Sweet Dreams, Irene

“Right. Devon took a long time getting back to the cabin. When Raney asked Devon why it took so long, he said something like ‘it was out’ and talked about having to ‘wait until they brought it back in.’ I think he meant the yacht. Raney said he ‘didn’t think they would do that this time of year.’ It puzzled the hell out of me at the time. Then Devon said something about a client or an investor being with the Pony Player. Maybe Gannet had the yacht out that night.”

“So why do you think Gannet and the Pony Player are the same man?”

“His yacht is called the Long Shot — and a pony player is someone who gambles on horses. He wanted your mother’s land. He was at her funeral even though he hated her.”

“He didn’t hate her,” Jack said.

We both stared at him.

“He even dated her for a while. I was about twelve or thirteen. She figured he was after the beach property, but I’m not sure. They were rivals, but in some ways, that also made them respect each other. I think if they hadn’t fought about developing the beach, they would have been friends, or maybe more. I used to watch the way he looked at her. I think he thought of her as someone unattainable.”

“Maybe she was unattainable, Jack. But so was her beach property, as long as she was alive. I think she was killed because Gannet wanted it. You were ill. If she died, and you died or went to prison for killing her, then Paul would get the property, right? So maybe Gannet put ideas in your son’s head. Maybe Gannet even planned the whole thing. I think the knife that killed Sammy can link him to her murder. And that blanket — that might do the same.”

“Can you get a search warrant, Frank?” Jack asked.

Frank was quiet. The whole time, he was watching my face. “It’ll be tough.”

He saw my disappointment.

“Look, I’ll try,” he said. “I’ll do my best. But he’s powerful and all I’ve got is your word about something you overheard and guessed at the meaning of—” I started to open my mouth to complain but he motioned me to silence. “Settle down, I believe you. But we’ll have to come up with some way to convince a judge in order to get a warrant.”

I saw the hopelessness of it.

“I’ll try,” he said firmly. “But in the meantime, don’t talk about this to anyone else, Irene. I mean it. If he is involved and he thinks you’re on to him — please just don’t say anything to anybody for now, okay?”

I nodded.

ON THE WAY BACK home, I resolved not to let seeing the Long Shot spoil a great day. When we got to the house, I gave a surprised Jack a one-armed hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Why, Irene! If I had known I could get kissed, I would have taken you out on the Pandora long ago. At your service any time, my dear.”

He left. Frank had a look on his face that bordered on jealousy, and it made me laugh.

“What’s so funny?” he said testily.

I didn’t answer, just hobbled over and gave him the kind of kiss that could make him forget his name and address. When I remembered mine, I said, “Do you think we could manage to work around my orthopedic supplies and take up where we left off this afternoon?”

He kissed me back, moaning softly. “I’ve missed you so damn much.”

The guy had been tethered to me night and day for two weeks, during which I had been a regular pain in the butt. But I knew what he meant. I had missed him, too.

33

THE PHONE WOKE US UP when Frank’s sister called just before six, saying she was in town and would like to stop by and see us. I had never met her before; she lives up in Bakersfield. Frank invited her to join us for dinner.

LIKE FRANK, Cassie had light brown hair and gray-green eyes; there was a striking resemblance there. But she must have favored her mother otherwise. She was shorter than Frank and me, and slim, with delicate features. Those eyes, warm and friendly, were resting on me now.

“You must be Irene,” she said, smiling and extending her right hand, but quickly changing to the left to accommodate my injuries.

“Good to meet you, Cassie.”

As we made our way back to the living room, Cassie walked at a pace that allowed me to move alongside her without hurrying, and without making me feel like I was being babied.

“Well, is this the world-famous Cody?” she said, bending to pick up the final member of the greeting committee. Cody purred loudly and shut his eyes in contentment as she scratched him under the chin.

“That is indeed Wild Bill Cody, tramp and tomcat.”

“The cat that scratched Frank’s face!” she laughed.

“He’s also an ankle-biter,” Frank said.

Cody gave Cassie a look that tried to convey he was being slandered.

“He has sort of a combination cowboy name, doesn’t he?” she asked. “Wild Bill Hickok and Buffalo Bill Cody?”

“When I acquired this wild cat, I remembered that as a kid, I used to mix those two names together, confusing things adults were saying. I also used to think that there was a song called ‘My Darling Turpentine,’ and that during Mass the choir was singing ‘Cheerios, A Lady’s Song.’”

She looked puzzled.

“Sorry. Catholic lore. The actual phrase was ‘Lord have mercy,’ or in Greek, ‘Kyrie