"U" is for Undertow (37 page)

“Third.”

She smiled. “Clever move. Paying lip service so you’ll look good when your case goes to trial. I’ve done the same thing myself.”

Her tone was bantering but smug, and it annoyed the shit out of him. “How’s Carolyn holding up?” she asked, eyes wide with sympathy.

“Great. She’s been very supportive, a real brick.”

Avis made a face. “Well, that surprises me. I don’t think of her as understanding. She let you stay at the house?”

“Not at the moment. I’m at the Pelican in Montebello, two blocks from the bank, which simplifies life to some extent. I still see the kids.”

She looked around the room, which was empty except for the two of them. “I don’t suppose you could give me a ride home. I’m low on cash and the taxi over cost me twenty bucks. We could have a quick drink.”

“Jesus, Avis. Would you give it a rest?”

She laughed. “It was a joke.”

“Not a funny one.”

“Oh, lighten up. This isn’t the end of the world.”

“Thanks for the encouragement. Nice seeing you. Have a good life.”

“Good-bye to you, too. Change your mind, you know where I am. Second house on the right as you turn on Alita Lane.”

He moved past her, crossing to the exit, aware that she followed him with her gaze as he stepped out of the room. Four middle-aged men were standing on the patio, smoking, oversized coffee cups in hand. This was the life that awaited him, endless cups of coffee and a cloud of cigarette smoke. Avis, still plastered, represented the other end of the spectrum, which was no more attractive than the one in front of him. How had he ended up in this hell on earth?

Brent was parked across the street. Walker waved and he started the car, swinging around the block to pick him up. Walker got in the backseat. Sitting up front with Brent was a little too chummy for his taste. Fortunately, Brent was discreet and he knew his place. He and Walker exchanged only the most banal of remarks. Walker didn’t want to be Brent’s buddy and he was sure Brent wasn’t interested in being his. This was a business arrangement and Brent seemed to understand that Walker didn’t want to hear his observations or opinions. Brent conducted himself as though he were invisible, squiring Walker from one place to the next without comment.

Walker stared out the window as Brent navigated through the heart of town, following Capillo to the top of the hill. At the crest, he turned right on Palisade. The road curved down to Harley’s Beach and up the hill again on the far side. The route took them through the back entrance to Horton Ravine, stone pillars marking the outer limits of the enclave. Earlier in the day Walker had called Carolyn, asking if she objected to his stopping by after his AA meeting to pick up a load of clothes. He passed off the reference to AA as an afterthought, but he knew it would register with her, perhaps winning him points.

When possible, he avoided the motel he’d moved into. He’d have preferred a place with more class—the Edgewater Hotel being his first choice—but he didn’t want to give Carolyn the impression he was being extravagant. She was already pissed off about the money he paid Brent, but what was he supposed to do, take public transportation? He could just picture himself on a city bus. The Pelican Motel was perched on a rise overlooking the main road through what was known as “the lower Village” in Montebello. The building had a drab air about it, just the place for a penitent. All he needed was a hair shirt and a cat-o’-nine-tails and he’d be set.

Brent pulled up in front of his house and parked. Walker let himself out of the backseat, wondering what Brent’s impression was. The place looked good. He’d never liked the word “quaint,” but that’s how it struck him now. This charming home was forbidden turf until he’d straightened up his act. Carolyn was the keeper of the gate. He’d have to kiss serious butt for the rest of his life to get back into her good graces. The very idea made him tired, the pretense, the carefully guarded behavior, the facade of virtue when all he wanted was the life he’d had before. Plus, a drink, he thought.

Brent accompanied him to the door. Politely, Walker rang the bell, feeling like a door-to-door salesman with a trainee at his side and a traveling case full of wares.

When Carolyn opened the door she scarcely looked at him. She said, “Oh, it’s you” like she was expecting someone else and had suffered a disappointment. He thought a pleasant greeting would have been nice, some semblance of goodwill for the children’s sake. At the moment they were off at school and Carolyn was having none of it. Brent didn’t warrant a greeting of any kind, so Walker should have been grateful she spoke to him at all.

She turned away and proceeded down the hall, talking to him over her shoulder. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Let me know when you’re done. I put the mail on the table. Remind me and I’ll tell you about a call I should have mentioned before.”

Walker wondered if she was worth the effort it would take to win her back. She’d lord it over him from this point on. She had all the power and he was the supplicant, begging to see the kids, begging for an audience with the Queen, begging for attention, which she’d decided was undeserved. In return for crumbs, she’d want all his pay-checks deposited to her account. She’d dole out a few bucks to him from week to week—not enough for a binge, but a modest sum she’d say was his to do with as he pleased. Maybe he’d appeal to the pastor of their church, citing Christian forbearance as a means of bringing her to heel. Ha. Like that would do any good.

He went upstairs with Brent tagging behind. Walker’s ribs still pained him and he wasn’t allowed to lift anything, which was why Brent was forced to follow him around like a dog. Walker went into the walk-in closet and pushed through the hangers on his side of the hanging rods. With his left hand he pulled out sport coats, four suits, his raincoat, and his leather jacket, passing them to Brent, who laid them on the bed while Walker went through the dresser drawers removing underwear, socks, and T-shirts. He’d have to borrow a suitcase or go down to the kitchen and find a paper bag to carry all his stuff. He went out into the hall and looked in the storage area under the eaves. After a grubby search he came up with a duffel into which he jammed the pile of personal items.

Idly he wondered what would happen if he just walked away from the entire situation. He’d pack the car, cancel credit cards, empty all the bank accounts, and leave the state. By the time Carolyn realized what he’d done, he’d be out of her grasp. He pictured her at Saks, pricey merchandise piled up on the counter while the saleswoman rang the sale and returned her card, looking mystified. “I’m sorry, Mrs. McNally, but this was declined.”

“Declined? There must be a mistake. My husband pays our bills in full the first of every month.”

“Would you like to try another card?”

She’d pull out her Visa or MasterCard, her embarrassment mounting as one after the other was rejected.

Without him busting his ass to keep the coffers full, her life would grind to a halt. She didn’t have a dime of her own. She was dependent on him for everything. The problem was, if he stuck it to her, he’d be sticking it to his kids. He didn’t want Fletcher and Linnie to suffer, which meant he’d be tied to Carolyn for all eternity.

Brent made a couple of trips to the car, ferrying Walker’s clothes. Meanwhile, Walker went into the kitchen, where Carolyn was unloading the dishwasher, a job she’d always insisted was half his to share. He stood and watched her, making no effort to pitch in, a gesture she noticed but refrained from remarking on. Looking at her without the filter of affection, he realized she wasn’t pretty anymore and she was picking up weight. She was thick through the middle and her pants were riding up. Maybe his losing the marriage wasn’t such a big deal after all. He had wealthy women clients who’d made it clear they were interested in him. He’d been bemused by their attentions, but he might be more receptive now that he was on his own. Where would Carolyn find a guy willing to take her on, a plump premenopausal woman with two kids underfoot?

He leaned against the counter. “You said something about the mail?”

“It’s out on the hall table in a manila envelope. You must have walked right by.”

“Fine. What about the phone message?”

“Oh, right. This was last week and I apologize. It completely slipped my mind. A woman called and asked for you. Someone you went to high school with. She said she was a private eye and she was looking for your dad.”

“Dad?”

“That’s what I said. She wanted to get in touch with him.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know. She told me, but it went in one ear and out the other. It didn’t sound all that urgent.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I didn’t tell her anything. I hung up on her.”

He thought about it, wondering what he’d missed. “What would a private investigator want with Dad?”

“Why are you asking me? I don’t have a clue.”

He stared at her, trying to make sense of what she’d said. “Did you get her name?”

“Millhone. I forget the first. Something odd.”

“Kinsey?”

“You remember her? I thought she was feeding me a line of bullshit.”

“Senior year we had a class together,” he said, distracted. “
What
did she want again?”

“Walker, I just told you. I have no idea. Something about a dog. She didn’t say anything more than that.”

The floor shifted under his feet. For a moment he thought there’d been a temblor. He put out his left hand and grabbed the counter with Carolyn looking on like he was losing it.

He murmured an excuse and left the house, not even sure later how he got to the car. He felt like he’d been walking, looking in the other direction, and slammed into a door. The shock was making the blood drain out of his head, taking his blood pressure down along with it. His body was shot through with a clamminess that carried nausea in its wake. The outside air helped. He leaned against the car, feeling shaken to the core.

Brent slammed down the trunk. “Are you all right, Mr. McNally?”

“I’m fine. Let’s get moving, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure thing.”

Walker got in the backseat. Brent fired up the engine and was on the verge of pulling away when Carolyn called from the front door and then trotted down to the car. Walker lowered the rear window.

“You forgot the mail,” she said. She leaned down to look at him. “Are you all right? The way you bolted out of there, I thought you’d seen a ghost.”

Walker wanted to make a withering reply, but Brent was sitting in range and he didn’t want to make a scene. He took the mail and dropped it on the seat beside him. “Fuck you,” he said under his breath. He pushed the switch that rolled the window up so Carolyn was forced to yell through the glass.

“Fine. I’m sorry I asked.”

 

 

 

Brent drove along Ocean Way toward the stone pillars at the rear of Horton Ravine.

Walker said, “On my way back to the Pelican, I’d like to see my father. He’s at Valley Oaks. I’ll direct you once we get there.”

“No problem.”

Walker glanced out the window and realized they were passing Jon Corso’s house. Jon still lived in the sprawling two-story, gray-shingled monstrosity his father and stepmother had bought when Jon was sixteen. Walker hadn’t met Jon until their senior year at Santa Teresa High, but he’d heard plenty about the Amazing Mona and her three perfect daughters. Jon had confessed to screwing all three before each went off to college. The sisters were married now and living in the East with an assortment of kids. Two years before, when Lionel died of a heart attack, Mona packed up and moved to New York so she’d be closer to her girls and all the grandkids. She’d inherited the house and the bulk of Lionel’s estate. Jon’s inheritance was ten thousand dollars and a life interest in the studio apartment above the garage. Since the business with Mary Claire, Jon insisted that Walker keep his distance, so they’d never discussed the issue. Nonetheless, Walker knew to a certainty that Jon was still chafing at the paltry sum he’d been left. He earned staggering sums from the sales of his books, so it wasn’t about the money. It was the insult of it all, his father’s final slap in the face; game, set, and match to Mona. She was perfectly content to have Jon living at the house. The arrangement bound him to her. Walker was willing to bet she was still sticking it to him any way she could. Eventually she’d put the place on the market, but for the time being, it was a nice vacation spot when she or the girls felt like a jaunt to the West Coast.

The drive continued in silence. Occasionally Brent flicked a look in the rearview mirror. Walker leaned his head back against the seat. He was aware of Brent’s scrutiny but he made no remark. It wasn’t up to him to explain his complicated family life. How had this happened? Everything was fine. Everything was good, and then, in one swift stroke, he realized he was going under. An unseen force, subtle and relentless, had taken him unawares and now he was being dragged toward open water with no way back.

He tried to reason with himself as a defense against fear. There was no reason to think Kinsey Millhone had talked to his dad. How would she do that? Carolyn said she hadn’t given her any information, certainly no means by which she could have tracked him down. And even if she did and she asked about the dog, what would his father be expected to remember? The man was old. He’d been retired for years. In the course of his practice, he’d seen hundreds of animals. What kind of threat could she be?

Walker leaned forward as Brent turned into Valley Oaks. “It’s this lane on the right. Number 17. You can pull into the parking pad and wait. It should be half an hour or so.”

Brent shut down the engine and Walker got out. He hadn’t seen his father since the accident, and while he dreaded the coming conversation, he had no other way of finding out if Kinsey Millhone had succeeded in reaching him. He could see his father peering at him from the window as he came up the walk. Walter opened the door, standing erect, his manner cautious. He seemed to be avoiding the sight of Walker’s facial bruises, which Walker tended to forget about.