The Orphans of Race Point: A Novel (23 page)

“How much did you tip him?” Hallie laughed as she saw the lights of the delivery car blink out in front, followed by footsteps on the walkway. “And how on earth did you know they were arriving now?”

“I told them to call me just before they reached the house. That way we can eat together. I’m having the same thing.”

Hallie heard the beep of the microwave, indicating that Sam’s pizza had grown cold as he waited. It was quickly followed by the sound of a beer being popped.

She carried the phone to the door and tipped the delivery man even though she knew Sam had already done so. “
What,
no milk? I thought we were going through this pregnancy together.”

“There’s only so far a man can go,” Sam said, exhaling with satisfaction after a long swig of beer.

Hallie could see his broad smile and his muscular chest, the way he tossed back his head when he drank. She carried the pizza and milk to the blue table where she had shared so many meals with Nick and their friends, and held Sam on the line until she had finished. They talked about his day at Wellesley, where his course in practical philosophy was easily the most popular course in the catalogue, and how he’d almost been clipped by a student on a bike when he was walking to his office. Finally, Sam asked about Felicia and the preparations for the estate sale. But there was an obligatory tone in his voice, a note he always assumed when he was forced to talk about her hometown.

“There’s not much of an estate. Not much of value—”

She left the sentence unfinished. Not much of value—except Wolf’s paintings, another forbidden topic between them. Other than that, there were the few pieces Liz Cooper had bought, and rooms full of her father’s largely worthless treasures—also subjects Sam preferred to avoid.

He cleared his throat. “Well, that makes it easier, I suppose.” Then, as always, he pivoted away from the subject and asked what time she’d be back on Thursday.

“The closing’s scheduled for eleven. As soon as I sign the papers, I’ll be on the road,” Hallie said.

Only after she hung up the phone did Hallie think of all the things they hadn’t discussed. How she felt when she opened the door of the house. The grief she’d finally released on the roof. What it was like to sit at the blue table without Nick. Provincetown was the part of Hallie that Sam could never have, and in many ways it was the deepest, truest part.

L
ike Hallie, Sam had strong visceral
reactions to the crumbling Victorian on Commercial Street. Once in high school, he’d taken the bus to Provincetown from his home in Weston. He had walked past the place, and peered furtively up at the attic windows, but he had never knocked on the door. Nor had he ever been invited inside. If they had seen him on the sidewalk, Hallie and Nick would have thought of him as just another tourist, admiring the architecture and the view beyond it. No one would have guessed his real interest in the place.

Hallie put the uneaten portion of her pizza in the fridge for breakfast and walked upstairs to the rooms that she had once called the “ghost quarters.”

Wolf’s bold paintings still covered the walls. Since they’d been “discovered” by the art world, they had attracted increasing interest and higher offers. However, Nick had steadfastly refused to sell them.

Hallie studied her favorite painting of Race Point, the bolts of magenta Wolf had seen on the water. She could still remember her excitement as she had watched Wolf paint it, and how he’d become so lost in his work that he’d been startled to find her there. For a moment, he, too, felt present to her. In her grief over Nick, she had almost forgotten about the
other
grandfather her child would never meet.

Hey, Wolf
, she said, talking to her ghosts for the second time that day.
Have you heard the news? Your son’s going to be a father.

Chapter 22

H
allie sat up with a start
to the sound of hammering on the front door and raked her hand through her loose, wavy hair. It took her a moment to realize where she was: there in her high bed, peering out on her own glistening bay.
Home.
But before she could absorb the pleasure of that, the knocks resumed more insistently.

Hallie picked up the cell she’d tossed on her bedside table the night before: 7:25. She snuck out to the landing to catch a glimpse of the interloper. Then, realizing she was wearing only her bikini underpants and an old T-shirt that had grown tight across her chest in pregnancy, she quickly retreated.

Shit
.
Whoever the hell’s banging at the door this early better be bringing coffee.
She had thrown on her jeans and was searching for a bra when the pounding grew louder. Obviously, the bra would have to wait.

When she snapped open the door, she was almost struck by a man with his fist in the air. He was dressed in a sleek suit and smiling in a way that instantly annoyed Hallie.

“Dr. Maddox.”
He looked her up and down. “I almost didn’t recognize you. You look considerably less formal than the last time we met.”

“
Lunes Oliveira?
” Hallie said, hardly able to believe Gus’s attorney was standing in her doorway. She hadn’t seen him since the trial. “What exactly—”

Undaunted, Lunes continued to grin. “So are you going to invite me in or not?” He consulted a black Rolex as he glided past her. “I’ve been up for an hour and five minutes and I still haven’t had coffee yet. I thought you might—”

“This house has been vacant for a year,” Hallie interrupted. “The only edible thing in the kitchen is last night’s cold pizza. What’s more, I don’t seem to remember inviting you for breakfast.”

“Cold pizza will be fine,” Lunes said, pulling up a chair at the blue table. “By the way, I’ve gotta say I like that wild look. Maybe you should have worn your hair down in court. God knows it couldn’t have gone worse.”

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Hallie hugged herself. She was about to toss her guest out of the house when a thought occurred to her. “Is there any new information about Gus’s case?”

Lunes’s smile faded, and she saw a hint of the man behind the fine clothes and the swagger. “I wish there was. It was probably my childhood brainwashing, but that was one client I actually believed.”

“Too bad you weren’t able to convince the jury.”

“Ouch,” Lunes said, rising from the chair. “My feelings might be hurt if I wasn’t so confident in the work I did. If you recall, they had motive, a previous assault against the victim, and the testimony of the cab driver that put him at the scene. Not to mention all the physical evidence he left behind. But it was the abuse scandal that really killed us. The jury took one look at this young, good-looking priest and immediately decided he was guilty.”

“Then why did you believe him?”

“Guess I couldn’t imagine anyone would be that dumb. Sure, every criminal makes mistakes—even the smart ones—but if Gus had written out a ten-point plan to implicate himself in the crime, he couldn’t have done a better job.”

“So you believed him because everything pointed to his guilt?” Hallie said, wishing Lunes could say something to erase the uncertainties that still haunted her. “That makes no sense.”

Lunes shrugged. “We all have our weak spots, Doctor. The instances when logic fails, and emotion or a common history or . . .” He hesitated a minute before he continued. “Okay, all I had—all I
still
have is my gut—and the fact that a few good people who know him pretty well seemed to share my belief. Like Sandra. And what about her daughter? A National Merit Scholar who grew up in the projects. Can’t usually put much over on that combination.”

Hallie remembered the quiet, sloe-eyed girl and her sharply dressed mother who looked as if she belonged in a hospital bed, not a courtroom. “How are they?” “Sandra passed away a few months ago, I’m sorry to say,” Lunes said. “She was quite a woman.”

“And her daughter?”

“There’s a new housekeeper, and Julia’s still living in the garage above the rectory. It’s a rather unorthodox foster home, but the old priest has connections and he’s made it work.” While Hallie was considering that, he continued: “Then there was your actor friend, the guy Little Cod almost killed—what’s his name?”

“Neil Gallagher.”

“Poor bastard pretty much messed up his whole life trying to save his childhood buddy. Stopped showing up at his play rehearsals in the city, started drinking too much, blew his relationship with an up-and-coming actress, and ended up in Chicago, directing student theater.”

Hallie knew about the job Neil had taken in Chicago, but the rest was news to her. “Shouldn’t you be investigating Gus’s case, instead of his friends?”

“That’s where most investigations usually start, isn’t it? With friends and family. Usually end there, too.”

“So that’s why you’re here? You’re researching me?”

“Nah. I already know all the salient facts about you, Dr. Maddox. Got yourself a thriving medical practice at the clinic in Mission Hill. Married—rather coincidentally, I might add—to the millionaire son of your former boarder. Someday you’ll have to tell me how
that
happened.”

“Yeah, someday we’ll have a long chat about every personal detail of my life,” Hallie said, feeling even more irritated.

Lunes seemed to enjoy the feistier Hallie. “Anyway, I figured you’d be in touch if you had any new information.”

“So if you don’t want to discuss Gus’s case, why did you come?” Hallie asked.

“For the estate sale, of course. My ex-wife was something of an art collector and she taught me a lot. Aside from my kids and some pretty great sex, it was the best part of our marriage. Where are they?”

“Excuse me?” Hallie said.

“Your father-in-law’s paintings. I hear his finest work is here, rotting along with a rather fantastic house. If I were still married, I’d consider buying it myself.”

Though it was technically true, Hallie never thought of Wolf as her
father-in-law.
And as for his art, it was like the bay outside the window, or the slightly fishy scent on the air—simply part of the atmosphere she’d breathed as a child. It infuriated her that someone, especially the maddening Lunes Oliveira, saw it as a commodity.

“The paintings aren’t for sale,” she said curtly.

“Newspaper says otherwise.” As if on cue, Lunes produced a clipping from the
Cape Cod Times
advertising the estate sale. He’d underlined the words
including artwork
.

“What?”
Hallie tore the scrap of paper from his hands. “Well, it’s a mistake. As I said, they’re not for sale. They’re . . . my daughter’s legacy.”

She’d blurted out that last before she could stop herself—and she wasn’t even sure it was true. She and Sam had only talked about the fate of the paintings once, and his response had been blunt. “You want to know what I would do with them? Burn them. I don’t care what they’re worth—and frankly, neither did he.”
He.
It was the only word Sam ever used to refer to his father.

Lunes cocked his head curiously, interrupting her reverie. “Daughter? I’m sorry; I didn’t realize you had a child.”

Instinctively, Hallie put her hand over her abdomen. “Um, I don’t. I mean—not yet.”

And there it was again, that voracious smile. “Well, I guess congratulations are in order. I’m happy for you, Hallie. Sincerely. And for Mr. Maddox as well.”

Hallie nodded, appalled that she’d revealed her pregnancy to him. “I don’t mean to be rude, Lunes, but I have a lot to do this morning; and the man who’s handling the sale should be here any moment.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I take a quick look? I promise not to bother you.” He drifted into the study, where he picked up Nick’s telescope and began to examine it. “Pretty outdated, but still a fine piece of equipment. How much you want for it?”

Furious, Hallie bolted across the room and put her body between the lawyer and his object of interest. “Don’t touch it,” she said before she could stop herself. Then, not sure whether she was flushing from embarrassment or just anger, she quickly added, “I’m sorry, but that’s not for sale, either.”

Lunes laughed. “Another of your daughter’s legacies?”

“No,
mine
,” Hallie said, recalling the clear nights when her father had packed a blanket and Thermos full of sweet coffee and headed toward Herring Cove, where he’d treated her to the wonders of the night sky.

“I see,” Lunes said, walking through the room like a particularly agile predator, picking up and setting down various items.

Every time he touched an object, Hallie cringed and held her breath until he completed his careful examination and returned it to its place.

Finally, Lunes sauntered back into the kitchen and opened a cupboard. Hallie assumed the pushy intruder wanted to get himself a glass of water before he left. But instead, he pulled a cracked brown cup from the shelf and held it in the air. It happened to be the mug Nick has used to drink his coffee every morning. “How much for this?”

“Are you joking? You want to buy a coffee-stained mug?”

“Believe it or not, I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

“It’s an old diner cup. Obviously worthless. There’s no way I would sell you such a thing.”

“Then you’re saying I can have it for nothing—a little gift to signify our growing friendship, perhaps?”

Hallie reached out to grab the cup, but the smiling Lunes lifted it higher.

“A thousand dollars, Dr. Maddox. I’ll give you a thousand dollars for your
worthless
brown cup.”

“It’s from a place in Cambridge where my parents used to go,” Hallie said in a low voice. “The coffee shop was torn down about twenty years ago and my father—”

“Ah, another family heirloom,” Lunes said, holding up his free hand. “No need to say another word.” He placed the cup on the shelf as if it were a delicate piece of crystal, then removed another mismatched cup—Wolf’s favorite—and held it aloft. “How about this one? Will you accept my generous—no, let’s be honest,
insane
—offer for this fine piece? One thousand dollars for a cup you couldn’t get two cents for in a yard sale.”

This time Hallie was successful when she reached out and grabbed it out of his hand. “Get out of my house, Mr. Oliveira,” she said, shaking as she clung to the blue-rimmed mug.

Lunes laughed, again consulting his elegant watch. “I’d love to stay and see how the sale goes, but it turns out you’re in luck. I’m due in court in less than an hour, and as you know, I still haven’t had a cup of coffee. I’ll leave you to your heirlooms.”

Hallie closed her eyes in relief as he headed for the door.

But just before he reached it, Lunes made one of his dramatic pivots, which she remembered from the courtroom. “A little advice? I don’t practice real estate law, Hallie; but if I were you, I’d get a hold of whoever’s advising you on the sale right away. You’ve only got a couple days till the closing. And you better get that sign out of your front yard, too.”

“What the—what are you talking about?” Hallie said, clasping the mug to her chest.

The lawyer smiled. “Look at you—you’re not ready to part with a single cup. There’s not a chance in hell you’re going to give up your father’s house. The sooner you break the news to the poor bastards who think they’re buying it, the better.”