Time and Trouble (21 page)

“
Do you know her, then?
”
Penny demanded.
“
You look like you know who it is.
”
Her mother
’
s focus had moved to the far wall.
“
Mom?
”

“
What? Oh
…
no. I don
’
t know anybody in a houseboat, but you
’
re all wrong. Besides, it
’
s wrong to sneak around after Dad that way.
”

“
He
’
s not my dad! He
’
s a man who treats you like shit while he brings champagne and gifts to somebody else. Why don
’
t you care?
”

“
There
’
s an explanation.
”

“
Name one
—
besides what I said.
”

Her mother shrugged.
“
It
’
s not important. Don
’
t worry about it anymore.
”

“
Fine. I
’
ll ask him myself at dinner.
”

“
Don
’
t. You
’
ll only
—”

“
Are you telling me you knew about this?
”

Sophia looked blank, momentarily confused.
“
It
’
s business, not that I know every single promotion and detail. There are home demonstrations, fashion shows as school fund-raisers.
”

“
Twice in the same tiny home? Come on, Mom
—
there was no sign of people and the drapes were closed. And why deliver a sofa? That
’
s crap and you know it.
”

“
It
’
s business. But the manufacturer doesn
’
t like spending the money, so it
’
s kind of
…
siphoned-off, then put back. You wouldn
’
t understand. Arthur has his faults, but what you said isn
’
t one of them. Besides, even if it was, it
’
s not your marriage, it
’
s mine. When it
’
s your turn, you do better. You find the perfect man, all right?
”

“
I
’
m trying to help and you
’
re treating me like
—”

“
This is the last I want to hear about you sneaking around and slandering him. You look for reasons not to like him, you make up stories about him, and I won
’
t stand for it anymore. Who provides you with a roof over your head? With a beautiful house? Who puts food on your table? Do you understand?
”

She didn
’
t and she couldn
’
t. What she understood was that her mother was determined to stay as crippled in her mind as she pretended to be in her body.

What she understood was that she couldn
’
t live in that place anymore, to pretend that it was a home or shelter of any kind.

In that moment, she knew she had to move past or over or through her mother in order to knock down Arthur and change things. To get the chance to breathe. She couldn
’
t spell out what she meant except that action was required. She had to escape, because if not, she
’
d die.

That was when she slammed out of the house and headed for Fourth Street where she saw a yellow hearse parked outside the yogurt store. When she met her rescuer, knew that he was the way out, the one who would save her. And now, two months after that first Thursday sighting of the houseboat, a month after the scene with her mother and her first meeting with Luke, she was here, on the back stairs of a house in San Geronimo.

And nothing had been resolved or gotten better.

She stood and dusted herself off. Listened. Silence inside. Not even the sound of cups lowered onto the table. No talk. He was still asleep, then, and most or all of the others were gone.

An opportunity. Too much was still unfinished. This was as good a time as any to begin to finish it.

Thirteen

Emma had referred to the nonexistent receptionist/office manager often enough, waving imperiously at the tiny outer area as if its desk would be reoccupied any instant. Privately, Billie had assumed the missing person was a figment of Emma
’
s imagination, born of her need to appear more successful than she was.

Nonetheless, the day before, day one of Billie
’
s search for Penny Redmond, a tall and handsome Amerasian named Zachary Park had appeared. Korean, Billie thought, because of his last name. Half, at least. Plus something or several somethings else. He was all cheekbones, dark hair, gold skin, and grace.

Stern Emma was on the verge of tears
—
although, of course, the verge was as far as she let herself go. Nonetheless, she barely masked her emotions with gruff mutterings and throat clearings before presenting him as the much-missed receptionist/manager.

His long absence wasn
’
t explained. That omission, plus Emma
’
s relief and pride at his return and Zack
’
s own earnest intensity suggested to Billie that he was in recovery from something major, but whatever it was remained unmentioned. He was a model of efficiency at this, his day job, and from the moment he sat down at his desk with a happy sigh, he answered calls efficiently, relayed messages, did the billing, and fielded calls Emma didn
’
t want to handle, all while appearing a good-enough sort. No wonder he
’
d been missed. Like barely audible background music, he established a base level of sanity and coherence the office had painfully lacked. Plus, he didn
’
t seem to have hangups about working for and with two women.

“
Gorgeous day,
”
he said when Billie entered in the late afternoon.

“
Hmm?
”
She was appalled by the non-information she
’
d amassed in two days. Take good notes, Emma had said, and she had. Except there was nothing to note. What could she report about her interview with Penny
’
s school counselor, in an ambience of barely controlled chaos
—
piles of papers on the desk and floor, weighted with her pocketbook, a phone which rang incessantly, a giant-size bottle of aspirin and a doorstop shaped like a dalmatian. Her
“
client list
”
was massive, her days too short, and she had nothing to add to the existing fund of knowledge about Penelope Redmond.
“
Her grades were falling,
”
she said.
“
I tried to get her to talk about the skid she was on, but she was clamped-up, silent, seemed increasingly isolated
—
I
’
d see her walking to class alone. Didn
’
t used to be like that, but she wouldn
’
t tell me a thing except that it was her life and she
’
d handle it.
”

She
’
d waved at the stacks of papers.
“
I wish I could have followed up, seen about counseling. I tried once, called the house, spoke to her father, who told me to butt out. I should have persisted, and in a perfect world I would have, but I
’
m also involved in their college application process which is overwhelming. Besides, it isn
’
t as if I could force families to do anything.
…”
She let go of the sentence and sighed.

Billie
’
s attempts to plow for information had yielded a pathetic harvest. Famine time.

“
Not a nice day for you, then?
”
Zachary asked.

His initial pleasantry belatedly reached her consciousness and she realized that it was indeed a very nice day, with winter-crisp sunshine and no wind at all.
“
You
’
re right,
”
she said.
“
And I hadn
’
t noticed, so thanks.
”

“
Good going, Sherlock.
”
His fingers still poised over the computer keys, he studied her.
“
Truth is, you don
’
t look like you
’
re having a great day. Something wrong?
”

She made a small
tsk
of impatience with herself.
“
I thought
…
I had fantasies about investigation. What it would be like questioning people, finding things out and putting two and two together. Now, I
’
ve talked to her parents, two of her baby-sitting clients and four of her so-called friends, plus her high-school counselor, and you
’
d think
—
at least I thought
—
but not one knew
—
or at least said
—
a single tangible thing about her. No one knew her, and that
’
s sad enough, but it
’
s sadder still that I
’
m right where I was when I began. The single thing I had to go on was a boyfriend who apparently doesn
’
t exist. It isn
’
t supposed to be like this. Or else I
’
m just so bad at interviewing I should quit right now.
”

“
Have a panacea.
”
Zack held up a dish filled with Tootsie Rolls.
“
Have several.
”

“
Do you always do this?
”
she murmured, unwrapping one.
“
Why aren
’
t you fat?
”
The prodigal son had returned bearing M&M
’
s the first day. The menu would vary, he promised, but the concept would not. He was convinced that chocolate was the antidote to all life
’
s woes. Popping a Tootsie Roll in her mouth, she decided he might be right.

She went into her cubicle and called home, where all was apparently well.
“
I
’
ll be awhile,
”
she told Ivan, and, more gently, her son.
“
I need to see a few people who weren
’
t around earlier.
”
She wasn
’
t going to end the day with zero to show for it. Other days, maybe, when she was secure enough to understand that such things happened. But not yet.

“
I
’
ll be home to
”—
she glanced at her watch
—“
tuck you in, maybe even before, to give you your bath.
”
Certainly, now that she thought of it. Because the baby-sitting clients, if home, would have tucking-in duties of their own and not want to talk with an investigator at that hour.
“
I
’
ll read you a story, sweet Jess. Pick out a book.
”

She suddenly missed him acutely. Wished she could be enjoying him in person. Saw him growing, stretching, changing contours until he was Wesley Redmond with his skinny neck and his enormous backpack, and she felt panic, the danger of missing her son
’
s intervening years while she searched for other people
’
s kids.

Wesley lingered in her mind, dragging his load both literally and figuratively, missing his sister, his ally. He didn
’
t think of Penny as a cipher the way everybody else appeared to.

The way she had been doing. She
’
d discounted Penelope Redmond the same dismissive way the girl
’
s so-called friends, her oblivious employers, and even her parents, seemed to. Penelope had changed, her friends and counselor agreed. Aloof, a snob, slipping grades. Put that together with a deliberate disappearance, an escape from her life, and it had to mean trouble. Her father had mentioned drugs, a pregnancy, but her mother didn
’
t seem to think so. Either way, a crisis. Either the kind she herself had created or one she was trying to avoid. Whichever one, she
’
d been lost long before she ran away.

Billie knew almost nothing about the pleasant-faced girl who
’
d been a name, a challenge, a problem: Missing Girl
—
one half-step up from the
“
Have You Seen Me?
”
kids on milk cartons. But neither did anyone else know her, and the sadness of the situation was a spur. It became imperative to find her, and not only for the sake of Billie
’
s job security.

She was searching the phone book for the rest of Penelope Redmond
’
s baby-sitter clients when Zack appeared at her door.
“
Could you take this?
”
he asked.
“
Weepy woman wants Emma, but Emma
’
s still digging through records in Sacramento. I tried to patch in this call and couldn
’
t. She said she already talked with Emma, so I thought you might know about it. I don
’
t want to screw up something the boss is working on.
”

“
Sure. Let
me
be the one to do that,
”
Billie said. She lifted the receiver.
“
This is Billie August, an associate of Emma
’
s. Can I help?
”

“
No,
”
the woman said.
“
Okay, yes. This is Miriam again.
”

“
Yes, I
’
m sure, but perhaps your last name?
”

“
She knows me! Tell her I was putting the trash can back
—
not till late this afternoon because I forgot about it and my arthritis was killing me, but when I did, I remembered. And I thought to tell my next-door neighbor. After all, they could be in danger, too. Except they weren
’
t home.
”