Rage

Opening him up.

Allison mumbled something that might’ve been “Hi.” Her gait was unsteady and her black hair was loose and unruly in that nice way really thick hair can pull off. She blinked a few times, struggled to keep her eyes open, made it over to the sink, ran the tap and wet her face. Cinching the robe’s belt tight, she patted herself dry with a paper towel, shook her head like a puppy.

Gaping yawn. Her hand reached her mouth belatedly. “ ‘Scuse me.”

When I took her in my arms she fell against me so heavily I wondered if she’d dropped back to sleep. In heels, she’s no giant. Barefoot, she barely reaches my shoulder. I kissed the top of her head. She patted my back, a curiously platonic gesture.

I steered her to a chair, filled a mug with coffee, put some ginger cookies on a plate. She’d bought them weeks ago. They’d never been opened. I keep telling myself to learn some serious cooking skills, but when I’m alone it’s whatever’s easy to fix.

She stared at the cookies as if they were some exotic curiosity. I placed one at her lips and she nibbled, chewed with effort, swallowed with a gulp.

I got some coffee in her and she smiled up at me woozily. “What time is it?”

“Two p.m.”

“Oh… where’d you go?”

“Just here.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“I had a catnap.”

“I passed out like a wino,” she said. “I don’t even know what time zone I’m in…”

Her eyes swung to the mug. “More? Thanks. Please.”

***

Half an hour later, she was showered, made-up, hair combed flat down her back, wearing a white linen shirt, black slacks, demi-boots with heels too thin to support a chihuahua.

She hadn’t eaten since tea with Grandma the previous afternoon and wondered aloud about protein. The choice was mutual and easy: a steak house in Santa Monica that we frequented when we needed quiet. Dry-aged beef, good bar. Also, the place we’d first met.

The air outside was a brutal seventy-five and we took her black Jaguar XJS because it’s a convertible. I drove and she kept her eyes closed during the trip, rested a hand on my thigh.

Glorious day. I wondered about the weather in Stockton.

I’d been there once, years ago, on a court-ordered evaluation. It’s a nice aggie town east of Sacramento, in the heart of the San Joaquin Valley, with a river port. That far inland, all those flat fields, it had to be hotter.

By now, Milo would be sweating, probably cursing.

Thinking about Maui?

The case that had drawn me to Stockton was for Family Court. A recently divorced Croatian taxi driver had absconded with his three children only to be picked up three months later outside Delano, trying to rob a convenience store while using the kids as lookouts. Sentenced to ten years, he settled himself in jail and demanded joint custody and regular prison visits. The fact that the mother was a meth addict who started riding with outlaw bikers gave his claim enough substance to nudge the legal machinery.

I’d done my best to protect the kids. A stupid judge had wreaked havoc with that…

Allison’s hand left my knee and pressed against my cheek. “What’re you thinking about?”

Robin had always hated hearing about the ugly stuff. Allison loves it. She carries a little gun in her purse, but my impulse is always to shield her.

“Alex?”

“Yes?”

“It wasn’t a trick question, dear.”

We were a block from the restaurant. I started talking.

***

Brief interruption as we ordered a T-bone for two and a bottle of French red.

She said, “It sounds as if Mr. and Mrs. Daney don’t communicate that great.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Mister keeps a secret from Missus and tells you about Rand’s fear of being stalked, the dark truck. All of which seems well founded, Rand was murdered. But Missus minimizes that and points you in another direction.”

“She really didn’t point me anywhere,” I said. “Mostly recited a bunch of psychobabble.”

“Her guilt about not ‘opening him up.’ She actually used those words?”

I nodded.

“Is she some kind of therapist?”

“She’s got some sort of certificate in spiritual counseling.”

“In the future everyone will be doing therapy, so there’ll be no time for anyone to get therapy. Maybe I should retrain in veterinary medicine.”

“You’d consider that after meeting Spike?”

“You love Spike like a brother. Admit it.”

“Do the names Cain and Abel ring a bell?”

She laughed, poured more wine, grew thoughtful. “It sounds as if Rand was this woman’s project and she figured she could heal him. Now that he’s dead, she’s tormenting herself that he was harboring a deep, dark secret that should’ve been brought to light. Which may be true, he implied the same thing to you. The big question is, Was his secret relevant to his murder? Doesn’t sound as if Ms. Daney has anything of substance to say about that. She’s basically preoccupied with her own guilt.”

“So why’d she try to reach Milo?”

“To feel she’s done her civic duty.” She played with my fingers. “On the other hand, Rand called you for a reason, and a few hours later he was dead.”

The food came.

Allison said, “You have no idea what Rand wanted to talk about?”

“He ended by saying he was a good person. I figured he was after some kind of absolution.”

“Makes sense, we’re not that dissimilar from priests.”

“What puzzles me,” I said, “is why he’d reached out to me. My role in the case was pretty minimal.”

“Maybe not to him, Alex. Or maybe he simply wanted to square things with everyone related to the case. Which would certainly include Kristal’s father. Who happens to drive a black truck.”

“Full circle to Barnett,” I said.

“What do you know about this guy?”

“Lara’s mother is certain he and Lara were dopers, suspects Barnett might’ve sold dope. She also says Barnett isolated Lara, which got me thinking about abuse. He lives out in the boonies, stockpiles guns.”

“Sounds like a charmer.”

“Lara’s mom also wondered out loud if Lara could’ve been high when she lost Kristal.”

“Lost her,” she said. “That sounds like misplacing your keys.”

***

We finished dessert and coffee, took a long time metabolizing. Allison fought for the check, finally won. A flush sparked her cheeks.

“It’s good to have you back,” I said. “Even if you won’t let me pay.”

“Good to be back… something bothers me, Alex. I can see Lara getting high being an issue for her husband. But why would Rand care- or even know about that?”