Past Malice (21 page)

“No, that’s good. Now what’s my surprise?” Brian said.

“I’ll tell you the way to go.”

I directed him to the Lawton Yacht Club and Tiki Bar. The smell of rotten apples was still present by the door,
though fainter. Brian looked at me, doubt writ large on his face.

“Trust me,” was all I would say.

The look on his face when we entered the crowded bar and dining room encouraged me; then, when his puzzlement going up the stairs changed to glee when we reached the roof, I knew that I had it exactly right. The tiki torches were lit, the bar was aglow with the strings of chili-pepper Christmas lights, and Raylene met us with plastic leis in one hand—for Brian to wear in lieu of a party hat—and a pot of coffee in the other.

“What can I get you folks?”

“I’m driving,” Bucky announced, putting a package that was flat and about a foot square down next to her chair. “So I’ll just have a coffee.”

“How do you take it?”

“Black.”

“And for the birthday boy?”

“Uhhh….” He was still trying to take it all in, a gaping grin of amazement spreading across his face.

“I’ll have a mai-tai,” I said, throwing caution to the wind along with my usual request for a bourbon or a single malt.

“Me too. Wow,” Brian said as Raylene went to get the drinks. “This place…it’s….”

“I hoped you’d like it,” I said. “We haven’t found a place yet, you know, that was really…us.”

“This is good, this is close,” he agreed.

Bucky took a sip of her coffee. “This is your sort of place, Em? Really?”

“Why not? It’s an amalgam. It’s got a good menu, but doesn’t take itself seriously; it isn’t trendy or theme-y; it has a quiet place to eat and a place to get rowdy, inside and out, all of which I appreciate. It successfully combines these the
oretically opposing qualities in a pleasing new fashion. I should say it suits me down to the ground.”

“Thanks for the lecture.” Bucky gave me a sour look. “I just meant I didn’t have you figured for girl drinks.”

“Ha! Shows how well you know me. Once in a while, I do something wacky. I learned that from you.”

“Gee, thanks; turn my rebellion against human hypocrisy into an excuse for umbrella drinks. In any case,” she handed the package to Brian. “Happy birthday, Bri.”

“Hey, thanks a—” He had the wrapping torn off the package before he could finish, though, and he was agape when he saw what it was. “Whoa, Bucky! How did you know?”

“I did a little nosing around.” Bucky was inordinately pleased with herself, though.

Brian held up the album for me to see. There was a disgruntled-looking young man with a mop of messy hair on the cover.

“It’s Bob Dylan,
Highway 61 Revisited
,” he explained. “Very hard to come by. Wow, thanks, Buck.”

“Bob Dylan? Doesn’t his voice drive you crazy? I can hardly listen to him,” I said. “And I thought you were listening to reggae at the moment?”

“Dylan is always appropriate.” Brian looked at me, pity and disapproval in his eyes. “And when you write lyrics like that, you can have whatever damn kind of voice you want.”

“Yeah, but I thought you had that one already,” I said. It was a good guess, anyway; he seemed to have every album in the world.

“That’s a reissue. This is on the Columbia label, with an alternative version of “From a Buick 6” on side one. In near mint condition. This is something special. Bucks, are you sure—?”

“I got it for you. I don’t care about vinyl, you dinosaur.”

“Oh, man, thanks.” He leaned over and gave her a hug. I
was glad the drinks and the cake I’d asked Raylene for came at that moment. Once the candle was blown out, I invited her over for a piece of cake. She joined us and after a few bites—still not much of a conversationalist—I decided to ask her about the apples.

“Erik doesn’t like them,” she said.

“I know, but why does he have so many up here?”

“He drops them off the roof.”

By this time, Brian was interested too. “How come?”

Raylene finished chewing, then took a deep breath. “He gets up in the morning and drops an apple off the roof. If it hits the ground, he knows gravity is still working, and he has to go to work.” She thought about that, nodded, satisfied, and continued eating her cake.

“Oh” was all I could come up with. Bucky nodded, as though it made perfect sense to her, and then reached over to pick one of the chocolate rosettes off my slice of cake. I rapped her knuckle with my fork and she retreated.

“Is Erik around tonight? Maybe he’d like some cake too,” Brian suggested.

“He’s down the boat tonight.” Raylene finished up, nodded thanks, and left.

“Anyone understand any of that?” I asked.

“What’s not to understand?” Bucky and Brian both said.

Later on that night in bed, waiting for the excitement and the sugar to wear off, I confessed to Brian. “If I’d known you wanted that record, I would have gotten it for you.” But I didn’t even know what such a thing cost. A lot, probably. “But you said you wanted to get the cell phones, and I went with that.”

“I wanted the phones. I think they’re a good idea.” He raised himself up on his elbow. “What’s this all about?”

“Bucky gave you something I didn’t even know you wanted. I gave you…household appliances.”

“You’re not jealous, are you?”

“Yes,” I said into the pillow.

“You shouldn’t be.”

“Well, why not? You guys speak the same language, she knows things about your work that I don’t know. You guys hang out and never get into fights. You catch bottles of water you don’t know she’s throwing. She gives you good birthday presents. I don’t like it. It has to stop now.” I turned my face so I could see Brian, who wasn’t smiling at my last joke.

“Yeah, we can hang out. We like each other. She’s a different person, so naturally our relationship will look different than yours with me.”

“But you look like you’re having more fun with her.”

“She is fun. We do get along. But you give me what I want every day of my life. Bucky and I don’t have a history, the way you and I do. We don’t have to be so careful with each other.”

“Oh, great. You have to be careful with me.”

“Shush, you know what I mean. Couples have to be more careful with each other, to stand up to the long haul. She doesn’t have to live with me every day. I don’t know how she thinks, like I know you or you know me. I wouldn’t trade that for a whole stack of Dylan. That’s why I wanted the phones, so we could be in touch, so I could feel like I was looking after you, so you could call me whenever you wanted. It’s the only lifeline I can give you and not look like an idiot. Besides, she’s not worried about a mortgage or keeping up two cars or renovating a house. It’s easier for her to be frivolous.”

“I know she likes you,” I grumbled. “A whole lot.”

He fluffed up his pillow and puffed up his chest. “And it’s right she should. I’m a hell of a guy.”

I smacked him.

“Well, I am! Aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are. You just don’t have to be so smug about it; I’d hate to have to tell Bucky how you eat cold leftover mashed potatoes right out of the fridge.”

Brian grinned, then turned serious again. “Who was that you were talking to, on the way out?”

“It was Detective Bader. He’s the one working on the case.”

There was even less humor in his voice now. “And what were you talking about?”

“I was just saying hi.” Brian knew there was more, so I told him. “When he called yesterday, he also asked if he could show me something. It has to do with the Chandlers.”

“So even after all you said on Friday, you’re still going to mess around with the case?”

“I thought you’d be happy. I mean, if the cops are talking to me, then that means they’ll also be keeping an eye on me, right?”

“The killer might think so too.”

“Oh, man. I can’t win, can I?”

“Arrgh! Emma, it’s not about winning. It’s about staying alive. Do you know what I wished for when I blew out my candles?”

“No, and you can’t tell me. It doesn’t come true, if you tell.”

“Well, let’s just put it this way. I’m looking forward to spending my birthday with you next year, too.”

“God, Brian. I’m doing my best. What more do you want from me?”

“Just a little common sense, that’s all.”

“Well, I’ll work on the common sense, if you work on treating me like an adult.” I flopped around onto my side, my back to Brian. He leaned over and put his chin on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I love you.”

“I love you too, babe. I’m sorry, I just can’t….”

“Shh. We’re both tired. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

But the celebration was well and truly over.

M
Y EYES FLEW OPEN; IT WAS LIGHT BUT THE ALARM
clock hadn’t gone off. I almost never beat the alarm getting out of bed. Brian wasn’t next to me anymore.

He came into the bedroom quietly, dressed except for his socks. He was looking in the bureau when he must have sensed that I was awake, for he turned around and looked at me. “Morning.”

“Hey, babe,” I said. “You’re up early.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to get in to work early today. A lot I need to get done.”

Oh God. “Look, about last night. I probably said things the wrong way—”

“I understand what you were trying to say. I understand.”

Thank God.

He pulled on his socks, not really looking at me. “I just can’t talk about it now. I’ve got to get going, okay?”

Oh no; he was still upset. “Brian, look, I just want—”

“No, Emma, it’s okay. Right? I’ve just got to get going.
Bring your phone with you today, all right? I’ll have mine with me. I’ve got to run.” He pulled on his sneakers and then leaned over and kissed me. I kissed him back as hard as I could, trying to interject as much heartfelt concern, love, apology, and a plea for understanding into it as I could, but he broke it off much too quickly for me. “Look after yourself, okay?”

I grabbed his hand. “Brian, I love you.”

“I love you too. More than anything.”

He left. Brian almost never varied his routine if he could help it. I didn’t know what to make of it, but I wasn’t real happy about it.

Maybe I shouldn’t go back out there.

Too late, the logical part of me reminded myself. You’ve already told everyone you would go.

I can unsay it.

Do you really want to? Go out today, see how you feel. Decide tonight when you aren’t worried about so many other things.

Like my marriage disintegrating?

Don’t be dramatic—

I don’t think I am being dramatic; this is a big-ticket discussion Brian and I are having.

—and don’t confuse the issue. Deal with today and you can reevaluate the situation later.

That was the logical thing to do, but like most reasonable and logical things, it wasn’t easy.

When I went downstairs, I saw there was half a fresh pot of coffee waiting for me, and I seized on it with all due haste, thinking that Brian must still love me, at least a little bit. I drank a cup down, as hot as I could stand, and then immediately had another cup. I poured the rest for Bucky, who was just feeling her way down the stairs, and then put an
other pot on. I stuck my head into Brian’s office after knocking and saw that the crew was up. I left the cereal and bread out after I got something for myself and tried to wave a piece of toast under Bucky’s nose.

“Uhnn.” She batted at it and retreated further back into her corner, her hand over her eyes.

“You’ll be hungry later on.”

“Don’t care. Coffee.”

It was nice, having them all crowd around the table to scarf down the food, and then get the lunches made. It was nice, to have that bit of normality around us there, but it didn’t last. We were out of the house promptly.

“Okay. I give,” I told my sister in the car. “How did you find out about the album?”

“I nosed around a little.” She took another sip of coffee from her travel mug. “Had a look through Brian’s collection last time I was here, talked to a few people who knew some people.”

“Any of those people named Joel, by any chance?”

“Maybe.” She leaned back and pretended to sleep, and I kept quiet until we got to the site.

It also seemed as though the elements conspired to distract us from whatever bad memories the week before might have held for us. A perfect morning for work; if mornings could start closer to ten or eleven, I would have been even happier. A fresh breeze off the water reassured me that the heat wouldn’t be too bad today, not enough to get in the way of work. Even though we were all back working at the side of the house, there was plenty of room, and I was convinced that the concentrated effort would bring us down to the bottom of the charred layer, and maybe down into whatever
might have been there before the Chandlers had built their house. But the crime scene team was already out there ahead of us.

Stuart Feldman was loitering by our part of the site when I arrived, passing the time of day with Perry. Ted was nearby, reading a book on a folding chair before the first tour of the day started.

“Say, do you mind telling me what you’re looking for here?” Stuart said.

I gave him the rundown of what we were looking for and how we were piecing together our evidence, the documents, the stratigraphy, the artifacts, the architecture, the history. “But I suppose you remember all this.”

He nodded. “It’s pretty much the same as what we’re doing here.”

“Yeah, everything except the consequences,” I said.

“You might be surprised.” He paused. “You ever think about training in forensic bioarchaeology?”

I was taken aback. “Me? But I’m not qualified…I could never….”

“Like I said, our work is essentially similar, but you’d have to do some training, there are courses. Brush up your osteology, do some work on the safety protocols and the legal aspects; depending on your experience, I’d bet you could get certified. If you’re interested.”

I didn’t know what to say; the thought had honestly never crossed my mind.

Feldman spoke again, hastily. “Only if you’re interested. It’s not for everyone, that’s for sure. But we are always looking for more help, even on a part-time consulting basis.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I could do that,” I said slowly. I looked at him. “It’s a wild idea, though. I’ll think about it.”

He handed me a card. “Well, if you ever do, let me know.
I’ll tell you where to get started on your certification. No pressure.”

“Thanks. That’s really…I mean, it’s always nice to be asked, you know?”

Feldman laughed. “Yeah, I suppose it is. Well, I’d better get back to it. Take it easy and thanks for the tour.”

“Sure, any time.”

About 10
A.M
., the breeze dropped off and the heat became blistering. I tried not to watch as Detective Bader approached the site; perhaps he didn’t want to speak with me at all. Still, it was with a quiet sense of excitement that I realized that he was gesturing for me to meet him on the lawn below the house. He mopped his head with a handkerchief; a big guy like him would definitely be feeling the warmth of the day. As he walked from the crime scene, he tucked the hankie back neatly into his blazer pocket.

I put my notes down and tapped Meg on the shoulder, letting her know that I would be away for a few minutes. It wasn’t too surprising that Detective Bader led me over to one of the trees that was next to the street side fence, well away from the crew, well away from the crowds, well away from the house.

“I hate to take you away from your work, but I’ve got that paper to show you. The one I mentioned the other day?”

“I’d be happy to help, if I can.”

He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. It was a photocopy, but one that had been the result of putting the original the wrong way around on the glass; the paper only showed half of the original, cut off midway down the page. He handed it to me, saying, when I hesitated, “Go ahead. It’s a copy I made of the original photocopy, if you know what I mean. You can touch it.”

I took the paper and looked at it. It seemed to me that the original photocopy had been crumpled. The original docu
ment it showed was old, maybe as old as the house, and darkened with age. The cursive handwriting seemed to swim before my eyes for a moment; some of the lettering had faded over the years, there were one or two blots, and there was a peculiarity about the way the tails of the letters were formed with an abrupt jerk upward that took a while to get the hang of. When I focused on the first word, however, I could make it out well enough to realize that I was reading a sentence that began in the middle, part of a letter. I read aloud:

“—though it can scarce matter now about the Boy’s parentage. What is important is that you have promised to give him your protection, raise him as your own, and that, along with his own deeds, will determine the kind of Man Nicholas is to become. This is the last favor I shall ever ask of you, Mr. Matthew Chandler. It is a great one, but I realize that you would undertake it for his sake, as well for the sake of the memory of his Father and me. It is better this way; if he had grown older here with me, he would have grown into the City’s vices and perhaps mine too. Perhaps this way, it is not too late. Your grateful Servant Sarah Holloway.”

There was no date. I didn’t recognize the name or the handwriting from any of the documents I’d been studying, so I didn’t know why Detective Bader was giving it to me.

“It looks eighteenth century,” I told him. “I can’t tell too much more than that.”

“But it looks like…something that was real?”

“Yes. It looks genuine, but I couldn’t say better unless I looked at the original. Where did you get this?” I said.

“From the wastebasket in Aden Fiske’s home office. Did you know it had been broken into the night of his murder?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Broken in is probably the wrong word. There were no signs of a forced entry. Whoever killed Aden used his keys.
Not the sort of thing you are careless with, particularly when you have as much to guard as he did.”

“The historic site and his house,” I suggested.

“More than that. Aden Fiske was a blackmailer.”

“You’re kidding me.” Ted had said something like it at the Little Green Bar, but I hadn’t considered it seriously.

“If I were, it would reduce the number of suspects I’m suddenly considering.”

“How do you know he was blackmailing people?” I could tell that I was pushing the limits of his tolerance for telling a civilian anything to do with an ongoing investigation, and I held my breath until he reluctantly answered.

“We got to his house and found that a fire had been set in his home office. A pile of files, letters, photographs, a lot of things were smoldering in the fireplace. Someone had taken a hatchet to the filing cabinets and managed to get one of them opened. Most of the files from that one were burnt in the fireplace—”

“Does that mean you can narrow down the suspects in some way—by alphabetical order or something like that?”

“I wish. His filing system wasn’t that well organized. I got the impression from the way things were organized that there is a larger collection, hidden away somewhere. What we found were mostly photocopies like this one. Apparently the murderer didn’t think to look in the wastebasket.”

“You said ‘a larger collection’?”

He nodded and looked out toward the water.

“A safety deposit box?”

“There’s no way to tell at this stage. But Aden wouldn’t have been stupid enough to keep the originals at home. He didn’t even have an alarm system.”

“Maybe he believed that whoever might want to get at him knew that his files were protection enough. Maybe they were worried that he might have some kind of ‘dead-man’s
switch,’ in case he died. You know, a lawyer who would mail a letter to the paper on the news of his death, or something like that.”

“You have a very devious mind, Dr. Fielding.” He looked down the way we’d come, toward the site at the side of the house. “We’ve considered all that. But it didn’t do him any good in the end. It does make me think about the trouble you had with Aden’s outboard.”

I chewed that over, thinking about Bray Chandler’s claims to be descended from Margaret and Matthew Chandler, now utterly refuted by this letter. A letter that Aden had in his possession and perhaps even held over Bray’s head.

I told Bader about Bray Chandler’s claims. His face grew more and more stern, and I realized that Bray wasn’t the only one whose secret I also now knew. Fee and Grace, Perry’s history of cheating at school, Ted’s prying and spying. Even the Voellers’ competition with Aden seemed all too sinister now.

“What will you do with all the evidence you’ve found? I mean, about other people’s blackmail-able activities?” I asked.

“It depends. A lot of the stuff we found was just…personal. Some of it wasn’t, but we’ll have to see.”

I remembered from childhood that “we’ll see” was an all-purpose conversation ender. I couldn’t afford to let it end now. And I’d promised Brian I wouldn’t.

“What about the vandalism? Perry’s hit and run? Any ideas about where they might all fit in?”

“Hmmm, well. Perry Taylor’s hit and run isn’t part of this story.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Trust me. We’re still looking into the vandalism though.”

Once again, his reluctance to speak about police matters
was frustrating, but I couldn’t allow it to stop me now. “Detective Bader. I’m not sure how to say this, but…there were two bodies found here at the house. They were found, both of them, right next to where I’ve been working. Is there any chance that this might have more to do with me or my work than—?”

“So far, this all looks like it’s focused on the Historical Society and Aden Fiske,” he said briskly. “I would just suggest you take the usual precautions.”

We were walking along the fence that ran down the street side of the house. I noticed that Ted had followed us out onto the lawn, pausing here and there at some of the garden beds, as if to pick out weeds or deadhead past blooms. He was straining to hear us. If Detective Bader noticed, he gave no indication. Eventually Ted gave up and returned to the house, his hands stained red from the geranium blossoms.

When we reached the edge of the property at the water, we turned and walked back up the slope until Detective Bader halted at the turnoff for the crime scene. A loud “woof” came from across the street and I realized that a pair of canine eyes were following us closely.

“Piss off, Matisse,” I called. I turned back to Detective Bader, who looked amused. “If you let me see the original, maybe I could say something more about it.”

“I’ll let you know. Thanks for your help; I don’t want to keep you any longer.”

I couldn’t just leave it at that. “Did you ever find out about your U.S.–Mexican War troops?”