A few minutes later she returned and showed him to the large room off the veranda. As they approached the closed door, Carver heard loud, argumentative voices. He glanced at the maid, a middle-aged Latin with a closed stone face. She might have smiled-but no, that was simply the cast of her features. She had a great face for a maid, with a permanent wry expression perfect for deflecting trouble.
She knocked lightly on the door, and the voices were abruptly stilled. She pushed the door open and shuffled soundlessly aside for Carver to enter.
The entire family was there. Adam Kave was standing near open French doors, holding a ceramic coffee mug. Elana, looking pale and distraught, was curled on the sofa, also gripping a coffee mug. She’d spilled coffee on her pink robe, leaving two small but distinct wet spots on her lap. Nadine was standing next to Joel Dewitt, her expression tight and stormy. Dewitt looked mad, but not as mad as the red-haired Mel Bingham, who was standing a few feet from him on the other side of Nadine. Not many people could look as angry as Bingham. He resembled a skinny modern-day Viking consumed by the red rage. A berserker with wild eyes and clenched fists. A large vein pulsed and writhed like a blue worm trapped beneath the taut flesh of his forehead. Ugly, ugly.
Adam Kave cleared his throat loudly; he was embarrassed. He nodded and said, “Carver.” Nadine glared at Carver. Elana regarded him remotely, as if from behind soundproof glass. Dewitt and Bingham hardly noticed him; they were glaring at each other. Carver felt like a servant in a British movie: part of the scene yet not a part, existing in a lower-level universe of manner and meaning. He wished just then that he had a face like the maid’s.
“We were discussing where Nadine went last night,” Adam said. “I happened to hear her leave a few minutes after two and then return several hours later. She refuses to tell us why she sneaked out in the middle of the night or where she was going under cover of darkness.”
“I don’t see why I should have to tell,” Nadine said. She was wearing yellow shorts and a sleeveless white top. Her thick, tennis player’s thighs flexed powerfully as she shifted her weight. Her black hair was skinned back and braided with a yellow ribbon. A healthy and vigorous girl who looked ready to play time to a draw and always have her own teeth and live to be two hundred.
“We assumed you went to meet Joel,” Elana told her. “Since you and he are seeing each other anyway, we simply wondered why you felt the need to sneak away behind our backs.” She talked as if they weren’t engaged and were merely casually dating. There was something about her daughter’s involvement with Dewitt she couldn’t even come close to acknowledging as reality. Or maybe she figured that, with her limited time left alive, she could accept or reject whatever she pleased and ultimately it wouldn’t matter whether it had been fantasy or fact.
“But when it was mentioned this morning at breakfast in Joel’s presence,” Adam said, “it was obvious he knew nothing about it.”
If either of them suspected Nadine had sneaked off to meet her brother, they weren’t saying so.
“I think she went to meet this turd,” Dewitt said, pointing at the seething Bingham, “but she’s afraid to admit it, and so is he. Why’s he always hanging around the house, anyway? He’s got no business here.”
“I come to see Nadine,” Bingham said, “whether you like it or not. We’ve been friends since childhood, and I’ve come and gone here whenever I wanted for years.”
“Only to see Nadine?”
“Of course.”
“Well, that’ll soon be over.”
Bingham fumed and Elana smiled. It was as if she were pleased at seeing Dewitt’s true personality exposed under stress. Will the real sleazy seller of doctored engines and tired transmissions please stand up? Yet there was a kind of regret in her eyes.
“If you want to think I met Mel, fine,” Nadine said. “There’s no way either of us can convince you otherwise, so fuck you.”
Dewitt said, “I notice our friend Mel’s not trying very hard to convince me that it wasn’t him you sneaked out to meet.”
“I wish she
The tension level in the room was electric, tickling the nape of Carver’s neck. It must feel that way where lightning was about to strike.
Nadine said, “Hey, calm down, Mel,” and moved closer to him and gently rested a hand on his shoulder.
That seemed to burn Dewitt’s fuse all the way down. He reached around her and grabbed the taller but thinner Bingham by the shirtfront. Nadine ducked low as Bingham pulled back, popping buttons. “For God’s sake!” Nadine said. Bingham raised an arm, elbow crooked, and awkwardly angled a punch over her head at Dewitt. Not with much force. Dewitt blocked it and yanked Bingham around Nadine, who took two off-balance steps and dropped hard to her hands and knees, jarring the room.
“Joel! Stop it!” Adam Kave yelled.
But it was Bingham bringing the fight to Dewitt. The lanky redhead was hurling windmill punches, landing one in four. Not a lot of skill, and too much righteous fury. Each time he threw a punch he grunted with effort and the mindless joy of combat. Forward was the only direction he knew.
Dewitt was all icy determination now, infuriated but calm, slipping punches and weaving and conserving his energy and waiting for Bingham to wear himself out. His blue eyes never blinked, even when Bingham landed a punch.
Finally Bingham stepped back, his scrawny chest heaving. He’d had enough action, worked away his rage. Reason had returned.
Dewitt smiled and said, “My turn,” and neatly kicked him in the groin. A short, economic flight of the foot. Must have had karate lessons somewhere along the line.
Bingham went white and dropped in a hunched position on the floor, his hands cupped between his legs. He rocked forward until his nose touched the thick rug. Dewitt, still with that nasty calm smile, began systematically kicking him, starting with the ribs and working toward the head.
Carver knew Bingham would soon be hurt seriously, if he didn’t already have some broken ribs or bruised internal organs. Dewitt was wearing pointy-toed leather loafers that could do genuine harm; Italian-import Mafia shoes.
Reaching out with the cane, Carver hooked Dewitt’s arm and pulled him away from Bingham. Dewitt whirled and tried to wrest the cane from Carver’s grip. It took him only a second to realize Carver’s superior strength; a man’s upper body developed powerfully from pushing around with a cane, from hours of swimming against strong ocean current.
“You’re gonna hurt him in a way you’ll regret,” Carver said, holding the cane tight and leaning into Dewitt to keep from falling. If he went down, he knew he’d have to drag Dewitt with him; he didn’t want to be kicked like Bingham.
Dewitt let out a long, trailing breath and released the cane. He looked around, his eyes dull and his mouth slack. Blood was dripping from the point of his chin onto the floor. Carver listened to it
He stepped over Bingham and stalked out.
“Joel!” Nadine cried, and ran after him, leaving Bingham whimpering on the floor. “Dammit, come back, Joel! Please, honey!” Not hard to see where her loyalty lay. Carver knew she hadn’t met Bingham last night. Or Joel Dewitt.
He and Adam Kave helped Bingham to his feet.
“You hurt bad?” Adam asked.
Bingham, still pale, shook his head. “. . Be okay,” he mumbled. “Pain going away. A little sick to my stomach.”
Adam helped him walk to the sofa. Bingham slumped down on the cushions, clasping his right side where Dewitt had scored with some well-placed kicks. Pain was bending his body forward in a tight coil.
Elana stood up slowly, almost as if she were bored, and without speaking left the room. The lilac scent of her perfume followed her.
“You should get upstairs and rest, dear,” Adam called after her unnecessarily. “Try not to worry about all this.” She didn’t answer. He turned toward Carver. “She seems calm, but inside she’s upset, sucked dry of energy.
