Family Honor - Robert B Parker (18 page)

"And what was your job?" I said.

Marguerite smiled at me the way professionals do when
an amateur asks them a question. "To help her see that her parents expectations
were not unreasonable, to see that she was perfectly capable of achieving
them, and to help her deal with her anger."

"She have any expectations for herself?" I said.

Marguerite shook her head very slightly, as if a fly had
landed on her ear. She didn't answer. Apparently the head twitch dismissed
the question.

"She a good patient?" I said.

Marguerite smiled sadly, "She was resistant."

"To the idea that her parents' expectations weren't unreasonable?"

"If' you wish," Marguerite said. "It is a bit more complex
than that."

"Of course," I said. "How did you do with her anger?"

"We were making some progress. We took a few moments every
session to help her drain some of it off."

"How?" I said, "if it's not privileged."

"No, no. It's not privileged," Marguerite said. "I use
it with many clients."

She nodded toward the corner of the room where a small
body bag stood on a pedestal with a pair of boxing gloves hanging from
a hook next to it.

"She hit the body bag?" I said.

"Yes. She was free to imagine it was anyone she wished."

"She say anything when she was punching the bag?" I said.
"I'm sorry, that would be privileged."

"But she did say things?"

"Not very much." Marguerite said. "It was a rather silent
fury."

"But she did give the bag a good punching out?"

"Yes."

"Like she liked it?"

"Yes."

"Do we call that displacement?" I said.

Again the indulgent smile. How sweet the way I tried to
understand the magic she performed.

"How'd she get here?" I said.

"I believe one of the servants drove her. A maid."

"Can you tell me if she was close to anyone?"

"We didn't spend much time on such matters," Marguerite
said. "I think she might have liked the maid who drove her, maybe a little."

"You know her name?"

"I don't recall."

"You have any notes, whatever, that might tell us?"

"I never take notes," Marguerite said. "I try to give
myself fully to the client. Empathy is crucial."

I was pretty sure that a certain amount of distance was
also useful, but I didn't think it would be productive to argue that point.
As we talked I glanced at the framed document on the wall. The best I could
make out from the Latinate mumbo jumbo in which they were written was she
had a B.A. from North Dakota State, and an M.Ed. from Lesley College.

"Do you happen to know if there is more than one maid?"

"I believe there is a butler and a maid."

"And the butler is a guy?"

"That is my impression."

"Is there anything else you can tell me that will help
me to understand her?"

"Perhaps you should be more concerned with finding her,"
Marguerite said.

"I have found her."

"Then why on earth ... ?"

"I'm trying to figure out what to do with her."

"You haven't returned her to her parents."

"She doesn't want to go."

".and you feel that her wishes are sufficiently mature."

"Yeah."

"And you feel that it is your responsibility to honor
them?"

"Yes."

"I hope you do not exceed your expertise," Marguerite
said.

I thought about taking a turn on the body bag. But I had
too much detecting to do. Displacement would have to wait.

"Me, too," I said.
 

By the time he got there I had my papers out and the window
down.

He said, "May I see your license and registration, please."

I handed them out, along with my detective license. The
cop was quite cute, with little crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He
was very young. Was he too young for me? Hideous thought.

"I'm working an undercover thing with the Boston Police,"
I said. "You can call Sergeant Brian Kelly, District 6 detectives, and
ask him."

"What might that undercover thing be?" he said.

"We're suspicious of one of your residents, but it may
not pan out, and we don't want to hurt anyone's reputation until we know."

"Wait here, please."

He walked backto the cruiser and was on the radio for
a long time. I didn't mind waiting. I was waiting anyway. Eventually the
young cop strolled back from his cruiser to my car and handed my papers
back to me.

"Took awhile to get Kelly," he said. "But we did and he
vouches for you. Talked to my chief, too. He says you can stay here long
as we don't get any complaints. But you annoy somebody or we get too many
calls about you hanging around the neighborhood, we're going to have to
respond."

"Sure," I said.

"Boston cops hiring a lot of private eyes these days?"

"Just happens that our interest coincide on this case."

"Well, you need some help, give us a call," he said.

He turned and strolled back to his cruiser, the way cops
do, sort of sauntering as if they had all the time in the world. I watched
him as he went. He backed up carefully, and pulled out around me and waved
and drove away. Young ... but not impossible.

I sat some more. It was full-out autumn now. A lot of
the trees were bare. The leaves that had fallen littered the road and packed
drably along the sides of the road. The leaves that hadn't fallen were
bright gold with some splashes here and there of red. After another hour
and a half, a small red Ford Escort came down the street that ran past
the Pattons' house and turned right, onto my street. The driver was a good-looking
black woman. I'd seen her twice now when I called on her employers, and,
being a trained observer, I recognized her as the Patton's maid. When she
drove past, I slid out behind her and trailed along after her as she turned
right in South Natick Center and drove along Route 16 through Wellesley
and parked in the lot beside Bread & Circus.

She went in. I went in behind her. Turned left where she
had turned right, went down an aisle and came up to her as if by accident.

"Hello," I said. "Small world."

She looked at me uncertainly.

"Sunny Randall," I said. "I'm doing some work for the
Pattons."

"Oh, yes, ma'am, how nice to see you."

"It's nice to see you. Do you have a minute so I could
buy you a cup of coffee?"

"Well, I really need to shop, Ms. Randall, and get back
for supper."

"It won't take long. I need to talk to you a little about
Millicent."

"My Millicent?"

"Millicent Patton," I said.

She was very good-looking, with big dark eyes and smooth
skin. She was wearing a nice perfume. In jeans and a white tee shirt she
might have been a Wellesley College senior, though if you looked closely
you could see a little more age than that at the corners of her eyes and
mouth. She looked regretfully at her carriage, which, so far had accumulated
a head of broccoli.

There's a place next door," she said finally.

"Good, thank you."

When we were seated and had our coffee, I said, "I don't
know your name.

"My real name is Elinor, but everyone calls me Billie."

"Last name?"

"Otis.

"My real name's Sonya," I said.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Please call me Sunny. Could you tell me a little about
Millicent."

Her eyes were steady as she looked at me.

"We don't talk about our employers," Billie said. "You
being who?"

"My husband and I."

"Your husband is the butler?"

"Yes."

"His name?"

"John."

"John Otis?"

"Yes."

I drank some coffee.

"I understand," I said, "and I admire, your reticence.
But I need help. She's in bigger trouble than any fifteen-year-old kid
ought to be, and I can only help her by understanding her and her family."

"You know where she is?" Billie said.

"Yes."

"She all right?"

"She's not hurt, and for the moment she's safe," I said.
"I understand that you used to drive her to counseling twice a week."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Billie, we're both employees. No need to ma'am me. My
name is Sunny."

Billie nodded.

"You drove her to therapy."

"Yes."

"Her parents ever drive her?"

"No."

"Too busy?"

"I guess."

"You and she ever talk about things when you were driving
her back and forth."

"Some."

"What did you talk about?"

Billie looked straight at me for a moment, her big dark
eyes full of the knowledge of things I'd never encountered. "This is a
good job, Miss Randall. Good money. John and I get to work together. We
get most weekends off together. Lot of couples work domestic, they never
get time off together."

"You like Millicent?" I said.

"I feel bad for her," Billie said.

"Because?"

"Because she's so alone. Got nobody to talk to."

"Except you?"

Billie didn't answer.

"Billie, she needs us to help her."

"You first," Billie said. "What kind of trouble is she
in?"

"There are men trying to find her. Men with guns. I had
to kill One."

Her face never changed.

"There's something going on involving her mother," I said,
"maybe her father, and I think it's why these men are after her. I think
it's why she ran away."

"I don't know anything about that," Billie said.

"You know a man named Cathal Kragan?"

She picked her coffee cup up in both hands and drank some
and put the cup back down and sat back in the wooden booth.

"Yes."

"How."

"If I tell you things, will it help Millicent?"

"It might," I said. "I don't know."

"You don't lie, do you?" Billie said.

"Actually I do," I said. "But this didn't seem the time."

"He's been to the house." Billie said. "It's not a name
you forget."

"Has he been alone?"

"Sometimes alone. Once with another man."

"What was the other man's name?"

"I don't remember; he only came once."

"What did he look like?"

"He was so out of place. French cuffs, spread collar,
silk tie, alligator shoes--the shoes had lifts in them, you could tell.
His nails were manicured."

"Old, young, middle-aged?"

"Middle-aged. And the other funny thing, he was the boss."

"How do you know?"

"The way he was. The way the other man was, the Kragan
man."

"Did they come to see Mr. or Mrs.?" I said.

"Both. I brought them into the study, where I brought
you, and Mr. and Mrs. Patton were both in there."

"Did they say anything?"

"No."

"When Kragan came to visit alone did he always call on
them both?"

"Usually. Except once, he just wanted to see Mrs. Patton."

"Which was the day Millicent ran away."

"I guess so."

"Did they love their daughter?" I said.

"I don't. .. how can I say?"

"You're not testifying in court, Billie," I said. "What
do you think? Do you think they loved her?"

She sat with her coffee cup in her hands and looked at
me. I waited. The small movement in the coffee shop seemed far away. She
began to shake her head, and as she shook it, her eyes dampened.