Hot Water (6 page)

We entered her office, weaving our way past stacks of document boxes, paper files, and several cheap filing cabinets. She took the only chair at the TV tray that held her laptop. I stood, holding my arms tight to my sides and trying not to breathe too deeply for fear of coughing up dust and setting off an avalanche.

“Where are you going?”

“Colleton Landing, South Carolina. It’s just north of Savannah.”

“South Carolina?” she said in alarm, swiveling her chair to face me. “You can’t go there. They’ve got alligators and sharks and swamps and isn’t that hurricane still out in the Atlantic and—”

“Don’t worry, this job is inside a plant, not out in the field.” I didn’t tell her it was a nuclear plant that produced radioactive medical isotopes. In addition to OCD, Mom also plays at being an amateur hypochondriac—she’s always healthy but thinks up the worst possible diagnoses for anyone else who makes the mistake of revealing a symptom. “Most I’ll be facing is mosquitoes as I walk from the parking lot.”

Wrong thing to say. Her eyes grew even wider. “Mosquitoes? We’re talking West Nile and Eastern Equine Encephalitis and maybe dengue fever. I’ll have to look that up.”

I blocked her path to the computer. “Mom. I’ll be fine.” Took a deep breath, bracing myself. Over the years not only had my mother’s hoarding and hypochondria blossomed but she was pretty near agoraphobic—had only made it over to Flora’s once in the five months we’ve been here.

“You and Dad are coming for David’s birthday.” She stared at me blankly. “Saturday. At Flora’s.”

Her gaze darted away from mine as if answers lay in the stacks of documents surrounding us.

“Mom. David’s expecting you. It’s important.”

“Well . . . ” Her voice trailed off as her gaze sharpened, snagged by some doo-dad out in the hallway. “We’ll see. Your dad and I are so busy, you know.”

Before I could say anything, she darted past me and began rummaging through a pile of boxes from Amazon and QVC, some opened, some still sealed, a few bent and smashed by the weight of junk covering them. A football rolled past her grasping hands, followed by a Game Boy and a lava lamp. Any of which her grandson would most dearly appreciate. Instead, they were gathering lost memories of another boy, long since dead.

“I ordered this for your brother,” she muttered as she dug deep, her head buried in the pile.

Randy had died fifteen years ago. His room was a shrine, frozen in the past. My old room was the present—her job with Masterson, no trace of her only living child.

And the rest of the house? As the pile of junk shifted and swirled beneath her movements, my mind flashed to a gruesome future—she and Dad buried alive.

“Mom—” I started, then bit back my words. I’d tried to get her into counseling, had tried cleaning things myself—both of which had been disasters. Dad had threatened to cut me and David out of their lives forever if I didn’t stop “interfering.” If it was only me, I would have walked away. But I couldn’t deprive David of his only family, no matter how mixed up they were.

“Found it,” she exclaimed in delight, emerging from the shuffle of junk, holding a slim box aloft. “I’m sure your brother won’t mind if you borrow it. You might need it down there in South Carolina.”

She thrust the box into my hand. It was a four-inch fixed stainless-steel SOG knife. Nice one with its own nylon sheath. I started to give it back but stopped. Ever since a killer had caught me empty-handed and defenseless, I’d been carrying the small folding Buck knife I’d had since I was a kid, but I could definitely see the potential intimidation factor in this one. It looked like something a Navy SEAL would carry. With that sheath it would fit perfectly in my boot.

“Manners, Angela Joy,” Mom chided when I didn’t say anything.

“Thank you,” I mumbled. My head was splitting and Grandel was waiting. At least flying on a private plane I wouldn’t have to worry about getting the knife through security. “I have to go now. But you’ll be there Saturday, right?”

Too late. She was already on her knees scrabbling through the pile, searching for more buried treasure. She waggled her hand at me without looking and I left.

As I closed the door behind me, the house seemed to sigh. Whether happy or sad to see me go, leaving my mother trapped inside her memories, I wasn’t sure.

SIX

“You’re late,” Elizabeth said as I pulled into her driveway. She hopped into the passenger seat before I could turn the engine off.

“Had to deal with my mother.” I resisted the urge to sigh. “What happened to Grandel?”

“I sent him on ahead in his hired car. Figured this would give us a chance to talk.”

“Sneaking around behind the client’s back. Wow. This case is off to a great start.”

My sarcasm wasn’t lost on Elizabeth. “Welcome to the real world. Look, I know this case isn’t our usual area of expertise, so I called a friend.”

“A friend?”

“Well, a guy I kinda dated once or twice. He’s a radiation oncologist at Penn. Super-scary-smart.”

“So why’d you stop dating him?”

“It was a blind date, right after Hunter and I divorced. Larry’s a great guy but he’s pretty intense. OCD, you know what I mean?”

“Oh yeah, I know about OCD.” Now I did sigh, thinking of Mom. “So Larry knows about nuclear plants and all this stuff?”

“Some of it. Theoretical stuff, mostly. He gave me an earful about how important having a US source of isotopes is. Said they’re used in PET scans and diagnosing heart attacks in addition to treating all sorts of cancer.”

“Okay, I get it. Grandel’s saving lives with his plant. Not sure how knowing that is going to help me make sense of what’s going on down there.”

“Hey, my specialty is family law, divorces and prenups, and custody—not like I have a bunch of nuclear physicists on my speed dial. Anyway, I e-mailed you Larry’s contact info in case you need advice.”

Finally I got it. Elizabeth wasn’t buying Grandel’s
GQ
act either. He wasn’t in this to save lives; it was all about the bottom line. “Wait. You mean in case I don’t like what Grandel is telling me, I can double-check with Larry, see if he’s pulling a fast one?”

“Something like that.”

“Distrusting our own client. Feels like I’m back in D.C.”

“Hey, never forget the first rule of law.”

“Trust nobody—”

“Assume nothing.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I also did some research on Grandel’s foreign venture capital partners that he’s worried about. Turns out they’re from Japan.”

“Japan? After what happened with the earthquake and tsunami and those plants going into meltdown, I’d think they’d be the last country to want a new nuclear plant.”

“The plants damaged by the tsunami were forty years old. And given the amount of rebuilding they need to do, they need energy, fast, and can’t import enough oil without crippling their economy. Apparently almost a third of their energy supply came from nuclear power before the accident and the government still thinks investing in new, safer nuclear technology is its best option.”

“But after the accident, the Japanese public—”

“Is not too thrilled with the idea of new nuclear plants. So of course Grandel’s potential investors are seeking a fool-proof, weatherproof, god-proof technology. They’re apprehensive about public opposition and hypersensitive to any hint of scandal or cover-up. They’re coming to tour the plant next week to make their decision.”

“Hence the worry and the tight deadline.”

“Exactly.”

“So I’m supposed to educate the population about a new kind of nuclear reactor, calm their fears, get them to actually support the plant, and stop their opposition—all in a week? Elizabeth—”

“I know, I know.” She smiled—her best “it’ll be okay although I have no idea how” smile. “But if anyone can do it, you can.”

We pulled into the parking lot of the general aviation airfield outside Smithfield, the county seat, about half an hour over the mountain from Scotia. It wasn’t a “real” airport—no terminal, just a few fiberglass hangers and a dozen small planes lined up in a field. On the tarmac waited a sleek, small jet.

Elizabeth helped me with my bags—the travel pack and a messenger bag that held my laptop.

We approached the jet. Another plane, a small single prop, revved its engines, preparing for takeoff.

“I forgot to call Masterson.” I stopped and grabbed my cell phone.

“Why do you want to talk to him?” Elizabeth shouted over the noise.

“Promised David I’d invite him to his birthday party on Saturday.” I dialed. I didn’t bother about the noise—it would give me an excuse to cut the conversation short. “Mr. Masterson, please. AJ Palladino.” His secretary put me on hold. A minute later Old Man Masterson was on the phone.

“AJ, what do you want?” Typical, curt and to the point. Masterson blamed me for his son’s death, so our conversations tended to be undercut by anger.

Not too hard to understand, since I still blamed myself for Cole’s death as well. Intellectually, I knew it wasn’t my fault—but emotionally, well, that was going to take some time.

“David asked me to invite you to his birthday party on Saturday at Flora’s.”

“Boy sent me a written invitation. I have it on my schedule.” His tone softened when he spoke of David.

Even I couldn’t ignore the fact that Masterson was smitten with his grandson—proud of his accomplishments, determined that David would be his legacy. He wanted David to take his father’s name, carry the Masterson surname. I told him it would be up to David, not me, once he was old enough to decide.

Unfortunately, you give a man like Masterson an inch and suddenly he’s camped out in your living room, proclaiming squatter’s rights. His response had been to bring suit, requesting permanent visitation rights whenever he wanted.

Elizabeth was doing everything she could to stall the proceedings. I hadn’t told anyone else about it yet, hoping it would all magically go away, but sooner or later I’d probably have to face Masterson in court—with my son the prize.

“What’s all that noise?” he asked before I could hang up.

“Airplane. I’m leaving for business.”

“How long will you be gone? Maybe the boy should stay with me—after all, I am family.”

I choked back my response, forced myself to remain civil. “No thanks, I’ve got everything worked out. Gotta go.”

I hung up before he could pry into David’s living arrangements further. I hated the way Masterson was always trying to insinuate his way into David’s life—but I couldn’t keep David from his grandfather. He was part of David’s family. For better or for worse.

“Hey, relax,” Elizabeth said, prying the phone from my clenched fist before I could smash the wretched thing. “I’ll keep an eye on David.”

“Thanks.”

She surprised me with a quick hug. Grandel appeared at the jet’s hatch and waved me on board. I grabbed my bags and jogged over, turning back at the top of the steps to wave good-bye to Elizabeth. The mountains behind her were arrayed with a golden halo shining down between a cluster of gray-blue-white clouds.

Grandel closed the hatch behind me and I felt homesick already.

Swish, swoosh
. The skip of his fly dancing on top of the water was the only foreign sound on this part of the river. Bob Hutton kept casting, maintaining a steady, even rhythm with his G. Loomis 8-weight, enjoying the way his mind emptied of everything except the gentle gurgle of the river.

For a man in Hutton’s business, it wasn’t often that you could let your guard down and totally relax, so every minute spent on the river communing with the gods of fishing was a minute spent in heaven.

Until his phone buzzed and the hell that was the world outside exploded his calm oasis. He jerked his rod, debated for a split second to ignore the mechanical summons, but decided against temptation. He knew who was on the other end of the line, and it would be dangerous to provoke one of his oldest clients. Dropping his rod into the boat, he picked up his phone.

“Hutton here.” It was a point of pride that he didn’t fear using his real name on an open line. In fact, that was the only time he used his name—any other time, any place in the world and people would know him by another, disposable name. But Hutton understood the marketing advantages of branding himself, so he used his name, cemented it in the minds of his clients—along with his accomplishments and what he would do to them if they ever betrayed that name.