The Fallen Angels Book Club (14 page)

“I know, and no, I don't want to be the next victim. A few days ago you asked for my help.”

“Yeah, well, I've moved on. It was a good book club.” He paused. “Am I still on your suspect list?”

I thought for a minute. “To be honest, I don't know.” I held his gaze. “Why did Rory blackmail you?”

He started to say something then changed his mind. “I told you my wife is a corporate executive. She can't afford to have it known her husband was a felon.”

He was lying. I wondered if that was how I looked to others.

I backed off and took another tack. “All right. I'm sorry. So tell me what you know about Rena.”

Richard took a sip from his coffee. “I met her through my wife's business. She was just getting off parole. Rena applied for a business loan and was turned down. Rachel, my wife, came home and told me how this young woman was trying to get back on her feet, but it wasn't going to happen, even though she tried to do all the right things. She'd moved away from her old friends, got a college degree and a decent job. Granted, it was a low-paying clerical position, but Rena took it.”

“It was nice of you to reach out.”

“While on parole, I promised myself that if I ever got out of this mess, I'd help others trying to go straight.”

“Seems a bit risky, with a wife who has a high profile job.”

His eyes flickered away from mine. “I needed to do it.” Richard took a deep breath. “Anyway, Jeffrey Wallace got Rena's file and said he'd approach her about joining our group.”

“No, I mean for your wife. Having a husband who is an ex-felon helping his ex-felon friends.”

He turned pale. “Rachel—”

“The last time we talked, you said your wife's name was Cristina.”

He had that deer-in-the-headlights stare. “What are you saying?”

“Does your wife know you're an ex-felon?”

He put his head in his hands, but it seemed like an act.

“Did Rory want more money? Did you kill Rory?”

Richard got up and walked around the circle. A young woman with a stroller and a dog on a leash sat across from us. The dog started to bark when Richard passed by. I didn't move.

He sat back down. “I'm not going to lie to you; I wanted to kill him. I didn't know that ‘him' was Rory until after the police told me.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “I need you to believe me.”

I gave him my best half smile and shrugged out of his hand.

“I want to believe you.”

I wasn't sure I did. He was a liar, and a bad one.

“You did what?” I blurted.

Marla patted my hand and looked around the community room. Tiny looked up momentarily from the television but immediately turned back to her game show. We sat in the window alcove away from the others, but I knew our privacy could be aborted at any time.

“You need to watch yourself. You're under a lot of stress right now. You don't need to be getting all excited.”

She shook her head.

“Marla, you can't be looking in other resident files. First of all, it's against the law and second, even if they don't have you arrested, they can kick you out of here. Remember what happened to Mr. Boyd?”

Mr. Boyd had been asked to leave after it was discovered he took pictures of the female residents for his enjoyment. Back then I had only been coming to the center for a couple of weeks, but the look of despair on his face at the prospect of being homeless haunted me for months.

“I don't care.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I tell you, Lily's getting worse. When you see her today, talk to her. You'll see what I'm talking about.”

“All right, tell me what you found out.”

Marla looked over her shoulder. “Well, for one thing, doctor whatever-his-name-is never mentioned anything about your visit or checking into Lily's medications. He said Lily seemed agitated and may require a tranquilizer. He authorized the center's nursing staff to administer it, if they felt it necessary.”

“Interesting.” I flashed back to prison, where certain inmates considered to be “agitated” were medicated into near zombieism in order to keep them under control. I didn't think it would be a good idea to share this information with Marla.

“That's not the important thing. Her chart didn't list any changes to her medication type or dosage. No changes since the year before last.”

“Interesting.”

Glad to be home, I took off my shoes and fixed a pot of hot tea, assuming the activities of normalcy. I needed to put my questions about Lily on hold. I could only effectively handle one issue at a time. I knew the police would be going over Rory's life with a magnifying glass. Like Richard said, Rory was a nitpicker. At club meetings he kept notes on who said what and even who brought refreshments.

He used a ledger.

I was betting they hadn't found Rory's blackmail ledger, at least not the one that mattered. The one with the list of his victims. It would likely point to one of the Fallen Angels, who would then be hauled off to jail.

I Googled Rory's last address. A Linda Rollins was shown as one of the occupants. Alongside her name was a phone number. My heart beat rapidly as I waited for someone to answer.

I responded to a weak greeting. “I'm trying to reach Linda Rollins. Is she available?”

“Are you a reporter?”

“No, no, not at all. I was a friend of Ror … Michael's and I wanted to talk to Ms. Rollins.”

There was silence.

More silence.

“Hello. Are you still there?”

“Are you one of his girlfriends?”

“No, I'm just a friend. Really. He and I were in the same book club.”

The laughter that followed caught me off guard. It went on almost as long as the silence had. “I'm sorry, darlin'. I can't quite picture Michael in a book club.”

“Ror … I mean Michael, was a member in good standing of our club. I just had a couple of questions for Linda, if she can just spare the time.”

“I'm Linda. What kind of questions?”

“Well, for one, I wanted to find out if this is where he lived. Our club wanted to send flowers. Are you his … his sister?”

“I'm his mother. Don't bother with any flowers. I'm allergic.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, Mrs. Rollins. Did he live with you?”

“Why?”

“It's just that he borrowed a library book from me and I wondered if you'd noticed any books he might have had lying around?”

“No, I don't go through his stuff. He only slept here when he didn't want to drive back to San Francisco. There's no point looking in either place because the police already took everything.”

“Okay. Well, I won't bother you any longer. I'm sorry for your loss.”

After hanging up, I thought of one other question to ask her. Maybe she'd tell me if she knew any of Rory's friends. I dialed again.

“Hello.” This time a man answered. It was my turn to be silent. My brain went into overdrive.

How could it be?

I slammed the phone down. It was Bill.

T
he whistle on the teakettle blew. I poured the boiling water over the leaves and a gentle jasmine fragrance floated throughout the kitchen. I waited to feel the tension leave my shoulders as I poured the steaming water into my mug, but this time it didn't happen. I couldn't fathom Bill picking up Rory's mom's phone. By now the police probably knew the connection between Bill and Rory, and tomorrow I'd tell them where they could find him.

It would be nine p.m. in Colorado. I ignored the growing pit in my stomach. Rita would be fixing tomorrow's lunches for the girls. Kirk would be finishing cleaning the kitchen and half-listening to the news. I hadn't seen any of them for years, but I knew their routine because I knew my sister. I could think of a number of reasons I could put off calling her, but waiting wouldn't make it any easier.

Rita was older than me by five years, but it felt more like ten. We were completely different. I was like our dad, Rita like our mother. She was drop dead gorgeous, witty and charming and had a good sense of humor. Unfortunately, she was also manipulative, rigid, judgmental and had a harsh tongue. Dad and I often commiserated. We felt as if we were being run over by two sixteen-wheelers.

I set my shoulders and picked up the phone.

“Rita, it's Rebecca. How are you?” I wouldn't even try to get her to call me Hollis.

“You got my message about Bill.” No greeting. Just the statement, not a question. No acknowledgment we hadn't spoken since my trial.

“I didn't talk to him. He left a message and told me what he wanted.” My voice was small.

“So, why are you calling?”

Even though I'd steeled myself for my sister's accusatory tone, I could never be ready enough. She was a force I'd never learned to reckon with. “I need a favor.”

“You've got to be kidding. Are you in trouble again?”

“Rita, you make it sound like I'm some sort of repeat offender. I only got into trouble once.”

“Wasn't once enough? I referred my closest friends to you and Bill, and you defrauded them.” She paused. “You must be desperate if you're contacting me.”

I took a deep breath. She was right; I was desperate and I needed her. “There's a chance I can have my conviction erased and be given a pardon. Well, not a full pardon, but a legal acknowledgment I am ‘rehabilitated,' and I wouldn't have a conviction on my record.”

“And?”

I swallowed. “I need a family reference.”

She laughed with harshness. “I can see why you didn't go to Mom or Dad. They think what you did was a terrible thing and that you got the punishment you deserved. Frankly, so do I.”

I often wondered where the prototypes for functional families existed. My family was about as close as strangers who happened to get stranded in a bus station together. As children, my mother dressed Rita and me alike. We attended school events, went to church and visited the less fortunate. We pretended. We wanted to be like everybody else, to fit in. My family didn't have a clue how to function. That was why we never went on vacation. I'm sure the thought of being alone together trying to seek enjoyment with only one another to rely on terrified my parents.

Even after hearing that Bill had set me up, that I was only guilty of putting my trust in the wrong person, my family judged me and found me wanting.

“Rita, I won't justify my actions or make excuses. I served my time with good behavior and now I'm trying to get on with my life. I want to pick up where I left off. I've been working in a law firm for five years. I want to go back and finish law school.” She was listening; that was a good sign. “In order to do that, I need to get my record cleared. I need a family reference for that. Will you help me?”

“I honestly don't know, Becca.”

I was encouraged to hear her use my nickname. “What do you want from me? What can I do?”

“You never called until now. I need to think. To be truthful, I'm glad you stayed away. Kirk was so embarrassed to have a sister-in-law in prison.”

This was the excuse they used for not visiting in prison, although I knew that she was really the embarrassed one. Kirk was too easygoing to care.

“I need it within the next ten days. I'll send you the form. You have to send it back to my attorney certified mail. I'll pay the postage.”

She was quiet.

“Rita?”

“Kirk has cancer.” Her voice was toneless.

“Oh, Ri, I'm so sorry.” I really was sorry for Kirk, for the family. I couldn't imagine my sister having to deal with someone else's feelings. “Is he going to be all right?”

“They don't know. He started treatment two days ago. It's his prostate. He waited a long time to have it checked out.” Her voice caught. “I haven't told Mom or Dad, or anyone else. The girls don't even know.”

The girls were fourteen and sixteen. They should be able to handle the news about their father. I wasn't so sure about our parents. They wouldn't know how to respond. At the very least, they might see it as an imposition and a disruption in their lives.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“You? No, no, there's nothing.” Her voice returned to full strength. “We'll deal with this. Go ahead and send your form. I don't have time to write a treatise, but I'll try to get something to your attorney by next week. Can you email the form?”

She had caught me off guard. I couldn't disguise my surprise. My sister was technology-phobic. “You know how to work email?”

“Don't be so patronizing. I'm not the idiot you think I am.”

“Ri, I didn't mean—”

“Yes, you did, but it's okay. If you can change, so can I. I've been taking classes at the community college. Gina's class is almost completely computerized and I wanted to be able to help her with her homework.”