J is for Judgment (30 page)

“I don’t get the connection.”

“Wendell was in trouble with the law once himself. …”

“Oh, that’s right. I remember. Somebody mentioned that. He’d graduated from law school. He was convicted of manslaughter, wasn’t he?”

She nodded. “I don’t know the details.”

“He told you he wasn’t guilty?”

“Oh, he wasn’t,” she said. “He took the blame for somebody else. That’s how he was able to get Brian out of jail. By calling in his marker.”

I stared at her without slowing my pace. “Did you ever hear of a guy named Harris Brown?”

She shook her head in the negative. “Who’s he?”

“An ex-cop. He was originally assigned to the fraud investigation after Wendell disappeared, but then he was pulled off. Turns out he’d invested a lot of money in Wendell’s company, and the scam wiped him out. I was thinking he might have used some of his old connections to help Brian. I just can’t figure out why he’d do it.”

The ramp for Marina I was another fifty yards down
on the left, the gate locked as usual. Seagulls were pecking intently at a fishing net. We stood there for a moment, hoping somebody with a key card would pass through so we could slipstream in behind them.

Finally I grabbed on to the fence post and held on while I climbed around on the outside of the barrier, working my way along the fencing until I reached the other side. I opened the gate for her and let her through, and we started off down the dock. Conversation between us dwindled. I turned into the sixth line of slips on the right, marked J, counting down visually to the slot where the
Lord
was tied up.

Even from a distance, I could see the slip was empty and the boat was gone.

R
enata’s mood darkened as we moved up the ramp toward the harbormaster’s office, which was located above a ship’s chandler selling marine hardware and supplies. I half expected an outburst of some kind, but she was remarkably silent. She waited on a small wooden balcony outside while I went through the explanations with the clerk at the counter. Since we weren’t the legal owners of the missing boat and since there was no way we could prove Eckert hadn’t taken the boat himself, it soon became clear that for the time being, nothing much could be done. The clerk took the information, as much to appease me as anything else. When and if Eckert showed, he could file a report. The harbormaster would then notify the Coast Guard and the local police. I left my name and telephone number and asked if they’d have Eckert get in touch if they heard from him.

Renata followed me downstairs, declining to accompany me as I walked over to the yacht club next door. I was hoping somebody there might know where Eckert had gone. I pushed in through the glass doors and went upstairs, pausing outside the dining room. From the second-floor deck, she looked cold and tired, sitting on the low concrete wall that bordered the breakwater. At her back the ocean thundered monotonously, wind tearing at her hair. In the shallows a yellow Labrador charged through the surf, chasing pigeons off the beach while the seagulls wheeled above him and screamed with amusement.

The yacht club dining room was empty except for the bartender and a fellow with a vacuum cleaner, mowing the wall-to-wall carpeting. Again I left my name and number, asking the bartender to have Carl Eckert get in touch with me if he came in.

As we walked back to the car, Renata gave me a bitter smile. “What’s so funny?” I asked.

“Nothing. I was just thinking about Wendell. He has all the luck. It’ll be hours before anybody starts to look for him.”

“There’s nothing we can do, Renata. It’s always possible he’ll show up,” I said. “Actually, we can’t really be sure he left. Hell, we can’t even prove Wendell took the boat.”

“You don’t know him like I do. He rips everybody off one way or another.”

We cruised through the parking lot in search of her missing Jeep, but it was nowhere in sight. She drove me back to the office, where I retrieved my VW and drove
out to Colgate. I spent the next two irksome hours getting the rear window replaced. While I was waiting, I sat in the chrome-and-plastic reception area, drinking free bad coffee from a foam cup while I leafed through tattered back issues of
Arizona Highways.
This lasted four minutes before I left the building. As was my habit of late, I found a public telephone booth and conducted a little business from the parking lot. Once I got the hang of it, I could probably dispense with an office altogether.

I put a call through to Lieutenant Whiteside in Fraud and brought him up to date. “I think it’s time to run mug shots in the paper,” he said. “I’ll contact the local TV station, too, and see what they can do for us. I want the public aware these guys are out there. Maybe someone will dime ‘em out.”

“Let’s hope.”

Once my rear window had been installed, I tooled on back to the office and spent the next hour and a half at my desk. I felt I should stay near the phone in case Eckert called in. In the meantime, I gave Mac a buzz and filled him in on what was happening. I no sooner put the phone down than it rang. “Kinsey Millhone Investigations. Kinsey Millhone.”

An instant of silence and then a woman said, “Oh. I thought this was an answering machine.”

“No, this is me. Who is this?”

“This is your cousin Tasha Howard, up in San Francisco.”

“Ah, yes. Tasha. Liza mentioned you. How are you?” I said. Mentally I’d begun to drum my fingers, hoping to get her off the line in case Wendell phoned in.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Something’s come up and it occurred to me you might be interested. I just had a chat with Grand’s attorney down in Lompoc. The house where our mothers lived is either being moved or torn down. Grand’s been fighting with the city for the last several months, and we’re supposed to hear something soon about the disposition of the matter. She’s trying to have the house protected under the local historical preservation act. The original structure dates back to the turn of the century. The house hasn’t been lived in for years, of course, but it could be restored. She owns another lot where she can put the house if she can get the city to agree. Anyway, I thought you might want to see the place again since you were there once yourself.”

“I was there?”

“Oh, sure. You don’t remember? The four of you—Aunt Gin, your parents, and you—came up when Burt and Grand were off on the big cruise for their forty-second anniversary. It was really meant for their fortieth, but it took ‘em two years to get organized. All the cousins got to play together, and you fell off the sliding board and cut your knee. I was seven, so you must have been about four, I’d say. Maybe a little older, but I know you weren’t in school yet. I can’t believe you don’t remember. Aunt Rita taught us all to eat peanut-butter-and-pickle sandwiches, which I’ve adored ever since. You were supposed to come back in the next couple of months. It was all set up for when Burt and Grand got home.”

“Only my parents never made it,” I said, thinking,
Jesus, the peanut-butter-and-pickle sandwiches aren’t even mine anymore.

“I suppose not,” she said. “Anyway, I thought if you saw the house, it might jog your memory. I have to come down on business, and I’d be happy to give you the nickel tour.”

“What sort of work do you do?”

“I’m an attorney. Probate and estate administration, wills, intervivos trusts, tax planning. The firm has an office up here and another one in Lompoc, so I end up flying back and forth all the time. What’s your schedule look like in the next few days? Are you free any time soon?”

“Let me think about that. I appreciate the offer, but I’m currently tied up with a case. Why don’t you go ahead and give me the address? If I have a chance to get up there, I can take a look and if not, well…so be it.”

“I suppose that would do,” she said reluctantly. “I was actually hoping I could see you. Liza wasn’t entirely happy with the way she handled the situation. She thought maybe I could smooth the waters a bit.”

“No need for that. She did fine,” I said. I was keeping my distance, and I’m sure the maneuver wasn’t lost on her. She gave me the address and a sketchy set of directions, which I jotted on a sheet of scratch paper. I was already struggling with an urge to toss it in the trash. I started making good-bye noises, using that airy tone that says, Okay, thanks a lot, nice talking to you.

Tasha said, “I hope this doesn’t seem too personal, but I get the impression you’re really not interested in cementing any family ties.”

“I don’t think that’s too personal,” I said. “I guess I’m in the process of assimilating the information. I don’t really know what I want to do about it yet.”

“Are you angry with Grand?”

“Of course I am, and why wouldn’t I be? She threw my mother out. That estrangement must have gone on for twenty years.”

“That wasn’t all Grand’s doing. It takes two to make a rift.”

“Right,” I said. “At least my mother was on her way to make amends. What did Grand ever do? She sat back and waited, which I notice she’s still doing.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, where’s she been all these years? I’m thirty-four years old. Until yesterday I never even knew she existed. She could have gotten in touch.”

“She didn’t know where you were.”

“Bullshit. Liza told me everybody knew we were down here. For the last twenty-five years I’ve been an hour away.”

“I don’t mean to argue about this, but I really don’t believe Grand was aware of that.”

“What did she think happened, I was eaten by bears? She could have hired a detective if she’d cared enough.”

“Well. I see your point, and I’m sorry about all this. We didn’t make the contact to cause you pain.”

“Why did you, then?”

“We were hoping to connect. We thought enough time had passed to heal old wounds.”

“Those ‘old wounds’ are news to me. I just heard about this shit yesterday.”

“I can appreciate that, and you’re entitled to feel what you feel. It’s just that Grand’s not going to live forever. She’s eighty-seven now, and she’s not in the best of health. You still have a chance to enjoy the relationship.”

“Correction.
She
has a chance to enjoy the relationship. I’m not sure I would.”

“Will you think about it?”

“Sure.”

“Do you mind if I tell her we’ve spoken?”

“I don’t see how I can prevent it.”

There was a fractional silence. “Are you really this unforgiving?”

“Absolutely. Why not? Just like Grand,” I said. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate the attribute.”

“I see,” she said coolly.

“Look, this is not your fault, and I don’t mean to take it out on you. You’re just going to have to give me some time here. I’ve made my peace with the fact that I’m alone. I like my life as it is, and I’m not at all sure I want to change.”

“We’re not asking you to change.”

“Then you better get used to me the way I am,” I said.

She had the good grace to laugh, which in an odd way helped. Our good-byes were slightly warmer. I said all the right things, and by the time I hung up my churlishness was already fading to some extent. Content so often follows form. It’s not just that we’re nice to the people we like …we like the people we’re nice to. It works both ways. I guess that’s what good manners are
about, or so my aunt always claimed. In the meantime, I knew I wouldn’t be driving up to Lompoc any time soon. To hell with that.

I went across the hall to the restroom, and when I got back the phone was ringing. I made a lunge and snatched up the receiver from the far side of the desk, easing my way around until I reached my swivel chair. When I identified myself, I could hear breathing on the line and for one split second I thought it was Wendell. “Take your time,” I said. I closed my eyes and crossed my fingers, thinking, Please, please, please.

“This is Brian Jaffe.”

“Ah. I thought it might be your father. Have you heard from him?”

“Nuhn-uhn. That’s why I called. Have you?”

“Not since last night.”

“Michael says the car Dad came to his place in is still parked at the curb.”

“He was having car trouble, which is why I gave him a lift. When did you last see him?”

“Day before yesterday. He came by in the afternoon and we talked. He said he’d be back last night, but he never showed.”

“He may have tried,” I said. “Someone took some shots at us and he disappeared. This morning we found out the
Lord
was gone.”

“The boat?”

“Right. That’s the one your father was on when he vanished.”

“Dad stole a boat?”

“Well, it looks that way, but nobody really knows at
this point. Maybe that’s the only way he could think of to get out. He must have felt he was in real jeopardy.”

“Hey, yeah, getting shot at,” Brian said facetiously.

I fleshed out the story for him, hoping to ingratiate myself. I nearly mentioned Renata, but I bit the words off in time. If Michael hadn’t known about her, chances were that Brian didn’t, either. As usual, given my perverse nature, I was feeling protective of the “villain” of the piece. Maybe Wendell would have a change of heart and return the boat. Maybe he’d talk Brian into “coming in,” and the two would turn themselves over to the cops. Maybe the Easter bunny would bring me one of those spun-sugar eggs with a hole you could peek in, revealing a world much better than this.

Brian breathed in my ear some more. I waited him out. “Michael says Dad has a girlfriend. Is that true?” he said.

“Ah, mmm. I don’t know what to say about that. He was traveling with a friend, but I really don’t know what their relationship consists of.”

“Right.” He snorted with disbelief. I’d forgotten he was eighteen years old and probably knew more about sex than I did. He certainly knew more about violence. What made me think I could fool a kid like him?

“You want Renata’s number? She may have heard from him.”

“I got a number to call and this machine picks up. If Dad’s around, he calls back. Is this the one you have?” He recited Renata’s unlisted number.

“That’s it. Look, why don’t you give me your current
location. I’ll pop over there and we can talk. Maybe between us we can figure out where he is.”