The Debt Collector (14 page)

“Were you able to help Carl out?” Sonora asked. Mainly to annoy them. But their reactions would be interesting, and she was a typical cop. She had to poke that stick into the anthill.

“I am an artisan.” Judice bowed her head, as if accepting homage.

Which pertains to what? Sonora wondered, fresh out of homage herself. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. “You paint? Like Carl?”

“Art-i-
san
. I throw pots. You've seen them in catalogs, I'm sure.
Pots By Judice
. It's not a name you'd be likely to forget.”

“I don't buy a lot of pots. Sorry.”

The woman's face went dullish pink, but it took some time, so Sonora figured that, of the two, Judice's blood pressure would land in the healthier range.

“It doesn't
upset
me when people don't know the name, it just
surprises
me. There is no need whatsoever to apologize.”

Eddie crossed one leg over the other. Sonora got the impression he'd heard all this before and was feeling restless. “So what happened exactly?”

“We're not releasing details,” Sonora said. “But your brother—”

“Half-brother,” Judice said.

Sonora thought perhaps the woman simply could not help herself. “Your brother was murdered, Mr. Stinnet, the whole family was killed, except for the baby.”

“We can't take her in,” Judice said. “I have my work. On no account can I raise a child. Or, if I did, there would have to be some kind of financial arrangement where I could hire a nanny.”

“A nanny might work,” Eddie said.

Sonora doubted either of them had ever even met a nanny. She knew she hadn't. “The baby is with your sister.” She looked at Judice. “Half-sister?”

The woman turned her head slowly and looked at Eddie. “You didn't tell me that
Amber
had the baby.” Her head swiveled back to Sonora. “Has she set herself up in that brand-new house out in Yuppieville? I can just hear her, saying it would be
best for the baby
. The same
environment.
”

“Nobody's in the house, we have it taped off.”

“And how long will
that
last?”

As long as I want it to, Sonora thought. She chose her words. “It's not exactly livable just now.”

That shut her up. Eddie stood up, went to the window, and looked out. He raised the camera to his lips, like he was going to kiss it or take a drink, and started shooting pictures.

Nervous habit? Sonora wondered, craning her neck so she could see him. A way of distancing himself? It was getting to be a toss-up which of these two was the bigger pain. This interview was going on forever, and she hadn't gotten anything useful out of either one of them.

“Mr. Stinnet, sit back down, please, I won't keep you too much longer.”

Eddie circled back to the chairs in front of Sonora's desk. She was aware of Gruber, ever watchful. “Mr. Stinnet, did Carl talk to you about any problems he was having? Did he seem troubled to you?”

Judice lifted her head. “We sent him a check for fifty dollars three months ago when he asked for help. My art is only just getting to the point where the money is catching up with my fame.”

“Did he cash the check?” Sonora asked.

“Yes. Sent us a real nice note,” Eddie said. “Promised to pay it back as soon as he could.”

Poor desperate bastard, Sonora thought.

Judice opened both arms. “I cannot take this child unless there is compensation. It is the best I can offer—a nanny to care for the child, maybe do some light housekeeping, so that I can do my work.”

“They've made other arrangements.” Sonora spoke slowly, hoping it would sink in.

“Then I lay down my Karmic burden.”

That tore it. It was past time for her to go home anyway. Sonora stood up and shook their hands. If they had information, she'd get it somewhere else. “Mr. and Mrs. Stinnet, I'm afraid there are reporters camped outside. I'll get a uniform to show you the back way out and get you safe to your car.”

Judice looked at Eddie. Sonora saw it pass between them, the psychic communication inherent in people who knew each other very well. Eddie Stinnet stood up, fingering the black plastic camera strap.

“We'll be okay.”

26

Sonora, who had been sorting through the freezer looking for something to cook, glanced up at the television screen, catching sight of Eddie Stinnet. “Damn. Like I didn't see this one coming.”

“Mom?” Heather was growing up beautiful, wearing pigtails today, hip-hugger jeans and a monkey T-shirt.

“Heads up, Heather, it's sound-byte time.”

“You could cook that for dinner.”

“Sound bytes?”

Eddie had more camera presence than Sonora would have guessed, Judice oddly small and shy at his back. But any wife might shrink behind the red-faced anger Stinnet modeled for the camera.

“Is that a threat, sir?” A pretty brunette with lush red lips had the grace to look appalled. Probably new in the business.

Eddie edged sideways. They had caught him in the street next to the Board of Elections building. “He was my
brother.
”

“Half-brother,” Sonora muttered.

“… I don't know what folk around here do, but Carl was family, and back where I come from, we look after family.”

Sonora went back to the freezer. “A man from the clan, who'd've thunk it? Bet you five bucks Judice holds up one of her pots.”

“Judice who? Mom, are you even
listening
to me?”

“Of course I am.” She wasn't, though.

“I mean, Susan is such a
feminist
, and she's in the Virgin Club at school, she actually thinks you should never have sex till your wedding night, like is that for real in this day and age?”

“
Feminist
is
not
a dirty word. If you—ho, ho, wait a minute, what's this about having sex?”

“Mom, you've said yourself you should never marry anyone you hadn't ever slept with.”

“I never said any such a thing.”

“Yes, you did, to me and Tim, one day in McDonald's.”

“Had I been drinking?”

“Mom, you did, I remember. Tim thinks it makes good sense—”

“I just bet he does.”

“Mom, it's my life, you're just going to have to accept that.”

Sonora shut the freezer with her foot. “Speaking of Tim, he's not going to be here tonight, it's just you and me. What say we grill a couple of steaks, that sound good?”

“But I'm sleeping over at Megan's!”

“Not on a school night.”

“We're finishing our Egyptian project and the costumes are over there because we have to dress up, and you already said I could last week. Her mom's going to drive us to school in the morning. I mean, it's not like
you
ever have time to drive me anywhere.”

Sonora put the steaks down on the countertop. Had they had this conversation? The children knew all too well how absent-minded she was, and they milked it.

“Are you in the Virgin Club?”

“Me? No way, Mom. If you join the Virgin Club, you get clique-kicked and have to hang with the Christian right. They pray in the lunchroom. Lots of kids do it.”

“Pray in the lunchroom?”

“Have sex.”

“Oh for God's sake, Heather, most of them are lying. There aren't that many eleven-year-olds out there having sex.”

“You wish. Don't worry, I don't even want to right now. I'm waiting till high school.”

“
High school?
Heather, you're not going to have sex in high school.”

“But why not?”

Sonora knew when she was being baited, which did not give her any particular guidance. “How about AIDS?”

“I'll use a condom.”

“Don't forget pregnancy.”

“Condom.”

“Be sure and belch the alphabet first.”

“Mom, you are like
so
trying to sabotage me. I haven't done that since I was eight years old.”

“Heather, girls in high school who have sex almost always regret it. They get taken advantage of. They're not ready to handle the—” Sonora realized that Heather was making a hand puppet with her fingers and mocking every word.

“Sorry, Mom, but you've like told me this a thousand times.”

Sonora rested her elbows on the countertop and beckoned her daughter closer. “Okay, Heather. Here's the real truth. You can't have sex till college because no boy in high school is good enough at it to be any fun, and I guarantee he will go right back to school the next day and tell all of his friends, and hurt your feelings and embarrass you in front of the whole school.”

Heather frowned. Sonora, a veteran of interrogation technique, knew when she'd scored. “Get your stuff together, hon', and I'll take you to Megan's. Load the dishwasher first.”

“I don't have
time.
”

“Make time.”

27

It was going to be an all-alone night, but Sonora was not panicked. She was looking forward to it with at least three-quarters of her heart, the other fourth still crumpled up over the Jerk. The worst thing about that relationship was the void.

But tonight she had Clampett and the mice and the house to herself.

She put her hair up on her head, allowed herself a brand-new pair of thick white cotton socks, and shrugged herself into a gray T-shirt that she'd bought at the Gap when it was still the Gap. The white stenciling on the front was a distant memory, the sleeves and neckline frayed and as soft as a baby chick. It had turned cold out again, but she wore the cutoff jeans from Abercrombie & Fitch that were loose and comfortable. She stopped for a quick look in the mirror and decided that she looked pretty cute. She felt damn good when she could keep her mind off that Jerk.

Sonora stole the boom box out of Heather's room and turned it on to whatever CD was in the slot.
Tubthumper
—Chumbawamba. She cranked up the volume and opened a bottle of wine that she had been saving and began chopping garlic.

Halfway into her first glass of wine and she was dancing, just a little, garlic flying from the wide blade of the knife—Chicago Cutlery, an indulgence—and sticking to the bottom of the cutting board. Clampett started barking. Sonora ignored him. The kids were safely tucked away at friends' houses and there was no one she wanted to see. Unless …

She headed for the door. It would not be the Jerk, but she had to check.

A car in the driveway, something familiar about it. And the man on the porch. Keaton Daniels. Her past coming back to haunt her.

“Oh,” Sonora said. Her stomach immediately filled with butterflies and her hands started shaking. Dammit, she thought.

“Hello, Sonora.”

Something about the deep throaty way he said her name made the butterflies die on the wing. The drama of it, the lurking sympathy.

“Come in?” she asked.

He gave her that old half smile she used to love. “Depends on what you plan to do with the knife.”

She looked down. “You would only have to worry if you were a clove of garlic.” She waved her hand, and he smiled and followed her in.

“Letting your hair down tonight?”

Sonora put her hands behind her back, pinking the palm of her left hand with the damn knife. She felt blood trickle across her palm, wet and oily, and she made a fist. She looked down at herself, the loose old cutoff jeans, trailing threads, the ancient ratty T-shirt with the hole under the arm. She felt dumpy all of a sudden. Sloppy. Definitely not cute.

She was closing the door with her hip, hands fisted behind her back, when a huge white Cadillac convertible, 1958 maybe, with the top down, pulled into the street in front of her house.

Keaton walked back to the door and looked out. He was a handsome man, tall, big-shouldered, dark curly hair, and brown eyes. He had lost an estranged wife and a beloved brother to the same psycho who killed Sonora's brother, Stuart. It had been a year of portents and the winds of change, and the small blond serial killer who had brought them both such unhappiness still wrote to Sonora from her cell at regular intervals. Nothing was ever over in police work.

“That guy in the car.” Keaton inclined his head to the Caddie. “What's he doing? I saw him at the stoplight, he cut me off. I'd be surprised if they couldn't hear his stereo system all the way to Cleveland. What the hell is he doing?”

Sonora looked out the window. Damn if she didn't like that car. She'd always wanted a convertible, and that one could pull a horse trailer. Imagine riding in it with the top down, a saddle piled in the back.

“Do you know this guy?”

Did she imagine the note of disapproval in his voice? Had he been this … pompous before?

He looked wonderful. Freshly showered, crisply ironed khakis and a blue striped shirt and gray sweater. He headed through the small foyer and up the stairs to her living room, and she caught a tiny whiff of familiar cologne.

The bastard.

She ran up the stairs behind him, slipping in the socks, catching herself on the handrail. She executed a round-end maneuver behind him in the kitchen and ran to turn down her own music, which also probably could be heard all the way to Cleveland.

“There's your friend,” Keaton said, and Sonora looked up and jumped sideways. Opened the sliding glass door.

“Gillane, dammit, what are you doing on my back porch?”

He pulled back. “Did you or did you not leave a pathetic little message on my machine saying you couldn't sleep and if I had anything that would help—”

Sonora felt the heat creep from her neck to her face, though why it was an embarrassment to be too stressed to sleep she did not know. But nightmares were private, as far as she was concerned.

“Come in,” she said.

Keaton was standing almost at attention, as if he had caught her with her neighborhood connection and was embarrassed to witness the deal.