Time and Trouble (52 page)

Yet Sunny had fallen in love at first sight, she
’
d said. Billie couldn
’
t decide with the sight of what. Maybe women like Sunny needed low-key mates, to keep the jollity balance on keel. And a whole lot of people associated a dull seriousness with significance and wisdom.

He looked mildly anxious.
“
I was just going for a run,
”
he said.
“
Before the sky falls.
”

“
Okay, then,
”
Billie said.
“
Thanks. Tell Sunny hello from Billie.
”
She waved and headed across and down yet again. Seldom did one find such a richness of porches in a day. Or a year.
“
And if you see Penny, tell her to give me a call.
”

“
Uh-huh,
”
he said with no enthusiasm. He stood in the open doorway, watching her retreat. Maybe he was on something. Downers. His wife left and he sneaked
’
ludes.

And why was she wasting a minute speculating about him? She so quickly became involved in other people
’
s love stories, analyzing where they
’
d gone right and she hadn
’
t, searching for the big secret.

Well, the big secret was there was no accounting for taste. Sunny had been a genuine golden-girl catch. Complete with the gold. She
’
d settled for too little, could have and should have done better.

Which was rich
—
the divorced, penniless woman deciding the contented, stable one had made a mistake. Still, they
’
d been married only five years. After five years of her own marriage, Billie had still been pretending that all was bliss. Time would tell.

What was it about time, the idea of it, that bothered her?

She shook her head. It didn
’
t rattle the errant thought back into place. She headed for her car.

Time, her mind said. Time.

Marches on. Waits for no man. Is money.

Time to go home and forget about this just as Penny Redmond has forgotten about you. Be grateful. End of story. She had to think about what she needed to stop for on the way home, not time.

And tide. After time. Flies. To wash our clothes, wash our clothes, wash our
…

Time out.

It
’
d be Jesse and Billie alone tonight. Great. She
’
d rent some merry animated romp with no darkness to it, and make popcorn and they
’
d get in their jammies and watch. That was what it was all about. And that was enough.

*

It took forever to find a parking space near VideoDroid. Everybody and his sister and whining child was in the store looking to have their minds taken off the week they
’
d just completed.

She picked an innocuous movie about a basset hound, although she thought Jesse had already seen it. But that
’
d be all right. When he liked something, he liked it, and saw nothing odd about viewing it again. He had no problems with commitment. Security, not novelty, was the spice of his life. Probably grow up to be as dull as old Talkman himself.

Once in the car, she put the tape on the seat beside her and felt it bump against her cellular phone. She
’
d forgotten to turn it on again, not that it mattered. Billie had become conscientious about the pager. The phone was hers, for emergencies and reaching other people
’
s pagers.

She aimed the car toward home. Friday night and Ivan would be off to a new romantic adventure. The boy did not learn from experience. Or maybe his Slavic soul, even transplanted to California, required its share of agonies.

But his heartbreak-seeking apparatus complicated her life, too, when Ivan slipped into Chekhovian darkness and needed to talk. She reminded herself that things would ease with time. In roughly a year and a half, Jess would be five and ready for kindergarten, paid for by the state, not her. Less child care, less expense. Present chaos was not permanent. Just give it time.

Time again, still nagging.

Plus, she thought, when Jesse turned five, she
’
d be close to full PI status, if not already there, and greatly enriched earnings. More cash, less expense. Bliss city.

When you are five, my son
…

Five.
That
was what was wrong. That
’
s what it was about time. The length of time Sunny had been Mrs. Marshall. Because in those files she
’
d been arranging this afternoon, in that original play search of Talkman, there
’
d been a pre
–
San Francisco wife.

She remembered and felt a fluttering excitement fill her. They hadn
’
t found divorce proceedings in the Nevada records. She
’
d thought that perhaps he
’
d divorced in California, but now she knew he
’
d come to San Francisco from Nevada five years ago and married Sunny five years ago
—
that whirlwind courtship of two months
—
and their oldest child was just over four. So when had there been time to discard wife number one?

The question, pushed to the center of her consciousness, seemed important. But almost instantly, it was flipped sideways by the sight of a dark car crossing the intersection she faced, license plate JUS KIDN.

What the hell game was that girl playing? Hiding from her, then tooling out seconds after Billie left?

Drop it, an Emma-inspired voice barked into her ear. The girl
’
s a screw-up. Don
’
t get involved. You did what you promised. Your role in that family
’
s life is over. You
’
ve got your own family.

But what if Penny wasn
’
t playing games, but still searching for Wesley? Had been doing so around the neighborhood while Billie searched for her.

What if they
’
d crossed wires and missed each other by seconds
—
which seemed obvious
—
and Billie
’
s nonappearance had sent Penny on some wild-goose chase? What if
…
?

Billie flipped on her right-turn signal, and once again
—
but absolutely for the last time, she promised the nagging Emma-voice
—
went after Penny Redmond.

Thirty-Two

Emma zipped her bulging briefcase and grimaced at being in thrall to force of habit. No way she was going to work tonight. George was bringing takeout. It was her favorite time when they could talk over the week in leisurely fashion, take as long as they needed. For anything. You reached an age, and time seemed the only true luxury.

Besides, she felt stale and tired and there was no rush to the papers stuffed in the canvas case.

Which only underlined the complete lack of any need to take a bit of this home, but she couldn
’
t resist and she didn
’
t want to be
“
cured
”
of this problem, either. Would cost a fortune and years of boredom lying on a couch to find out she was indulging a pathological insecurity. Something her mother had done to her a thousand years ago. And then
—
so what? What would be better for the knowledge? Still, she felt a bit of an ass, and an obsessive compulsive one at that.

“
Goofing off already?
”
Zack asked.
“
Oh,
’
scuse me
—
I meant
taking
off.
”

“
I am, and so should you. Get a life.
”

He looked at his watch.
“
It
’
s seven and a half minutes before five. I
’
d be ripping you off, cheating you.
”

She picked a crumpled ball of paper out of his wastebasket and tossed it at his head.
“
And have a good weekend,
”
she said.
“
Give my son my not overbearing, but very real love, okay? And tell him not to work so hard.
”

“
Will do. And he will send back precisely the same and equally fervent wishes that I will deliver Tuesday morning. You
’
ll lock up, then?
”
he asked, and when she nodded, he saluted her and was gone.

The phones rang. Both lines. Simultaneously.

She was tempted to let the service pick up, tell them the office was closed. But then, of course, they
’
d page her and it would prolong the agony. She sat down at Zack
’
s desk and tried to remember how to avoid disconnecting anybody.
“
Yes?
”
she said after she
’
d pressed the first line, asked it to hold and pressed the second.

“
This is Emma Howe agency?
”

“
More or less,
”
she said.
“
Who is this?
”

“
Ivan.
”

Terse. Accented. Sense of urgency. Had the Cold War started up again, the Evil Empire resin-faced without her noticing it?

“
I am nanny.
”

Damnation. A basso profundo Mary Poppins. So it was about Billie, wasn
’
t it? Had to be. She had a college student tending her child, living with her, but she hadn
’
t said the gender. His voice seemed to be resonating through a tall, burly body. Echoes of Rasputin, maybe. An in-house Russian giant. Young. She wondered what the real relationship was between Billie and this man.
“
She isn
’
t here. Left a while back.
”

“
A while? How much while?
”

“
An hour, I
’
d guess. Can you hold a second?
”
Emma fumbled with the hold button while he muttered darkly about having to leave house now, this instant.
“
Yes?
”
she asked the second caller.

“
Is this Billie August? Is this the Howe agency? I
’
m looking for a Ms. Billie August?
”

Emma was suddenly sick of Billie
’
s very name. Why all these people calling at five P.M. on a Friday?
“
This is Emma Howe,
”
she said.
“
Ms. August isn
’
t here at the moment.
”
Maybe she could fix up this high-pitched girlie-girl with Ivan. Between them they
’
d produce children with voices in the normal range.

“
I
’
m calling for Mr. Bradford Davies?
”
She made it another question, as if Emma should agree with her, tell her she was on the right track.
“
Mr. Davies is with
—”

“
I
’
m familiar with Mr. Davies,
”
Emma said.

“
Yes. Of course. And we
’
re expecting Ms. August Tuesday morning, after the holiday weekend
—
?
”
She paused, leaving her question that was not a question dangling.

“
Yes?
”
Emma prompted back. The exchange felt like a stupid game that would never end.

“
There
’
s been an unexpected change of plans? Mr. Davies would like Ms. August to wait until further notice instead? Could you let her know? We
’
re sorry for whatever inconvenience this may cause your
—”

“
I
’
ll let her know. Thanks.
”
Emma switched to the other line.

“
This very bad!
”
Ivan was saying on his line. She got the impression that he
’
d been speaking nonstop while he was on hold.
“
You know where is she?
”

“
She told me she was going home. Maybe she stopped to buy groceries. When she does come in, would you tell her there
’
s been a change of plans and she
’
s to come to the office, not the factory, on Tuesday?
”

“
We do not need groceries.
”

Her blood pressure rose. Why should Emma have an iota of interest in whether or not Billie needed to stock the larder, or in the domestic arrangements of her new hire? Neither item was supposed to intrude on this office.
“
Well,
”
she said,
“
that
’
s the best I can come up with. I
’
m sure she
’
ll be back any minute
…
.
”
Why bother? Why reassure this stranger about a situation she knew nothing about?

“
If you find anything, you call me, please yes?
”

That kid of Billie
’
s was going to speak an interesting variation on the mother tongue by the time he entered school.

“
I have evening appointment,
”
Ivan said.
“
Important arrangement.
”

“
Sure.
”
Emma would bet the ranch the important arrangement had to do with realigning his testosterone. She hung up. So where the hell was Billie? She
’
d distinctly said she was going home to hide out for the entire weekend. Made a point of it. Besides, if she knew her baby-sitter needed out by five, she should respect that.