“Yes. But you have to swear you won’t tell anyone. Not the principal, no one.”
“Okay.” Myron nodded to Win. Win let go. Gary took back his hand and caressed it as though it were an abused puppy.
“Kathy and I had an affair,” he said.
“When?”
“Her senior year. It lasted a few months, that’s all. I haven’t seen her since, I swear.”
“And that’s everything?”
He nodded. “I don’t know anything else. Somebody else put that picture in the ad.”
“If you’re lying, Gary-”
“I’m not. Hand to God.”
“Okay,” Myron said. “You can go.”
Gary rushed out. He had not even paused to check his hair in the mirror.
“Scum,” Myron said. “The man is pure unadulterated scum. Seduces his students, operates a dial-a-porn line.”
“But a snappy dresser,” Win said. “So what next?”
“We finish the investigation. Then we go to the school board. We tell them all about Mr. Grady’s extracurricular activities.”
“Didn’t you just promise him you weren’t going to tell?”
Myron shrugged. “I lied.”
Chapter 16
In something of a trance, Jessica thanked Myron and hung up the phone. She half-stumbled into the kitchen and sat down. Her mother and her younger brother Edward looked up.
“Honey,” Carol Culver began, “are you okay?”
“Fine,” she managed.
“Who was on the phone?”
“Myron.”
Silence.
“We were talking about Kathy,” she continued.
“What about her?” Edward asked.
Her brother had always been Edward, not Ed or Eddie or Ted. He was only a year out of college and already he owned a successful computer business, IMCS (Interactive Management Computer Systems), which developed software systems for several prestigious corporations. Edward wore only jeans, even in the office, and obnoxious T-shirts, the kind with chintzy iron-on decals that say stuff like “Keep on Truckin’.” He didn’t own a tie. He had a wide, almost-feminine face with delicate porcelain features. Women would kill for his eyelashes. Only the buzz-cut hair-and the pithy phrase on his T-shirt-hinted at what Edward was proud to be: COMPUTER WEENIES HAVE THE BEST HARDWARE.
Jessica took a deep breath. She could not be concerned with delicacies or feelings anymore. She opened her purse and pulled out a copy of
She tossed it on the table, cover up. A cross between puzzlement and disgust blanketed her mother’s face.
Edward remained stoic. “What the hell is this?” he asked.
Jessica flipped to the page in the back. “There,” she said simply, pointing to the picture of Kathy in the bottom row.
It took a few moments for them to comprehend what they were seeing, as though the information had been waylaid somewhere between the eye and brain. Then Carol Culver let out a groan. Her hand flew to her mouth, smothering a scream. Edward’s eyes narrowed into thin slits.
Jessica did not give her time to recover. “There’s more,” she said.
Her mother looked up at her with hollow, haunted eyes. There was no life behind them anymore, as though a final cold gust had put out a flickering flame.
“A handwriting expert checked the envelope it came in. The writing matches Kathy’s.”
Edward inhaled sharply. Carol’s legs finally gave out, folding at the knees. She landed hard in her chair and crossed herself. Tears came to her eyes.
“She’s alive?” Carol managed.
“I don’t know.”
“But there’s a chance?” Edward followed up.
Jessica nodded. “There’s always been a chance.”
Stunned silence.
“But I need some information,” Jessica continued. “I need to know what happened to Kathy. What made her change.”
Edward’s eyes narrowed again. “What do you mean?”
“Kathy had an affair with her high school English teacher. Senior year.”
More silence. Jessica was not so sure it was stunned.
“The teacher, a maggot named Gary Grady, has admitted it.”
“No,” her mother said weakly. She lowered her head, her crucifix dangling like a pendulum. She began to weep. “Sweet Jesus, not my baby…”
Edward stood. “That’s enough, Jess.”
“It’s not enough.”
Edward grabbed his jacket. “I’m out of here.”
“Wait. Where are you going?”
“Good-bye.”
“We need to talk this out.”
“The hell we do.”
“Edward-”
He ran out the back door, slamming it behind him.
Jessica turned back to her mother. Her sobs were gut-wrenching. Jessica watched for a minute or two. Then she turned and left the kitchen.
Roy O’Connor was already in the back booth when Myron arrived. His glass was empty, and he was sucking on an ice cube. He sounded like an aardvark near an anthill.
“Hey, Roy.”
O’Connor nodded to the seat across the table, not bothering to stand. He wore gold rings that disappeared under the folds of flesh in his chubby unstained hands. His fingernails were manicured. He was somewhere between forty-five and fifty-five years old, but it was impossible to tell where. He was balding, wearing the ever-desirable swept-over look, parting his hair just below the armpit.
“Nice place, Roy,” Myron said. “A table in the back, low lights, soft romantic music. If I didn’t know better-”
O’Connor shook his head. “Look, Bolitar, I know you think you’re a regular Buddy Hackett, but give it a rest, okay?”
“I guess flowers are out, then.” Pause. Then: “Buddy Hackett?”
“We need to talk.”
“I’m all ears.”
A waitress came over. “Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?”
“Another,” Roy said, pointing to his glass.
“And for you?”
“Do you have Yoo-Hoo?” Myron asked.
