Safe from Harm (9781101619629) (27 page)

Eighteen

S
aturday was Molly's birthday party. Neither Annie Laurie or I had ever met James Wanderley's child, or her mother, and we weren't all that excited about going to the party. Because Jo was grounded, she would normally have had the choice of coming with us or spending those hours over at her aunt Stacy's house. But Jo woke up looking like death on stale bread.

“Come here,” I said when she walked into the kitchen Saturday morning. “Let me feel your face.” I didn't feel any fever.

“Do you feel okay, sweetie?” Annie Laurie asked, after also feeling no fever. “Will you be okay here alone? Dad and I have to go to a birthday party for James Wanderley's little girl.”

“Wanderley the detective?”

“You know another one?” I said.

Jo shook her slump off. “I want to come.”

“Really?” Annie said. “It's all the way across town—it's in the Heights.”

“I'm coming,” said Jo. “I'll go get a shower.”

“We have to leave by nine fifteen,” I hollered after her.

“What's up with her?” asked Annie once Jo had left the room.

“Beats me.” I was stoking myself with coffee. Caffeine is my drug of choice.

“Do you think she might have a crush on Wanderley?”

I said I thought Alex was the man of the hour, and I took Baby Bear on the levee to do his business.

Nine fifteen and both my women were in the kitchen, gift bags in their arms, ready for the party. Jo had wrapped up one of her many tiaras—if you take ballet as long as Jo has, you're going to collect a lot of tiaras. I almost never have to wait on Annie or my girls; Chester, on the other hand, tells me he regularly gives Stacy an event time that's an hour earlier than the invitation, just so as to have any hope at all of arriving on time.

I whistled for Baby Bear and he came running.

“Nuh-uh,” said Annie Laurie. She put a foot out to block Baby Bear's way. He sat down in front of her and offered her a paw. That worked every time when he was a puppy.

“Why not?”

“Baby Bear isn't coming to a three-year-old's party, Bear.”

“Why not? Baby Bear loves parties and it's outside at a park—why can't he come?” Baby Bear put down his right paw and offered Annie Laurie his left.

“He can't come because half the toddlers and all the parents will go into hysterics.”

“Baby Bear loves kids.”

“There's no argument here, Bear. He can't come. Baby Bear is the size of a pony and he's covered in black hair and he looks like he can fit a child's head in his mouth. That makes parents nervous.
You
know he would never hurt a child,
I
know he would never hurt a child, but no one else knows that and you are not going to be able to reassure twenty or more strangers that our huge dog isn't going to start hunting babies like hamsters. So make your apologies to Baby Bear and get in the car. We're going to be late, and if we're going to do this thing, we're going to do it right.”

Baby Bear could hear the bad news in her voice and he gave a yowl of disappointment and slunk into the family room to sulk. He would be on the couch the second the car pulled down the drive.

“I'll bring you some birthday cake!” I yelled and got in the car feeling a little sulky myself. Jo didn't say a word to back me up and she is
still
Baby Bear's favorite.

Jo was quiet during the forty-minute drive, but she said she felt fine. I told Annie Laurie to stop fussing.

•   •   •

The Heights is a hundred-year-old neighborhood that has undergone gentle gentrification over the past twenty years. Instead of tearing down the old Victorians, buyers have by and large refurbished and added on to them, maintaining the wide wraparound porches and gingerbread trim. And Heaven help a new homeowner if he takes out one of the massive oaks on his property.

In Houston, the Heights are so called because they're high ground—but that's a relative thing. That means instead of being on really low ground, if you live in the Heights, you live on not-so-low ground.

Donovan Park was typical of the Heights: huge spreading oaks and inventive playground equipment and an eclectic mix of people gathered to enjoy the cool October weather.

Molly wasn't the only one celebrating a birthday that Saturday, but there was a big pink banner declaring
MOLLY IS THREE!
so we didn't have any trouble finding the right group. A troop of toddlers had occupied a nearby castle-like structure.

Wanderley had shown me photos of Molly, but that was a while ago and I couldn't pick her out from among the fast-moving group. Luckily, Wanderley saw us and came over to greet us. This was a different Wanderley than I had ever met before. He wore a loose polo shirt over frayed jeans and sneakers instead of his usual cowboy boots. He looked excited and flatteringly happy to see us all there. He called to the cluster inhabiting the castle, but Molly did not appear. He held a finger up for us and ran over and plucked a child from the slide. He returned with the girl on his hip, rubbing his chin in her curls.

Molly was a sugarplum. Her white dad and black mom had each contributed the best of their genes. Molly had big brown eyes, loose black curls and coffee-and-cream skin. She had an elegant, rather adult nose that needed growing into, but it gave her a quirky, intelligent air. Annie Laurie and Jo said, “Awwww,” winning smiles from baby and dad alike.

Wanderley made introductions, and with some prompting, Molly put out her hand and shook. Then she scrambled down and was away before he could do any more showing off.

“Come meet Chloe and her parents.” He led the way through the crowd, introducing us to friends and to a brother so briefly that I couldn't catch any of the names, and stopped when he came to a couple in their early sixties.

“Dr. Hensler, Mrs. Hensler, these are my friends, Walker and Annie Laurie Wells, and their daughter, Jo. Bear and Annie and Jo, meet Molly's grandparents on her mom's side. Dr. Hensler, this is the minister I told you about.”

Everybody shook hands and said the right things. Dr. Hensler kept my hand after shaking and said, “I was pleased to hear that Molly's father has finally taken an interest in the church, Mr. Wells. Is he attending regularly?”

Before I could catch a fly in my open mouth, Annie answered for me.

“Why, we often see James at the church, don't we Bear? And, you know, Bear and James have had some very deep conversations in Bear's office. Isn't that right, Bear?” See, God sent me Annie Laurie for a reason. I'm slow, and she's fast. I get caught on quibbles, and Annie Laurie doesn't.

I nodded, pumping Dr. Hensler's hand gamely.

Strictly speaking, Annie had spoken the truth. Wanderley had been up to the church several times and we had had some deep conversations. Now, as far as I know, Wanderley had never been to a service or class at the church, and those deep conversations we'd had had been about murder; but talking like a Pharisee, Annie had saved the day.

Don't think I hadn't noticed that not only had I not been invited to call Dr. Hensler by his first name, but the father of Dr. Hensler's grandchild was still calling him by his title. Hmmmm!

At last we met Chloe, Molly's mother. When Wanderley spoke of her, I'd never gotten the feeling that he had asked her to marry him (she'd declined) because he wanted to “do the right thing.” If I was guessing, I'd say Wanderley had been very much in love with Chloe Hensler. From the way the man looked at her, I'd say he still was.

Chloe stood as tall as Merrie, at least five ten. Her skin was dark brown like her father's and she was long-legged, slim-hipped and full-bosomed. She had that high-cheeked beauty that Ethiopian women often do. Kind of regal and disdainful. I'm talking about her looks here. She was perfectly friendly and shook my hand with a firm cattle-rancher's grip.

Rebecca arrived, which meant Wanderley wasn't joking when he'd said they gotten along, and she came with those two pugs
(nobody told Rebecca she couldn't bring
her
dogs) and the introductions were made all over again.

At least five toddlers descended on the pugs and let those dogs lick their faces, and the parents stood by and took pictures as if that were the cutest thing they'd ever seen. I've babysat those dogs. I don't want their tongues anywhere near my face. Baby Bear is much cleaner in his habits than Rebecca's pugs but the pugs got to come to the party and he didn't. Newfoundlands are hero dogs. They save people all the time. There are people-saving
contests
for Newfoundlands. Yeah. People jump in a lake, pretend they're drowning, and Newfies go save them. You can watch it on YouTube.

You know what pugs are famous for? Eating. Next time somebody needs to fish a kid out of a pond, try calling a pug. See where it gets you. I'm just saying.

Rebecca dropped her car keys in my hand and asked me if I could go get Molly's birthday present out of her car because she hadn't been able to manage the gift and the pugs together.

Halfway to Rebecca's car, I was stopped by a couple asking if I knew where Molly's party was. I pointed the way and introduced myself and met Ben Wanderley and his wife Fifi. Ben was Wanderley's dad but I would have laid down a hundred dollars that Fifi (no, her name wasn't really Fifi, it was Kiki or Gigi or some other poodle name) was not James's mom. Not unless she'd given birth when she was ten.

On the way back to the party, as I struggled back with Rebecca's present—it wasn't heavy but it was so big I had trouble getting my arms around it—I met Clarice Crawford, a fiftyish woman with a big smile and shoulder-length, shiny gray hair. Clarice, it turned out, was James's mother.

There was the usual drama when a three-year-old opens presents in front of other three-year-olds. The pugs made a total nuisance of themselves chasing after ribbons and balls of gift wrap. Of course, everyone else thought that was too cute.

Our presents were a hit. Annie had given Molly a set of wooden tools, a hammer and saw and screwdriver, a whole set with a matching carpenter's belt with loops to hang the tools from. Molly loved it. She tried to disassemble the picnic table. Molly immediately set the tiara from Jo in her curls. It was crooked and the rakish angle added to the charm. Cameras and cell phones clicked. The tiara was the favorite gift of all until Molly opened Rebecca's present: a pink Hot Wheels tricycle. That became so fought over that Dr. Hensler took it away from the squabblers and locked it in the trunk of his car.

For a party where we hardly knew anyone, and where the lunch was a choice of chicken salad sandwiches with the crusts cut off or pimiento cheese sandwiches with the crusts cut off, it was a nice party.

I made sure that Baby Bear got his piece of cake. I asked for a piece with a rose on it and wrapped my serving up in a napkin. Annie was visiting with a young dad with a baby in an African print sling and a toddler leaning against his leg—Jo was nowhere to be seen. We had stayed for two hours and I was ready to get home.

I checked the car but Jo wasn't there. I wandered around the community center, and finally saw her at Wanderley's car. I stopped and watched them. He was stowing presents in the car and Jo was talking. I was too far away to hear what was being said, but whatever it was, Jo was intent upon it.

Wanderley shook his head no, listened, said no again and threw up his hands. Then he nodded. I saw him cross his heart. He listened. And then he grew intent, too.

Jo showed him something on her phone. Whatever Jo was saying, she had Wanderley's attention. He listened for a long time, then went and slammed the trunk of his car closed. He stood there, both hands on the trunk like he was trying to keep something from escaping. Then he faced Jo again and started talking; now Jo was shaking her head no. There was lots of head shaking. They weren't coming to an agreement and they weren't happy with each other.

I didn't feel guilty about watching. Jo is my daughter, and strange things have been going on.

Phoebe had died barely a week ago. In that space of time, Jo had broken into a mobile home and had gotten me arrested and now she had commandeered a detective at his child's birthday party. I wanted to know what was going on.

Wanderley looked up and saw me. Jo turned and wiped her face but I could see she had been crying.

“What's up?” I said as I drew near.

Wanderley was grim. “Ask Jo. I have to get back to the party.” He walked off and didn't look back.

“What's up, Jo?” I asked.

“Nothing.” Jo snapped a hair band off her wrist and pulled her long hair into a messy knot.

“It's something, Jo.”

“Dad, ‘nothing' doesn't mean ‘nothing.' It means ‘nothing I want to share with you right now,' okay? You don't have to know everything in my life.” She shoved her hands in her jacket pockets and stalked off to rejoin what remained of the party.

I caught up to Wanderley and helped him gather folding chairs.

“Jo's not talking. Is there something I should know?” I asked him.

Wanderley slammed a metal chair closed and added it to a stack. “It isn't anything I can tell you, Bear.” He hesitated, started to say something, closed his mouth and picked up another chair.

“Has she done anything wrong?” I asked. “Is she going to do something dangerous?”

Wanderley stopped, three folding chairs under each arm, “All the time, and almost certainly.”

I put down my stack of chairs with a crash.

Wanderley said, “Calm down. I'm not telling you anything you don't already know. She's a terrific kid, she really is—she's going to make some man miserable when she grows up, but you should be proud of her. ‘Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,' right? As far as I know, she doesn't have anything dangerous planned for today or tomorrow. Or at all. But she's wired that way, Bear. Jo is someone who is always going to be out on the tip-most end of the limb.”