Curse of the PTA (18 page)

“Dogs,” I said, “are almost as good as cats at keeping secrets. Summer, if you don’t
want to tell us, don’t. But if you think we can help, we’re here.”

She nodded and took another sip of water. “I won so much money,” she said, gulping
the words out one by one. “Destiny and I went to a casino and I won so much money
and I don’t know what to do with it all and my mother can’t know and Brett can’t know
and the kids know something’s wrong but they don’t know what and now everyone in town
hates me and . . . and . . .” She pulled in a long breath. “And I don’t know what
to do.”

“Back to the beginning,” Auntie May said, rotating her index fingers in a circle.
“To Destiny. She’s the stir stick, right?”

I looked at her, frowning.

She shrugged. “With a name like that, how could she not be?”

Summer either hadn’t heard the exchange or she ignored it. “Brett doesn’t like Destiny,
but she was begging me to take a girls-only weekend trip to that big casino up north.
Her favorite band was playing up there and she promised it would be a lot of fun,
and it did sound like fun.”

“Was it?” Auntie May asked.

“Oh, yeah.” Summer grinned. “Or . . .” Her smile faltered. “At least it was until
I won all that stupid money.”

In my experience, there were a lot of descriptors that could be stuck in front of
the word “money.” “Not enough” being first and foremost, followed closely by “where-are-we-going-to-get-the.”
There were a few others, like “
how
much,” and “that’s an awful lot of,” but nowhere had I ever heard anyone use the
phrase “all that stupid money.”

Auntie May cackled out a laugh. “Slots? No, roulette, I betcha. I can see you and
your little friend at the roulette wheel, drinking umbrella drinks and watching that
ball go around and around, squealing like stuck pigs. Bet you bet on red, didn’t you?”

And I’d never imagined that Auntie May had darkened the door of a casino. “You gamble?”
I asked.

“Every time the Sunny Rest bus heads to a casino, I’m the first little old lady on
it.” She closed her fist and shook it. “Give me seven out, baby, seven out!” She tossed
her imaginary dice out across the invisible table.

“Blackjack,” Summer said. “We played in junior high during lunch hour. I won back
then, so I figured I’d try again.”

“What are you, some sort of card counter?” Auntie May
tut-tutt
ed. “Casinos hate that, you know.”

“I can barely remember my own phone number.” Summer rubbed her nose with the now-damp
tissue. I handed her a fresh one. “Thanks. How can anyone count cards? They use like
six or seven decks.”

We were getting a little far afield. “So you won a lot of money?”

“Gobs of it.” Summer sighed. “And I can’t tell Brett. He’ll hit the ceiling.”

Auntie May snorted. “What, he doesn’t like money? What kind of idiot is he?”

“He’s very smart.” Summer sat up from the slouch she’d sunk into and put the cup and
tissue on a side table. “But see, Brett doesn’t know where I went. He thought I went
to visit my mother up in Sheboygan.”

All was becoming clear. “So he doesn’t know you were with your friend Destiny,” I
said.

“And he doesn’t know you went gambling.” Auntie May slapped her scrawny thighs, chuckling.
“A pretty pickle you got yourself into, missy. What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know,” Summer said, sinking back into the chair. “I tried to talk to Dennis
Halpern. He was supposed to be this financial genius, I figured he must know a way
out of this mess.”

Things were becoming so clear that I could see the exact shape of Summer’s problems.
“You asked Dennis if there was a way to hide the money.”

“Yeah.” She propped her elbows on the chair arms and put her head in her hands. “Right
after the trip, you told me Dennis had agreed to come to that meeting. I called and
talked to him, and he told me . . . You know what he told me?”

To tell your husband,
I thought. “What?”

“He told me to tell Brett!” She put her hands over her face. “I said there must be
some way. Switzerland, maybe, or aren’t there banks in the Cayman Islands?”

“Um . . .”

“But Dennis said the casino has to report winnings to the IRS, that there’s some goofy
form, W-G or something—”

“W-2G,” Auntie May supplied.

“That’s it, a W-2G. So unless Brett and I file our taxes separately—and we don’t;
that’s just nuts—there’s no way I can keep Brett from knowing.” A sob caught in her
throat. “He’s going to find out. What am I going to do?”

Something here wasn’t making sense. I glanced at Auntie May for corroboration, but
she was still playing her ghostly game of craps. Or at least I thought it was craps.
There were huge gaps in my life knowledge, and a thorough understanding of casino
games had a special and very empty shelf.

“Why,” I asked slowly, “will Brett be so angry?” Though I didn’t know Summer’s husband
very well, he’d always seemed to be a reasonable man. Amiable, even. If I remembered
correctly, he managed half a dozen or so retail stores that sold . . . something.
Lighting fixtures? Plumbing fixtures? Car parts?

“Because he thinks Destiny broke up his brother’s marriage.”

“Aha!” Auntie May chortled. “Now, that’s more like it. Dirt, and good dirt at that.
So did she?”

“Of course not!”

Auntie May pressed on with the skill of a seasoned investigator. “Then why does your
Brett think she had anything to do with it?”

“Because he’s an idiot!” Her cheeks flared red. “Destiny is friendly, that’s all.
So she likes to hug people. What’s the big deal with that?”

If she’s hugging both men and women, I thought, not much of a deal at all. But if
she’s hugging only men, and hugging them at the least provocation, then there is a
very big deal.

“And maybe she likes to show off her body,” Summer said. “She’s worked hard to get
back into shape. Why shouldn’t she show off her abs?”

No reason. Or lots of reasons, depending on your point of view.

“And she likes to have a good time.” Summer’s hands were fists. “Why is that such
a horrible thing? Why shouldn’t I go out and have fun with her every once in a while?
Why shouldn’t I get to have fun, too?”

I could see that Auntie May was about to put her two cents in, so I jumped in ahead
of her. “Is Destiny married?”

“Not anymore. That was why she wanted to go up to the casino, to celebrate her divorce.
How could I say no? I mean, maybe I promised Brett I’d stop seeing her, but she’s
not a bad influence; she’s just fun.”

The final cloud vanished, leaving the sky clear and blue and bright.

Summer looked from me to Auntie May and back to me. “Brett’s wrong about her, he really
is. She’s a nice person, and I don’t see anything wrong with what I did.” Her gaze
darted around my face, analyzing my expression. “You . . . you don’t, do you? Think
I did anything wrong?”

How do you tell a friend that she’s being an idiot without hurting her feelings? How
do you find the words to say that, yes, you think she’s wrong? How do you manage to
ride the zigzag line that divides honesty and acceptable social truths?

But at the end, all of those questions collapsed into one. How good a friend was I?

Auntie May, of course, had no such questions in her head.

“You’re an idiot,” she said.

“I . . . what?”

“Let’s see.” Auntie May squinted. “Your so-called friend Destiny got you to lie to
your husband. She got you to break a promise to him. And now you’re stuck with all
those stupid lies and you don’t know how to get out of it. Is there much smart in
any of that?”

“But . . . Destiny
is
my friend. Why shouldn’t I be able to spend time with her?” Summer started to look
mulish. “She’s fun! Why can’t I go out and have some fun every once in a while? Because
I’m a mom, I should never have any fun? Is that it?”

I started to say something, but Auntie May beat me to it.

“No, it’s because you promised your husband.” She stared at Summer hard, and for a
second I thought she was going to pull out her index finger again, but she didn’t.
“I bet you two had a huge fight over this Destiny person, right?”

Summer looked at her knees and didn’t answer. When Auntie May lashed out with her
shoe and caught her in the shin, Summer said, “There might have been an argument.”

“Uh-huh. And I bet in the end you said you’d stay away from Destiny.”

“Okay, yeah, but—”

“But nothing. A promise is a promise and you don’t go messing around with promises
unless you want to get treated the same way.”

I looked at May with something very close to admiration. If I’d thought for a month,
I wouldn’t have been able to come up with such a succinct delivery. I wanted to write
it down so I could tell it to the kids.

“And now what are you going to do?” Auntie May leaned forward, her purple and green
necklaces clinking together. “Stuck good in that stupid lie. Kids today.” She poked
Summer’s knee. “That’s you, missy. A kid. And kids today are about as stupid as they
come.”

Summer twisted her knees out of reach, but she didn’t try to get up. The time for
her to flee had long gone, and now she was trapped until Auntie May was done speaking
her piece. “Dennis should have been able to figure something out,” Summer muttered.
“He’s not much of a financial genius if he can’t figure out how to hide a little money.”

Which didn’t sound like Summer at all. I looked at the depth of her pout and thought
that Brett was right, that Summer shouldn’t spend much time with Destiny. And again
I wondered about the easy spreading of bad habits.

“Ha.” Auntie May thumped back in her wheelchair. “Bet that’s what you were fighting
with Denny about that night he was killed.”

“There should be a way,” Summer said. “There must be.”

“Don’t be stupid. Didn’t you pay any attention to what he said? Casinos report straight
to the IRS. What did you want him to do, break into the IRS and steal your form?”

“No, of course not,” Summer said, but she looked thoughtful.

This wasn’t going anywhere good, so I asked, “Have you told the sheriff’s office any
of this?”

Summer’s eyes flew open wide. “What? No way! How could I?”

“It explains your fight with Dennis,” I said. “Clear that up and maybe people will
stop saying . . . well, you know.”

“But I can’t.” Summer was sliding into the whining zone. “If I tell them the truth
they’ll go talk to Brett and then . . . then he’ll know!”

“Denny was right,” Auntie May said.

“He certainly was.” May Werner and I, joined together in complete agreement. Note
the day on your calendars, folks, this event is history in the making. “You have to
tell Brett. You can’t hide something like this from your husband.”

“Face up to the music now,” Auntie May said, “or you’ll end up seeing your kids Wednesday
nights and every other weekend.”

“That’s nuts,” Summer said. “We’re not going to get a divorce because I won some money.”

No,
I thought,
but
you might end up in divorce court because you’re lying to your husband.

“Ha,” Auntie May said. “What would you do if things were flip-flopped? If he made
a promise to you, broke it, then lied about it? Eh? What would you do?”

“I . . .” Summer looked around wildly. “I . . .” Her gaze met mine. I looked at her,
steady on, and once again the tears started flowing. “I’ve b-been s-so stupid,” she
sobbed. “Why am I so dumb?”

“Because you’re a moron,” Auntie May said in a “duh” tone of voice.

“But in a very nice way,” I said quickly, patting Summer’s shoulder and glowering
at Auntie May. She shrugged.

“What am I going to do?” Summer wailed.

“You’re going to tell Brett,” I said. “And then you’re going to talk to Gus.”

“Oh . . .” She bent over as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “Do I have to?”

“Should have done it a long time ago,” Auntie May said. But she said it sotto voce,
so there was a good chance Summer didn’t hear.

“Yes, you have to.” I squeezed her shoulder and let go. “Sit Brett down tonight after
the kids are in bed and start at the beginning.” I considered, then reconsidered.
“Maybe not at the very beginning. Start with an apology.”

“Get him liquored up first,” Auntie May said. “Worked like a charm with my husband.”

Summer shook her head. “Brett doesn’t drink.”

Auntie May sighed. “I tell you, this generation is a mess and not going to get any
better.”

“Tell him tonight,” I urged. “Putting it off just makes it worse.”

Summer was still shaking her head. “It’s bowling night. He won’t get home until late.
I’ll do it tomorrow. Or this weekend. This weekend will be good.”

Auntie May looked at the ceiling. “Listen to her. She’s going to put it off until
doomsday.”

Maybe all Summer needed was a push in the right direction. “Two days,” I suggested.
“Do it within two days or . . . or . . .” I thought fast and hard for a motivator.
“Or I’ll go talk to Gus myself.”

“No!” Summer’s hands fluttered in her lap. “Don’t do that. I’ll tell Brett, I promise.
And Gus, too. Give me three days.”

“Summer . . .”

“Please? Just three days? Today’s Tuesday, and it’s like half over, so by this time
on Friday, I’ll have . . .” She swallowed. “I’ll have told Brett.”

“And Gus,” I said.

She nodded. “And Chief Eiseley. I’ll talk to Brett, um, Thursday and stop at the police
station after I drop the kids off to school on Friday morning.” Her gaze darted over
to me. “Is that okay? Three days is okay, right?”

I sighed. I was such a sucker. “Okay. Three days.”

“You’re the best!” She jumped out of the chair and wrapped her arms around me. “The
absolute best. I won’t disappoint you, I promise! Zeppo, let’s go, boy.” Woman and
dog trotted out of the room.

And there I was, alone in a room with Auntie May. I instantly started making ready-to-go
movements, but I wasn’t fast enough. May started talking. “Girl’s a bad influence,”
she said.