The Last Word (29 page)

“It’s nice of you to send a gift basket to a man you’ve never met.”

“Maybe we could remedy that soon.”

“At least these days if you met him in bed clothes, it would be appropriate.”

“How is the patient?”

“He’s great. He’s being waited on hand and foot. He doesn’t even have to pour his
own water if he doesn’t feel like it. This has never happened before and will never
happen again.”

“How are you doing?” Edward asked.

“Other than those pesky embezzlement charges?”

“Isabel, just take care of your father. I’ll deal with that.”

“How’s Ethan?”

“He’s Ethan.”

“Anything new with him? Is he planning to go away any time soon?”

“You mean like a vacation?”

“Something like that.”

“Not that I know of. He did mention that his visit here would eventually come to an
end.”

“I see.”

When my shift ended and Rae took over, I phoned Ethan from the parking lot.

“Why haven’t you told him yet?” I said as soon as he picked up.

“I was thinking it might be better not to tell him.”

“Wrong answer.”

“I want him to remember me fondly.”

“Too late. You’re a gambling-addicted con man who has already done seven years in
the slammer.”

“This is a family matter, Isabel. You should stay out of it.”

“You have an hour to tell him or I’ll do it. Don’t make the mistake of calling my
bluff.”

•  •  •

I love my father. Most people who meet my father eventually grow to love him, but
spending six-hour shifts with him as he reminisced, brought me up
to speed on
Hayley’s Fortune
, and demanded his pillows be adjusted repeatedly could be trying. And then when he
ran out of his usual material, Dad took to tossing out a series of random personal
and impersonal questions:

“So, when’s the last time you went out on a date?”

“Are you thinking about finding an apartment that’s not in your brother’s basement
any time soon?”

“What the hell are these bath salts everybody is talking about?”

“Have you ever listened to Justin Bieber’s music? I mean
really
listened?”

My point is, I was glad to keep Dad company, but it was exhausting, and some days
I came to dread my shift. Then, one day, I arrived and Rae had somehow managed to
induce a soporific state in my father.

“What did you do to him?”

“I asked him to read my term papers for the last three years. I wanted his honest
opinion about whether higher education was worth the cost. I think they’d like another
lawyer in the family; it makes up for having one child with only a high school diploma.”

Dad’s illness had derailed, well, everything, and I’d never had a chance to voice
my concerns about my sister’s “report.”

“When I’m done here,” I said, “we need to talk about your caseload.”

“Looking forward to it,” Rae said. “One more thing: If Dad needs a bone marrow transplant,
he agreed that I get to be the donor.”

“Really? How’d you swing that?”

“First I had to rule out David. Being the primary caretaker of Sydney, he really couldn’t
afford to be out of commission for any time at all, and every operation has its risk.
And then we discussed the impact of your alcohol consumption on your general health,
and we both agreed my bone marrow was less contaminated.”

“There is no scientific evidence that beer contaminates bone marrow.”

“And there’s no evidence that it doesn’t. My point is, I win.”

“Don’t you always?”

I
scheduled an official meeting with the conflict resolution specialist. Straight after
my shift with Dad at the hospital, Vivien and Rae met me at the office. Rae was working
on one of the computers, and Vivien, after many attempts, was carving a tiny little
derringer out of a bar of handmade lye soap—apparently much sturdier than any store-bought
brand.

“Sit down. Both of you.”

They were already sitting, so my directive lost some dramatic effect.

“Let’s talk about your side project, Rae.”

“Before you say anything, Izzy, you need to know something. This is the future of
private investigation. Although we’ve got to lose that tired moniker.”

“What you’re doing isn’t PI work, Rae. It’s preschool vigilantism.”

“I’ve already had one positive outcome, and if you met Greenblatt’s girlfriend, you’d
know she was a lost cause. I did him a favor. Once I complete the Lightning case,
I’ll be two and a draw, which is like two-point-five out of three. If I can stay at
those numbers and advertise anything over an eighty percent success rate, we can grow
this business and finally start making some money. But don’t take my word for it.
Let’s ask the client. Vivien, have you been satisfied with the work we’ve done?”

“Very satisfied so far. All we need to do is finish the job,” Vivien said, still playing
with her soap-bar sculpture.

“What does ‘finish the job’ mean?”

“I think it’s time to give the photos of Lorre and his girlfriend to his wife,” said
Rae.

“Agreed,” said Vivien.

“Why don’t you just show the photos to him and firmly suggest he pay Vivien what he
owes her?”

“That’s blackmail, Isabel.
Hello
. You could go to jail for that. Since we already have embezzlement charges hanging
over our head, doesn’t seem like the wisest idea.”

“So what is your brilliant plan?” I asked.

“That man is dead inside,” Rae said. “The only way to get through to him is to speak
his language. The only way to make him stop extorting money from people is for him
to realize there are consequences. We’ve completely unsettled him. But it’s not enough.”

“No,” I said. “The Lorre case is over. If you want to file a small-claims suit, I’ll
get behind that. Otherwise, we’re done here.”

“I’m not going to threaten you and say that I won’t handle the billing or the payroll;
I’m just going to ask a favor of you,” Rae said.
¹
“Pay one visit to Marcus Lorre and try to reason with him. After that, if you still
want me to shut it down, I will.”

We sealed the deal with a handshake.

“Take me with you,” Vivien said. “I’ll stay in the car and listen on my cell phone.
Please?”

I agreed to their terms, since I was only agreeing to having a talk with Marcus Lorre.

Rae gathered her belongings and reminded me to call Robbie.

“Robbie and you are in a cyber-war and he’s winning. You need to throw in the towel.
Do you know how to do that?”

“Apologize?”

“With a porn gift basket,” Rae plainly explained.

•  •  •

Vivien and I made the thirty-minute drive to the bland stucco headquarters of Lighting
Fast Moving Company in San Bruno. The shingle of the company hung just over a single
door up a short flight of steps (surplus charge, I think). Aside from three moving
trucks, a cluster of practical cars were parked in the lot. Lorre’s impractical Porsche
Boxster stood out like a debutante in a biker bar.

“Don’t key his car or write any words on it, even with a harmless whipped-cream substitute,
got it?”

“Got it,” Vivien said.

“Keep your phone on.”

I opened the door to the pungent fragrance of burned coffee and old rug. The receptionist
was smoking, I suspect to cover the unpleasant odor.

“I have an appointment with Marcus Lorre,” I said.

“An appointment?” asked the receptionist. I got the feeling that Lorre didn’t have
many appointments.

The telephone rang. She picked up. “Lightning Fast Moving. How can I help you?”

“I’ll find him myself,” I said.

The receptionist looked like she was about to protest but gave up, as she probably
had on most things in life.

I walked down the hallway, which was most likely decorated by a bachelor who still
wore wide-lapelled polyester shirts. Lorre’s office was at the end of the hall, his
name on a marker by his door.

I heard a lone male voice inside, presumably on a telephone call.

“You sound like a nice girl,” he said. “Listen, I don’t do this for everyone, but
I’ll take five hundred off the quote. Great. I’ll e-mail the documents and all you
have to do is sign them virtually. Yes, you can do that now.”

I knocked.

“You’re in good hands. I promise,” the male voice said.

I knocked again.

“Come in.”

I opened the door. A dark-haired man with a sharp widow’s peak slicked back with Brylcreem
sat behind his desk. He wore a crisp white shirt open at the collar, stained by the
spray tan on his neck. He had one wormy eyebrow and teeth so white, they were probably
veneers.

“Hi, are you Marcus Lorre?”

“Who are you? And who let you back here?”

Lorre had clearly been served papers before. He was looking for an escape route and
trying to figure out where I was hiding the documents.

“My name is Isabel. I’m a private investigator. I was hoping we could have a little
chat.”

“I’m very busy right now. Maybe you can make an appointment.”

“This won’t take long. I want to talk to you about Vivien Blake.”

“I can’t recall the name at the moment.”

“You handled the contract for her move. And then, on the day all of her worldly possessions
were to be delivered to her new home, three large men held them ransom and made unsubstantiated
claims about the total weight of her belongings and added other ridiculous charges
and refused to move a single item until she ponied up over two grand. Where I come
from, that’s called extortion.”

“I believe if she read the contract she we would see that there’s a surcharge when
the items go above the estimated weight. The young woman provided the best estimate
she could and we went with the numbers she gave us. The contract is clear.”

“You had her belongings for only a month and never informed her that they were over
the estimated weight.”

“I believe if she read the contract—”

“You’ve had twelve small-claims suits against you.”

“Seven of the cases were dismissed for lack of evidence.”

“The plaintiffs in ten of the twelve cases were women. Why is that?”

“I don’t know,” Lorre said. “The men can move their stuff on their own?”

“No, that’s not it,” I said. “Try again.”

“Women don’t read contacts?”

“Is this really how you want to play it?” I asked.

“Oh, you’re one of those tough girls.”

“Mr. Lorre, I would watch how you talk to me. There are things I can do to you.”

“I’d love to hear them over a drink sometime.”

“A woman actually married you?”

I had a visual, beyond the photos, and then a physical reaction to the visual.

“I have a beautiful wife and two beautiful children.”

“I take it you’d like to hang on to her and the kids?”

“We’re doing just fine.”

“We’ll see,” I said.

“Anything else I can help you with?” Lorre asked.

“Have a nice day.”

As I passed his car in the parking lot, I pulled my knife out of my purse, walked
over to his car, and stabbed the front left tire. When I got into my car, Vivien glared
at me.

“I wanted to do that,” she said.

I reluctantly handed over the knife.

“One tire only. Then get back in the car immediately.”

Vivien looked like I’d told her she won the lottery. While Viv vandalized Lorre’s
car, I made the call I had hoped to avoid at all costs.

“Rae, it’s Isabel. I just met with Lorre.”

“What’s your ruling?” Rae asked.

“Take him out.”

Status: Resolved.

1
. Notice how she was, in fact, threatening me by mentioning the threat she could make.

S
layter returned to work a week after being released from the psych ward. Charlie Black
phoned to keep me abreast of his employer’s activities.

I drove to his office to have a word with Edward, since he was refusing to return
my calls.

Evelyn was returning from a coffee run at Caffe Trieste. Apparently, the run was just
for her and Arthur Bly. Arthur came to the front desk to retrieve his brew and Evelyn
said in the sweetest voice, “Decaf, double mocha. I know you said no whip, but you’ve
been working so hard lately, I made an executive decision.”

“You’re going to kill me, Evelyn,” Arthur said, boyishly accepting his beverage.

“That might be her plan,” I said.

Evelyn responded with an icy stare. “I’ll let Edward know you’re here.”

“He’ll figure it out when I walk into his office.”

When I was presumably out of earshot (I’m rarely actually out of earshot when people
presume I am), I heard Arthur inquire about Evelyn’s mother. She had found a temporary
home for her, but it was state-run and Evelyn couldn’t bear the thought of leaving
her mother there permanently. Arthur sympathized and said he’d gone through the same
thing with his
own ailing father. I swear, those two acted like human beings with each other and
androids in my company. I refused to accept all the blame.

Charlie was keeping vigil outside of Edward’s office, reading a business magazine
from the waiting room.

“How is he?” I asked quietly.

“He looks fine. The doctor said there was no long-term damage. Won’t get the drug
tests back for a few days, but it was probably out of his system by the time they
drew blood.”

“Has Ethan been by to see Edward?”

“Yes. He’s been over a few times.”

“Did they talk?”

“Yes. And I don’t think Edward liked what they talked about.”

“Good.”

“Why is that good?”

“Because it means that Ethan told his brother the truth.”

“Then I guess that’s good,” Charlie agreed.

Through the glass walls of Slayter’s office, I could see his telephone call come to
an end.

I entered without invitation.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I work here,” said Edward. “Guess who I was just talking to?”