Burn (15 page)

“Fair enough.”

She stood for a moment. She uncrossed her arms.

“No, ” she said. “I don't think it is. If we're going to start over from scratch, why should you be the one to call the shots?”

It wasn't an unreasonable question. He didn't offer an answer. After a short stretch of silence, she asked another. This one surprised him.

“Do you know what today is?”

“Besides Wednesday?”

She smirked. “You might find this funny. Today happens to be my birthday.”

“Hey, no kidding.” He didn't know what was so funny about it. “Happy birthday.”

“It's been a real laugh riot so far, ” she said. “But I'll tell you one thing: if you think I'm going to cap it off by
driving all the way to some beer joint in the sticks, think again.”

It took effort not to smile. Andrew could see he was going to have to try harder not to like this girl.

“I guess I can be flexible.”

“Good. I'm in the mood for food. Think you're flexible enough to talk and eat at the same time?”

“I'll do my best.”

“Do you have a car of your very own?”

“I have a car of my very own.”

“Pick me up at the house, then, ” she said. “Six o'clock. And don't ring at the gate; I'll meet you on the street.”

“I don't know about that.”

“What's the matter? Forget the directions already?”

Andrew took a moment to ponder the scenario. He looked her in her clear brown eyes but found he still couldn't read them.

“I think we should keep this simple.”

“Relax, ” she told him. “This is a business appointment, not a date. I'll pay for my own dinner and everything.”

Andrew looked at her.

“See you at six, ” she said.

Before he could say a word, she pivoted on a sandal and left him standing there.

Andrew watched Heather Lomax move off through the crowd. Even after she was long gone, he still tingled with strange energy.

He turned his attention to Travis Plum, whom he'd spied in the near distance. Plum relaxed on an iron bench with a food court soda cup in his hand. He had a smile on his face. Andrew walked over.

“How long have you been sitting there?”

“Long enough, ” Plum said.

Andrew sighed. “Go ahead and say it.”

“Say what?” Plum sucked on his soda straw, chuckling to himself.

“You're like a child, ” Andrew said. “I swear.”

“Oh, don't feel so bad, ” Plum told him. “This isn't as easy as it looks. I told you there was an art to it.”

He smiled around his soda straw all the way back to the parking garage.

THOUGH
the sun had already begun its long hanging arc toward the waterline, daylight wouldn't begin to fade for some time. Andrew parked in the shade of a squat avocado tree to cut late-afternoon glare. From this position, he had a partial view through the gates to the Lomax spread. He could see rows of hedges, the first curve of what appeared to be a large circle driveway, and the wide stone lip of an outdoor fountain surrounded by manicured green.

At 5:57, the gates opened. Andrew undid his seat belt and got out of the car.

Heather Lomax saw him, looked both ways, and crossed the street. She twisted as she walked, reaching back with one hand to aim some type of key fob in the direction of the fence. A red eye winked from the center of a small box nestled in the bougainvillea, and the gates closed again behind her.

This girl didn't need a keyring, Andrew thought. She needed a utility belt.

For this appointment, she wore a simple sleeveless blouse and a knee-length skirt with some Spanish-looking embroidery around the hem. She'd pulled out her ponytail; let down this way, her hair just touched the strap of the small purse Heather Lomax carried from one shoulder.

Andrew walked around the front bumper and waited for her at the passenger side. When she stepped up onto the curb, he opened the door.

“You showed up, ” she said.

“I have this new thing about starting over on the right foot.” He stuck out his hand. “Andrew Kindler. Pleased to meet you.”

The twitch at the corner of her mouth might or might not have been a grin. Either way, she shook his hand.

“Heather, ” she said. “Likewise, I'm sure.”

While Andrew held the door, she bent at the waist and eased herself into the car, smoothing her skirt as she pulled her leg in after her. When he saw that she was in, Andrew shut the door. He waited for a car on the street to pass, then walked back around and got in his own side again.

Heather Lomax waited calmly in the passenger seat, hands folded in her lap. In the confines of the car, he could smell some kind of lotion on her skin. The silence in the space seemed gelid; Andrew started the engine just to put a ripple in it.

While the car idled, he turned in the seat.

“This isn't going to work until we get one thing out of the way, ” he said.

Heather Lomax shrugged. “Then let's get it out of the way.”

“You seem like an intelligent person.”

“Thank you.”

“Don't thank me. Just tell me why you're sitting here.”

She looked at him. “Why are you?”

“This isn't a game, ” he said. “So let's agree to phrase our answers in the form of an answer. Deal?”

Her brown eyes flashed.

“If you think this is a game to me, you're wrong, ” she said. “And if you want an answer, ask a real question. How about we agree on that?”

She was either a better actress than Plum seemed to take her for, or the anger in her voice was genuine. Either way, Andrew saw no reason not to oblige.

First, he stated the obvious.

“We could have met at the restaurant, or wherever it is we're going. A familiar, public place—that makes sense. If I were you, that's exactly the way I'd want it to be.” He looked at her. “But you have me pick you up at your house.”

“This isn't my house. This is my father's house.”

“And if you really aren't playing games, then you're way more trusting than you should be. Either that, or you're not as smart as I thought.”

“Maybe I just like to trust my first impressions about people.”

“Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?”

“If it seems like a compliment, ” she said, “then by all means do.”

Andrew cut to the point instead.

“Yesterday morning, I traded introductions with the first three new people I've met since I moved to this town, ” he said. “One was a cop. One was a private investigator. And one was your friend Benjamin. All three
of them were looking for your brother. Him I haven't met.”

“Then why are
you
looking for him?”

“I'll explain what I can about that. But only if you can explain to me why you sent your friend Benjy to pay me off, ” he said. “And don't tell me you figured I must know something about your brother because Plum followed some cop to the place where I'm staying. That doesn't wash.”

“That didn't stop you from taking my money.”

“I didn't take your money. Benjy left your money. There's a difference.”

Heather opened her mouth, but she closed it again without saying anything.

“He didn't tell you that, did he?”

“He said he gave you the money, ” Heather said. “I didn't ask him for a play-by-play.”

“Oh, he gave it to me. All five thousand dollars of it. Damage control, right? Isn't that what he was supposed to say?” Andrew shook his head. “Come on.”

She said nothing.

“You were making an investment, ” he said. “And you had some reason to think it might pay off. I want to know why.”

This time, Heather Lomax didn't quip. She didn't even wait for him to finish speaking. She simply opened up her purse, reached inside, and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She unfolded the paper, ran a finger along the crease, and handed it to him.

“I got that yesterday morning. About an hour before Benjy called to tell me we had a problem.”

The sheet was a photocopy of a typed note. Andrew read it twice while she spoke.

“I don't know who wrote it, ” Heather said, “but that's not my brother's signature. That is
not
my brother's handwriting.”

Andrew read the note again, shaking his head. He folded the paper and handed it back to her.

“I know who wrote it, ” he said.

It would have taken a colder soul than his not to feel the look that came to her eyes. Andrew reminded himself whose neck was on the line.

“Please, ” she said. “There's more money. However much you want. If you know something … please.”

“First, tell me where you got that.”

“Right here, ” she said. “It came by courier around ten o'clock. Not to me, to my father. The delivery guy wouldn't even let me sign for it at first.” She shook her head quickly. “I knew right then something was rotten. I practically had to stick my tongue in his ear to get him to leave it with me.”

“Who was the sender?”

“Blind, ” she said. “At least on the manifest. Inside the envelope, there was a cover note clipped to this one. All it said was ‘FYI.’ No name. But that number on the top of the sheet? That's an LAPD evidence tag.”

Andrew thought about that for a moment.

He said, “I take it your father has a friend on the force.”

“My father helped start the largest officer-assistance fund in that police department, ” Heather said. “He's on the board of commissioners, and when he votes, he votes blue. He's got all kinds of friends on the force.”

“Then I guess I should probably be thanking you for intercepting your daddy's mail.”

“Don't thank me, ” she said. “Just tell me why you're sitting here.”

Andrew smiled. She was something.

Instead of answering her question, he fastened his seat belt, let down the parking brake, and put the car in gear.

“It's your birthday, ” he said. “Dinner's on me.”

Todd Todman left the office early enough for an oatmeal facial and a long soak in the whirlpool tub. He buffed his elbows with a loofah sponge and moisturized from his forehead to his toes. He tweezed his eyebrows, trimmed the sprouts from his nostrils, and used a dab of product on his hair.

Todd brushed his teeth and gargled with sea salt. He shaved and spritzed a little Rocabar under his jaw.

Then he dressed, collected his cell phone and keys, grabbed the vase of greenery and fresh yellow blooms he'd picked up from the florist on the way home, and chewed two breath mints on his way out the door.

Traffic was monstrous, but Todd tried to think of it as an opportunity. He kept a finger on the cue button of the CD player while he idled in the clogs, scanning through the “best of” disc the kid at the Tower on Sunset had recommended as required prep for tonight's concert at Royce Hall. Todd had never heard of the performer before Heather had mentioned her in casual conversation a
month or two ago, even though he'd pretended to be a huge fan. In truth, he hadn't even known that “Sam Phillips” was a woman until the kid at the record store clued him in.

The good news was that he'd actually gotten to the point where he could hum along to most of the tracks for a few bars at a time. It wasn't until he turned onto Heather's street that the melodies hitched in his throat and died.

From a block away, Todd saw something up ahead that registered only peripherally at first glance. At first, he saw only a man holding a car door. A man awkwardly shaking a young woman's hand. He saw a first date in progress. The scene actually made him smile; buoyed by a sense of kinship, inspired by the prospect of romance in bud, he wished the two of them all the goodwill in the world.

As he neared Doren's front gates, however, Todd felt a sudden sizzle in his heart. He looked twice and touched the brake pedal, almost certain that his eyes were playing tricks on him.

Because surely that hadn't been
Heather
getting into that car.

The man shut the woman's door for her and waited for Todd to pass by. Todd didn't get a good look at him; he maintained his speed, keeping his eyes forward, his hands on the wheel.

As soon as he passed, he began to scour the rearview mirror for details. He saw the man walk around the front of the car, check the street both ways, and get in.

Todd realized that his knuckles had gone white from gripping the steering wheel. The time was 5:59
P.M.

Todd hung the first available right and pulled his Acura to the curb. Eyes still fixed on the rearview, he scooped up his phone and called Heather's line at the
house. The answering machine picked up after two rings. He punched off and sat for a moment. Then he scrolled through his presets to Heather's cell number.

When the service spat back its unavailable customer announcement and bounced him to Heather's voice-mail, Todd hung up again and closed his phone.

He thought:
Heather. You're not really doing this to me.

He thought:
Who IS that guy?

Todd caught a glimpse of motion. In the rearview, he saw the mystery car drive past, carrying away the evening he'd been planning for weeks. Todd forced himself to consider reasonable explanations for this shocking disappointment.