Reilly 11 - Case of Lies (20 page)

15

AS DUSK FELL OVER THE SIERRA, the Great Tahoe Weekend got going. Winding her way up Spooner Pass from the Reno airport, Nina approached the California state line. The big casino-hotels hove into view, attended by their happy throngs, whose happiness would evaporate bit by bit over the next two days in direct proportion to their stashes of cash.

She turned onto Pioneer Trail with relief, leaving the fortune-seekers behind, and turned left onto the uphill cul-de-sac of Pony Express, where her brother Matt lived, and where she had left Bob twenty-odd hours before.

The house at the end of the block abutted some nice trails and good rock climbing. Although it wasn’t quite dark yet, a full moon peeped over the hill behind Matt and Andrea’s rooftop. She parked and walked up the path to the front door. Light spilled from the windows and she heard within the anxious cry of Matt and Andrea’s baby, June.

“Come on in,” Matt said. “How was your trip?”

“Breathless. How’d it go with Bob?”

“Follow me,” he said. “Stuff to report on that front.” He went to the fridge and pulled out a couple of diet root beers, offering her one, which she took.

“Hungry? Want some leftover spaghetti?”

“No thanks. Where’s Andrea?” Nina asked.

“At a Women’s Center meeting. I’ve got the kids. Bob and Troy are in Troy ’s room playing video games.”

“Should we get June? I heard her crying when I came in.”

“She’s asleep now.” They both listened with the exquisite attention of people who have experienced parenthood. No sound came from June’s crib.

“Bob and Troy have gotten out of hand.”

Matt had had a long day towing vehicles with flat tires around the shoreline. He was thinner these days, and so was his hair. He was only thirty-four, but age and three kids to support already marked him. He ran a parasailing business during the summer months, which made up for the slim pickings in the winter, when he rescued tourists with his tow truck. These days, he and Nina talked a lot about his businesses, his tax problems, employee problems, contract problems. The old carefree Matt still came out now and then, but the adult emerging lately was harassed, unable to be expansive and light.

“What did they do?” Nina said, setting her can down on the table, not wanting to hear the lecture apparently pending. Why couldn’t she collect Bob and head home? Why did every single day have to be so fraught?

“They hung bolos on telephone lines all over town.”

“Bolos?”

“They collect rocks and attach them to a couple of feet of electrical tape, then they skateboard around town until they find an accessible telephone line. They toss the bolo until it falls over the line, with the rocks dangling over either side. Yesterday they spent most of the evening throwing these things.”

“Where in the world did they get an idea like that?” Nina said.

“Ask your son. Troy ’s his minion. He follows the plan.”

“Oh, Matt. Like Troy has no say in the matter. As if he doesn’t love every minute of it.”

“I’m not excusing him, but Bob’s older. He should act his age.”

She thought about that, his age, fourteen, and what that meant.

“You look amused. It’s not amusing,” Matt said.

“Remember yourself at fourteen? The time you crawled through your bedroom window absolutely bubbling from beer, and Mom heard you, but thought you were a burglar and called the police?”

He grimaced. “Don’t remind me. You know we expect better from our kids. And by the way, you could have told her but you didn’t. You let the cops come and hassle me. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you for that. And all the other stuff.” Matt was upset. He didn’t like it when Bob egged Troy on into trouble. Sometimes Nina thought that he was especially sensitive because when she and Matt were kids, she had done the same thing to Matt, persuaded him into all kinds of harebrained schemes.

Of course, Matt in his early adulthood had found much more trouble all on his own, but no need to get into that any further. He had turned into a strict parent who grounded his kids. He might be right, she sure couldn’t judge, but it still struck her as a harmless prank.

She laughed. “I was sixteen and so superior. I thought you deserved a kick in the rear end.”

“Mean older sister.”

“Matt, it’s not like they beat up a senior citizen,” Nina said.

“ Troy ’s grounded,” Matt told her. “They had one of these things slung over the line right outside. I made them get it down. It took a long time, because it isn’t easy. Nina, quit laughing. Add some heavy snow during the winter and that line could come down. And it interferes with utility lines. They could get a ticket or something. Plus, they climb fences and go into people’s yards without permission. Of course, most people don’t care, but some of them are pretty protective of their space. They came here for some peace and privacy. They don’t need a couple of wild kids rioting through their yards.”

“Okay, you’re right,” Nina said.

“Make Bob understand he can’t do things like that,” Matt said, “not when he’s staying with us, anyway.”

“I will.”

“He’s out of control.”

“I said I will!” But Matt didn’t seem to believe her. Now she was upset, too. Bob wasn’t a troublemaker. He was a high-spirited kid, and…

“Sometimes I think…” Matt started, then stopped.

“You think what?”

“Never mind.”

“No, Matt. Spill it. What’s on your mind?”

He scratched the back of his neck. He needed a haircut. His blond hair almost touched his shoulders. He looked fitter than a man in his early thirties, tall and muscular, but his face was as careworn as that of a man in his fifties. “I think he misses Paul. He’s staying busy because he’s dealing with a loss, too. Did that ever occur to you?”

“They never got along that well.”

“I suspect they were closer than you imagined. And Paul-well, he’s tougher than you.”

“You mean because Paul’s a guy? You think I can’t manage my son on my own?”

“Nina, no,” Matt said, shocked. “I never said that! It’s just easier with two people playing off each other, bad cop, good cop. Gives them perspective.”

“Hey, Mom.” Unfortunately, Bob chose this moment to appear at the kitchen door, accompanied by Hitchcock, who rushed toward Nina.

“Hey, kiddo.” She held Hitchcock off. “Good boy. How’s my big boy? Down! Down!”

“I’ll get my stuff. Meet you at the truck,” Bob said.

“Thank your uncle for letting you stay over last night.”

“Thanks, Uncle Matt,” Bob said. “I love coming here.”

Matt’s expression softened. He said, “So long, buddy.”

The three Reillys, human and canine, drove home. Nina felt disgraced. “I heard about the bolos.”

“Aw, we were just havin’ fun.”

“You’re out of control.” This echo of Matt forced itself unbidden out of her mouth.

“I couldn’t do my hazardous-waste work with Taylor ’cause I wasn’t at home. There’s nothing to do around here! Troy and I were just goofing around.”

“Well, you upset Uncle Matt. You showed bad judgment. Tomorrow we’ll drive around and you’ll knock down all those bolos.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake.”

On Saturday morning after breakfast, they cruised around the area of Bob and Troy ’s bolo-tossing. The boys had restrained their mischief-making to streets near Pioneer Trail. Bolos swung from telephone wires all up and down the neighborhood. Nina parked at each one and Bob got out, found a rock, and started throwing. Some of the bolos wound themselves tighter. Only one cooperated by falling to the ground.

“Can we give it up, Mom?”

“What the-what’s going on?” They had come to an unusual-looking bolo, strung conspicuously on a line on Jicarilla, only blocks from their house. “Those aren’t rocks. Hey! My shoes!”

“Remember how you complained they were old and you needed a new pair of running shoes that would inspire you to run once in a while?”

“I never said throw them up for the neighbors to hate!”

“They made a perfect bolo. Sorry, Mom.”

“My dirty old shoes! You get out there and knock them down.”

But all Bob’s throwing efforts only resulted in an extra loop of electrical tape wrapping around the line. It appeared that Nina’s wretched sneakers would dangle forever above the street, symbols of anarchy and of the essential weirdness of the world.

Nina could not stand it. “Bob, you are grounded until you get those sneakers down. And you are not allowed to climb on the telephone poles or do anything dangerous to get them down.”

“But Taylor and me have to go collect waste this afternoon!”

“How much money have you made with your work?”

“Why do you ask?”

“How much?”

“Sixty-two dollars.”

“That should cover the cost of a good tall ladder. I’ll help you finish this project. We’ll get your money and go to the hardware store.”

“I worked hard for that money! I have plans for it!”

“That’s life in the city,” Nina said heartlessly.

“Wait. Give us a chance first.” Bob held his hands up. “ Taylor ’s coming over. He’ll help me.”

“You can’t leave the house except to buy a ladder and get my shoes down.”

“I’ll take care of it, Mom.”

“Yes, you will.” They drove back home in silence. Bob went to his room and got on the phone.

A short time later Taylor Nordholm, Bob’s homie, showed up. Taylor hadn’t had his growth spurt yet and was physically awkward, except in his weight-lifting arms, but he had an insouciant maturity in his manners. He went to find her and greet her.

“It’s good to have you and Bob back in town,” he said. “How are you, Mrs. Reilly?” He carried a brown paper bag.

“Fine,” Nina said, plumping the pillows on the bed she had just made.

“Well, see you later.”

“Don’t do anything unsafe.” The boys left and she completed a disaster-prevention pickup of the cabin. When she had folded the laundry, she collapsed on the couch, letting Hitchcock crawl beside her, letting the worry flow back in.

The man who had tried to hurt them was probably the shooter. She had talked to Cheney the minute she got back from Massachusetts, but the police hadn’t found him yet.

She had to assume Sarah’s killer knew her home address. She had apparently done what she never wanted to do: drawn attention to herself, and by extension, to her family.

She got up and walked to the entry closet, opened the door, and checked the lights on the keypad inside to see that all the doors and windows were properly secured, and the alarm was ready to be armed for the night. In the bedroom, she lifted the mattress. Yes, there it was, the knife in a leather sheath-crazy, but it made her feel better. Then she took down from its hook on the wall the shillelagh her dad had given her once upon a time. A heavy cudgel made of some extremely hard wood, it had a big knob on one end and a hole drilled through the other end for a leather cord. A leprechaun smoking a pipe had been carved into the base.

She swung it, first a little, then as if bringing it down on someone’s head. Her blood rose, not in fear, but in anger. Uncivilized, these feelings. After tucking it into the cabinet by the front door, she checked the lock on the door itself. Secure. Midday sun poured down on the porch. She stepped outside to sit on the steps.

Bob and Taylor strolled around the corner into view, carrying her sneakers, Hitchcock rambling behind.

Smiling, Nina said, “How’d you do it?” She accepted the sneakers, which bore traces of electrical tape.

Bob said, “ Taylor brought over his dad’s shaver. It operates on batteries. We attached it with tape to a long stick we found in the meadow. Then I turned it on and held it up and shaved right through the tape, and the shoes fell down.”

“Good move, kids,” Nina said. “What an idea. I doubt I would have thought of using a shaver on a stick.”

“You have to think outside the lines,” Bob said, repeating an old line they often used with each other. “Am I still grounded?”

“Until you wash the truck,” she said.

The boys were extremely pleased with themselves. Bob got the hose from the yard and they gave the truck a rinse, if not a wash, then Bob turned the hose on Taylor, who grabbed it away. They kept it up until they were screaming and almost blue from the cold. Then they went inside, dried off, and helped themselves to microwaved popcorn, leaving a good portion on the kitchen floor for Hitchcock to clean. Soon Taylor ’s dad drove up and collected them for their waste-disposal rounds.

You had to hand it to Bob. He had a way about him.

***

The afternoon passed in a blur of errands. Finally Nina was back on her couch, a freshly bathed dog at her feet, a crystal glass full to the brim with Clos du Bois-the sauvignon blanc, not the chardonnay-in her hand, and the news on TV.

The phone rang. The call was from the land of men.

“Hi. It’s Mick.” Mick the math teacher.

“Hello,” Nina said.

“I hope you don’t mind me calling you at home. You gave me your personal card. I hope it wasn’t by accident. Hey, guess what day it is.”

“Saturday.”

“That’s right. And Saturday night is date night. I heard around town that you might actually be free for a change.”

“For a date?”

“That’s right. A harmless sort of thing. Dinner, wherever you want. I know it’s late notice. But we’re grown-ups and we can break the rules.”

“What about your wife?”

“I told you, she left me.”

“What about the student?”

“She came to her senses and left me, too. It was a disastrous peccadillo. She was twenty-one, by the way. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

“Mick, I can’t go out with you. I’m very flattered. But I’m your lawyer. It would be unethical.”

“You put up some major obstacles, Nina, but I am a mathematician and I anticipated that one. I am resigning as your client. I’ll find some other lawyer. We have nothing pending anyway. I hadn’t consulted you yet. Nina?”

“I don’t think so, Mick.”

“What are your plans for tonight?”

She planned to take a walk in the neighborhood with Hitchcock. On the other hand, it would be nice to sit across a table from a well-spoken man. Neither of them had a thing to do on this particular night. Why not?