“But what?” said Suzie.
Bernie took a deep breath. “Could you turn it down, walk away, and then never think about it again? The what-ifs, what-might-have-beens, all that?”
Suzie went quiet. Then she took a deep breath, too. “I love you,” she said.
Bernie’s lips moved, just the slightest, like he was about to say something, but he did not.
“I’ve been checking flights,” Suzie said. “They’re cheap if you book far enough in advance. Weekends would be way more doable than you’d think.”
“So,” said Bernie, his voice getting kind of thick in a strange way, like there was something in his throat, “it’s all good.”
What was this? I’d been gnawing away at one of the legs of the picnic table? And it didn’t even feel that great? Not bad, exactly, just more like… nothing. I stopped.
TWO
The bourbon’s in the cupboard over the kitchen sink. Cigarettes are harder to find because Bernie quit smoking and one of his tricks when he quits smoking is to stop buying cigarettes cold turkey and scrounge around for them instead. Bernie’s got tricks for just about everything-he’s always the smartest human in the room, might as well get that out of the way right now, if I haven’t already. As for cold turkey: a puzzler there’s no time to go into, not now and maybe not ever. Except does it mean cigarettes are in the fridge? I didn’t smell any, but sometimes I can’t detect every single little thing that’s in the fridge. As for cigarettes-one of those unmissable smells, lit or not-there was one under the end pillow on the living room couch, and another behind Bernie’s desk in the office, both places he’d already searched unsuccessfully, a little bourbon sloshing out of his glass each time he bent down.
We went out to the patio. We have a nice patio in back-this is at our place on Mesquite Road-with a stone fountain in the shape of a swan that Leda had installed before the divorce, but then wanted no part of when Bernie said she should take it with her. We had trouble understanding Leda, me and Bernie.
Bernie sat in his favorite patio chair, the one with the drink holder, and I sat beside him. The sun was going down, changing the colors of the canyon that runs behind Mesquite Road, a canyon inhabited by lots of creatures, including some fat javelinas. Until you’ve chased a javelina you haven’t lived, and I wouldn’t dream of living anywhere else, although once I did dream I was living in a Dumpster, sort of a nightmare until it turned out the Dumpster stood behind a fast-food place. Dreams: don’t ask me to explain them.
Bernie swirled his bourbon around, stared into it, took a sip. “Suppose I said let’s get married. What would happen then?”
I waited to hear.
Bernie drank some more. “Why shouldn’t she be ambitious?” He gazed at me, his face reddening in the evening light. “She’s got every right. So that leaves the option of picking up stakes and going with her. Which, you may have noticed, she didn’t mention.” Bernie drained his glass, went inside. I went with him, right on his heels. He took the bottle down from the shelf, refilled his glass. “Heading east,” he said. “How would that work? My ancestors headed west. Going back would be like-”
The phone rang before Bernie could finish, but not a problem since I’d lost the thread long before. Bernie picked up.
A man’s voice came over the speaker. “Bernie?”
“Yup.”
“Cal Luxton here.”
“Uh-huh.”
“From the mayor’s office.”
“I know.”
“How’re you doin’? It’s been a while.”
“No complaints,” Bernie said.
“Suppose I should congratulate you on that wilderness camp case.”
“Not necessary.”
“Heard you drove another one over a cliff.”
“You heard wrong.”
Silence on the other end. In that silence, Bernie knocked back a big slug.
“Got much goin’ on these days?” Luxton said.
“How do you mean?” said Bernie.
“Work-wise.”
“We’re pretty busy.”
We were? First I’d heard of it. Hadn’t done a stitch of work since the Big Bear Wilderness Camp Case, for which we’d been paid, yes, and plus there’d been the bonus of that gold nugget, now at Mr. Singh’s on account of some tax bill coming due, not something I’m clear on and neither was Bernie although he finally gave up on getting an explanation and just cut the check; which bounced, so he cut another one. In short, our finances were a mess. There hadn’t even been any divorce work, which we hated, me and Bernie, but took when nothing else-mostly meaning missing persons cases, our specialty-came along. The Teitelbaum divorce! Mrs. Teitelbaum at the wheel of that forklift, crushing Mr. Teitelbaum’s classic car collection! And what he did to her boyfriend right after that! Only it wasn’t her boyfriend! I gave myself a good shake. Meanwhile that Luxton dude was talking again.
“I’m sure you are,” he said. “But maybe you could squeeze in a little job for us.”
“Who’s us?” said Bernie.
“The mayor, who else? Did I wake you or something, Bernie?”
Bernie put down his drink. “Wide awake, Cal. So wide awake that I’m thinking, Why me?”
“Why not you?”
“We have a little history, the mayor and I, maybe from before your time.”
“Back before you got-back when you were still with the force? I know all about it. Water under the bridge, as far as the mayor’s concerned. And what with the election coming up, he wants to reach out, to be more inclusive.”
“Has he heard of the aquifer yet?” Bernie said.
The aquifer? Bernie talks about the aquifer a lot, but he hasn’t shown it to me yet. Something about water, of which we’ve got a lot in the Valley-check out our golf courses every morning and evening, sprinklers spraying rainbows out the yingyang-although, come to think of it, none under any of the bridges. Whew! I’d taken that one pretty far! Right up to the point where Bernie always says “so therefore.” Bernie handles the so therefores. I bring other things to the table. That’s how come the Little Detective Agency’s what it is.
“You can ask him tomorrow at ten,” Luxton said.
“Huh?”
“That’s the only time he can see you this week.”
“See me about what?”
“This job, Bernie. Are you listening?”
“What’s the job?”
“He’ll tell you in person.”
Bernie reached for his glass, downed some more. “I’m not interested.”
“No? What’s your normal fee?”
“Eight hundred a day. Plus expenses.”
“Yeah? You can make that stick in an economy like this?”
“Not always.”
“What I thought,” Luxton said. Another phone rang at his end, and he spoke a little faster, so maybe I didn’t hear right. “The fee for this job is three grand a day, plus expenses, guaranteed, plus a bonus at the end if they like you.”
“Who’s they?”
