Hidden Vices (17 page)

Thirty-Four

Megan returned to Chez
Mack. Looking through the window, she could see Clyde still intent on destroying the bone she'd given him. She turned the corner and saw a brown package up against the side entrance of the house. She removed the cleats and her snow boots, leaving both on the rug at the entrance.

Clyde looked up and gave Megan an
oh, it's only you
look when she entered. She carried the package to the counter, opening it with a pair of scissors. She'd ordered a box set from Amazon only two days earlier and was surprised how quickly it arrived. “Let's see what we have here Clyde—
Basic Sign Language for Beginners, Finger Spelling for Beginners, Start Learning ASL: American Sign Language
. Looks like this is where we start.”

For a moment Megan questioned her mental state given that she was now reduced to speaking to a dog who ignored her. She quickly moved past that ego-crippling moment, thinking back to when she was in Vivian's kitchen, frustrated that she wasn't able to understand Callie and Vivian's conversation. She didn't plan on
being perfect overnight, but she needed to get a grasp on how to communicate with Vivian, even just on a basic level.

Her cell rang and she saw from the Caller ID that it was Callie. She sent it to voicemail, for no other reason than she just wanted zero communication with anyone. And then Nappa rang.

“Hey,” Megan answered.

“How are you, McGinn?” Nappa's tone was oddly suspicious.

Megan turned off the kettle of water she was boiling for her cup of tea and opened the bottle of wine instead. “Did you get anything on Duane Baker?”

“I'll get to that in a moment. I have a question.” He paused a tad too long for Megan's patience.

“Yeah?”

“Some hospital in New Jersey called, wanting to set up a follow-up appointment. I was your secondary number on their patient form and they couldn't get in touch with you. Why were you in the emergency room in New Jersey?”

It had never crossed Megan's mind she'd put down Nappa's cell as a contact. Her partner was always her emergency contact. Megan knew this particular tone of Nappa's, and she also knew better than to ignore it.

“I had a small accident on a snowmobile. I was out on the lake, and I ran into a dock.”

“More please,” Nappa insisted. Megan remained silent. “I'm waiting.” Nappa's tone was now stern.

Megan ran her thumb around the edge of the counter, carefully choosing her words. “I had a run-in with another snowmobiler. He was trying to run me off the ice into an open water patch of the lake.” Megan could hear Nappa's frustrated sigh. “I'm okay. It was a few stitches, a bruise or two, but I'm fine. As we speak, I'm turning on the fireplace and Clyde is chewing a bone, and I was about to order Chinese when you called. It's a relaxing afternoon on Lake Hopatcong.”

Nappa paused, asking with more sensitivity, “Are you sure you're okay? Did you get a look at who it was?”

“No, he was wearing a dark visor on his helmet. I couldn't see his face.” Megan shifted gears. “So, what news do you have for me on Duane Baker?”

“Well, you were right. The guy has a long list of priors. There are many stints in and out of jail, ranging from bar brawls to assaulting a police officer to DWIs. He did a short period of time in prison for holding up a liquor store when he was eighteen. He also spent three years in juvie. I don't know that I'm able to find out why, given juvies are sealed.”

Megan never liked to give away private contact information, but in this case she knew it was in good hands. “Hmm. I'll text you Clarice Snowden's number. She helps me out with … things. She's a computer expert. Don't ask questions, just go with it. She was a big factor on the McAllister case.” Her comment was meant with silence from Nappa. “Anything else?”

“Actually, yes. I ran the glass that your college buddy drank from and— ”

Megan whipped into a frenzy. “You what? You did
what
?”

“I don't care if you get mad or not. I didn't have a good feeling about that guy. When you went to get ready to go out to lunch, I took the glass he drank out of and ran his prints.”

“What the fuck? Who the … who the fuck do you think you are?” Megan went from zero to completely livid without passing Go or collecting $200.

“Hey, know what? I was looking out for you. You're vulnerable at the moment. You're in a healing stage from a lot of life shit and I have your back, so fucking deal with it.”

Nappa rarely, if ever, swore. Megan held the top trophy for that honor. “You had no right.” But the wind was coming out of her sails.

“Well, he has no record. He dropped out of law school and he's divorced, but I will say there are a number of years that are unaccounted for. Taxes are paid and—”

“Maybe they're unaccounted for because he's done nothing wrong. Let me know when you find out more on Duane. And I want that fucking glass back. It belongs to the Macks, damn it!” Megan immediately ended the call. “Son of a bitch!”

Megan took the box of sign language DVDs over to her laptop. Speaking again in an all too natural voice to a dog, she said, “Can you fucking believe that Nappa? I mean, what the hell was he thinking?” She tapped her fingertips on the coffee table. “Actually, I'm going to send him a text. He should also check out Norden, the guy from the marina. I have my concerns.” Clyde didn't look up. He continued to chew his bone. “God, you're like a crack whore with that thing.”

For the next few hours Megan practiced the first disc on finger spelling. It was a repetitive exercise. She surprised herself by picking it up more quickly than she thought she would. She then switched to a harder video of practicing actual signs and promptly felt as though she had two left hands. She should have been prepared for the challenge given her interactions with her last boyfriend, eons ago. She would direct him to turn left but motion to the right. Ambidextrousness was never going to be a part of her future. Funny enough though, give her a loaded gun and her aim was 98 percent on target with either hand.

Callie rang Megan again. This time she picked up. “Hey.”

“Hey, Trouble, what's going on?”

The background noise from Krogh's made it difficult to hear Callie. “You sound a million miles away, I can barely hear you.”

“Wait a second.” Callie opened and closed a door and the din subsided. “What are you doing?”

Megan rubbed her neck, staring at her computer. “I thought I'd learn finger spelling and sign language. Actually,
attempt
to learn would be a more appropriate way to put it.”

“It's not easy, I know.” Megan could hear Callie's smile. “Tell you what, because I'm such a sweet guy, I'll come over and do what I can to help.”

“Callie,” Megan sighed, “this isn't a sex romp every time we get together. Everything is getting too complicated and I don't need any more complications in my life. And you are becoming complicated. I shouldn't even be doing what I'm doing in regards to Vivian.”

“Trouble, I stayed over the other night and nothing happened. I don't look at you that way. You know me—certainly better than my ex-wife did. I'm not a player.”

Megan raised her eyebrows and spoke in a mock shocked tone. “Ha! I'm saying it because I'm familiar with your work.”

“Okay, let me say that in a different way: I'm not a player with you.”

Megan stared at Clyde thinking,
I really hope you're not all dogs.
Then she remembered Nappa. She knew there were still good guys out there.

“Come on, I won't even hold your hand or try to kiss you. I'll sit at the opposite end of the couch.”

Megan intentionally kept silent for an extra moment. “Chinese food. And I'm not putting makeup on or even running a brush through my hair.”

“Well, so far it looks like a promising evening.”

Callie arrived an hour later with the demanded Chinese food. They sat in front of the fire eating while intermittently working on the sign language videos. Megan returned to the first video of finger spelling.

“Before you play it, show me how much you remember of the alphabet,” Callie challenged.

Megan waited a moment and went through the entire alphabet, rather slowly, but she aced every letter.

Callie smiled, clearly impressed at how fast Megan had absorbed the information. “That's actually pretty good for a first-timer. You'll get faster and it will come more naturally to you, but good job.” He raised his glass to Megan.

“Thanks.” Megan was proud of how fast she'd caught on, but she was not looking forward to the next video.

“Now it's time to add the harder bits to this. My suggestion is to first watch the whole video, and on the second go-round go slow, pause, and repeat each sign. But before we start, can I ask you a question?”

“You can ask, doesn't mean I'll answer,” Megan said while she was failing at her attempt to get the plastic wrap off another DVD.

“Are …” Callie searched for the right words. “I guess what I want to ask is what upsets you more—your mother dying or the fact that the person responsible is still alive?”

“That's one hell of a multiple choice question.” She cleared her throat. “Don't they go hand in hand?” She finally got the plastic off. “Hopefully, you'll never have to think of what your answer would be in that scenario. That's my answer.”

Discussion on that particular topic was now over.

Megan thought for a second. “Wait, how come
you
know it so well? Sign language, I mean.”

“Don't you remember in college the kid who lived down the hall from me, Rich? He was deaf and he taught some of us how to sign. I only had a handful of classes with him, but he had this interpreter. She signed like lightning she was so fast. And she was hot. I dated her for a while.”

Megan searched back. “Wait, Rich was the tall, lanky guy with the long blond hair?”

Callie nodded. “Yeah, that's him. Nice guy, funny as hell too. He got a lot of girls while he was there, come to think of it.”

Megan closed her eyes. “Men.” She then remembered, “Wait, he wasn't at Marist the whole four years, was he?”

Callie had a mouth full of food and mumbled, “No.”

“What happened to him?”

“He transferred to Gallaudet University in DC.”

It was all starting to come back to Megan. “Okay, that's right. That's the private school for the deaf and hard of hearing.” She fumbled, using the chopsticks to pick up a fried dumpling. “Why wouldn't the judge send Vivian away to a place like Gallaudet? If he hated her so much, why not just get rid of her?” She stared at Callie waiting for an answer.

“Well.” Callie's tone became reflective, bordering on brooding. “Vivian and her mother were very close. From what I could tell, they were like sisters. I don't think Vivian ever wanted to be far away from her mother. And I certainly don't think her mother wanted Vivian that far away.” He shrugged. “I've never asked her, but that's how it seemed to me.”

“What about her mother's death? Doesn't it seem a little of
f
? I mean, she hung herself? I don't buy it. She's the mother of a challenged daughter. They were thick as thieves, from what I've heard.”

Callie set his drink down. “Doesn't everything in this town seem a little of
f
? And if you ask me, the judge had something to do with it. But no one will ever truly know now.”

Megan couldn't disagree with Callie's observation. “That's an understatement.”

“Do you regret coming out here?” His question was sincere. “I mean not just the town, but everything with Vivian. The judge. Me.”

S
he searched not for the right words, but the most honest response. “Well, I can't say I expected this. I can't say I'm thrilled. My intention in coming here was entirely different.” She stared down
at Clyde and smiled. “I got a dog out of it anyway. Seriously,
though?” She knew her next sentiment would be as much of a shock to Callie as it was to her. “There is a part of me, a part my family instilled in me. Even with everything I've gone through and my family has gone through, I have about three percent of myself left that believes everything happens for a reason. Maybe it was a kind of fate that brought me here. There were plenty of other choices. Warmer choices!”

“Well,
I'm
glad you chose to come here, if that's any consolation.”

Megan smiled and switched back to the conversation about Rich. “I wonder where Rich is now.”

“He friended me on Facebook about a year ago. He's living in Seattle as some type of doctor working on the research end of a medical study.” Callie shrugged. “It looked as though he was doing well. I think he got married too.”

Megan smiled but added a squint. “I can't picture you on a computer.”

He had a mock look of insult on his face. “Very funny. It's difficult to picture you vertical.”

“You're a pig, Callie.”

“Hey, I even get the Marist newsletter, but they wouldn't remember you. You never made it to class.”

This was certainly not always the case. Perhaps it would ring true on occasion, but Megan never missed her favorite class freshman year. Even if she were still buzzed from the evening before, she'd make the journey across campus at eight o'clock on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Professor Paulson drove two hours one-way to teach and Megan had a high level of respect for anyone who would do that for a bunch of rowdy freshman pain-in-the-asses. She also got a kick out of him personally. The first day he walked into the lecture hall he wore sandals, jeans, a Bob Marley
t-shirt, and literally did look like Jesus, beard and all. The guy seated behind Megan had whispered in her ear, “Is it just me or …”