Taylor nodded absently, stepping back, andWill let him go reluctantly. “I got hold of Euphonia at theDMV.”
“Oh yeah?”
“The black Porsche is registered to a StuartSchwierskott. He’s a private investigator. He works forSchwierskott & Associate. He’s the associate. His old man ownsthe company.”
Will took a moment to digest this. “Not acoincidence then. He was following us.”
“Yep.”
“And you did see him going into theLaundromat.”
“Yep.”
“I think we need to pay Schwierskott and hisassociate a visit next week.”
“Yep.”
They started back to the house, the dogsracing ahead. “I wonder who the hell hired them.” Will said.
Taylor shook his head.
“And who the hell conducts surveillance in aPorsche?”
“A graduate of the Magnum PI Schoolof Investigation?”
“I thought Magnum drove a Ferrari.”
“Did he? I don’t remember.”
Will glanced at him. “Hey. I know we saidthree or four days up here, but since we’re all here, Pop wants tohave a Thanksgiving dinner on Sunday. Do you mind staying tillMonday?”
“Nah. It’s fine.”
“Have I told you lately what a goodboyfriend you turned out to be?”
Taylor grinned lazily. “Better than DavidBradley?”
“He’s not even in your weight division,sweetheart.”
Taylor laughed. “Sure.”
Dinner was pan-fried trout, mashed potatoes,and roasted vegetables. A staple when Will was growing up. Not thathis dad had been home often to cook meals, but when he did cook, itwas usually some kind of fish and vegetables. Or chili. Or lasagna.Will had learned to cook early. He didn’t get much opportunitythese days, but he enjoyed cooking. He enjoyed cooking for Taylorwhen he wasn’t on one of his vegetarian streaks.
He was obscurely flattered to see Tayloreating heartily at his dad’s table. Of course, Taylor usually atelike a horse. He had to fuel all that nervous energy. He had beencautious about the chili though, so it was nice to see him tuckingin.
They were all eating heartily; maybe thatwas partly to avoid dinner table conversation. Cousin Dennis putaway nearly as much food as Grant, and Grant was apparentlypreparing for a famine. Which wasn’t far from the reality.
In an effort to reach out to his brother,Will started talking about his own tour of duty in Iraq. “The bestmeal was always midrats. That’s where most of the socializing takesplace. You’ve got the first crew coming off shift and the secondcrew coming on. It’s not just that it’s a hot meal — although whenyou’re cold, tired, and being shot at, that does matter — it’s alsothe camaraderie.”
Grant said, “I think they cut midrats inAfghanistan because we’re supposed to be winding down our presencethere.”
“Is that true? What total bullshit,” Willsaid, and Grant nodded in complete accord. For a moment it was likeold times.
Bill put in, “Food in the Corps is neverjust about food.”
Will said, “True.”
“I remember my first Marine Corps Birthdayin Nam. We’d just come off the Hải Vân Pass and I was five days shyof my first year in the Corps and a whopping one month in country.We were living off two C-Rats a day and I don’t recall ever gettinga hot meal out there both times we were on the hill. But I doremember the 10th. It was just after noon and a lone CH-46 cameflying in low and landed. A work party unloaded a small bunch ofcases, and then down the ramp comes a cook in white trousers andgreen T-shirt, wheeling a rickety old mess hall cart with a cake onit. He just missed getting stuck in that damned red clay. We gotthe word to line up, and the cook started cutting pieces of cake nothicker than a slice of Wonder Bread. Every single Marine got apiece. And we each got two beers and a soda.”
Grant was grinning.
Dennis said, “Sounds pretty miserable.”
“Not at all,” Bill replied, eyeing himwithout favor. “It’s the essence of being a Marine. And the essenceof being a Marine is what we celebrate every November 10th. Marinesare the only fighting force in the world that stops a war to have abeer and wish each other a Happy Birthday.”
Will laughed. “I guess the ContinentalMarines passed around the flagons of rum outside Philadelphia in1776?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“If you’re a global security firm, I guessthere’s a possibility you could be working out of Iraq or someother international hot spot one day?” Dennis asked.
Taylor’s gaze met Will’s.
“Now there’s a question,” Taylor said.
“I guess anything’s possible,” Will saidevenly.
After dinner Bill suggested cards. Theycleared the dishes and then sat down again at the dining room tablefor a game of poker. Now that brought back a lot ofmemories. Good memories.
He knew his father and brother’s strategiesas well as he knew his own. The real challenge came from Dennis whoturned out to be quite a card sharp.
Taylor, on the other hand, was a steady butusually unlucky card player. Surprising, given how Machiavellianhis thought processes could be. But no. He did not have a pokerface and he did not have a poker mind.
They whiled away a relaxing and harmonioushour and then, while Bill was shuffling the next hand, Willrose.
“You want another beer?” he askedTaylor.
“Sure.”
“Anybody else?”
“I guess I’ll have another,” Dennis chimedin. He was in a jovial mood as his stash of Honey Nut Cheeriosmounted steadily.
“You’ll have to get it from the fridgedownstairs in the garage,” Bill said. “We already drank everythingupstairs at dinner.”
“There isn’t any downstairs either,” Grantsaid.
Bill stared at him. “There was still atwelve-pack down there yesterday.”
Grant shrugged.
“You drank the last of the beer and youdidn’t say a word,” Bill said slowly, as though this were beyondhuman comprehension.
Grant’s expression grew defensive. “I didn’tknow it was the last beer in the house.”
“You damn well know you’re supposed to checkwhether it’s the last beer or not. That rule hasn’t changed sinceyou lived here.”
“We were in town today, we could have pickedup a couple of cases.” Will caught Taylor’s eye and realized toolate that comment really wasn’t helping.
Grant exploded. “I suppose you neverforgot and drank the last beer, Will?”
“Not once I was your age.”
“Yeah, I know, William. You’re perfect inevery way! Except for the fact you like to su —”
“Grant,” his father said in a voicethe Brandt boys had only rarely heard growing up.
Grant didn’t finish
