academic fraud. His career as a scholar is built on a foundation of lies that started with this study. He’s a phony.”
“He’s your father.”
“Meaning?”
“You don’t care about him, do you? You really don’t.”
“Why should I?”
“He paid the bills, if nothing else.”
“Ill-gotten gains.”
“He gave you a love of sociology.”
“His love of it is a fake! It’s as fake as the rest of him. It’s a field that studies human society, relationships, mores-what does he know about any of those things?”
“Enough to win the esteem of his colleagues. Enough to give you a big boost in your own career.”
“You defend him again!”
I thought back to the conversation I’d had with Keene not an hour before. I looked out of the window, to the sky and sea. Muted gray. Not this.
“No, I do not defend him. I could use your help. I just don’t want you to give it thoughtlessly. I couldn’t forgive myself for taking advantage of your anger toward him, no matter how easy it would make my job. You mean too much to me, Lisa.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “I believe you. I swear to you, Irene, this isn’t something I take lightly. I want you to know that. This is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life.”
I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. I still didn’t feel right about allowing her to help me bring down her own father, but I was pretty sure my apprehensions went back to treating Lisa as a child. Her relationship with her father wasn’t typical. I had to keep that in mind.
“Then I’ll say yes, I could use your help,” I told her. “Any papers you can get to me-without endangering yourself-will help. And I’ll admit that I was just thinking that I need a stats expert to help me understand what I’m looking at.”
“Great! I was hoping you’d trust me. I’ll keep looking for those missing pages.”
“They may be right here,” I admitted.
“What?”
“You asked why I’m here. I’m looking for the missing pages.”
She looked around the room. “Here?”
“Lucas left a message of sorts for me. This bar supposedly has some kind of secret panel in it. Something left over from Prohibition days.”
Her eyes lit up. “I love it! Secret panels! Can I help you try to find it?”
“Be my guest.”
We went to work on the bar. We examined it from every angle we could get to. We pushed, we prodded. It started to get dark. I wanted to leave, Lisa was determined to find the panel.
“Frank will be worried about me,” I said, turning on the flashlight. “I’ve got to go.”
“Shhh!” she said. “Did you just hear something?”
I stood stock-still.
We listened.
“I guess not,” she said.
Very clearly, at that moment, came the sound of the stairwell door slamming shut.
“I know you’re in there!” boomed the voice of a man sometimes known as Holler, sometimes known as John Jones.
Two Toes knew we were in there.
36
I TURNED OFF THE FLASHLIGHT, reached for the top of Lisa’s head, and forced her to duck behind the bar with me. We were in the space behind the bar, where a bartender would stand. There was enough light for me to see Lisa’s face, pale and worried. What had possessed me to tell her anything about the panel, to put her in this kind of danger?
“I know you’re in heee-re,” he sang, as a child does when about to win a round of hide-and-seek. “I’m going to count to ten, and then I’m going to come and get yoooo-u!”
I handed the flashlight to Lisa. I reached for my purse and opened it.
“One.”
I found a piece of paper.
“Two.”
A pen.
“Three.”
Wrote, “I’ll distract him.”
“Four.”
Wrote, “Get help.”
“Five.”
Reached for the keys to the gate, holding them together to keep them quiet.
“Six.”
Put them in her hand.
“Seven.”
Looked into her faced, saw her nod.
“Eight.”
Mouthed the word “Ready?”
“Nine.”
The fucking beeper went off.
I stood up like I had been shot out of a cannon.
“It’s my guardian angel!” I shouted, running from the bar, veering toward him, beeper beeping.
HE COVERED HIS EARSwith his hands and ran from me, heading for the other side of the room. Laughing.
I heard the glass door open, but didn’t turn toward it, not wanting his attention on Lisa. The beeper stopped beeping. I whooped and hollered and gave the best imitation of a Tarzan cry I could, trying to cover any other sounds she might make. He loved it. He repeated them, laughing, then turned and ran toward me.
What the hell was I going to do now?
I started running again. We were running in big circles over the buckled floor. He was enjoying the hell out of himself. I was terrified, but I didn’t dare head for the door yet-I had to give her time. I dodged and weaved in the darkening room.
And tripped over Lisa’s backpack, then the crate, landing flat on my face.
It knocked the wind out of me, sent the beeper skittering in front of me. He caught up to me in one stride. I felt his big hands grab my shoulders, lift me. He set me on my feet, turned me toward him-all as if I didn’t weight more than a doll.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Sure? You fell down.”
No kidding, I thought, my knees, shins, palms, and chin smarting. “I’m okay,” I said.
“I’m going to let go now,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t fall down again.”
