The Popsicle Tree (20 page)

“Ah? That's very strange.” I paused for effect, then said, feigning a light-bulb moment, “Oh, of course!! The policy was taken out in her name by her partner, Jan—Janice Maureen Houston, same address. I can give you her social security number if it will help.”

I did, and she went back to her computer.

Another long delay, then, “Yes, sir. Now I remember. The policy was issued from this office—I remember because it was the first claim I processed when I started here, about a month ago. Your sister did have a policy, but it was under the name of Jan Houston, who was the sole beneficiary.”

“It was issued from your office, you said?”

“Yes. It had Mr. Bolger's signature, I remember.”

“I see. Well, I very much appreciate your help.”

“If you'd care to hold a moment, I see Mr. Bolger just driving up now. He might be able to give you some more information.”

“Thank you very much, but I think I have what I need. Have a nice day.” And I hung up.

I hadn't asked the amount of the policy, but it didn't really matter…it was enough to buy a new car. And if it was taken out from the Carrington office, that meant it had to have been within the last year.

Next step…to have a little talk with Jan Houston.

*

But not right then. It was getting close to lunchtime, and I was already getting antsy to pick up Jonathan at the airport. I puttered around the office for a while, then went downstairs to the café in the lobby for a ham-and-turkey club with an order of potato salad and a large coke. Actually, for some reason, I felt like walking down to Hughie's, the local hustler bar about two blocks from work, for a dark beer. I hadn't been there for a long time, and had no idea where the urge had come from, but I resisted it. Probably just another subconscious reminder that the past was past.

I guess I'd been subconsciously resisting giving any thought to just how strong an impact Samuel and Sheryl's deaths would have on my life—well,
our
lives, of course. I didn't mean that to sound like I was making it all about me. Samuel and Sheryl were dead, and my heart ached for Jonathan's grief. But the fact was that I was sort of on the far side of the equation in dealing with their deaths. Dealing with Joshua's entrance into our lives was another matter entirely. It wasn't that I didn't think I'd be able to cope with having a four-year-old boy around all the time. I realized I was already getting more attached to him than I thought I would, and even more than I probably should. But Joshua was Jonathan's blood relative, and I really didn't have any idea of how that might affect my relationship with Jonathan.

And now with Jonathan coming home, a whole new and different set of dynamics would be put into place—plus dealing with Jonathan's grief to boot.

Well, we'd just have to wait and see.

*

Jonathan's flight was ten minutes late getting in and I was standing as close to the door as I could get when the passengers started coming off. Jonathan was in the second wave of disembarking passengers and we spotted each other at the same time. Neither of us smiled, and he just walked directly over to me and put his arms around me without a word. I didn't know what to say, myself, so we just hugged until it became obvious we were interrupting the traffic flow. We broke the hug and Jonathan readjusted his book bag on his shoulder.

He looked a little pale, and had obviously lost some weight, though he'd not been gone all that long.

“I missed you,” we both said in unison, as we headed toward the baggage area.

In addition to his book bag and the one carrying case he had with him, there was another very large, older model Samsonite suitcase and a slightly smaller cloth bag.

“I brought most of his clothes,” Jonathan explained as I picked up the largest suitcase and smaller bag. “And a couple of toys Dad and Sarah said were his favorites—I figure we can always get him more toys, but I wanted him to have some things he's familiar with.”

We had just enough time to swing by home and bring everything inside. Jonathan suggested we put them in our room, then we could take our time putting them away where they were going to go. We didn't talk all that much in the car. I felt a little awkward in that I wasn't sure what to say and what not to, so I just drove with one hand and held his hand with the other most of the way. I didn't want to pressure him, and I knew he'd tell me whatever he wanted to tell me when he got around to it.

It was odd, in a way; he was Jonathan, but something was different. He wasn't the same Jonathan I knew so well, but how could he be? No quick smiles, no joking around, no spontaneous laughter. I hoped this was all just part of the healing process and not a permanent change.

We arrived at Happy Day just in time. We passed a few of the parents and their kids on the sidewalk, and as we opened the gate to enter the yard I could see Joshua standing behind the screen door, his hands and nose pressed against the mesh. When he saw Jonathan, he stepped back from the screen and began hopping up and down, his face in a huge grin. Jonathan took the porch steps three at a time and hurried to the door. Opening it, he scooped Joshua up, raising him over his head, then lowered him to give him a big hug.

“Did you bring me a present?” Joshua asked.

And so began our new life.

*

Though I suggested that Jonathan might want to take a day or two off before returning to work, he insisted on going in the next day. And before he and Joshua left Wednesday morning, Jonathan reminded me that he had class Wednesday night. He was obviously bound and determined to get his life back as quickly as possible, and while I admired him for it, I was a little worried about him trying a bit too hard. But I decided that getting life back on track was a logical and worthy goal, and the first thing I did upon arriving at the office was to dig out Jan Houston's work phone number.

I'd debated on whether to contact the police with the information about the insurance policy Jan had taken out on Carlene's life. I had no idea what if anything the police were doing as follow-up to Carlene's death, or if there was any sort of investigation going on. Chances are, there wasn't. It was mysterious, yes: why the driver of the van that killed Carlene was apparently never found. But it was a male driver, and since I'm sure the police knew Carlene was lesbian…. And Jan had an alibi for the day Carlene died, flimsy though it was. I just wondered if the Carrington police had the time or the experience—not to mention the willingness—to launch a full-scale investigation.

So I decided, before making any unnecessary waves, to try to approach Jan directly. I knew she'd be reluctant—which was probably a gross understatement—to talk to me, but I had to try. I'd use my conversation with Beth about the possibility of Jan seeing Kelly on a regular basis as a wedge to open the door. If it worked, fine. If it didn't, I'd at least tried.

I waited until a little after nine, then called.

“Parker Precision Products,” the female voice announced.

I asked to speak to Jan Houston and was asked who was calling, and I gave her my name hoping Jan wouldn't remember it.

She did. After a pause for the transfer to be made, Jan's voice came on, low, quiet, and no-nonsense.

“I told you to leave me alone!”

“I wouldn't be calling if it wasn't important.”

“Yeah, I'll bet. To me or to you?”

“To both of us, actually. I wanted to talk to you a little about Kelly and ask you a few questions about Carlene.” Not waiting for a reply, I forged ahead. “I've got to come up to Carrington today on business,” I lied, “and wondered if you could meet me for lunch.”

“I bring my lunch.”

“That's okay.” I felt rather like I was trying to reel in a fish. “Is there a park nearby? I can pick up something and we could eat there.”

There was a long pause, then, “What did you want to say about Kelly?” She was still trying to get off the hook.

“I don't want to tie you up on the phone too long. I know you're busy. So can we meet?”

A sigh. “I…I suppose. Scarletti Park's about a block away. I can meet you there at noon, near the sundial in the middle of the park.”

“Great! I'll meet you there. And thanks.”

I glanced at my watch as we hung up, and saw I'd need to hurry if I was going to make it to Carrington on time. I made a quick call to Evergreens just to leave a message for Jonathan as to where I was going in case he might try to call me.

I next called down to the diner in the lobby to ask for a pastrami on rye, a bag of chips, and a large Coke to go, and also asked for a large cup of crushed ice. I had a small cooler in the trunk of the car, and figured the ice would keep the food fresh for the drive.

Just as I was walking out the door, the phone rang, and I debated on whether to answer it or not—not much of a debate, though, since I think I'm genetically incapable of ignoring a ringing phone.

It was Phil, calling to ask about Jonathan. They'd hesitated to call the apartment until they thought Jonathan was up to talking, and I thanked him and assured him it would be okay.

“Oh, Tim and I were talking, and any night you and Jonathan might want to get out for just the two of you, let us know. We'll be happy to look after Joshua.”

“Thanks, Phil.” I meant it sincerely. “That would be great! We'd really appreciate it.”

“Just give a call. I start shooting for Spartan's new line of underwear next Tuesday, but until then I don't think we have anything scheduled. Maybe this weekend, if you feel like it.”

I thanked him again, profusely, and then told him I had to run up to Carrington, and we ended the call.

*

Scarletti Park was a pleasant one-block square of the kind usually seen in front of old courthouses on movie back lots. I parked near two grey painted cannons, vintage WWI, flanking a granite column with a list of the town's military dead. Lots of trees, very pleasant. No fountain, but a large sunken sundial in the exact center of the park. I got there just a few minutes before noon and found an empty bench near the sundial. I wasn't quite sure which direction Jan Houston would be approaching from, but I was pretty sure she'd spot me if I didn't see her first.

I didn't have long to wait. About seven minutes after the hour, I saw her cross the street and enter the park. I was a little surprised to see her wearing a very attractive grey dress.

You were expecting maybe Levi's and a motorcycle jacket?
a mind-voice asked, and I felt immediately embarrassed for falling into the Lesbian Stereotype trap.

She came directly over and sat down beside me, not really looking at me.

“So what about Kelly?” she asked in lieu of any form of greeting.

“Have you spoken at all to Beth Erickson?”

She opened her brown paper bag and looked into it.

“No. She hates my guts. There's no way she'd let me see Kelly.”

I picked up my cooler and set it on the bench beside me. “So you haven't even asked?”

She shook her head, taking a large plum out of the bag and biting into it, reaching up quickly with one index finger to catch a trickle of juice.

“Well, I suggest you do. I've spoken with Beth and she appreciates the position you're in. I'm sure she would be amenable to working out some sort of visit schedule.”

She looked at me for the first time. “I don't want a visit schedule. I want Kelly.”

“And there's no way in hell you're going to get him, and you know it.” I hope I said it in a non-accusatory way. “The law sucks when it comes to situations like this, but it's the way it is. Your best chance to be a part of Kelly's life is to play it cool. Take it one step at a time.”

She sighed and stared into her paper bag again, as if it held a crystal ball only she could see.

“God, I miss him!”

“I know you do. So call her.”

She gave an almost imperceptible nod of her head. “I will.” She looked directly at me. “So, what else?”

“There's a possibility someone may have killed Carlene.”

She just looked at me. “Of course someone killed her. She was hit by a car.”

“I mean there's a possibility her death was not an accident, that someone wanted her dead.”

Her expression never changed.

“Are you serious?”

I nodded.

“And you think
I
did it? You're out of your mind. I was at a friend's cabin at Lake Verde.”

“Mowing the lawn?”

I saw a flicker of…something…anger?…in her eyes.

“Yes,” she snapped. “Mowing the damned lawn! Are you spying on me?”

I shrugged. “Well, I am a private investigator. And I like your new car, by the way.”

Her expression had gradually transformed from calm to fury, her eyes narrowing almost to slits.

“What the hell is
that
supposed to mean?”

It doesn't take a slide rule and a caliper to figure that one out, lady,
I thought.