Bad Moon Rising (19 page)

“You're a noble son of a bitch, no doubt about it.”

He moved back and started to slam the door but I was too quick. In a past life I must have sold encyclopedias. I had my foot planted in front of said door and it wasn't going anywhere. “What happened when he found out?”

“Who said he found out?”

“Don't waste my time. Of course he found out. It's hard to sneak around in this commune or in town for that matter. Somebody must have spotted you.”

He touched his forehead with the fingers that held his cigarette as if somebody had just driven a railroad spike into it. “Glenna followed me one night. She saw us and told Neil. He—” I wasn't sure if the shrug was meant to impress me or himself. “He was crazy. He threatened to kill me. Then I didn't give a damn about him anymore. And neither did Van. She was afraid of him, in fact.”

“Leading up to the night she was killed.”

“What?”

“You still haven't told me what you were arguing about with her.”

“
You
know every goddamn thing. How about you telling me?”

“That she didn't want to see you anymore and that there wasn't any point in bothering her the way you had been.”

I wasn't sure if it was an illusion or whether his face had paled.

“That seemed to be the pattern. Whenever the guy got too close to her she got scared and walked away. And that's what happened to you, too, wasn't it?”

The scowl didn't work because he looked tired now. “You think whatever you want. But you better have some proof. Like I said, McCain, my old man has some very prominent lawyers. They'd eat you alive.”

“I wouldn't go anywhere if I was you.”

The scowl hadn't worked but he had more success with the smirk. “Sure thing, little man.”

I withdrew my foot. The door slammed shut. I wondered how long it would take him to call his old man. The prodigal son returns home. In bad need of a big-time mouthpiece.

Whittier Point was in favor when it was used by the kids of a grade school a block away. Then the grade school was consolidated with a larger school and Whittier Point was left to lie fallow. The city kept the grass mown on the area around the large pavilion but all the playground equipment was gone. Without supervision the city would be asking for a lawsuit; hell, even with supervision there'd been lawsuits. Hot weekends families still trekked up here, but on workdays it was often empty except for school-age lovers lost in their own obsession with each other.

Until nearly four thirty my only companions were quicksilver birds lighting on the empty picnic tables and two stray dogs who kept their noses to the cement floor as if uranium might be found under it.

For the first time I considered Richard Donovan a real suspect. Neil Cameron had been his rival for Vanessa. He'd been seen arguing with her not long before her murder. And he'd gone rich boy on me when I'd asked him if he'd killed her. Telling somebody you're going to get world-class lawyers to save you doesn't inspire confidence in your innocence.

And naturally I wondered why Nicole wasn't here yet. Maybe she'd changed her mind. Maybe she'd decided that she'd angered her father enough already by talking to me.

I got up and started walking around the area outside the pavilion. The birds had that day's-end sound, and a cordial, solemn weariness seemed to settle on the trees and grass and the small lake just over the west side of the hill. There were moments when I wanted to be a kid again, hurrying home to my collection of paperbacks and comic books, the only realm in which I was really myself. My dad would still be alive and he and my mom would be laughing about something adult just as I entered the kitchen and asked when supper would be ready. I could even put up with my bratty sister, whom I loved despite all my protests to the contrary.

Then I saw her.

The winding paved road ended in a steep grade if you wanted to veer off and reach the pavilion. But she rode her ten-speed with energy and skill. As she drew near she waved; the gesture was girly and sweet. But then the front tire swerved and she was quickly dumped on the grass.

I ran over to her. She'd been thrown facedown but she was quick to roll over on her back with her arms flung wide. She was gasping for breath. Her eyes fluttered as if she might faint. I knelt down next to her and felt her racing pulse. Her breath still came in bursts and a whimper played in her mouth.

“I guess I should've taken the car.” That she'd managed the sentence with such clarity reassured me she was all right. Still, it was strange that a girl of her age, in apparent good health, would be worn out to the point where she'd lost control of her bicycle.

I helped her to her feet and looked for any cuts or scrapes. She fell against me for a moment. I slid my arm through hers and walked her into the pavilion and sat her down. “I'm throwing your bike in my trunk and giving you a ride home. No arguments.”

“They'll see us together.”

“I'll let you off a ways before your estate.”

“God, this is so embarrassing.”

“It's still ninety degrees. Could happen to anybody.”

“Our house isn't even a mile away.” She touched her face. Body heat had emphasized the acne on her cheeks. Her white blouse was soaked in spots.

“I've got a cold Pepsi in the car that I've had about half of. How does that sound?”

“That sounds great.”

She drank it in sips, which was smart. The drink relaxed her, or seemed to. She leaned back and took one of those deep breaths that usually mean you're feeling better—even philosophical—about some problem. “I guess it was kinda stupid on a hot day like this.” Then: “My dad
really
doesn't like you.”

“That I know. But why did he kick Tommy Delaney out?”

She wiped her brow with the back of her tiny, corded hand. “Poor Tommy. I always liked him but I don't think anybody else did. Except Marsha. She told me one day how bad it was at home for him. His folks always argued and sometimes it got violent. I guess his whole life was like that. She said that was why he liked being at our place so much. It was peaceful and it made him feel special, you know, with my dad being so wealthy and all. The funny thing is, it was my dad who started inviting him over. He'd show him off to his friends. He always gave a speech, too, about how Tommy was going to put the Hawkeyes in the Rose Bowl. But Eve hated him. She thought he was a moron. And that was the word she used. She worked on Dad until he started to dislike Tommy, too. I guess when Van was killed he decided it was a good time to get rid of Tommy.”

“Tommy's not handling it too well.”

She fanned herself with her tiny hand. “That's what I figured. He really isn't some big dumb jock. He's real sensitive, you know? I think he was in love with Van for a little while but he was smart. He gave up right away. I mean, it was hopeless. Then he fell in love with Sarah. Van wouldn't even listen to him when he was telling her that Neil was sorry for being so mad all the time and how much he loved her. Tommy felt sorry for Neil, that's why he stepped in. But I told him up front it wouldn't work.”

“Why not?” But my question came automatically. I was thinking about Tommy being in love with Sarah.

“She wanted to humiliate Dad every way she could. And that meant being with a lot of boys. But I doubt she slept with more than one or two of them. She told me she hated sex because it reminded her of Dad.”

“And this was all because your dad married Eve?”

“Well—” She perched herself on the edge of the bench. She pursed her lips, looked away for long seconds then said: “There was something else, too. But now it doesn't matter. Van's dead.”

“Did this thing that doesn't matter anymore affect you the same way it affected Van?”

She inhaled deeply through her nose. “I really don't want to talk about it, all right?”

“It might help me.”

“My dad said it's all over. That you're only out to embarrass him.”

“At one time your dad and I were close to being friends.”

“That isn't the way he remembers it.”

There was only one way in. “Does Eve go out much at night—alone?”

Getting to her feet was an effort. She wobbled on the first two steps. I caught her wrist gently and eased her back.

“Please let me go. I really don't want to talk about this.”

“I just asked you if Eve went out alone at night sometimes.”

“What do you want me to say? Yes, she did.”

“How about your dad? Did he go out at night alone sometimes, too?”

“Of course he did. And still does. He's an important man. He has to.” She broke suddenly, hands to face, quick dagger of a sob. “You know about their arrangement, don't you?”

“Was that why Van hated him so much?”

This time she had no trouble standing. Or walking. She walked down the wall and finally seated herself on the low ledge at the end of it. She didn't say anything for a time. She wasn't crying now. She didn't even look upset. When she looked at me all she said was, “I need a cigarette.”

I did the movie star thing and lighted smokes for both of us. I carried them down and gave her hers. She had her nice legs stretched out in front of her now. She was considering them. She didn't seem to have much pride in herself. I hoped she at least realized that she had perfect coltish legs.

She smoked eagerly. “How did you find out?”

“Right now that doesn't matter. How did you and Van find out?”

A bright smile. “We followed her. Private investigators. We wanted to get something on her. We thought maybe Dad would divorce her if we could prove to him she was unfaithful. And that was pretty easy. She went out with Bobby Randall several times. And we assumed there were others, too. It's funny how it worked out, though.”

I waited until she was ready to talk again.

“Before we got to tell him, Van and I got the flu pretty bad. We were in bed because we were so sick. I was asleep late one night when Van came into my room. She was so sick she could barely talk. She said she'd started down the stairs to get some orange juice and then she heard something she couldn't believe. I was so groggy I wasn't even sure what she was talking about. She said that this party Dad and Eve were having tonight—the men were drawing numbers to see which one of them would sleep with another man's wife. I couldn't understand it at first. But Van wasn't just beautiful, she kept up on things. She said this was what they called wife swapping and she said Dad was having a great time. They were going to pair off, then get together that weekend at Dad's house up on the river. It's three stories and sort of like a hotel. Then Van started crying. I helped her into the bathroom so she could throw up. She was that sick—sick about what Dad was doing. She got into bed with me—I used to do that to her when we were little. She just kept crying and I held her and rocked her and sometimes I'd cry, too.”

She turned and flipped her cigarette onto the lawn. “That was a couple of years ago and that's when she started running around. She'd never been like that before.”

“Did you or Van ever confront your father about it?”

“Oh, sure. We could tell he was embarrassed. He promised he wouldn't do it anymore. We both wanted to believe him. But then after about a month or so he started going out alone at night the way Eve kept doing. We followed him. He went to the same motel Eve did. The women were wives of his friends. Van used to scream at him and threaten to kill Eve. She always said that Eve shouldn't ever have been allowed to live in the same house our mom did. I agreed with her completely. Completely.” Then: “Pretty shitty, huh?”

“Pretty shitty.” I don't know why I was surprised that the Mainwarings had lied to me about the girls not knowing.

“He said we'd understand better when we were older. But neither of us believed that. That isn't any way to live. It's like he's in his second childhood or something.” Then: “I guess I'll take you up on that ride back home.”

“You want to head back now?”

“Yes, maybe I'd better. I'm really wasted for some reason.”

I remembered how she'd been in my car the other day, not at her best, either. But there were a variety of physical responses to loss and trauma.

“You feel up to walking now?”

“I'm not a baby.” Sharp, angry.

“I was just offering to help.”

“I know, it's just—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. I hate being bitchy.”

“I can't imagine you bitchy.”

Her whooping laugh was directed at me. “You're one of those guys Van always told me about—the ones who idealize girls. You don't want to be around me when I get bitchy. I was even worse than Van and that was pretty bad.”

“Thanks for the warning. Next time I'll come armed.”

A soft summer giggle. “Well, I didn't say I was
that
bad.”

With that she shoved off the edge of the wall. “Thanks for everything, Sam. I really appreciate it.”

I put my hand on her shoulder. “Let's go get your bike.”

19

T
hree hours later I sat in a chair on Wendy's patio watching the day slowly fade into dusk. Wendy had given me a kiss, a beer, and a promise that even though dinner would be late it would be something I really liked. She would meanwhile go visit her mother for no longer than an hour. Whenever her mom felt that nobody was paying her sufficient attention she had panic attacks designed to get her noticed. Since Wendy's sister lived in Portland, Oregon, it fell to Wendy to be the noticer.

Dusk is always a melancholy time for me and I've never been sure why. Sometimes I feel the loneliness that has always been my curse, a loneliness that nobody can assuage. Tonight for company I had Wendy's hefty cat Victor. He sat in the chair next to mine and swatted at everything that tried to assault his bastion from the air. He had yet to down a single firefly but he certainly kept trying.