The Old Deep and Dark (15 page)

“What about Archibald Van Arnam? Did you see him much?”

“Oh, sure. He was around all the time. He's Booker's godfather, you know. Ever since I can remember, he'd make sure Booker got some new electronic toy for his birthday, and Chloe would get a special stuffed animal. I overheard him once having this long conversation with Chloe about whether or not stuffed animals had souls. Chloe thought they did. Archie wasn't so sure. He can be such a curmudgeon. So intellectual and superior. It always surprised me when I'd see him with the kids. That's when the sweetness in him came out.”

“I hear he doesn't like being called Archie.”

“Chloe and Booker always called him that behind his back. They weren't being mean, just thought it was funny. I suppose I picked it up from them.”

“And Jordan and Kit's relationship?” asked Jane.

“Solid as far as I know. Oh, they had their moments. Their tiffs. But it was never anything big. That is, with the exception of the children. Jordan thought Kit was too hard on Chloe. That she wanted her to live up to an impossible standard. Kit felt Jordan never spent enough time with Booker, and that he was too lenient with him.”

“What did you think?”

“That they were both right.”

What parents didn't have child-rearing issues, thought Jane. Again, she wasn't sure if any of this was important to her investigation, though she wrote a few notes. “Did Jordan have any strange ideas, philosophies … anything that might have put him in contact with unsavory people?”

“No, he was just a regular guy. He was kind of superstitious. Always traveled with his oldest guitar—the one he was playing when he finally made it big. He told me once that on the night he started playing a new guitar, the concert didn't go well. So the next night he made sure the old guitar was sitting on the stage in a guitar stand. Seemed to work. He did that for the rest of his life. That old guitar was always on the stage somewhere.”

“What else was he superstitious about?”

“Oh, lots of things. But the worst was crows.”

“Crows?”

“He hated them—or was afraid of them. One time, when I was out sweeping the steps, I saw a crow land in the grass. It wasn't but a couple of seconds before Jordan came out of the house with a handgun and started shooting at the thing, all the while screaming for it to get out of his yard. It flew away before he hit it. Honestly, he really scared me.”

“I'll bet.”

“But that was the only time something like that ever happened. I need to make it clear, if I haven't already, that the Deeres have always been terrific to me. In fact, early on, when I was splitting from my husband, Jordan gave me the name of a family attorney he knew—a divorce lawyer. And then, when the divorce came through, he paid for all my legal fees. That was the kind of guy he was. He took care of his friends.”

“This lawyer,” said Jane, writing the word down and underlining it four times. “You say he was a friend of Jordan's?”

Dahlia nodded.

“Do you remember his name?”

She thought for a moment. “It was fifteen years ago. He was an American, but ethnically, probably Japanese or Korean. Wish I could remember his name. You know, I worry about my memory sometimes. Maybe I should start doing crossword puzzles to stimulate my brain cells.”

“Do you think you could find it for me? I don't mean to push, but this could be important.”

Setting her mug down, Dahlia said, “I'd have to look through my old files. I keep them in the basement. Might take a little time.”

“You've got my card,” said Jane. “If you want to help Kit and her family, this is the way to do it.”

Dahlia removed the card from her pocket, read over it again, then placed it on the table. “I'm on it,” she said. “I have a cleaning job this afternoon, but when I get home, I'll start looking. I'll call as soon as I find the name.”

*   *   *

On her way back to the car, Jane took out her phone to check her messages. She had two voice mails.

The first was from Avi. “Jane, hi. It's me. Give me a call when you can.”

Unusual, thought Jane sliding into the front seat of the Honda. A phone call instead of a text. Avi's voice sounded tentative, subdued, even a little nervous.

The second was from her dad: “Good news, Janey. Jordan's boat was found at the Heidelberg Club marina. The police aren't saying much. It's slip number 127. See what you can find out. Later, sweetheart.”

The Heidelberg Country Club was one of the oldest private clubs on Lake Minnetonka. Though membership had once been restricted, it was now open to anyone who could afford the cost, which was, of course, another kind of restriction. Over the years, Jane had attended a couple of events in the banquet hall, one a wedding reception and the other a charity affair. She recalled lovely grounds with spectacular lake views, a pool, a couple of tennis courts, a marina and a nine-hole golf course. The club had been around since the early 1920s. The various outbuildings, all cream-colored stucco covered in geometric timbering, with dark cottage-style roofs, oozed a kind of picturesque Germanic charm. Approaching from the water or from the private drive that led to the front gate, Jane assumed that members were supposed to feel as if they were coming upon a small, prosperous, Alpine village. The main building, the Gasthaus on the northern edge of the property—on King's Bay—stood out from the other structures not only because it was bigger—four stories—but because it was made of stone. The interior had been preserved and looked exactly the same as it did in old photographs. In the last few years, the scuttlebutt around town was that the place was growing a little threadbare.

Lake Minnetonka was one of the ten biggest lakes in Minnesota—a state that advertised itself as having ten thousand lakes, though in reality, it was closer to twelve. Lake Minnetonka had some hundred and twenty-five miles of shoreline. Jordan's boat could have been anywhere along the shore. For the police to have found it so quickly was a major accomplishment, and would undoubtedly be celebrated on the evening news. It also suggested that Jordan hadn't tried to hide his destination on Saturday night. What that meant, in the larger scheme of things, was anybody's guess.

Deciding to call Avi right away and not stew about it, Jane tapped in her number. She waited through several rings until Avi picked up.

“Hey, Jane. You got my message.”

“How come I merit an actual phone call?”

Avi laughed.

To Jane, it sounded less an expression of mirth than one of tension.

“Yeah, well. About that text I sent you the other night. I hope you aren't upset. I was pretty hammered. My first mistake was sending you a text when I was in such bad shape. My second mistake was sending it.”

The subtext in that message, while cryptic, seemed clear enough to Jane. She'd read it over several times, always coming to the same conclusion.

“Not sure what you thought I meant,” continued Avi. “Actually, I wrote it and
I'm
not even sure what I meant.”

Getting into this can of worms over the phone wasn't smart. This was a conversation they needed to have face-to-face. “How are the revisions going?”

“Good. I'm pretty much done until I see see Elaine Ducasse again on Wednesday. I started thinking, hell, I've got a free day tomorrow. Why don't you fly down? From Minneapolis to Chicago is like, half an hour in the air. We could spend the entire day together. What do you say?”

“If it's such a short trip, why don't you fly back here? Just let me know when the plane arrives and I'll meet you at the airport.”

“But, see, I promised I'd stay in Chicago until all the revisions are done.”

“Are you suggesting you're trapped? That Elaine would drop the book if you weren't available the instant she asks to see you?”

Another nervous laugh. “No. Of course not.”

“Where are you?”

“Me? Where am I?”

“Yes.”

“I'm—”

“At the hotel?” asked Jane.

“Actually, I'm at a cabin on Lake Michigan. It's only about an hour away.”

“Really? A cabin. Is it nice?”

“It's amazing. Right on the water.”

“How'd you find out about the place?”

Silence. “It belongs to a friend of Julia's.”

Ah, Julia. Jane assumed they'd get there eventually. “She with you?”

“No.”

“So you're there all by yourself.”

“Yeah. Right now I am.”

Splitting hairs, thought Jane.

“She drove up yesterday around noon. I came up later in the day.”

“And spent the night.”

“Now, don't go making this into something it isn't. I slept in one bedroom, Julia slept in the other. She was just being nice to offer the cabin. I've been wound pretty tight with this book. She left to drive back to Chicago right after breakfast. I decided to stay on for a few more hours, do some thinking about the story arc for my next book. So, come on, what do you say? Can you fly down? I guarantee I'll show you a good time.”

“I can't,” said Jane, doing her best to ignore the obvious seduction in Avi's voice. “Too much going on here.”

“Oh. Okay I understand. Well. Um. I, ah—”

“Let me know how everything goes with Elaine on Wednesday.”

“Yeah, for sure. Maybe I'll stay up here another night. It's really beautiful. A great place to relax.”

They talked for a few more minutes about nothing in particular, and finally said their good-byes. Jane sat for a moment with her hands on the steering wheel, staring out through the dirty windshield. So this was the way it was going to be. Half-truths mixed with outright lies. Had it always been like that with Avi, and she was just now seeing it?

Cut your losses, Lawless. Don't be a fool. Get out now.

Starting the motor, Jane sat for another moment, forcing her feelings away. She had to stay focused on the matter at hand. There would be time to think about Avi—to make decisions—later. Switching on the turn signal, she edged away from the curb. Next stop: the Heidelberg Club.

 

17

With throngs of business types, band members, and other assorted friends arriving at the summerhouse since early morning, Booker was slowly losing his mind. Chloe seemed to take comfort in the bedlam, spending part of her time in the family room helping brainstorm plans for the funeral and the rest of her time in the kitchen making sandwiches. She'd always loved to be around food. Loved to cook, even read cookbooks. What she didn't like, strange as it sounded, was eating. Booker had never seen her wolf down an entire package of cookies before. He figured it was the way she dealt with grief.

The ever inebriated Tommy crept around the edges of the activity, sipping surreptitiously from his mug of eighty-proof coffee, looking gloomy, and fearful that someone might actually say something to him that would require more than a one-word response. Beverly, playing her usual role as Ethel Mertz to his mother's top-banana Lucy Ricardo, busied herself by ferrying trays of Chloe's sandwiches between the rooms.

By eleven, Booker was up to his eyeballs in family solidarity, in soldiering bravely on, eyes fixed on the handsome visage of Jordan Emory Deere, the newly minted country music saint. When placed in the hands of their expensive public relations machine, his father's death seemed, for all its heartbreaking significance, to be simply one more excuse for an orgy of lavish promotion. Booker found the entire enterprise grotesque. He needed a bump, a joint, or failing that, some fresh air.

Grabbing his keys, he ducked out a back door, jumped in his rented Lincoln, and tore out of the compound, heading back up to King's Bay. Something had been bothering him ever since he'd watched Erin melt down after learning about his dad's murder. He'd formed a theory and, with nothing else on his plate, decided to take it for a test drive.

Yesterday afternoon, after returning to their table at the Hofbrau, Erin had stuck around long enough to be polite, to express her sorrow, though not long enough to finish her Irish coffee. For such a creative woman, she'd offered a pathetically standard excuse about not realizing how late it was and needing to get back to her room at the Gasthaus. Booker offered to walk her up the hill, but she made more excuses and eventually, after thanking him for lunch, left without so much as a backward glance. It would have been impossible not to notice that all the color had drained from her cheeks during that phone conversation out in the lobby. Again, an excessive reaction over the death of a man she hardly knew.

Booker stopped for gas in the town of King's Bay. As he sailed along the back road to the club's front gate, he mulled over his options. He could approach the situation any of several ways. By the time he was standing in front of the reception desk, he'd made his choice.

“Hi,” he said, smiling at the young woman behind the counter. Since he had no perceptible charm and his looks never got him anywhere, he came straight to the point. “I'm Booker Deere, Jordan Deere's son.”

“Oh. My.” She seemed flustered. “I was so sorry to hear about your father. He was such a wonderful man.”

“You knew him?”

“I didn't exactly
know
him, like as in friends, but we talked sometimes.”

“That's nice.” It was also odd. His parents maintained their family membership to the club, but as far as he knew, neither of them ever drove up here anymore. They preferred the newer clubs with better amenities, the ones closer to the summerhouse. Booker's dad loved the championship golf course at the Wayzata Country Club. The Heidelberg's course wasn't in the same league. “I'm tying up some loose ends,” he said, drumming his fingers on the counter. “I understand my father made a room reservation for a friend—Erin O'Brian. I need to know if he paid for her stay. If not, I'll take care of it now.”