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Diana wagged an index finger. “No, no, no,” she said, as though correcting an errant child. “Mary Claire was kidnapped on the nineteenth. If Michael had seen the men the week before-even if he was correct about what they were up to-the bundle couldn’t have been her. She was still alive and well.”
I closed my mouth and stared at them.
Diana Alvarez’s eyes were bright with triumph. I could feel the color rising in my cheeks. Offhand… except for an incident in first grade… I couldn’t think when I’d felt so humiliated. I’d believed Sutton. I’d persuaded others he was telling the truth. Now here I sat, feeling like an ass. I didn’t care that my ego had taken a hit. I cared because we were back to square one where Mary Claire was concerned. The link, as tenuous as it might have been, was gone.
Diana reached into her tote again, this time pulling out a file folder that she then pushed across the desk. “I made copies of the photographs from Disneyland. I also made copies of the clippings about Keith Kirkendall so you can read them at your leisure. I knew you wouldn’t be content to take our word for it.”
I pushed the folder back across the desk. “I appreciate the offer, but you’ll want those for your latest scrapbook.”
She left the folder where it was. “I made duplicates. That’s yours to keep. We’ve already dropped off a set for Lieutenant Phillips.”
Ryan fixed his big brown eyes on me with a phony look of pity and regret. Briefly I considered leaping across the desk and biting him until he bled.
“Sorry you had to go through this,” he said. “It’s typical of Michael, but that doesn’t make it any less infuriating.”
“Have you told him?”
Diana said, “No. As you know, we’re not on the best of terms. We thought the blow might be softer if it came from you.”
“In other words, you want me to stick it to him instead of you.”
Ryan said, “There’s nothing personal at stake. We’re setting the record straight. If you want us to put copies in the mail to him, we will.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
He reached into the i
“Which is another reason we’re here,” Diana said. “I have no idea how much time and energy you’ve devoted to this wild-goose chase, but we’re prepared to cover what he owes.”
Ryan leaned forward to use the desk in writing the check.
“Michael’s paid in full.”
Diana’s smile flickered. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”
“Life is a barrel of surprises, Diana. Was there anything else?”
Ryan put the checkbook away and the two exchanged a look, apparently at a loss as to what should come next. They’d probably hoped to hear me rage about Michael and his tenuous hold on the truth, but I’d have cut my own throat before I gave them the satisfaction. Their departure was awkward, hard-pressed as they were to detach themselves with any ease or grace. I didn’t offer to escort them to the door, but I did trail after them without the usual end-of-meeting pleasantries.
Once they were gone I locked the door and returned to my desk, where I sat and stewed for the better part of an hour.
27
A week after the family left for Europe, Jon arrived at Walker ’s house on his scooter just as Walker was coming down the drive in the secondhand 1963 Buick Skylark his father had given him the day he was accepted at UCST. The car wasn’t new, but it was better than the crummy Chevrolet Lionel had bought for Jon. Walker leaned across the passenger seat and rolled down the window. “I gotta make a run. Leave the scooter in the carport and hop in.”
Jon walked his scooter up the incline, parked it, and then hustled down the driveway to the street where Walker was waiting. He got in on the passenger side and slammed the door. “Where to?”
“ Alita Lane. You won’t believe this pair. They’re living in a school bus. Creed and Destiny. He’s an asshole but she’s a trip. They went over to the high school, hoping to score some dope, and Chapman turned them on to me.”
“Good deal.”
When they reached Alita Lane, Walker parked around the corner and the two hoofed it back. Walker was careful to avoid parent types when delivering weed. He mentioned, in passing, that the house belonged to Creed’s parents, Deborah and Patrick Unruh, whom Jon knew distantly from the country club. Mona was particularly enamored of Deborah Unruh and took every opportunity to fawn over her. Immediately Jon anticipated the moment when he could casually refer to the time he’d spent at Deborah’s. Soon afterward, however, he decided the co
Jon followed Walker around the side of the house to the cabana in back, where the school bus was parked. A boy of ten or so was splashing naked in the pool, probably peeing in the water when it suited him. The school bus was ratty on the outside, but when Jon finally saw the interior he thought it was cool-decked out with mattresses, a camp stove, storage boxes. An Indian-print spread served as a privacy screen, dividing the vehicle into two parts. The couple crashed in the back while the kid sacked out on the futon in front.
The bus doors were open and the boyfriend was fussing around with something inside. The chick was cross-legged in the grass, knotting a length of hemp, using hitches and half-hitches to make a wall hanging, or something equally useless since the bus had no walls to speak of. She looked up as they approached. “Hey, Creed? We have company.”
Creed emerged from the bus and Walker made the introductions. Nobody bothered to shake hands. Even years later, it was odd how vivid the moment seemed. Destiny was in her mid-twenties, six or seven years older than he. He’d never encountered anyone as hang-loose as she was. Her nails were bitten to the quick and her hair was a mass of curls. Her earrings were big silver hoops. She wore a scoop-necked peasant blouse, a long skirt, and Birkenstocks. She was chunky and smelled sooty from all the dope and cigarettes she smoked, but the scent reminded him of his mother. Destiny was a walking warning about the health hazards of poor nutrition and substance abuse. Within minutes, she mentioned she wasn’t married to Creed.
Jon said, “Is that your kid in the pool?”
She laughed. “Mine, but not his. Sky Dancer’s dad could have been any one of half a dozen guys.”
Was she for real? Jon couldn’t believe she’d said that.
After the preliminary chitchat, Creed handed Walker a wad of wrinkled bills in exchange for a lid. Destiny set aside her macramé and invited them to “partake,” as she referred to it, and then proceeded to roll the tightest joint he’d ever seen, about the size of a bobby pin. The four of them settled on the mattress at the back of the bus, smoking and making idle conversation. She had a husky laugh and she peppered the conversation with the sorts of expletives he associated with guys. After a time, he became aware that she was watching him. Creed, while dim, had to be aware of it, but seemed unconcerned.
Smoking dope made Jon paranoid and he was anxious about the kid who’d been left to play in the pool unsupervised. Now and then he’d find a pretext to hop out of the bus so he could check up on him. It wasn’t his responsibility, but the kid’s mother didn’t seem to care. At one point, while he was paddling around the shallow end, she appeared at Jon’s side, managing to stand closer than the situation required. The heat pouring off her skin left Jon mute. When she spoke, angling her face to his, it reminded him of those movie moments when the lovers are on the verge of kissing. Why was she coming on to him with Creed no more than fifteen feet away?