The Last Word (37 page)

There were so many things wrong with this moment. The first thing wrong with it was
me. I was, obviously, incredibly insensitive and hadn’t paid enough attention to Mom.

“He’s going to be fine,” I said. I’m not sure if I added a question mark at the end
of the sentence.

“He is going to be fine.” She said it like a mantra, to convince herself it was true.

“Are you going to be fine?” I asked, putting my arm around her and walking her to
her car.

“I’m going to be fine,” she said. I was not convinced.

“Can I ask why? The hospital is a pretty depressing place, and yet Jimmy’s Casino
Card Club makes the hospital look like Alcatraz.”
²

“His odds were kind of like blackjack by the time we caught it. But the thing about
blackjack that most people don’t know is that you can win. The odds, if you play it
right and don’t take any unnecessary risks, are on your side.”

“Is that why you play?”

“No. Honestly. Those two hours I’m playing cards, I’m not thinking of anything else.
It’s kind of like your dad with that dumb-ass video game with bobbing plants.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“For what, sweetie?” Mom asked.

I was sorry for so many things it didn’t seem like a good idea to list them, in case
some had slipped her mind. I was sorry that I didn’t communicate more when I took
over the business. I was sorry that I was such a monster when I had them on the ropes.
I was sorry I had stopped asking my parents simple questions, like
How are you doing? Have you been to a doctor recently? Can I see the results of your
latest blood work?
Mostly I was sorry because when all of this went down I never just stopped and looked
my mother in the eye and asked her if she was okay. She would have lied to me, but
at least I’d have asked. At least I would have known the truth.

1
. Vallejo is a lot hotter than San Francisco.

2
. In our family, Alcatraz is the equivalent of Disneyland.

V
ivien surveilled Lowell Frank for two days. It seemed like four to me, because she
called me every hour on the hour to tell me that he was still at work and that she
needed to pee. Sometimes I, or Rae, or the Spellman of the hour who needed a break
from the hospital, would meet Vivien outside of her stakeout location on Battery Street
and relieve her of her duties so she could relieve herself, but more times than not,
we’d just tell her to risk it and find a bar or café. Vivien made more money those
two days than she ever had in a two-week period, but sadly, I think it permanently
cured her of any notion of becoming a PI.

Most of our conversations went something like this:

VIVIEN:
Do you know what’s more boring than surveillance?

ME:
What?

VIVIEN:
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Demetrius had better luck with his subject. Or worse, depending on how you look at
it.

Connor Glenn had a life. And Demetrius followed him as he went about it. Connor became
paranoid and began doing things to evade the
black man who he assumed was following him to steal his wallet. Connor got into a
car accident and Demetrius promptly quit the assignment. I made the greatest executive
decision of my life and asked Demetrius and Vivien to switch subjects.

Demetrius had a delightful time sitting on a stoop catching up on his reading and
coffee (and didn’t even bother calling in to request bathroom breaks, since he understood
that Lowell Frank was not going anywhere).

Vivien stopped consuming beverages when she discovered that she had a subject who
was at least marginally entertaining. Connor Glenn never noticed the cute, twentysomething
coed who was on his heels sixteen hours a day. He didn’t notice her when he dropped
by his fiancée’s apartment and he didn’t notice her as she was snapping shots of him
at Boulevard with his future father-in-law, Willard Slavinsky. The father-in-law status
had to be confirmed with a few pretext calls, but that was ridiculously easy.

Vivien had no idea when we were flipping through her camera phone that she had the
money shot. I immediately called D and relieved him of his responsibilities. I sent
Viv straight home and told her to take a shower, a twelve-hour nap, and the next day
off. And then I went straight to Edward’s house, where I found him engrossed in a
perfectly tedious game of chess with Charlie.

“I’ve got the who and the why, but not the what, otherwise known as evidence,” I said.

I showed Edward the photos. This was the kind of news that probably required a bit
of delicacy, but I was all out. While I should have been consoling Edward, I was kicking
myself for being so taken in by Willard. I should have known the moment I caught him
with Lenore.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s Willard and he’s angling for Connor Glenn.”

Edward stared at the photo of his friend, the recognition of the betrayal showing
itself in a look of anger I’d never seen in my boss. The universe had disappointed
him lately. I think he believed that a friend wouldn’t. Slavinsky had sold out a man
he’d known for forty years for a son-in-law with bad job prospects.

“What do you know about Glenn?”

“I guess he needs a job,” Edward said.

“Now we need proof.”

“How are you going to do that?” Edward asked.

“Relax, I’m a detective,” I said with the enthusiasm of the first runner-up for Miss
America.

I had no idea how I was going to get that proof.

•  •  •

Linking Willard to his son-in-law was easy, but convincing the shareholders or the
board of directors that something untoward was happening required proving that Willard
was behind Edward’s scrapes with sanity. I had no brilliant ideas beyond twenty-four-hour
surveillance of our primary suspect, and the damage was already done. And surveillance
is expensive.

I had delivered the Slayter Industries funds from my bank account back to Slayter
Industries and not only was I broke, but my parents were broke and my company was
broke. I could postpone paychecks to anyone with a last name starting with S, but
once I paid Vivien and D and the vendors that our livelihood depended on, we had less
than a thousand in the bank.

The only good thing about a life-threatening illness in the family is that it puts
your dire financial situation in perspective. I simply managed to put it out of my
mind.

•  •  •

Monday was a nail-biter for Mom; she knew Dad’s latest tests would be in, which would
determine the course of treatment and whether Dad could go home. He had been in the
hospital four weeks now.

Dr. Chang allowed the immediate family into the room while she debriefed us.

“The hope with the four-week induction chemo is to induce remission. I’m happy to
report that Albert’s tests look good.”

The room exploded in celebration.

“Wait,” Dr. Chang said. “It’s too soon for that. Now you need to go home and rest
for a week, and then consolidated chemotherapy is the protocol
for this type of leukemia. Often we do chemotherapy with a bone marrow transplant
or stem cell transplant. I’d like everyone to get tested and then we can decide what
to do next. But I’m releasing Albert tomorrow. He should remain on bed rest. His immune
system is still compromised. Please limit visitors and I’ll see you in a week.”

“I started drinking the green stuff in David’s kitchen last week,” Rae said. “So my
bone marrow would be at its best.”

“Rae, that algae shake mix is like two years old. You should stop,” said Dad.

“Should I take up exercise now?” Rae asked. “Or will that just weaken my immune system
since I’m not accustomed to it?”

Tralina walked into the room to say good-bye. “I heard you were leavin’ me. I’ll miss
ya, Albert.” She turned to all of us and said, “Behave yourselves. I saw you all stealing
other people’s food. I let it slide. Next time, I’ll turn you in. You have a beautiful
family, Albert. I tink they could use more discipline.”

•  •  •

Dad came home. Other than Dad not looking like Dad and spending most of his time in
bed, you could almost pretend he wasn’t sick. My father had always been a popular
man, and news traveled fast. Gift baskets arrived at an alarming rate. Most were sent
through a delivery service since we had asked for no visitors, but there were always
exceptions to the rule.

Max dropped by to pick up Princess Banana. It’s a general rule that grandparents cannot
get enough of their grandchildren, but Banana is an iconoclast. Anyway, when Max visited
he had Claire with him, of course. I had forgiven him for trying to shrink me.

“Claire wants you to take her to the Big Q,” Max said. “What is it? She couldn’t explain
that to me.”

“Wow, children really are sponges.”

I pulled Claire aside and said, “We don’t want to go to the Big Q. It’s not a nice
place.”

Max looked at me suspiciously and then said, “Claire asked if she could have a playdate
with you.”

“What is that?” I asked. “Free babysitting?”

“No. I would be there. You think I’d leave you alone with my child again?”

“Have fun with the princess,” I said, ushering the trio out the door.

Speaking of the Big Q, I caught a glimpse of Rae chatting amiably with that ex-con,
the one with the neck tattoos, who sent prison telegrams. He was sitting in his truck;
she passed him a Tupperware container full of baked goods. When they were done chatting,
they shook hands and Rae returned to the house.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“Skip looked hungry and we’re swimming in stale gift basket crap.”

“Skip? When did you two get on a first-name basis?”

“It’s always good to have some muscle on your side and since D doesn’t like getting
his hands dirty . . .”

“Should you really be consorting with a known felon, Rae?”

“One of us has to,” Rae said as she breezed out of the room.

•  •  •

Agent Bledsoe dropped by after Dad came home. Bledsoe made the house call to bring
me the good news that the case was closed, our name was cleared, and he had come to
a settlement
¹
with Evelyn Glade.

“She’s not going to do any time, is she?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “It was her boyfriend’s idea, anyway.”

I didn’t condone what Evelyn did, and I couldn’t for the moment pretend I understood
her, but the last thing I’d wanted was to see her go to prison.

Before Bledsoe left, he said the strangest thing to me.

“I should have given you more credit,” he said. “If you were going to pull something,
it wouldn’t have been
that
stupid.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I like to think I could’ve come up with a decent embezzlement scheme.”

•  •  •

There was only one other visitor to speak of. We weren’t expecting anyone. The doorbell
rang in the middle of the afternoon. I looked through the peephole and saw a woman
standing with a large gift basket blocking her face. She didn’t seem dangerous, so
I opened the door.

“Petra, what are you doing here?”

Perhaps you recall the name. It’s come up a few times, mostly in reference to crimes
from my past. I don’t think I’d seen her in more than two years. We had been inseparable
for years. Then she married my brother, cheated on him, and they divorced. I suppose
that was the beginning of the end. If you think about it, that was also a good thing.
If they hadn’t divorced, he wouldn’t have met Maggie and they wouldn’t have had . . .
Well, let’s just leave it at
he wouldn’t have met Maggie
. Since I’d last seen Petra, she’d had a child, grown out her hair, and started wearing
clothes that served more to conceal than reveal her collection of tattoos. She still
had her nose piercing, though. I always knew she’d be that kind of mom.

“I heard,” Petra said as she stood nervously in the doorway. “Len and Chris told me
and I thought about calling, but then they told me that he was home and I thought
on a hunch I’d bring this by. You can just throw it out, if he doesn’t want it.”

Petra offered up a homemade gift box with brownies and lollipops and other confectionary
items infused with the cannabis crop.

“I got it from High Heals,
²
that medical marijuana dispensary in the Castro. There’s lollipops and cookies and
I made the brownies myself, so you know they’re good. Also, I left a little bit of
the weed in the canister, if your dad wants to smoke. I hear it helps. But if you
think this is a bad idea . . .”

“No, it’s a great idea,” I said. In truth, I had no idea if Dad genuinely wanted the
ganja or if he just wanted to know he could have it. Either way, I knew he’d appreciate
the gift. “That was really nice of you,” I said.

“It was nothing,” she said. “Your dad meant a lot to me for a long time, and he bailed
me out of jail once. I miss him. I miss all of you. It’s been strange not being around
the Spellmans, you know?”

“I do. I haven’t even met your son.”

“Let me show you a picture.”

Petra dug through her overstuffed bag and eventually found her wallet. She plucked
a snapshot of a two-year-old boy in skateboarding gear with dark hair, devilish eyes,
and a Mohawk. I desperately wanted him to meet and torment Princess Banana.

“He looks just like I thought he would,” I said. “Hey, do you want to come in? Have
some coffee?”

“I have to run,” Petra said. “But maybe I can call you sometime and we can do something.
I don’t know what. Break into the school cafeteria. Or just get a drink somewhere.”

“That sounds great,” I said.

We hugged awkwardly and Petra left, but I knew that a shift had happened, and I wasn’t
saying good-bye to her for another year or two. I’d see her again, sometime soon.

I brought the gift basket upstairs to Dad, who looked like, well, a kid in a candy
store. He immediately asked for a lollipop, which Mom immediately confiscated.