'In my face,' Myron said.
'Bet your skirmy melinka of a butt I am. And when I
first started out, everyone told me to tone it down. Stop being so Jewish, they said. So ethnic. You'll never be accepted.' His face had true hope now. ' 'Maybe I can do the same for us closet faygelehs, Myron. Be in the world's face again, you know what I'm saying?'
'Yes, I do,' Myron said softly. Then he asked, 'Who else knew about you and Jack?'
'Knew?'
'Did you tell anybody?'
'No, of course not.'
Myron gestured toward Esme. 'How about one of those beautiful girlfriends on your arm? How about someone who practically lived with you? Wouldn't it have been easy for her to find out?'
Norm shrugged. 'I suppose so. You get this close to someone, you trust them. You drop your guard. So maybe she knew. So what?'
Myron looked at Esme. 'You want to tell him?'
Esme's voice was cool. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'
'Tell me what'?'
Myron kept his eyes on hers. 'I wondered why you'd seduce a sixteen-year-old boy. Don't get me wrong. You gave a bravo performance all that talk about being lonely and Chad being sweet and disease-free. You waxed quite eloquent. But it still rang hollow.'
Norm said, 'What the hell are you talking about, Myron?'
Myron ignored him. 'And then there was the matter of the bizarre coincidence you and Chad showing up at the same motel at the same time as Jack and Norm. Too weird. I just couldn't buy it. But of course, we both know that it wasn't a coincidence. You planned it that way.
Esme.'
'What plan?' Norm interjected. 'Myron, will you tell me what the hell is going on?'
'Norm, you mentioned that Esme used to work on Nike's basketball campaign. That she quit that job to come to you.'
'So?'
'Did she take a cut in salary?'
'A little.' Norm shrugged. 'Not much.'
'When exactly did she hook up with you?'
'I don't know.' `
'Within the past eight months?'
Norm thought a moment. 'Yeah, so?'
'Esme seduced Chad Coldren. She set up a liaison with him at the Court Manor Inn. But she wasn't bringing him there for sex or because she was lonely. She brought him there as part of a setup.'
'What kind of setup?'
'She wanted Chad to see his father with another man.'
'Huh?'
'She wanted to destroy Jack. It was no coincidence.
Esme knew your routine. She learned about your affair with Jack. So she tried to set it up so Chad would see what his father was really about.'
Esme remained silent.
'Tell me something, Norm. Were you and Jack supposed to meet Thursday night?'
'Yeah,' Norm said.
'What happened?'
'Jack called it off He pulled into the lot and got spooked. He said he saw a familiar car.'
'Not just familiar,' Myron said. 'His son's. That's where Esme screwed up. Jack spotted the car. He left before Chad had a chance to see him.'
Myron stood and walked toward Esme. She remained still. 'I almost had it right from the beginning,' he told her. 'Jack took the lead at the Open. His son was there, right in front of you. So you kidnapped Chad to throw Jack's game off. It was just like I thought. Except I missed your real motive. Why would you kidnap Chad?
Why would you crave such vengeance against Jack Coldren? Yes, money was part of the motive. Yes, you wanted Zoom's new campaign to succeed. Yes, you knew that if Tad Crispin won the Open, you'd be heralded as the marketing genius of the world. All that played into it. But, of course, that never explained why you brought Chad to the Court Manor Inn in the first place- before Jack had the lead.'
Norm sighed. 'So tell us, Myron. What possible reason could she have for wanting to hurt Jack?'
Myron reached into his pocket and pulled out a grainy photograph. The first page of the wedding album. Lloyd and Lucille Rennart. Smiling. Happy. Standing side by side. Lloyd in a tux. Lucille holding a bouquet of flowers.
Lucille looking stunning in a long white gown. But that wasn't what had shocked Myron to the core. What shocked him had nothing to do with what Lucille wore or held; rather, it was what she was.
Lucille Rennart was Asian.
'Lloyd Rennart was your father,' Myron said. 'You were in the car that day when he crashed into a tree. Your mother died. You were rushed to the hospital too.'
Esme's back was rod-straight, but her breathing was coming out in hitches.
'I'm not sure what happened next,' he continued.
' 'My guess would be that your father had hit rock bottom.
He was a drunk. He had just killed his own wife. He felt washed-up, useless. So maybe he realized that he couldn't raise you. Or he didn't deserve to raise you. Or maybe an arrangement was reached with your mother's family. In return for not pressing charges, Lloyd would give Lucille's family custody of you. I don't know what happened.
But you ended up being raised by your mother's family. By the time Lloyd straightened himself out, he probably felt it would be wrong to tear you out by the roots. Or maybe he was afraid that his daughter wouldn't take back the father who'd been responsible for killing her mother. Whatever, Lloyd kept quiet. He never even told his second wife about you.'
Tears were streaming down Esme's cheeks now. Myron felt like crying too.
'How close am I, Esme?'
'I don't even know what you're talking about.'
''There'll be records,' Myron said. 'Birth certificates, for certain. Probably adoption papers. It won't take the police long to trace.' He held up the photograph, his voice soft.
'The resemblance between you and your mother is almost enough.'
Tears continued to flow, but she was not crying. No sobs. No hitching. No quivering facial muscles. Just tears.
' 'Maybe Lloyd Rennart was my father,' Esme said 'But you still have nothing. The rest is pure conjecture.'
'No, Esme. Once the police confirm your parentage, the rest will be easy. Chad will tell them that it was you who suggested you go to the Court Manor Inn. They'll look closely into Tito's death. There'll be a connection there. Fibers. Hairs. It'll all come together. But I have one question for you.'
She remained still.
'Why did you cut off Chad's iinger?'
Without warning, Esme broke into a run. Myron was caught off guard. He jumped over the couch to block her path. But he had misjudged her. She had not been heading for an exit; she was going into a bedroom. Her bedroom.
Myron hurdled back over the couch. He reached her room, but he was a little late.
Esme Fong had a gun. She pointed it at Myron's chest.
He could see in her eyes that there'd be no confession, no explanations, no talk. She was ready to shoot.
'Don't bother,' Myron said.
'What?'
