39

I made a U-turn and drove back into the heart of Horton Ravine. It was a gorgeous day, sunny and mild with a sky irritatingly empty of clouds. You could check the radar sweep from San Francisco to San Diego and you wouldn’t see even the smallest green freckle that might signify r-a-i-n. I parked the car in Margaret’s drive and made my way up the walk, wondering how she felt now that she’d been robbed of the object of her bloodthirsty fantasies. I had just reached the porch when the front door opened and a kid came out, closing the door behind him. He was a carbon copy of Joey Seay—same jug ears, same furrowed brow. He stopped when he saw me.

“Are you Justin?”

“Yes. Who are you?”

I held out my hand. “Kinsey Millhone,” I said.

“Got it. The private detective.”

“So true,” I said. “Mind if I ask you a couple of questions?”

“Is there any way to avoid it?”

“Not really. This will be quick.”

“Good, because I’m due at work. What do you want?”

“I understand you were here the day Sloan’s room was emptied.”

“Me and some other kids.”

“In the process, did one of you come across the infamous tape?”

“Nope.”

“Isn’t it possible one of the others found it and didn’t say anything to you?”

“Nope.”

“How can you be so sure?” I said, sounding slightly cranky.

“Me and Joey found it the year we were living here, right after Sloan died. It was like a scavenger hunt. We knew it was somewhere on the property, but we didn’t know where. I was actually the one who found it.”

“Where was it?”

“There was this bathroom between our two bedrooms. She’d removed the heater vent set into the kickplate and she’d slid it in there.”

“What happened to the tape?”

“Nothing. Joey hung on to it with the idea that one day he’d find a use for it.”

“That turned out to be fortunate.”

“Well, yeah. First day at Santa Teresa High School, who does he run into but the chick spread out on the pool table?”

“Lucky for him. And here they are years later, about to get married.”

Justin shrugged.

“Your stepmother’s a fan of patience.”

“Sure, if you want to even the score.”

“Really? Was it that important to Joey ten years after the fact?”

“He loved Sloan. She was a goddess to him. Fritz McCabe was a twerp and deserved everything he got.”

“And he’s dead now.”

“Good news. We didn’t have anything to do with it.”

I rang the bell and she opened the door moments later. Behind her in the hall, Sloan’s now ancient companion, Butch, made his way painfully to her side. Maybe in his dimming memory, he still held out the hope that one day Sloan would be there. He was a sad old guy and I felt my heart break all over again at his optimism.

Margaret brightened when she saw me. “Oh, Kinsey. Please come in. Something’s come up and I was wondering who to talk to. Maybe you can help.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

This time, instead of leading me into the living room, she walked me through to her study at the back of the house. This room was a jumble: big rolltop desk piled high with paper—bills, correspondence, catalogues, newspapers. To one side of the desk, there was a table topped by a typewriter. On the rolling chair, she’d balanced six fat accordion-style folders with ragged index tabs. The bookshelves were helter-skelter, some books lined up properly, some flat, many leaning drunkenly on adjacent volumes. There was an enormous stack of last year’s Christmas cards on a side table and an upright metal stand was stuffed with documents, so many files jammed in together that I doubted the device served its purpose, which was easy access. She’d struck me as being neat, tucked in, and conservative, and the disorder here seemed out of character.

Today she wore a red shantung pantsuit, a dramatic contrast to her black hair, which fit her head like a feather bathing cap. Her only jewelry was a necklace of gold beads, graduating in size from the small ones near her throat to larger ones at the outer rim. Her black-rimmed glasses lent her a serious air. “Sit anywhere you find room,” she said as she settled in her wooden swivel chair.

There were three other chairs in the room, all in use. I did a quick survey, trying to determine which pile would be easiest to move. I chose the magazines, but to my dismay, once I set them on the floor, they slid sideways in an avalanche of glossy paper.

I took a seat, saying, “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

“A detective from the sheriff’s department stopped by the store this morning to talk to Iris. She was terribly upset. She’d just read about Fritz in the paper and she hadn’t absorbed the shock of it. Up pops this fellow asking where she and Joey were the previous Friday night, as though they might be implicated in the murder.”

“Was this Detective Burgess?”

“Yes, him. She mentioned the name, but it went in one ear and out the other.”

“He’s just starting his investigation, so this is routine. Right now, he’s assembling a picture of Fritz’s life—friends, old classmates, and acquaintances. He’ll be talking to a lot of people, asking whether Fritz had enemies and that sort of thing. If Iris and Joey were good friends of his, there shouldn’t be a problem. Did she say why she was so distressed?”

“Well, that’s just it. She drew a complete blank when he questioned her. He asked how much she knew about the blackmail scheme and she didn’t know how to reply. Fritz had confided the details in the strictest confidence and she didn’t want to violate his trust. His parents might still be determined to sweep it all under the rug.”

“Extortion is the last thing on their minds at this point. They’re trying to come to terms with their loss. Aside from that, I’m sure Detective Burgess understands how flustered some people get when dealing with law enforcement. Honestly, he’s a nice man and I’m sure he didn’t mean to frighten her.”

“It’s just that he caught her by surprise. She worried if her answers were incorrect, she’d have painted herself into a corner later on.”

“If she tells the truth, why would it come to that?”

“That’s how it seems to me, but she doesn’t know anything about the law or police procedure. She wondered if she should have an attorney present as a safeguard, but when she asked, he looked at her like she’d just admitted she was guilty of something.”

“He was probably surprised she raised the issue in the course of a simple conversation.”

“You don’t know if it was simple or not.”

“True enough,” I said.

“The fact of the matter is, she and Joey were with me Friday night because I asked if they’d paint Sloan’s room. It looked very shabby once the furniture was gone and I thought it was time to freshen it up. Joey went to the paint store and bought the supplies they needed, including paint trays and rollers. I have the receipt showing the date and time of the purchase. Later, after they’d worked for a couple of hours, I ordered pizza for the three of us. I have that receipt as well.”

“Those should come in handy if Burgess asks. I’m not sure I’d volunteer the information.”

“Why not?”

“He’s not accusing her of anything at this point. It sounds like she overreacted.”

“Perhaps, but I thought you might talk to him for us and clarify her position.”

“That’s not a good idea. All it would do is make him wonder why I was sticking my nose into his business.”

“What if he comes back and asks something else? What is she to say?”

“She can talk to an attorney if it would make her feel better.”

“She and Joey don’t have money to spare, but I suppose I could spend a few dollars.”

“You might not even have to do that,” I said. “Most attorneys will offer an initial consultation to determine if your problem is a legal matter they can help you with.”

“Thank you. I’ll remember that. It doesn’t sound so alarming when you put it that way. At any rate, I should have asked what I could do for you instead of launching into this whole long tale.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s natural for you to be concerned.”

“I appreciate your understanding.”

I realized I could probably go on like this with her for the rest of the afternoon. I’d comfort, reassure, and inform. She’d be grateful and thank me again. That way I could postpone having to pry into her personal business. “I’m interested in Sloan’s biological father.”

Margaret, unexpressive to begin with, seemed to turn to stone.

I leaned forward. “Margaret, listen to me. Just listen. What possible difference could it make after all these years? She’s gone. She won’t suffer any shame or embarrassment. I understand you feel protective, but I don’t see how it could matter.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because it all connects. It has to,” I said, though the idea hadn’t occurred to me until I opened my mouth and said so.

“How?”

“I don’t know how. Look at it this way: the players have been the same all these years. Bayard, Fritz, Troy, Austin, Poppy, and Sloan. Sloan dies. Austin disappears. Troy and Fritz go to prison, and when Fritz gets out, he ends up dead within weeks. These events are not random.”

I could see her considering the claim. I saw something flicker in her eyes and I wondered what piece of the puzzle she held. “Who is the guy?”

She shook her head once, like a horse shooing off a black fly.

I leaned forward and took her hands. “Just tell me.”

“Tigg Montgomery,” she whispered.

I sat back. The answer was unexpected and I considered the obvious implications. “You’re telling me Bayard and Sloan were siblings? He’s her half-brother?”

“Yes.”

I waited while she clasped and unclasped her hands and then she went on.

“I worked for him. This was before Joan divorced him, so the pregnancy would have put him in jeopardy financially. Santa Teresa was unsophisticated in those days. He was highly regarded, a pillar of the community, and I was his employee.”

“It must have been difficult.”

“It was hard. He was the love of my life and I couldn’t fault him for wanting to conceal the situation. I’d have done anything for him.”

“Thus the years of silence,” I said.

“I promised I’d keep quiet. In return, he promised to provide for her. Near the end, when he realized how sick he was, he came to me and said he’d make good. He intended to divide his estate between the two.”

“Did Bayard know this?”

“Tigg told him, but I have no idea what his reaction was. It must have come as a shock.”

“What about Sloan? Did she know?”

Margaret shook her head. “I didn’t want to tell her until I was certain Tigg would come through for her. Why get her hopes up when it might not come to pass? Why open the door if she couldn’t walk through? He put it off. He delayed. Maybe he got so sick, he wasn’t thinking straight. Maybe he was ambivalent or changed his mind. How would I know? I didn’t want her hopes dashed, which they would have been. I believe he was sincere. I think he meant well, but he didn’t act quickly enough. The new will was drawn up, but he died without signing it.”

“What was the age difference between Bayard and Sloan?”

“Two years.”

“I thought they were in the same class at Climp.”

“They were. Bayard was held back a year because of behavioral issues.”

“And when Sloan died?”

“Bayard blamed himself. He knew he should have stepped in. There were many opportunities to intervene and he did nothing.”

“But when Sloan died, all the money was his again, right?”

“It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the fact that he let her die when he could have prevented it.”

“Why were you so bitter about Fritz?”

“He was Austin’s instrument. Austin wanted her dead because, in his mind, she’d wounded him. She hadn’t actually done anything but he didn’t see it that way. Fritz was a puppet. There was no reason for him to do what he did, except to please Austin. Bayard hated Austin, which is why he testified at the trial.”

“But that was to get himself off the hook, wasn’t it?”

“Both were true. He settled a score and he protected himself. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“And now that Fritz is dead, where does that put you?”

“If he’d taken responsibility, things might have come out differently.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“Where it puts me is I’m glad he’s dead. I wished it on him. I may go to hell for it, but I don’t care.”

“Did you have a hand in his death?”

“No, but I wish I had.”

“You have a hard heart.”

“You may discover you do as well,” she said. “Meanwhile, do you want to know how I know there’s a god? Because he answered my prayers.”

•   •   •

Well, that was a depressing conversation. I drove home, pondering the meaning of it all without understanding any of it. Sloan’s death seemed to be the sorry culmination of random elements—paranoia, miscues, rage, passivity, herd mentality, and poor judgment among them. Fritz’s death had a different feel to it. I believed he was killed for a reason, while she was killed for no reason at all. Bad luck as much as anything. I didn’t think his killing was predicated on hers, but there had to be a link between the two. At least that was my current working theory and one I needed to test. I’d have to talk to someone who was present back then and perhaps understood the larger picture. Lauren McCabe came to mind.

I drove into town and left my car near the Axminster Theater, then walked through the covered passage that led from the parking lot. The McCabes’ condominium appeared at my immediate left as I emerged onto the street. Lauren and Hollis had learned about their son’s death less than a day ago and I imagined their apartment filled with friends, offering support, sympathy, and casseroles. When I reached the top of the stairs, however, there were no signs of life. The front door was ajar and there was a stillness pouring out of the place like smoke. I pushed the door open, saying, “Lauren?”

There were no lights on. The interior, which had seemed simple and uncluttered, now seemed diminished. The absence of artificial lighting lent the living room an air of coldness and abandonment. No fresh flowers. No cooking smells. No voices.

“Lauren?”

It felt intrusive to be present without someone greeting me. I knew from my first visit where the library was located and I knew that Fritz’s bedroom was the first door on the left. I thought about going as far as his room, but I was reluctant to infringe on their privacy. I didn’t hear anyone approach, but I sensed movement in the corridor and Lauren appeared. She was barefoot and the clothes she wore looked like she’d selected them from a pile on the floor.

I said, “There you are. I’m sorry to barge in uninvited. I thought maybe you’d have people here.”

She shook her head. “We’re on our own. Hollis is napping and I’m wandering around thinking I should be doing something. I don’t blame people for avoiding us. There’s nothing in the etiquette books to cover situations like this. What do you say to a mother whose son has been murdered? What comfort can you offer a father who’s lost his only child? It’s awkward and difficult and people think of reasons to stay away. They tell themselves we’d prefer to be alone. They’ll remember how undemonstrative we are and think we’d doubtless protect our solitude. In some ways, that’s correct. I find it hard to deal with people I don’t much like.”

I’d actually told myself much the same thing, thinking that if I tried to hug or console her, she’d rebuff me. I don’t particularly like to be hugged myself, especially in a social setting where there’s no reason whatsoever to promote physical contact beyond a handshake. Most of the time, people are just going through the motions anyway, pretending to be happier to see you than they actually are. “Isn’t there someone you’d like me to call?”

“Well, that’s just it. I can’t think of anyone. A friend will come to mind and I’ll realize I haven’t spoken to her in a year. This is hardly the time to offer an invitation. I tried calling another friend, someone I was close to in the past. I found out she died two months ago and no one thought to tell me.”

“What about Hollis’s brother? You’ve mentioned him.”

“Their relationship is strained. Really, it’s quite superficial. Having him here would be a burden. They don’t get along and I’d be stage-managing their bad behavior, which is something I can do without. I’d have to think about meals and entertainment and small talk. You can’t have people in from out of town and then leave them to their own devices, even if the occasion is a death.”

“I can see your point,” I said. “The question may seem odd, but have you heard from the extortionist?”

“No and I don’t anticipate contact. If this is someone who knows us, then he’s probably heard about Fritz’s death. Even if he doesn’t know us, surely he’d be keeping tabs on us and he’d be aware of what’s happened. Anyway, Valerie did stop by and I thought that was lovely.”

She made the reference to Valerie as though the name would mean something, which it didn’t. Then I remembered that Valerie was the cleaning lady I’d encountered in my initial meeting with her.

I thought I should tell Lauren why I was there, but I wondered if it would seem callous if it was business as usual for me while she was trying to cope with her son’s death. This was probably one of the finer points of good manners that she was referring to. “This may not be a good time for you, but I have questions and I don’t know who else to ask.”

“Why don’t we sit?”

We moved into the living room, where she took a seat at the end of the sofa and I settled in the upholstered chair nearby. “Were you aware that Tigg Montgomery was Sloan’s bio-dad?”

“Yes. He talked to Hollis about his options—whether to own up to it or keep the information under wraps. There might have been a middle road, but none of us could think of one. Tigg was extremely conservative. His values were strictly Old Testament. Adultery was prohibited, as he believed it should be, even though he was a party to it. He decided to keep it quiet, which I didn’t particularly admire, but he was Hollis’s boss and I knew better than to speak up.”

“Eventually, Bayard found out. How did that happen?”

“Tigg told him. When he had the new will drawn up, he thought it would be unfair to have Bayard find out about the changes after he was gone.”

“What was Bayard’s reaction?”

“He was angry at first. He looked at Tigg’s money as his reward for being a good boy and putting up with the brutal emotional gamesmanship he was subjected to as a child. The notion of cutting his payoff in half didn’t sit well at first. Then he realized how much he loved and admired Sloan. He’d been raised as an only child and suddenly he had a younger sister. It shed a whole different light on the situation.”

“You think he was sincere? He wasn’t just covering?”

“I can’t answer that. I thought he was fully reconciled, but he’s always been good at guarding himself.”

“You said Tigg was extremely conservative. How did he feel about Bayard’s being gay?”

“He didn’t know. The rest of us were aware of it, but he seemed to have a blind spot. He was rabidly homophobic, so if he found out, he’d have cut Bayard off without a cent.”

One call. I thought about Austin’s warning about one call, his harping on it. That’s what it was about, Austin’s threat to pull the rug out from under Bayard. One more piece of the puzzle had locked into place.