The Last Word (15 page)

Rae started working on Mom’s computer and said, “I think we have a virus. I know a
guy. Let me call him.”

Since the only special relationship I had with a computer consultant was Robbie, I
told her to go ahead. Rae made the call, then took her brownies and left.

“How’s the case going for Maggie?” I asked.

“Fine. Fine,” D said. “I have some tapes to transcribe. Is there anything else?”

“No,” I said. Only D hadn’t been at the Big Q that day, so what tape was he transcribing?
Of course I could have called him out on his lie, but if Spellman Investigations ever
splintered into two different camps, I wanted D in mine.

He put on his headphones and began his two-finger typing.

•  •  •

After D left for the day, I paid the bills and then called the bank to double-check
that we still had enough cash to cover the amounts. We were still in the black. Mom,
Dad, or D must have deposited some checks and not told me. I would have to reconcile
the bank statements one of these days. I dropped the bills in the mailbox for the
last pickup and returned to the office. I decided to take a quick look at the Washburn
interview transcripts that were sitting on top of Demetrius’s desk.

It felt like I had the flimsiest grasp on our caseload and I was constantly out of
the loop. D was usually forthcoming with all of the work he did for us, but he was
being cagey this time around. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary in the interview,
except this one section here:

Q:
Your mother died three years ago, is that correct?

A:
Yes. Bless her soul.

Q:
My condolences.

A:
Thank you.

Q:
And you have a sister, correct?

A:
I wouldn’t bother her.

Q:
Why not?

A:
She’s a busy woman. Two kids. Maybe three by now.

Q:
We’d like to contact her anyway. Do you know where she lives?

A:
Lost touch years ago. Think she moved to, uh, Colorado or Arizona.

Q:
Is she married?

A:
Yes.

Q:
What’s her married name?

A:
I don’t remember. Isn’t that awful?

Q:
Anyone else we should talk to?

A:
My cousin Carl.

Q:
Carl wouldn’t have a last name, would he?

Something about the interview felt itchy, like an old wool sweater on bare skin. I
called over to D.

“Sorry to bother you,” I said. “I was reviewing the Washburn interview.”

“Oh?” D said, sounding itchy too. “The transcripts?”

“Yes. I was just reading them.”

“You’re reading them,” he said. “I’m interviewing his cousin Carl tomorrow.”

“Good. When you asked Washburn about his sister, what was his body language like?”

“I don’t recall,” D said. “He sounded defensive, I think.”

“Like he didn’t want you talking to his sister?” I asked.

“Yes. I got that impression,” D said somewhat hesitantly.

“When you interview Carl, see if he knows where the sister is or can point you in
the direction of another family member. Okay?”

“Got it.”

“Hey, D? Why didn’t you ask him about his teeth?”

D has this interview quirk. He claims you can judge a man’s upbringing by whether
his mama made him floss and brush his teeth morning and night. He almost always asks
inmates their dental history.

“Forgot, I guess. See you tomorrow.”

•  •  •

Mom and Dad came home around dinnertime. Mom checked the office on her way in.

“Where were you all day?” I asked.

“Your father and I went for a drive.”

“Why?”

“We’re checking out other neighborhoods in the Bay Area. Seeing if there’s any other
place we might want to live,” Dad said.

Their house is worth a fortune and this threat has been hanging over our head for
years. The timing seemed particularly cruel.

“Before you make any decisions, will you talk to us first?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t consider blindsiding you,” Mom said, referring to my corporate takeover.

“You’re going to let this go one of these days, right?”

“Sure. What are you doing?” Mom asked.

“I have to enter all the time sheets for the next billing cycle.”

“Go home,” she said assertively.

“This has to get done.”

“I’ll do it.”

“You’ll do it?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

She sighed like someone expelling all the air one breathes in a day.

“Tonight. Tomorrow. I can do it in half the time you can. It will get done. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said, gathering my files and shoving them into my bag. “Thank you,” I said.

“See you later, sweetie,” she said in a tone as dull as Grammy’s pantsuit.

Still, she called me sweetie. It was the first term of endearment she’d used nonsarcastically
in about six months. Was the tide turning, or was something else afoot?

1
. There was that
one
time I took the validation when I found street parking and sold it to some guy I
met in the elevator bank. A parking attendant ratted me out.

2
. As I mentioned earlier, Damien had a dreadful time managing the unruly food item
and most of it landed on his lap.

3
. Note to men: You will never hear “His hair color looked so natural” unless it actually
is natural, and then nobody needs to say it.

4
. I’m not sure what I was supposed to find.

5
. My best friend and partner in crime for many years. We’d lost touch recently.

6
. Goldfish.

7
. A.k.a. Grammy Spellman

A
t home I was minding my own business when David called to beckon me upstairs.

“No way,” I said. How stupid did he think I was?

“Max is here. He’d like to talk to you.”

“Who is Max?”

“Claire’s dad. Remember, the father of the kid you watched the other day?”

“And I need to talk to him for what reason?”

“Izzy, get upstairs. It’s not a trap.”

I entered their house through the back door, which is only steps away from my front
door.

I overheard Maggie say, “Now remember, Claire, be on your worst behavior today.”

“I’m not sure you have the right action plan,” Max said.

The girls were playing with their disproportionately shaped dolls and the adults were
in the kitchen drinking beer. I helped myself to one from the fridge and uncapped
it on the corner of the counter.

“Why can’t you do that stuff in front of Sydney?” David said.

“What’s up?” I asked. It was safe to assume that I was to be reprimanded
for something. It’s not like I taught Claire the alphabet when she was in my charge.

“My daughter keeps calling me a snitch,” Max said.

“Are you?” I asked.

“Izzy,” David said, “this isn’t an inquisition. Max just wants to understand the origin
of Claire’s new catchphrase.”

“We were eating cookies the other day,” Max said, “and I told her she could have two.
Then when I wasn’t looking she stole a third cookie.”

“Smart girl.”

“I called her on it and then she starting saying, ‘Don’t be a snitch, Daddy. Don’t
be a snitch.’ ”

From the next room Claire echoed the sentiment.

“My work here is done,” I said.

“Did you have the snitch talk with Claire?” David asked.

Meanwhile, Maggie was doubled over, laughing convulsively, trying to keep her beer
from expelling through her nose. To Max’s credit, he didn’t appear extremely perturbed
and I could see him flush at the ridiculousness of the conversation.

Since I was indeed responsible for this nonsense, I decided to come clean.

“I did briefly touch on the topic of snitching, but with Sydney, not Claire. I gave
the girls some cookies.” I would rather not get into how many.
¹
“Apparently Claire took one more than was allowed and Sydney ratted her out. I said
to Sydney, ‘Don’t be a snitch.’ For the record, this isn’t the first time I’ve had
the snitch talk with Sydney and it’s not sticking. Apparently the essence of the lesson
was lost on your daughter.”

“They’re too young, Isabel, to understand the concept of snitching,” David said.

“I didn’t know that. You’re always telling me how smart children are,” I said. “I
thought I was imparting some valuable wisdom. And I think we should all remember that
I was duped into babysitting in the first place.”

“Once again,” David said, “we apologize. But, you know, most aunties would jump at
the chance to spend quality time with their niece.”

“You can always call Rae.”

“We’re going to barbecue,” David said. “Want to stay for dinner?”

“Are the kids staying?”

“
Yes
, Izzy.”

“I think I’ll pass,” I said.

I have had many meals with Sydney and at almost every one she throws a tantrum so
spectacular, you wonder if she’s doing permanent damage to your eardrums.

“Nice to see you again, Max,” I said. “You have a lovely daughter. She’s much nicer
than my niece, has no royal aspirations, and doesn’t have a peanut allergy.
²

“Good-bye, snitches,” I said to the girls.

Sydney said, “No Izzy.”

Claire said, “Izzy stay.”

“Anyone want to swap kids? Just an idea.”

•  •  •

I decided to drop by Slayter’s place while children were running amok overhead. As
I left my apartment, an old Dodge pickup truck was idling across the street. Two males
sat in the front seat, looking at what appeared to be David and Maggie’s residence.

I stood in the middle of the sidewalk and made eye contact.

“You Maggie? You the lawyer?”

I stepped under the light of the streetlamp so they’d get a better look at my face.
I’d rather they identified me than my sister-in-law. The driver had a tattoo on his
neck. If he wasn’t an ex-con, he would be someday, assuming he got out.

“What can I do for you?”

“Bitch, thought you were a defense attorney.”

“What’s the problem?” I asked.

“You’re talking to too many people.”

I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and the guy with the tattoos peeled out. Never
got his license plate number.

•  •  •

I wouldn’t say that I make a habit of unannounced visits, but it certainly wasn’t
unprecedented.

From the front door I could hear jazz playing inside, a male voice holding forth—Edward’s—and
a woman’s laughter adding another layer to the soundtrack. It sounded like a date.
Most people would have left then and there, but Edward and I have an understanding.

I rang the doorbell three times. I heard my boss’s clipped footsteps approach. When
he swung open the door, he was unpleasantly surprised and visually verified that he
was on a date. Edward has a date uniform—a crisp, white shirt unbuttoned to show off
his even tan, and he wears loafers instead of the cap-toe oxfords that he prefers
for work. Also, he wears cologne. Only on dates; never at work.

“Isabel,” he said. “This isn’t a good time.”

“Entertaining,” I said, brushing past him. It wasn’t a question.

Inside I found a very attractive and fit woman in her early forties. Her hair was
highlighted to give the impression of blondness and her face was three shades paler
than her legs. She appeared more than startled to see me and got to her feet defensively
when I entered the dining room. To her, I could have been anyone. Edward’s daughter,
an ex-girlfriend, his minister.

Edward cleared his throat. “Lenore, I’d like you to meet Isabel, my niece. She was
in the neighborhood and thought she’d drop by.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking Lenore’s hand. She had that lady grip, like a
dead fish. I always consider it a bad omen. “Uncle Ed, can I talk to you privately?”

Edward took my arm with a tight squeeze and led me down the hallway into his office.
Inside, he shut the door, which is reliably soundproof.

“Please tell me she’s a hooker,” I said.

“Your timing is atrocious,” he said.

“I pride myself on that. Don’t high-end hookers usually retire by that age and then
become madams?”

“Don’t be indecent.”

“Where did you meet her?” I asked.

“At the tennis club.”

“How convenient. Does she have references?”

“Sheldon introduced us. I believe she’s friendly with his ex-wife.”

Sheldon Meyers is an old and dear friend of Edward’s and one of the three major shareholders
of Slayter Industries, along with Edward and Willard Slavinsky. I was sure he wouldn’t
go out of his way to set Edward up with a gold-digger, but I’ve noticed that rich
old men aren’t very good at spotting them.

“And how long has Sheldon known her?”

Slayter avoided eye contact to avoid the question.

“Edward, we discussed this. Any time you date a new woman, you have to let me vet
her completely. There’s too much at risk.”

Slayter’s ex-wife was, in essence, a con artist who had positioned herself to make
a lot of money off of her marriage. Slayter’s medical condition makes him even more
vulnerable, and we have had many discussions about how to proceed should he find himself
in any romantic entanglements.

“It’s unseemly to pry into the life of someone you’ve just met.”

“What if she finds out?” I said. “She could use it to blackmail you.”

“You have such a bleak view of the world,” Edward said.

“It’s not bleak, it’s cautious.” It’s actually bleak, these days.

Edward played with his collar, as if he were Rodney Dangerfield loosening his red
tie.

“Where’s Ethan, by the way?”

“I put him up in one of the corporate apartments. My housekeeper threatened to quit
if he stayed.”

“Does everyone get an apartment?”

“I was having a lovely evening, Isabel.”