Follow the Dotted Line (19 page)

Andy could see her friend calculating the risk and reward.

“You think Tilda is staying in your old cabin?” Lorna asked.

“I don’t think Mark sold it. We could ask the neighbors.”

“Or just check the title with the county assessor’s office.”

“Right,” said Andy.

“For all you know, Mark may be there, too,” Lorna said. “Alive and well.”

Alive and well, Andy thought, reminded of her late-night courtroom drama. But the dream presented a quagmire of insecurities she was too embarrassed to mention, even to her unpaid analyst. “I guess I hadn’t thought about that possibility,” she said. At least not consciously, she thought.

“Really?”

“Well, I mean, I hadn’t thought about what I would do if he’s at the cabin.”

“Okay. So think about it. What will you do if he’s there?”

I’d like to take a swing at the Cheshire grin, she said to herself. But revenge was not really the dish she was interested in; the truth was she just wanted to know he was okay. “Breathe easier,” she quipped. “Feel a little foolish, I guess. But definitely breathe easier.”

“Would you tell him about the other three husbands?”

Another scenario Andy had not envisioned. “I don’t know. In fact, I’m not sure I even want to see him. But I would like to know he’s alright.”

Lorna brushed her thick, luxurious hair from her eyes. She was nearing retirement, and her features remained remarkably intact: smooth skin, slim nose, dark eyes. It was a countenance that made Lorna look ten years younger than she was, and Andy envied the fact that men still flirted with her.

“Let me ask you something, Andy. Just so I know. Because when we go to Big Bear this weekend, and we
will
go, I want to be clear. What’s your motive here?”

Andy was not surprised by the question or the least bit put off. Because whatever her answer, Lorna would take it for the genius or the failing it was.

“Well, I guess I think looking into this could be important,” Andy said. That wasn’t entirely honest. She needed to get her verbs in order. “No. That’s not really it, Lorna. I don’t
think—
I
want
it to be important. I want finding Mark to be a highly significant moment in my life.”

“Hmm.” Her friend looked downright wistful. “Still ambitious, are we?” Lorna asked rhetorically and without a hint of sarcasm. “I hear you, Andy. You’re out to find your children’s father. Maybe save his life.”

Leave it to Lorna to make her motive sound much better than it was. “Well, maybe just account for his whereabouts.”

“Fair enough. Still, I’m sensing more here,” Lorna proffered, as she began to dig deeper into Andy’s psychological dermis. “This is about feeling better—about yourself?”

“It could be,” admitted Andy.

“No work lately?”

“Not much.”

“Kids pretty busy?”

“Completely ocupado.”

“And you’re feeling unimportant.”

“I’m feeling, well—,” Andy knew exactly how she was feeling. “Slightly irrelevant.”

Lorna’s sculpted eyebrows lifted in quiet confirmation. “Got it,” Lorna said, nodding.

“Really?’

“Losing your place. Transitioning to who-the-hell knows what. Who could blame you, Andy? Or me.”

“You?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s happening to me, too. And probably everybody we know who’s our—”

“Generation?”

“Age, Andy. Our age. I’m preparing to close my business and retire in six months, and I’m already feeling irrelevant.” Lorna looked at her watch and motioned to the waiter to bring the bill. “By this time next year, I may be totally forgotten.” She said this without levity or self-pity. It was a simple calculation that, as far as her work life was concerned, added up to zero. Unlike Andy, Lorna had already seen the future enemy, and it was herself. “I’m not waiting around until next year to find something interesting to occupy my underutilized gray matter,” she asserted. “So let’s go find Tilda this weekend.”

“Thanks, Lorna.”

“And bring what’s-his-name. Your nephew.”

“Harley? You’re kidding. Why in god’s name should we bring Harley?”

“Because he’s in transition, Andy. Just like we are. From boy to man. From Christian to Jew. From sucker to seeker. Who the hell cares? It sounds like he could use the company. And, frankly, so could we.”

Andy was tempted to debate the issue, as she walked Lorna back to her office in the Scotty building on Ventura near Hazeltine, but her reasons for wanting to ditch Harley would sound a tad narcissistic now that Lorna had issued the same diagnosis for all three of them. As the two women strolled past faux European furniture stores, medicinal weed dispensaries, and an all-natural dog-food store, they decided they would leave for the mountains at around 9:00 a.m. on Saturday morning, taking Lorna’s new car so she could try out the 4-wheel drive.

They said their good-byes at the glass doors leading to the lobby, and Andy headed for her car parked at a meter on the street. Just as she unlocked the driver’s side door, her cell rang. She pulled the phone from her purse and saw that it was the-child-who-never-called. Tapping the screen, she slid behind the wheel of the car, rolled down the window for air, and answered with a question.

“Is everything all right, Ian?”

“Mom?”

“Don’t beat around the bush. You call me even less than I call you. What’s the matter?”

“My IRS audit. Remember? You
told
me to call.”

“Oh my god, yes. Yes, I did. So sorry, Ian. In fact, I was just wondering how it went.” The lie slipped out so effortlessly, it made her cringe. Worse, it was a totally useless assertion. He didn’t care if Andy had been thinking about him.
She’s
the one who wished she’d been thinking about him and hadn’t bothered to get around to it. Mitch was right; she didn’t pay enough attention to her youngest. “Anyway, how was it?”

“Not what I expected. That’s why I’m calling, actually.”

Okay, she thought calmly, willing herself to be fully present in the conversation. He’s in trouble with the feds, and he’s calling his mother to discuss it. This is my chance to heed his pain, even before he has a chance to articulate it. Because Ian probably can’t articulate it; that’s just who he is. “How much do you need, honey?”

“What?”

“Don’t be embarrassed. It’s only money. I can take it from my savings.”

Go with the silence, she instructed herself. Give him a chance to find the words. She waited. He didn’t find any.

“Ian? Are you there?”

“Um. Yeah. Sure. Right here.”

“Okay. We’ll take it slowly. How much did the auditor say they wanted?”

“About what I expected.”

“About what you expected. Okay.” He was being vague. Another thing he often did. She focused on getting to the feeling beneath the statement. “All right. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Neither. I guess.” As she quickly searched for hidden meaning, he added, “We worked out a payment schedule.”

“A payment schedule?”

“Yup.”

“Okay. Well, is it something you can live with?”

“I think so. Um hum.”

Now she was exasperated. All this rhetorical bobbing and weaving, while he just kept standing there. “Then, this is good news, right?” she nearly snapped. “Is that what you’re trying to tell me, Ian?”

“I wouldn’t say it was good, Mom. Just no big surprise. That’s all.”

“Okay,” she finally murmured, because that’s all she had left in her arsenal of neutral-but-supportive responses. Evidently, the call was just to fill her in. Keep her apprised. Exactly as she had requested. She had to give him credit; it was more than she did for him. Just be grateful, she told herself. That’s all he requires. “Well, then I’m glad to hear it. Thanks for letting me know. For calling. That’s nice.”

“Oh. Sure. No problem.”

She waited for him to close the conversation. He didn’t. She wondered if he wanted her to do it. But that might be cutting him off. Damn it, she thought, why can’t he ramble on mindlessly like the other three?

“Ian? Is anything else wrong?”

“No. Not really.”

She went again with the, “Okay.”

“Except—I sort of wanted your advice on something.”

“Really?” This was novel. Her kids rarely wanted her advice and never directly asked for it if they did. “About the audit?” she assumed.

“About the auditor.”

“The auditor? Was there something wrong with him? Do you think he treated you unfairly, Ian?” she said, jumping right in to ferret out the problem.

“No. No. She was fine, Mom. Really.”

“You had a woman? How refreshingly progressive.”

“Yup. So I just wondered if you think it’s okay for me to ask her out?”

“Did you say, ‘ask her out?’”

“Uh huh.”

Andy tried to tamp down her amazement. “You want to
date
your auditor?”

“No, no. Just ask her out. One time. You know what I mean?”

“Um, sure. Of course, I know what you mean. I guess.”

“Do you think that might be a . . . a problem?”

“A problem?

“Ethically. Sort of a conflict of interest?”

Ian was so circumspect about confiding his dating life to anyone, especially to her, that Andy had no idea who he dated or how much.

“Mom?”

“Hold on. I’m thinking.”

She suspected he dated few women and not very often. She couldn’t be sure, but she felt this might be an important answer, and she didn’t want to get it wrong. One thing she did know was that her son was easily embarrassed. He was asking her advice because he wanted to avoid potential humiliation.

“Why don’t you ask her and then ask her again?” she finally recommended.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, ask her if she thinks it’s appropriate for you to ask her out, and if she says ‘yes,’ then pull the trigger.”

“Oh.”

“That way if she says, ‘no, it’s not appropriate,’ you’re covered because you haven’t asked her out. But if she says ‘yes,’ you’ll know it’s fine
and
that she wants you to ask her . . . or she would have just said ‘no.’”

“Uh huh.”

“You understand what I’m saying?”

“I guess.”

“It’s like hedging your bets.”

“Oh, right. I see.”

More silence. She tried wallowing in it long enough for him to come up with more to say. When he didn’t, she gave up and said, “Does that help you, Ian?”

“Sure.”

“Anything else you want to say?”

“Um, thanks, Mom. I appreciate it.”

“My pleasure.”

They stalled again. She considered abandoning ship for both their sakes, but Mitch’s indictment was still ringing in her ears. She threw herself once more into the breach.

“Ian, maybe I could ask
your
advice on something.”

“My advice?”

“About all this stuff with your dad.”

“Um. Sure. Sure. Anything you want me to help you with, Mom.”

Andy noted a newfound perkiness in his voice. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to confide a little of what she’d learned. She’d been holding back ever since her findings in Texas had garnered such bad reviews. But she should tell one of her children, and Ian had always been voted least-likely-to-explode.

“I’ve done some research on Tilda’s three former husbands. I haven’t actually mentioned this to your brother or sisters. I’m not sure if I should. They may think I’m a little, you know, paranoid. Or obsessive. And I know you’re the kind of person who tries not to be critical.” She was probably laying it on a little thick, but if she knew Ian, he’d forgive that, too. “Anyway, I found out that the reason Tilda never divorced any of them is that they all died.”

“Died?! No kidding. How?”

“That’s even stranger. There are no death certificates for any of them, and the obituaries I read said they had been cremated. So I guess there’s no way of knowing.”

“Whoa. Kinda ghoulish, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe you should call the police.”

“I asked an FBI agent I know—”

“You know an FBI agent?”

“Long story,” she said quickly, not wanting to explain she’d hired a P.I. without permission. “The important thing is, he says nobody will take me seriously because I don’t have any evidence of crimes.”

“Oh.”

She could hear him thinking this over. A better mother would have waited for him to formulate a comment, but now that she was spilling the beans, she couldn’t dish them out fast enough.

“Anyway, despite what the police might think, I find this whole thing very worrisome.”

“You mean, you think she might have killed them?”

“Maybe.”

“And killed Dad?”

“Does that sound crazy?”

To her astonishment, he had his answer ready and waiting “No. No, it really doesn’t. It’s sounds pretty plausible. You think she might be doing this for the money?”

“Well, that’s usually why people do most things. And Mitch thinks your dad had a couple hundred thousand.”

Ian exhaled through the receiver, making a trilling noise with his lips.

“So what are you thinking of doing about it?” he asked.

“Finding evidence, I guess. What else
is
there to do?”

Unlike most people, Ian didn’t bother fumbling for an answer he didn’t have, so once again he said nothing.

Andy resumed, “I guess I’m trying to figure out if I have a role here. I mean, do you think I should just let it go?”

“Is that a question, Mom?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, even if you should let it go, could you?”

Well done, she thought. Very perceptive. “Probably not. Do you think I’m being obsessive?”

“No. Not really. You’re just doing what you always do.”

“What I always do?”

“Yeah. You’re just being you.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant. But because he was the only person in the family bereft of an arsenal of sarcasm, she knew he was being serious. “Can you be more specific, Ian?”

“You’re doing that thing you did when we were kids. Living inside your head. In a parallel universe, you know. Trying to turn everything into some kind of story.”

She opened her mouth to object, but all that came out was hot air. Curiously, he filled the empty space.

“This whole thing with Dad is uber odd: the lady and the ashes and the hex. It’s kind of like one of your screenplays.”