“You know the kind of lawyers my old man has access to? He’d take some bitch like Glenna apart on the stand.”
“You’re not convincing me you didn’t kill Vanessa.”
He leaned against the doorframe as if he might fall down if he didn’t have support. His eyes went through three quick and remarkable expressions-anger, hurt, fear. “I shouldn’t ever have hooked up with Glenna. She’s psycho, and I mean completely. Jealous of any girl who even looked at me.”
“That why you broke it off with her?”
“I can’t believe she still hates me. That was almost six months ago.”
He took a minute to jerk a pack of Marlboros from his back pocket. He knew how to stall. He set a world record finding a book of matches in the other back pocket, then getting the smoke lit. “I had a little thing with somebody.”
“Vanessa.”
His body tensed at the mention of her name. “She and Neil were having problems.”
“So you stepped in.”
“She wanted it.” The absolute lord and master of the commune was whimpering now. “I saw her in town one night and we ended up going to a movie in Iowa City. A French flick. She was a pretty cool girl for a hole like Black River Falls. Then we just started seeing each other-you know, on the sly.” His gaze fell away from me. He got real interested in how his cigarette was burning. “I didn’t want Neil to find out. I didn’t want him to think I was moving in on his chick.”
I forced the laugh back down my throat. “Yeah, you wouldn’t want him to think anything like that.”
This time his eyes tried to put burning holes in my face. “We were friends.”
“You’re a noble son of a bitch, no doubt about it.”
He moved back and started to slam the door but I was too quick. In a past life I must have sold encyclopedias. I had my foot planted in front of said door and it wasn’t going anywhere. “What happened when he found out?”
“Who said he found out?”
“Don’t waste my time. Of course he found out. It’s hard to sneak around in this commune or in town for that matter. Somebody must have spotted you.”
He touched his forehead with the fingers that held his cigarette as if somebody had just driven a railroad spike into it. “Glenna followed me one night. She saw us and told Neil. He-” I wasn’t sure if the shrug was meant to impress me or himself. “He was crazy. He threatened to kill me. Then I didn’t give a damn about him anymore. And neither did Van. She was afraid of him, in fact.”
“Leading up to the night she was killed.”
“What?”
“You still haven’t told me what you were arguing about with her.”
“ You know every goddamn thing. How about you telling me?”
“That she didn’t want to see you anymore and that there wasn’t any point in bothering her the way you had been.”
I wasn’t sure if it was an illusion or whether his face had paled.
“That seemed to be the pattern. Whenever the guy got too close to her she got scared and walked away. And that’s what happened to you, too, wasn’t it?”
The scowl didn’t work because he looked tired now. “You think whatever you want. But you better have some proof. Like I said, McCain, my old man has some very prominent lawyers. They’d eat you alive.”
“I wouldn’t go anywhere if I was you.”
The scowl hadn’t worked but he had more success with the smirk. “Sure thing, little man.”
I withdrew my foot. The door slammed shut. I wondered how long it would take him to call his old man. The prodigal son returns home. In bad need of a big-time mouthpiece.
Whittier Point was in favor when it was used by the kids of a grade school a block away. Then the grade school was consolidated with a larger school and Whittier Point was left to lie fallow. The city kept the grass mown on the area around the large pavilion but all the playground equipment was gone. Without supervision the city would be asking for a lawsuit; hell, even with supervision there’d been lawsuits. Hot weekends families still trekked up here, but on workdays it was often empty except for school-age lovers lost in their own obsession with each other.
Until nearly four thirty my only companions were quicksilver birds lighting on the empty picnic tables and two stray dogs who kept their noses to the cement floor as if uranium might be found under it.
For the first time I considered Richard Donovan a real suspect. Neil Cameron had been his rival for Vanessa. He’d been seen arguing with her not long before her murder. And he’d gone rich boy on me when I’d asked him if he’d killed her. Telling somebody you’re going to get world-class lawyers to save you doesn’t inspire confidence in your innocence.
And naturally I wondered why Nicole wasn’t here yet. Maybe she’d changed her mind. Maybe she’d decided that she’d angered her father enough already by talking to me.
I got up and started walking around the area outside the pavilion. The birds had that day’s-end sound, and a cordial, solemn weariness seemed to settle on the trees and grass and the small lake just over the west side of the hill. There were moments when I wanted to be a kid again, hurrying home to my collection of paperbacks and comic books, the only realm in which I was really myself. My dad would still be alive and he and my mom would be laughing about something adult just as I entered the kitchen and asked when supper would be ready. I could even put up with my bratty sister, whom I loved despite all my protests to the contrary.
Then I saw her.
The winding paved road ended in a steep grade if you wanted to veer off and reach the pavilion. But she rode her ten-speed with energy and skill. As she drew near she waved; the gesture was girly and sweet. But then the front tire swerved and she was quickly dumped on the grass.
I ran over to her. She’d been thrown facedown but she was quick to roll over on her back with her arms flung wide. She was gasping for breath. Her eyes fluttered as if she might faint. I knelt down next to her and felt her racing pulse. Her breath still came in bursts and a whimper played in her mouth.
“I guess I should’ve taken the car.” That she’d managed the sentence with such clarity reassured me she was all right. Still, it was strange that a girl of her age, in apparent good health, would be worn out to the point where she’d lost control of her bicycle.
I helped her to her feet and looked for any cuts or scrapes. She fell against me for a moment. I slid my arm through hers and walked her into the pavilion and sat her down. “I’m throwing your bike in my trunk and giving you a ride home. No arguments.”
“They’ll see us together.”
“I’ll let you off a ways before your estate.”
“God, this is so embarrassing.”
“It’s still ninety degrees. Could happen to anybody.”
“Our house isn’t even a mile away.” She touched her face. Body heat had emphasized the acne on her cheeks. Her white blouse was soaked in spots.
“I’ve got a cold Pepsi in the car that I’ve had about half of. How does that sound?”
“That sounds great.”
She drank it in sips, which was smart. The drink relaxed her, or seemed to. She leaned back and took one of those deep breaths that usually mean you’re feeling better-even philosophical-about some problem. “I guess it was kinda stupid on a hot day like this.” Then: “My dad really doesn’t like you.”
“That I know. But why did he kick Tommy Delaney out?”
She wiped her brow with the back of her tiny, corded hand. “Poor Tommy. I always liked him but I don’t think anybody else did. Except Marsha. She told me one day how bad it was at home for him. His folks always argued and sometimes it got violent. I guess his whole life was like that. She said that was why he liked being at our place so much. It was peaceful and it made him feel special, you know, with my dad being so wealthy and all. The funny thing is, it was my dad who started inviting him over. He’d show him off to his friends. He always gave a speech, too, about how Tommy was going to put the Hawkeyes in the Rose Bowl. But Eve hated him. She thought he was a moron. And that was the word she used. She worked on Dad until he started to dislike Tommy, too. I guess when
