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CHAPTER SIX

September 14, 1996

Saturday morning

T he ticket agent was right. The flight was barely half full. The window seat next to us was empty. As soon as they closed the door, Cass moved over to that seat and promptly fell asleep as the stewardess explained how to buckle our seat belts. Then I drifted off for a bit myself.

I woke up in the middle of a scary dream about high-jackers going through the plane asking everyone to empty their pockets. So when the stewardess came by and asked if I wanted coffee, I said, “Absolutely,” and lowered my tray.

Cass didn’t wake up for coffee. I wondered if I should wake him and start asking him questions, but then we had almost six hours before we got to Detroit so it didn’t matter much. Or at least I thought it was six hours. I wasn’t sure how long we’d been in the air.

I sipped the thin, warmish coffee and thought about my life. A decision I’d made nearly ten years ago had come back to haunt me. Other decisions haunted me from that period but they were the ones I’d expected to haunt me. When I left Chicago the police really wanted to chat with me; I wondered if they still did. Detective Monroe White was probably retired. Was there anyone left who remembered me? And if they did, did they care? Deanna Hansen remembered me. I was sure of that. In her mind, I owed her a lot of money and she wanted a pound of flesh for it. But maybe it didn’t matter anymore. Her grandfather had left her in charge of his illegal enterprises, but she’d said she wanted to take the family business legit. Maybe she had. Claiming a debt without paper and threats of violence… that wasn’t legit. So maybe she’d leave me alone. Not likely, but maybe. And then there was Rita Lundquist: crazy, psychotic and possibly not even alive. People in her line of crime don’t always live long.

It was entirely possible that becoming Dom Reilly was the last decision that would ever haunt me. When I figured a way out of this, I might be done. I might be free and clear. That was a lovely thought.

The breakfast cart began making its way down the aisle. There weren’t that many people so it would get to us fast. I woke Cass up. “Breakfast will be here in a minute. You should eat.” He shifted in his seat then put his tray down.

Two of the stewardess’ stopped the cart next to us. They were both young and pretty. One was barely older than Cass, with blond hair cut into a pixie. I glanced at him and noticed he was brushing his hair out of his eyes and watching her, intently but also shyly. The kid was obviously straight.

“Breakfast?”

“Yes, please.”

We were each handed a plastic tray with a few bits of food on it. There were two coaster-sized pancakes, a single scrambled egg (not a combination I would have chosen), two desiccated sausages, a cup with bits of fruit and a four-ounce container of orange juice. The orange juice was the only item that tasted like real food.

I asked for more coffee. I wasn’t going to let the fact that it wasn’t very good stop me. I waited until we were both finished with our breakfasts before asking, “What do you remember about the time with your dad?”

“Not much.”

“Do you know where you lived?”

“We lived in apartments. Clinton Township. Then my mom bought her house in Village Oaks.”

“She bought the house after your father left?”

“Yeah. Couple years later I guess. I was seven, I think. I don’t remember living in apartments very well. I mean, I know we did but I can’t really remember.”

I had no idea what kind of neighborhood Village Oaks was and wasn’t sure I’d get a straight answer if I asked.

“You said your dad’s mother and father are gone. What about siblings? Do you have aunts and uncles?”

“I have an Aunt Suzie. My father’s sister.”

“You see her much?”

“My mom doesn’t like her. She’s religious.”

“And your mom. Her parents are still alive?”

He nodded.

“Does she have brothers or sisters?”

“She has two sisters. They don’t talk to her much. She has an uncle she likes a lot.”

The pretty blond stewardess came down the aisle with a plastic bag. She picked up our empty plastic breakfast trays. I watched Cass blush.

When she was gone, I asked, “You said you mom’s at a casino in… Where was it?”

“Sault Sainte Marie. It’s at the top of the mitten.”

I kind of knew what that meant. “When will she be back?”

“Tomorrow night.”

That meant we had tonight and all day tomorrow to ask around about her. That was good. I wanted to know as much as I could before I talked to her. If I talked to her. I still held out some hope that with a little more information I could get the kid to let go of the whole thing. I wasn’t excited about meeting his mother. And why would I be? Hello, I’m your fake husband was not a sentence I ever wanted to utter. And not one she’d be happy to hear.

“Do you remember what your father did for a living?”

“Built cars. Plymouth Volare. My grandfather would point them out when I was a kid.”

“So he made a good living?”

“I guess. I don’t think they made those cars for long.”

They didn’t. Honestly I couldn’t remember the last time I saw one. Did that mean he fell on hard times? There were lots of other places to build cars in Detroit, weren’t there?

“Your mother likes to gamble. Did your dad?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I think they had card games in our apartment sometimes.”

“When we were talking before, you mentioned a friend of your mother’s. They were together when your parents met.”

“Heather.”

“Yeah. Are they still friends?”

“No. Not for a long time.”

“Do you know her last name?”

He shrugged.

“You don’t know how we can find her?”

“What difference does it make? You think she killed my dad?”

“We need to talk to people who knew your parents around the time your dad disappeared. They might know something.”

“Why wouldn’t they have said something before now?”

“They might not know they know anything. Or they think what they know doesn’t mean anything. Don’t you ever watch Law no one was there to meet us. We stopped and looked around.

This was a much bigger airport than Reno, but certainly not as big as LAX. I looked at our tickets and then the signage hanging above us. We were at gate B18 and we needed to go to B53. We had an hour and a half, so I figured we’d make it. I said as much to Cass and we started walking to our next gate.

In between the gates were different businesses, bars, snack bars. At a kind of intersection we found a newsstand. Since the kid was touchy, I decided I should really get some magazines for the next leg of our journey rather than question him anymore.

Madonna was on the cover of Vogue , which was about as much as I needed to know about that. Time had an article about the World Wide Web; okay, I’d read that. I flipped through GQ which had Elizabeth Shue on the cover in just a sweater. It seemed aggressively heterosexual for a magazine often referred to as Generally Queer and featuring an article by Gore Vidal. I decided I didn’t really need to know all about the tweed coats for fall. Us had Julia Roberts on the cover, I took that. I looked through the paperbacks. At first I didn’t want one, we only had two more hours in the air. But then, at some point I’d have to go home. I put a Sue Grafton book on my pile, K Is for Killer . I also grabbed a Denver Bronco’s sweatshirt so I didn’t freeze to death. It was orange. The only one in my size.

When I got up to the counter, Cass was purchasing four different kinds of candy. I wondered if it might keep him awake but then decided it wouldn’t. And then, to add insult to injury, we stopped at a Mrs. Fields right before our gate. He got a chocolate chip cookie and I got two. I wasn’t going to; we were getting lunch on the next flight. But then I remembered breakfast and had little hope for lunch.

A few minutes later, we arrived at our gate. We were one of the first. We sat down. Cass ate two Three Musketeer bars and I read Us . Eventually, I said, “So why don’t you tell me about yourself. Just you and not your parents.”

“What for?”

“So I can get to know you.”

“Why do you want to get to know me?”

“Because I always like to be friendly with my kidnappers. It makes the whole experience more pleasant.”

“You’re not kidnapped.”

“Oh? You mean I can go home and nothing bad will happen to me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then I’m kidnapped.”

“Whatever.”

People started showing up. I could tell that this flight was going to be more crowded than the one from Reno. I got a couple of weird looks. Well, I was wearing an orange sweatshirt with a red turtleneck sticking out. Not to mention I was sitting next to a seventeen-year-old who radiated anger.

I flipped through my magazines for a while and then it was time to board. We were all the way at the back of the plane. Row 36. That meant we boarded last. Which, honestly, didn’t make that much sense. You’d have thought we’d get to board first since we wouldn’t have to struggle by anyone that way, but hey, I’m not in charge. When it was finally our turn, we made our way to the back of the plane. At our row, I saw that there was a woman in her forties sitting by the window. Her eyes were red and she held a pack of travel tissues in one hand. She was looking out the window, not as a way to see what was out there, but as a way to avoid our eyes.

For a moment, Cass looked like he might try to argue me out of the aisle seat but then gave up. He put his backpack under his seat and then flopped into it. I took my place on the aisle.

Once the plane took off and we reached altitude, I said to Cass, “Okay. If you won’t tell me about yourself, why don’t I tell you about you. You’re mature for your age, too mature. You’re smart but you only get B’s. Your teachers always say you don’t live up to your potential. You don’t have a lot of friends. You like girls, but you’re afraid of them. You don’t know what you want to be when you grow up. You thought finding your dad would fix the things that are wrong with your life. Trust me, it wouldn’t have.”

He glowered for a few seconds before he said, “I’m not afraid of girls. Just the really pretty ones.”

The woman next to the window had obviously heard most of that since she repositioned herself as though she were trying to get away from us. I decided to be a bit more careful. Or at least polite.

Our lunch was Salisbury steak and soggy fries. The sitcom they showed was Mad About You . I tried to read the mystery I’d bought but didn’t get very far. I tried to stick to innocuous questions. I asked the kid, “Do you like living in Detroit?”

“I don’t live in Detroit. I live in Novi. It’s a suburb.”

“Do you like school?”

“Who likes school?”

“I guess you’re not thinking of going to college.”

He frowned and said, “No. I’m not stupid.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid. I also don’t think going to college is stupid.”

I didn’t go to college, but that was mainly because if you grew up in Bridgeport in the sixties you didn’t. I was busy trying to fit in, trying to be like everyone around me, so it didn’t even occur to me that I could have gone. Some days I wonder who I might have been if I had gone to college. Hopefully not the kind of guy who was a magnet for trouble.

“Do you have a lot of friends?”

He turned and looked at me full on. “Do you wanna know my favorite color? It’s green.”

I didn’t talk to him after that. Not until the plane landed. And even then, I didn’t really say anything until we got out onto the concourse.

“When does your mother get home?”

“Tomorrow night.”

I had the sinking feeling this would take a few days, so I said, “I’m going to need to rent a car and find a hotel.”

He shook his head. “I have a car.”

“That’s great, but I still need to get from my hotel to wherever we’re going.”

He shook his head. “We have an extra bed in our junk room. You can stay in there.”

“And when your mother comes home are you going to introduce me as your pet private detective?”

He shrugged and said, “No. I’m going to introduce you as Dominick Reilly. My father.”