept it. I talked to that man just like I’m talking to you.” The inspector nodded soberly, letting this sink in. “I suppose you can guess what happened.”

“They didn’t let him keep the dog?”

“That man’s doing time now, out in Norco.”

“That’s a tragedy,” Walt said.

“Yes it is. And what I’m telling you is that it’s my job to find the guilty party, if there is one, but it doesn’t make me happy.”

Just then Walt heard whistling, a carefree rendition of “Sophisticated Hula.” It was Uncle Henry, coming down the sidewalk, sheltered under his umbrella, which he was spinning in his hand, with the air of a man who had zeal enough to spare. He spotted Walt and headed up the drive-way, shaking out the umbrella when he came in under the roof.

“Thanks for your help, Mr. Stebbins,” the investigator said. “Keep an eye peeled.” He turned and headed down the driveway, nodding at Henry.

“Rain, sleet, or snow, eh?” Henry said to him.

“That’s right,” he grunted. “One or the other.” He hestitated, looking out at the curtain of rain for a moment, then moved ponderously toward the street in what was meant to be a hurry.

When he heard the car engine start up, Walt went out through the gate and peered through the front porch hibiscus, keeping out of sight. It was a government car all right, E plates and all.

He wandered back up the driveway, thinking things over. Putting the rifled box on Argyle’s front porch looked like a monstrously stupid prank to him now—especially scribbling on it with a marker like that. Maybe Argyle
could
press charges for mail tampering or theft or whatever they’d call it. If Walt wanted to, he could throw the bluebird of happiness into the Dumpster behind the medical center right now, ditch the evidence, just walk down there and get the damned thing out of his life. They’d never prove anything….

But at the same time he thought this, he knew that he wouldn’t. Right now he was going to keep the bird, and to hell with Argyle and the inspector both.

“Post office man, eh?” Henry said to him.

“Yeah,” Walt said. “Routine investigation. Missing package, apparently.”

“They should have insured it,” Henry said, shaking his head. “A stitch in time …” He shrugged.

“Sounds like Dr. Hefernin,” Walt said.

“You can bank on it.” Henry winked broadly. He was worked up, full of vinegar. “Look,” he said, “I met a man this afternoon whom I think you’ll find fairly interesting.” He nodded slowly, unblinking, meaning what he said.

Walt braced himself.

“Man name of Vest. Have you heard of him?”

“
Vest?
”

“Sidney Vest. He’s a financial advisor. What they call a lone wolf in the business. Used to work out of Merrill Lynch, but it was too crowded for him. He needed room to move, if you follow me—a bigger canvas. He’s got
vision
.” Henry inclined his head, coming down hard on the word.

“Name is unfamiliar.”

“Well, it won’t be for long.”

Walt waited to find out why.

“I let him in on the popes,” Henry said.

“Was that wise?” Walt asked. “Can we trust him?”

Henry waved his hand. “I know I should have asked you first, since we’ve pretty much gone in partners on this. But I think he might be willing to underwrite the whole megillah, lock, stock, and barrel. He’s got a couple of other ideas, too. He’s a go-getter.”

“Maybe we should do some checking around,” Walt said. “Something as important as this …”

Henry shrugged, as if to say that checking around wasn’t out of the question. “Well, to tell you the truth, it smells like capital to me. What I did was set up a meeting—tomorrow for lunch, over at Coco’s. I think you’ll be surprised. The man drives a Lincoln Town Car, late model. He bought it for cash on the proceeds of a little sales venture he’s got going. We can get in on that, too, if we want to. This man’s the gift horse, Walter, and I mean to climb aboard.”

“Yeah,” Walt said. “Sure. What the heck. Doesn’t hurt to hear the man out, does it?” He listened to the words issue from his mouth and nearly hated himself. His first impulse was to tell Ivy about it, to try to work something out. But of course the news would get straight back to Jinx, who would put the kibosh on it, and forever after he’d have to live with having betrayed Henry, with being the man who scuttled the popes. He’d never be able to look the old man in the face again.

A horn honked, and Ivy’s Toyota pulled up. The doors opened and two children got out—Eddie and Nora, Darla’s kids. What the hell was this … ?

Walt waved at Ivy, who stepped out of the car and walked around to the trunk, yanking out two suitcases. Nora, who was four, looked like some kind of orphan child with her stick-skinny arms and gypsy eyes. She turned her face to the sky and opened her mouth, trying to catch a raindrop.

“Hi, Eddie!” Walt called to the boy, who waved back at him, then took one of the suitcases from Ivy, holding it with both hands. He was clearly wearing last year’s pants, which were flood-quality now, and he needed a haircut. He had a long face, and even at five there was something in him that reminded Walt of an undertaker. Maybe it was his interminable seriousness. He let go of the suitcase with one hand and grabbed his sister’s wrist, hauling her along toward the house, following Ivy.

“Looks like company,” Walt said to Henry. “You remember Miss Nora, don’t you?”

“Indeed I do,” Henry said, shaking Nora’s hand. She looked at the ground, swiveling on the balls of her feet, and shoved her thumb into her mouth.

“And here’s Eddie,” Walt said. “What’s up, Eddie?”

Eddie shrugged. “The sky,” he said.

“That’s pretty funny. What’s in the suitcase?”

“Clothes and stuff.”

Together they stepped up onto the front porch. Jinx opened the door of the house just then and threw her hands to her mouth theatrically. “
My
,” she said. “This
can’t
be Nora and Eddie.”

“It sure is,” Walt said.

“Well, come in out of the rain.” She held the screen door open. The children went in timidly, as if stepping into the great unknown. Through the open door came the smell of something cooking on the stove—something awful, like a smoldering dust bin hosed down with vinegar. Walt couldn’t place the smell for a moment, but then with a shock he realized it was beets.

Ivy came up onto the porch and handed Jinx the suitcase. “Spare room, I guess.”

“All right,” Jinx said. “And maybe we can find a snack. Bread and butter and sugar—how does that sound?”

Walt heard Eddie mutter something. “There’s more in the trunk,” Ivy said to him. “Some toys mainly.”

“Okay,” Walt said.

“And can you take them down to the preschool on Prospect tomorrow and sign them up? It would save one of us driving out to Irvine every day. Unless you want to look after them at home.” She widened her eyes, as if this just might appeal to him.

“Look after them? What gives?”

“Jack’s gone. Drunk. Darla thinks he’s shacking up with someone. She’s going back east.”

“Back
east
?”

“To Ann Arbor. She needs some space.”

“
She
needs some space? For how long?” This was unbelievable. Space? The house was turning into some kind of castaway’s retreat. Had Ivy done this on purpose, to teach him some kind of obscure lesson?

She shrugged. “I don’t have any earthly idea how long. What could I say to her? To hand the kids over to social services? They’re our niece and nephew, and I think they deserve better than that, better than what they’ve got.”

“Of course they do,” Walt said. “I was just … It’s just that it’s Christmas and all….”

“And there’s no room at the inn?”

That clobbered him. “Of
course
there’s room at the inn. That’s not what I meant. What the heck, eh? The more the merrier. But really, Darla’s just up and gone?”

“She’s probably somewhere over Kansas right now.”

“And Jack just …”

“Jack’s a shitbird.” She opened the door and went in, letting the screen slam. The discussion was over.