Time and Trouble (22 page)

“
Yes,
”
Billie prompted.
“
And?
”
Agreeing to take this call hadn
’
t been one of her better ideas.

“
I thought they might be out back and there, on their pool
—
well, really next to the pool. The cement, what do you call it?
”

“
Deck?
”

“
Stains. Dark ones. Something had been there. Blood. Don
’
t try to tell me that one was beet stains!
”

Billie stared at the
“
While You Were Out
”
pad on which she
’
d written
Miriam
and
bloodstains on neighbor
’
s pool deck.
She added, in quotation marks,
“
Not beet stains.
”
Was this perhaps Emma herself playing a practical joke?
“
Did you call the police?
”
Billie asked.

“
I don
’
t want a lot of men milling around, asking questions and I already explained that to Emma, and why hasn
’
t she gotten back to me?
”

“
It
’
s been really hectic here
—”

“
But this is
urgent,
can
’
t you see? Tell her
Miriam
!
”

“
I surely will, the second she comes in. You want to give me your phone number?
”

“
She
knows
it!
”

She had let Zack
’
s woeful expression and their shared fear of Emma con her into taking a crank call.
“
To save her time looking it up, could you please give me your phone number?
”

“
You don
’
t think I actually know Emma Howe, do you? Old people are crazy, that
’
s what you think!
”
She slammed down the phone.

Billie resumed her search for the addresses of people Penny Redmond baby-sat for, then dropped Miriam
’
s message, for what it was, on Zack
’
s desk.
“
You
’
ve worked for Emma a while, right?
”

“
Two years,
”
he said.
“
Two years and seven weeks. Not counting time out for bad behavior.
”

“
You saw a lot of my predecessors come and go, I
’
ll bet.
”
She had her jacket on and came into the outer office.

“
A few.
”

“
Short-timers, right?
”

He nodded in a sad, slow way.

“
Now I understand the amazing attrition rate. You asked each one of them to handle Emma
’
s crank calls
—
maybe the same woman does it for you each time
—
until they get canned for incompetence. Was that a setup?
”

“
The call was that bad? Sorry.
”

“
Something about blood, not beet juice, on a deck. I
’
m tempted to rip up the message and save my job.
”

He shook his head and put his hand out for it.

“
You take the crazy call-ins,
”
she told Zack.
“
I think that
’
s under your job description, anyway, not mine. Besides, you apparently have tenure. I don
’
t.
”

“
Have another Tootsie Roll.
”

Chewing one, she was off to San Anselmo, to question another of Penny Redmond
’
s employers. This batch had to yield something.

And yet, for all their late-night talks, what sort of things did she know about her own baby-sitter? If Ivan disappeared, what could she tell an investigator? That he
’
d been born near Moscow, that his father was dead, his mother Tatiana, was a dressmaker in Eureka. She knew what courses he was taking, that he was attractive, soft-spoken, and addicted to TV because he said it helped his English. She knew he was good in the sciences, agonized over every paper he had to write in his new language, that his mother didn
’
t speak much English, had iffy health, something about the lungs, lived with a cousin, and wouldn
’
t or couldn
’
t relocate closer to Ivan. And that was it, except for the names of girls who floated or stormed through his nights off.

She knew more real things about Ivan
’
s mother than about him. She hoped fervently that this new batch of Penny
’
s employers were more observant and inquisitive than she was. If they were as vague and unhelpful as the earlier interviews, she had no idea where to turn next. Another failure on the r
é
sum
é
, and Penny among the missing.

She drove through downtown San Rafael until the street broadened and the solid blocks of California-retro buildings were replaced by more randomly placed strip malls and fast-food stops. She checked the address and made a right turn that changed the landscape to homes that climbed the street up into the hills. Number twenty-seven turned out to be a modest, wood-shingled cottage with a fenced-in, shallow front yard.

“
Hi,
”
she said when the doorbell produced a pleasantly rumpled man in a plaid flannel shirt, jeans, and socks. He held a drink
—
scotch on the rocks, she thought
—
in one hand and had a small and silent blonde girl attached to his right leg.
“
Mr. DeLuna?
”

He nodded, and waited while she explained her mission.
“
So,
”
she concluded,
“
if Mrs. DeLuna
’
s around, she could
—”

“
Carole? Carole won
’
t be home for hours.
”
The little girl looked up at him as he spoke, then stared at Billie.

“
Then perhaps tomorrow would be a better time to talk with her? Or tonight, if you
’
ll tell me a
—”

“
Why ask Carole about Penny? She didn
’
t know her.
”

Nobody had known Penny. Nobody. She might as well question the silent clinging child. How had Penny passed through so many households without touching a single one? What had happened to community?

“
I
’
d be the one,
”
he continued.
“
Not that I know much. But feel free to come in and ask away.
”

Billie felt herself balk, do the automatic calculations self-preservation required. Going into a strange man
’
s house. Safe? Did the existence of a child, attached to him like a wart, confirm his sanity and acceptability? How did her new job mesh with her old cautions?

“
Listen,
”
he said.
“
Maybe the situation isn
’
t clear. I
’
m the one hires the sitters, changes the diapers, does the car pooling. Don
’
t look shocked. Such things happen.
”
His smile took the slight abrasive edge off his words. Even in Marin, house husbanding must not be the easiest role.
“
If you need to know something about the daily care and maintenance of our kids, Carole is not the one to talk to. On the other hand, if the kids assault you and you need a crackerjack lawyer, then it
’
s smart to talk to Carole.
”
He grinned and ran a hand through his already mussed and thinning blond hair.
“
I
’
m Russ,
”
he said. He stood back from the door, dragging the leg with the girlchild attached, allowing Billie passage if she wanted it.

I
’
m a goddamned PI, she reminded herself as she briskly entered. I go where I want to. Need to.

The DeLuna house was rustic, with wood-paneled walls and not quite enough light for Billie
’
s taste. But comfortable and comforting. Bookshelves lining one entire wall. A playpen full of toys and a dozing infant in stretch pajamas to one side. All surfaces appeared to have been cleared of breakables.

She liked to think she was beyond sexist prejudice, but she was surprised by how well he appeared to be taking care of the house and children.

Russ DeLuna gestured for her to have a seat on a dark green sofa.
“
Drink?
”
he asked, lifting his glass.
“
Iced herbal tea. Peach. Good.
”

She declined. He sat on an oversized easy chair. The little girl crawled onto his lap and sat, thumb in mouth, watching Billie.
“
How can I help you?
”
he asked.

She explained Penny
’
s disappearance, her parents
’
need to find her, and asked for anything that might provide a lead.

“
She
’
s a nice kid,
”
he said.
“
A little shy at first, but only with me. Great with my two. Sometimes she
’
d ask me about what I did
—
I
’
m a writer, when possible. I
’
m afraid she thought I was a romantic figure
—
the artist in the garret. Instead of the househusband in the garage with the dishes still to wash.
”

He was indeed attractive, radiating warmth and acceptance. Billie wondered if Penny
’
s crush could have been on him. Was his car yellow? Too good to be true, an interior voice warned. Some instinctive malleability instantly accommodated the other
’
s tempo and temperature. Dangerous for an unhappy adolescent.
“
The garage?
”
she asked.

“
There
’
s a room over it that I use when possible, as when somebody like Penny is around to watch the kids. I
’
m working on a novel, but I freelance articles, too. Generally, I
’
d hire Penny only when I had an actual sale and a deadline. Given the situation, we didn
’
t spend a lot of that time talking. Now and then, once the kids were asleep, she
’
d come up to the studio to say good-bye before she left, and we
’
d talk awhile.
”
He shook his head.
“
Can
’
t remember about what, however. Probably about what I was working on, that sort of thing.
”

But enough about me, let
’
s talk about my novel, Billie thought. Charming, but shouldn
’
t a novelist be more observant? A father notice more about the baby-sitter
’
s psyche? And that room above the garage, the romantic garret. Danger and more danger.

“
Your work sounds like it
’
d be really interesting,
”
he said.
“
You like it?
”

“
Most of the time.
”
Better be hypocritical than admit to being such a rank novice that she didn
’
t yet know if she liked the work.
“
How did you find Penny?
”
she asked.

“
She found me. Answer to a madman
’
s prayer. She left a flyer in the mailbox. Said she had references, was an honor student. She seemed worth the try. After all, I was right there, up in the studio. I could monitor her the first few times.
”

“
Did she talk about school? About her plans?
”

Another head-shake.
“
Sorry. She couldn
’
t do homework while she was here. She left when they were asleep. She told me once that she, too, wanted to write someday. But it didn
’
t sound like a burning ambition.
”

It sounded more like adulation. Emulation. This good-looking, obviously loving man who had to be a little starved for company, whose wife was never home.
…

Was she imagining Penny
’
s emotions or her own?

“
Once, I finished an article while she was sitting and that night, we did hang out awhile. The article had been about adolescent sex
—
safe or none or whatever. She asked to read it. Her comments were pretty mature for a high-school senior.
”

He had gone over the line. Billie felt queasy at the image of this charming grown man and Penny discussing the sexual habits of her age group.
“
She didn
’
t talk about her own social life, did she?
”
she asked.

“
I certainly wouldn
’
t have encouraged it. It was weird enough having her discuss the theoretical habits of her age group. She didn
’
t seem uncomfortable about that, but I was!
”

Maybe he wasn
’
t too good to be true. Maybe he was an actual nice guy. Which would mean there were such beings. The thought made her inexplicably sad. Or perhaps explicably, but she didn
’
t want to look at that right now.
“
I wondered if you ever saw anybody pick her up, particularly a young man driving a yellow hearse.
”

“
A hearse?
”
He shook his head.
“
Our arrangement was that she
’
d come over, get through the awful late-afternoon hours, feed the kids dinner, get them ready for bed, read to them. I
’
d come in and kiss Molly good night
—”