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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

September 19, 1996

Thursday

I n the morning, I drove over to Aunt Suzie’s house to say good-bye before I went to the airport. The purple Civic was in the driveway. I was pretty sure it belonged to Heather.

I’d actually slept well. Particularly well, despite watching a man die. I tried to feel bad about it. But no matter how I looked at it, he’d basically killed himself. Yeah, I was the one who apparently hadn’t cleaned the gun well enough. But I never suggested that Mr. Cray take it away from Cass and try to shoot him. He’d done that willingly. I also wasn’t the one who’d buried the gun. I was just the one who missed some of the dirt. An honest mistake.

“We just heard about Mr. Cray,” Aunt Suzie said when she opened the door. “The police came by. Wanted to know where Cass was last night.”

“What did he say?”

“ I said he was with me.”

I nodded. “So, Mr. Cray is dead?”

“Don’t act like you didn’t know.” Then she patted me on the arm. I thought she might say something like ‘good job’ or ‘well done.’ I resisted the temptation to explain it had all been an accident.

“Did they say anything about Luca?”

“They’re looking for him. He must have given the Feds the slip.”

Which was perfect. Cass came out and Aunt Suzie said, “Well, I’ll give you two a moment.”

He stepped out and closed the door. Just as well, I didn’t really want to be invited in. “So, are we done?” I asked. “I can go home and you’ll leave Dom Reilly alone?”

“I wasn’t really gonna do anything to you.”

I did not believe that for a moment, but didn’t correct him.

“They’re saying that Hector guy is my real dad.”

“Oh, wow,” I said, because it was appropriate to the situation—and also because I was surprised Aunt Suzie had moved things long that quickly. “I guess I see the resemblance.”

Cass just scowled.

“That’s not a bad thing. The guy’s pretty good-looking. Maybe his genes will kick in soon.”

He gave me the side-eye before saying, “He’s Mexican.”

“Yeah, and apparently so are you.”

“My mom’s family’s gonna hate that.”

I decided not to touch that one.

“Does Hector want to be your dad?”

“That’s what he says.”

“How’s your Aunt Suzie taking this?”

“That I’m Mexican?”

“That she’s not really your aunt.” Of course, I knew the answer already, I just wanted to make the point to Cass.

“Oh she says she’ll be my aunt no matter what.”

“Sounds like you’ve got some good people looking out for you.”

He squinted at me in the sunlight before saying, “You were like my dad for a week, weren’t you?”

“You had to blackmail me into it.”

“Well not real—okay, maybe a little.”

When I said good-bye, the little creep actually hugged me. That got me a little choked up, which was stupid. If I thought logically, I never wanted to see this kid again as long as I lived. And I also hoped that he’d be okay and that people would start taking better care of him.

On the way to the airport, I found a big garbage bin in an alley and tossed away all the things I’d acquired—including Joanne’s collection of fraudulent credit cards. I couldn’t guarantee that some homeless person wouldn’t find them while digging through for cans… Well, good for them.

I got to the airport and dropped the Thunderbird off with Hertz. It took nearly an hour to find a flight after checking in at three different airlines. The best I could do was standby with United—and that only went to Dallas. After I didn’t get on the first flight, I went to a newsstand for something to read. It was just a few days ago I’d bought K Is for Killer . Somewhere along the line I’d lost it. I wasn’t sure where. I’d barely read the first chapter.

Looking at the available books, I struggled. After the week I’d had I wasn’t in the mood for John Grisham or Michael Crichton. I would have liked something light and funny, but there didn’t seem to be much like that. I ended up with Mindhunter , a true story about serial killers. Hardly light and funny, but at least different from the things I faced over the last week.

Once on the plane, I was deep into my bag of nuts when I realized I’d be traveling for about double the time it took to fly direct. That was not a great thought. I tried to focus on the book I’d bought, but my mind kept slipping back to the week I’d just spent in Michigan. I was sure I’d made some missteps, probably some big ones. I was hoping, praying even, that once the police had the bright and shiny Luca Amato in their sights they wouldn’t bother too much with the guy who’d been floating around trying not to give people his name.

During the layover, I considered calling Ronnie. But I worried that if he was mad, and he had every right to be, he might say some pretty horrible things to me, things that would be hard to walk back. I figured it would harder to say unforgivable things to my face. And easier to forgive.

When I finally arrived in Los Angeles it was past eight and the sun had been down for about an hour and a half. As I was waiting for the shuttle to Lot B, I noticed a trash bin. I walked over and dumped Charles Henderson’s credit card and temporary license. I sincerely hoped he’d never see a bill and never have to pay for the damage I’d done to his balance.

It was less than a half an hour from the airport to Long Beach. Rush hour had ended an hour before. When I got to our neighborhood, I drove around for another ten minutes looking for a parking space. Normally, that would have driven me up the wall. But that night I almost didn’t want to find a spot. But I did. Four blocks away.

My front door was unlocked. A blessing since I hadn’t been looking forward to knocking on my own door. When I walked in, Junior and John were there sitting with Ronnie at the dining table. They were playing cards. When he saw me, Junior said, “I’m teaching them three-handed pinocle.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because card games are just what the doctor ordered when someone disappears for a week.”

I wanted to kill him, but I was too busy dying myself. Every second that Ronnie didn’t get up and come over to me was killing me. He was staring at me but he wasn’t budging.

Trying to change the direction of the conversation, I asked, “So what did I miss?”

“The upstairs bathroom sprang a leak,” Junior said. “I was the one who discovered it. The wall in the stairwell began seeping blood.”

“Rust from the pipes,” John said.

“Well, it looked just like blood.”

“Sounds expensive,” I said.

“It’s fine,” Ronnie said.

Still, I felt guilty. I’d put several thousand dollars on our credit card. Ronnie had one he kept just for the houses, but it still was going to be a challenge to get them all paid down again.

“The plumber though…” Junior said. “Perfection.”

“Junior kept making passes at him,” John said.

“I did not .”

“You mentioned you’re single at least three times.”

“That’s considered a pass? My god, in the seventies you’d have to get on your knees and unzip someone’s pants before it qualified as a pass.”

Then Ronnie said, “All right boys. Evening’s over.”

“Well, I never—” Junior started to say.

John said, “Don’t.”

“… I never got to say how much we miss having you two around the house.”

“Well, now you’ve said it. We should go,” John said.

The two of them got up and quietly walked out of the apartment. Ronnie picked up some glasses they’d been using and took them into the kitchen. When he returned, he said, “I told everyone you had a family emergency in Michigan. I don’t think anyone believed me.”

“It’s a bit vague.”

“When you think up a better lie, make sure to tell me.”

Yikes, that was bad.

“I’m sorry.”

“Lydia’s desperate for you to call. They’ve got a bunch of new cases. Something about a jailhouse snitch in Orange County.”

“She told you that?”

“It was in the newspaper.”

“Really? That seems?—”

“Edwin jumped the gun. She’s pissed.”

“I’ll call tomorrow. Ronnie?—”

“You disappeared two days ago. Completely disappeared.”

“Um. What do you mean? I left last Friday.”

“You were in Reno for a few hours with that kid and then the two of you got on a flight to Detroit. I don’t know where you stayed Saturday night, but I do know you ate at a Taco Bell—you hate Taco Bell.”

“I do.”

Ronnie loved Taco Bell. It was a bone of contention.

“Sunday morning you went to a place called The Clock Diner. You weren’t alone. You took a trip to K-Mart and bought a lot of stuff. Sunday night you stayed at a Motel 6. The next morning you were back at The Clock Diner. Then you disappeared. Yesterday this arrived.”

From a drawer in our China closet he took out the FedEx package I’d sent. Opened.

I said, “It should have gotten here on Tuesday. I sent it overnight.”

“You sent your ID and credit card home.”

“I needed to be someone else for a few days.”

He stared at me for a moment. He’d been a good little detective. I suspected he was much better at this than I’d ever thought. In his spot, I’d have done the same.

“How did you pay for your ticket home?”

“Just a touch of fraud.”

“Can it be traced back to you?”

“I don’t think so.” Then I decided to be more definitive, “No. I’m sure it can’t be.”

We were quiet for a long, uncomfortable moment. I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “I’m sorry, Ronnie. I had to go… I promise I’ll make it up to you.

“There are things I don’t know about you. A lot of things. But I do know you. You wouldn’t have left like that to help some kid you didn’t know. Not without talking to me. You did what you did for us. For me.”

“That’s right,” I said, because it was right

Taking a step forward, he reached up and touched my face.

“Then welcome home.”