Double Cross (18 page)
“You mean she was singing to herself?”
“No! She was so loud that people all over the place could hear her. And then, you should have seen how she cut her food at brunch. She approached it like a heart surgeon and then arranged her food in patterns on her plate.”
“Sounds as if she has issues. Maybe you’re expecting more than she’s capable of giving. Maybe she’s just not . . . right enough to be what you want her to be.”
“I’m not as good a person as you are, Kace. I’m not willing to cut her that much slack. It seems to me like she’s right enough to show at least a token bit of interest in her own daughter, but she’s just too self-centered to do it. It’s not like she’s completely out of her mind or anything.”
Kacey looked at me sympathetically.
“By the way, their house is a mansion. Must be ten thousand square feet.”
“Does she work?”
“No, but her husband—number three, by the way—is a chemical-engineering professor. According to her, he’s some sort of genius. She said he works with the oil industry on the side and makes loads of money.”
She pumped a fist. “Way to cash in, Hillary! Now, if we can just keep you together with Rob Morrow.”
I frowned. I was not going to let her draw me into a Morrow discussion. “I found out something interesting about her. It’s probably nothing, but at least it got my attention. She takes Valium for anxiety. I saw her prescription bottle. It was almost empty. She said that she would fall asleep way before she could take as much as Elise took.”
Kacey leaned back in her chair. “So, your mother takes Valium, and she was one of the few people who knew about Chase. You don’t think—”
I held up a hand. “Look, I’m not much of a conspiracy theorist. I’m sure a million people take Valium, and nine-hundred-ninety-nine-thousand plus of them didn’t know about Chase. Elise commits suicide while loaded with Valium; nobody finds a prescription bottle for Valium in Elise’s house; my mother takes Valium, and she is one of the few people who knew that your father had a son. It’s an interesting coincidence, but it would be ridiculous to draw any conclusions from it. I’m a lot more interested in what my mother said about the effects of the Valium. Elise must have been totally zonked. How did she get herself into the car in the first place?”
“Maybe she got into the car before the Valium had a chance to kick in. By the way, based on what I saw the other night, I wouldn’t be surprised if Brandon takes Valium, too.”
Now, I smiled. “Nothing that Brandon takes would surprise me.”
Kacey got up, walked over, and put her hand on my shoulder. “Seriously, I’m sorry your mother’s been a disappointment. I’ll bet it will get better between you. She probably just needs time. Are you okay?”
That really made me feel bad. After all, Kacey had lost her mother and father, and here I was whining. It was time to take Dad’s advice and hop off the self-pity wagon. “I’m fine. To change the subject, when’s your first final?”
“Tuesday. It’s literature and should be easy. My last one’s a week from Tuesday, so they’re ridiculously spread out. I’m a little worried about econ. That’s Friday. I’m trying to get an early start on studying for that one.”
If she was worried, the rest of the class must be leaping out dorm windows. The girl was a genius.
Despite my efforts she turned the conversation away from herself. “I suppose this all means that Brandon is Suspect Number One.” She sounded happy about that. She obviously hadn’t forgotten the remark that Brandon made about her father.
“Nice transition. I thought we were talking about your finals?”
“Who wants to talk about finals when we’ve got a murder to solve?”
“Whoa. We don’t know Elise was murdered.”
“Well, if she was, I’d say that Brandon is Suspect Number One.”
“Maybe. Or maybe there are no suspects at all, because maybe Elise really did kill herself. Or it could be that lots of other people knew about Chase. We just don’t have enough information to know.”
“Did you ask your mother if she had told anyone?”
“I was never in a situation where I could ask her. She was too intent on pointing out all of her expensive furniture. I’ll have to get back over there and talk to her again.”
Kacey pulled her cell phone out of the pocket of her jeans and checked it. “Wow, it’s two o’clock. I’ve got to get some studying done.” She walked over and picked her econ book off the floor next to the ottoman. “Do you want me to come along to your mother’s next time you go? I’d love to see that house. For that matter, if you want me to come along on your next date with Rob, I think I can find a free evening.”
I felt my neck getting warm and concentrated hard to keep my voice nonchalant. “Wouldn’t that interfere with your studying? I thought econ was supposed to be so hard.”
“Listen, Rob Morrow trumps econ every time.” With her textbook in her hand, she walked past me and started down the hallway toward her room. “You just give me a call any time you need a chaperone. I can be available on very short notice.”
The sad thing was that she had our roles pegged precisely. Although I was nearly ten years older, I was the one who needed chaperoning. Kacey could have handled Rob Morrow with no problem. With that humiliating thought capping an eighteen-hour slice of life that I wanted desperately to forget, I stretched my feet out on the couch and closed my eyes.
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
I CALLED MY MOTHER the next morning and asked if I could drop by her house that afternoon. When I got there, she answered the door in a yellow bikini. For a fifty-year-old woman she looked amazingly good. Her hair was pulled back in a bun. She had a red-and-blue striped beach towel in one hand; in the other was a beat-up copy of
The Brothers Karamazov.
The Brothers Karamazov.
I walked into the house and unbuttoned my leather jacket. I wondered whether I should give her a hug. After all, that’s what mothers and daughters did, wasn’t it? I took a tentative step in her direction. For an instant, she leaned ever so slightly in my direction. Just as quickly, she caught herself and clasped her shoulders, as if to shiver. She took a step back.
I sighed and stuck my hands in the pockets of my jacket. “It’s thirty-five degrees outside. Don’t tell me you swim in this weather?”
“Heavens, no. Do you think I’m crazy?”
I decided not to respond to that one.
“I was just getting ready to get in the hot tub. It’s a great way to relax and do some reading.”
I looked at the book in her hand.
“The Brothers Karamazov?
Not exactly hot-tub reading for most people.”
“The Brothers Karamazov?
Not exactly hot-tub reading for most people.”
“I find Dostoevsky relaxing. I’ve already read it twice.”
“Of course, who hasn’t?”
“Dostoevsky was epileptic, you know.”
She was already drifting. “Listen, I came by because I’ve got some questions to ask you. Is there a place where we can talk?”
“The hot tub is a great place to talk. Did you bring your swimsuit?”
I studied her face. Against all odds, it appeared that she was serious. “I don’t usually carry it with me in December.”
She turned and walked toward the back of the house. Over her shoulder she said, “I know you’re trying to be sarcastic, but I choose to ignore it. I am in my peace zone, and nothing can intrude if I don’t want it to. Why don’t you just wear one of my swimsuits?”
The most frightening thing about the suggestion was that we were probably the same size. I followed her through the foyer toward the family room in the back. “Your peace zone? Is that some sort of New Age thing?”
“It’s Dr. Schiltz’s term. He’s my therapist. Cute little guy. Bald as a cue ball, but sometimes that can be attractive, don’t you think?”
“I hadn’t given it much thought.”
“I always believed that Yul Brynner was so—”
I held up a hand. “I think you’re losing your focus. You were explaining your peace zone.” It occurred to me that even the peace zone part of the conversation represented a significant loss of focus, but it was closer to where I wanted to be than Yul Brynner.
“It’s my personal place, my quiet place, and I don’t need to allow anyone into it.”
“Okay, I don’t really want to enter your peace zone. In fact, it frightens me a little bit. All I want is to talk for a few minutes. Is there someplace a little drier than the hot tub?”
She snapped the cap shut on her lotion bottle and draped the beach towel over her shoulders. “I don’t like to miss my hot-tub time.”
“Do you get in the hot tub at the same time every day?”
“No.” She gave me a blank look.
This line of questioning was getting me nowhere. “Okay, what do you want to do? Do you want me to wait in here until you’re finished?” I was already mentally running through the business calls I could return while I waited for her to achieve a wet peace.
She spotted an un-rubbed glob of lotion on her shoulder and massaged it in. “Oh, no. You can come out and talk to me while I’m in the water. You don’t have to get in.”
“But won’t that disturb your—” What was I doing? I stuck my hands in my pockets. “Which way to the hot tub?”
She picked up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter off the island, turned and walked toward the back door. I hitched my purse on my shoulder and hurried to catch up.
The air was cold by Dallas standards, but the sun was out, and the backyard fence blocked the wind. It wasn’t a day at the beach, but it was far from uncomfortable. I dragged a green-and-black lounge chair over next to the hot tub as my mother slid into the frothy water.
I was not going to waste time. Before she finished shifting her weight around to find a comfortable position, I said, “I came over to ask you who else knows about Chase.”
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the deck. One knee extended through the surface of the water, which swirled over and around as if it were a rock jutting from a stream. “So that’s why you wanted to come over. I thought that maybe you just wanted to see me.” She seemed genuinely disappointed.
I sat back on the lawn chair and stretched my legs. “I do want to see you, but I also want to know who else knows about Chase.”
She let her knee slide under the water and allowed her arms to float to the surface. She sat there with her eyes closed, her arms drifting in front of her, and I could see that she was rapidly approaching her peace zone. I wondered whether the conversation would continue once she crossed the boundary, or whether I would have to wait until she made reentry.
She opened one eye. “And is it your business to know whom I may have told about Simon and me?”
I crossed one foot over the other. “Yes, it is. I’ll explain why later, if you want me to. First, though, I’d like to know: Who did you tell?”
“My, my, you’re demanding. Actually, I like that. It’s still a man’s world. A woman has to be assertive. That’s why I admire that Susan Sarandon. She really seems to keep Tim Robbins in line. She’s quite a bit older than he is, you know.”
I shook my head. “What does this have to do with Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins?”
“I was just using her as an example.”
I folded my arms. “You were going to tell me who else knows about Chase.”
Now she opened both eyes and moved her arms back and forth across the surface of the water. “Not a soul.”
I raised an eyebrow. “C’mon, you mean that in all these years you’ve never told a single person?”
“No one except Stanley. He and I share everything. I told him about both of my prior marriages and about Simon and Chase. Total honesty is the foundation of a good marriage.”
“It’s worked so well for you in the past.” That was plain mean, and I wished I hadn’t said it.
“So you came over here to be judgmental.” She clasped her shoulders again, just as she had done at the front door when I tried to hug her. “I’m used to that.”
“I’m sorry. That was out of line. I’ve got a sarcastic sense of humor and sometimes I don’t use very good judgment with it.”
She let her arms slide beneath the surface and moved her legs in a flutter kick, her toes pointed perfectly straight. She watched intently as her feet moved the water. I thought of a little girl, playing alone in the water, and for a second I sensed that she had blocked me out—or simply forgotten I was there.
I was certain she could entertain herself for hours there in the hot tub. Looking back, that was the first time I got a hint of the world of my mother’s mind—a world apart from the rest of us, where she lived alone and, for the most part, contented.
“If you have to know,” she said, “I never really tried total honesty before. This marriage is very important to me. It’s my last chance. If I can’t make this work . . . well, I don’t want to be a three-time loser.”
She had come back to our world as quickly as she left, and I felt sorry for her. It was clear which world was more comfortable for her. I wanted to tell her that I thought I was beginning to understand, but there was no way to express it without the risk of offending her. So I said nothing for a while, and she seemed content to lie there in the water with her eyes closed.
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