A Nose for Justice (16 page)

Mags leaned back in the restaurant’s comfortable booth. “I did, too, but in a different way.”

“Great sex in the Wall Street world?”

“Ha!” Mags exploded. “Great egos who think they’re God’s gift. Most of those boys who think they’re men are soft as the Pillsbury Doughboy. Baldness I don’t mind, but spare tires turn me right off. You can bet they all made passes at me, especially the married ones. Unlike you, I didn’t fall for it. But then you had better material.”

“Didn’t I? Revolting as Bobby is”—she named her ex—“he was gorgeous, well hung, and knew what to do with it. Other than that, he’s my candidate for all-time slimeball. Okay, maybe I exaggerate. I guess Hitler and Stalin were a bit worse.”

“Funny you should mention Stalin. Last week, Aunt Jeep said something about Trotsky. They were all monsters, that was her word, ‘monsters.’ ”

“We don’t seem to spawn that sort of evil pathology over on this side of the pond. I can’t decide if it’s lack of imagination or if Americans really are more stable. Well, I’m hardly a good example of a stable American, am I? Born to privilege, grew up with a wonderful family, movie stars were our parents’ best friends. We had every advantage in the world. I wound up in porn. Easy money. I could have afforded a better wig.”

“Why red?”

“Lucille Testicle Red.”

Mags laughed until the tears came. “What would Desi say? Poor Lucy. I doubt she would have wished to be your inspiration for those roles.”

“Remember how good-looking she was?”

“Yeah, Dad took us to meet her and she must have been seventy. We were so excited. I truly loved Lucy. Great bones, carriage. Ah.” Mags smiled when the food arrived for she was hungry.

“Are you done with it?”

“Porn?” Catherine raised her eyebrows, something she did often. “Never say never, but I hope I am. Fast money. Paid off my creditors. At least now I’m not wallowing in debt. Sometimes I drink too much to forget. I don’t incline toward uppers. I prefer ‘the soothers.’ It’s in the family genetically, you know.”

“I know. Dad’s side seems to be an unbroken string of drunks. We’re hardly doomed. Not everyone falls victim to it. Dad didn’t.”

“Well, I did. There isn’t a substance I’m not willing to ingest or inhale.” She smiled, suddenly embarrassed. “In moderation, of course.”

“Who’s the boyfriend?”

Catherine put down her fork to use both hands for effect. “Not handsome but sweet, hardworking, and built. Really fantastic shape. Jorge Batista.”

“Batista Funeral Homes?” Mags mentioned a large chain throughout Nevada.

“He inherited the business from his father. It’s a rags-to-riches story. Aunt Jeep would adore him.”

“Where’s the rags?”

“Migrant workers, the Mexicans. When they died, they wanted to be buried in Mexico. So Miguel, Jorge’s father, who was working as a mop-up boy in a funeral parlor in Las Vegas, volunteered to accompany the caskets to wherever they would be shipped into Mexico. He learned a lot, was good with bereaved people, saved his money, and went to school to be an undertaker. When he started his business with a tiny chapel, the Mexicans came to him. As they say, the rest is history, but like so many business
success stories, it started with a need that was unanswered. Now the traffic goes both ways across the border. Some Mexican citizens want to be buried near their family up here.”

“That is remarkable.”

“Look at Aunt Jeep. Discovering the gold seam was a combination of luck, her sharp eye, and her sixth sense—she really has one. Anyway, it was the salvage business that answered two needs: deconstruction and cheap materials for people. The Old Dragon is a genius. Dan was smart, but we all knew she was the real brains.”

“Few people have vision and even fewer the determination to see it through. She still has dreams.”

“Aunt Jeep?”

“You’d better believe it. She wants to find a way to feed the poor, to remove the middleman.” Mags did not trust her sister with any more details than that.

“I’ll be damned.”

“She thinks you are.” Mags leveled her gaze at her sister.

Catherine remained silent a moment. “I don’t think you’ve ever been as desperate as I was. And I was a fool.” She paused, eyes welling up. “I burned so many bridges. I don’t know if I can ever repair that damage and I can’t even promise that I won’t be stupid again, but I just hope the only person I hurt this time is myself.”

“I forgive you, if that’s any help.”

“It is. It so totally is.” Catherine reached over to grab her sister’s hand, tears spilling over.

“Here.” Mags offered her napkin.

“Got my own. Right here in my lap.” She dabbed her eyes with the burgundy cloth napkin. “God knows, enough else has been in my lap.”

At this, the two laughed some more, Catherine’s tears turning to tears of laughter.

The plump waitress returned.

Mags looked up. “We’re having a sisterly moment.”

The young woman nodded. “Couldn’t live without mine.”

“Coffee with half and half,” Catherine ordered.

“Tea.” Mags smiled back at the waitress and wondered what the young woman’s chances were in life. “Have to tell you about Baxter, the male in my life. He’s a wire-haired dachshund. Had him for three years. Couldn’t live without him.”

“Really? I can’t have a dog, I’m not home enough. I still think about Spot.” The dalmatian they’d had as kids had been named with a lack of originality but not love.

“Without Baxter, I don’t think I could have gotten through that bloodbath back in New York. It was such a disaster. Pretty much everyone on Wall Street refused to read the handwriting on the wall. I suppose we’d suffered a kind of dreadful optimism. We’d been high so long no one thought we could come down, you know?”

“Of course I know.” Catherine refolded her napkin.

“I blame myself. Of course, there’s plenty of blame to go around, unfettered greed going for broke, literally. You’d think Congress would get serious about financial reform after such an unmitigated disaster, but, of course, they’re all on the take, too.”

Catherine smiled. “They make my sins look tiny.”

“Well, your sins are far more exciting.”

“That’s why they turned the camera on. Hey, we’re all sinners, right? What’s church but a workshop for sinners?”

“You’re going to church these days?”

“Not exactly. By necessity, Jorge spends a good deal of his time at chapel services, so I go with him. I’m inching into the fold. If Mary Magdalene could do it, why not me?”

“Magdalene.” Mags exhaled. “Ah, my distinguished namesake.”

“You and Aunt Jeep bear a very interesting name. Hell, make the most of it.” Catherine laughed another deep, throaty, provocative laugh. “With a name like Catherine, I should be ruling Russia.”

“You still might.” Mags happily sipped her tea.

As untrustworthy as Catherine was, Mags appreciated how good it was to have a sister. They shared memories, little catch phrases, even facial expressions—these things forged hoops of steel binding people together over generations. Perhaps that’s why no fight is as ugly as a family fight.

“What are you going to do now?” Catherine asked.

“Help Aunt Jeep with her dream. Last night at three in the morning, when the coyotes woke me up, I decided I’m going back to school.”

“Really?”

“Auto repair. I want to work with my hands and I’ve always loved motors. I want to fix a problem and see it work. I don’t want paperwork or phone calls or BlackBerrys, breakfast meetings or ritzy expense account lunches and dinners. I don’t want to go to parties that are just an extension of business.” She leaned forward toward Catherine. “There’s a mass delusion on Wall Street where everyone is convinced of their own importance. When I cut the lights off in the garage at the end of a workday, I want to leave my work there. I guess Dad will turn over in his grave.”

“Nah, he would be proud of his little girl. He was wrong to make fun of you back then. You always had a gift. I remember when you took my bicycle apart and put it back together. Got grease all over Mom’s living room chair, too.”

“Someday I’ll open my own garage specializing in restoration. Solid machinery built before computer chips. Machines where parts hummed, slid against one another, beat out a rhythm. Machines built by human hands, not robots. I don’t give a shit if anyone thinks I’m crazy.”

Catherine looked down at her folded hands, then up at her sister’s brilliant eyes. “Mags, go for it. Mom and Dad, Nanna, and even Aunt Jeep did what they thought was right. They prepared us to fit into the world. But I don’t think either one of us ever really wanted to fit in. We just wanted to be ourselves. Aunt Jeep gave us the most freedom but she’s a creature of her time no matter how independent. Nanna was born in 1922. Aunt Jeep in 1924.”

“Never really thought about it that way, being prepared to fit in. Well, I’m not going to fit in now.”

“Do you think she’ll ever forgive me? You know, about Enrique?”

Mags looked across the room, to the window outside. “I don’t know, Catherine. He’s her son. I don’t know what possessed you to try and get him cut out of her will.” Mags turned back to her sister, and their eyes met. “Jesus, there’s enough for all of us.”

“I was strung out, marriage coming apart, whole life going up in smoke. All I thought about was me.”

“If you’re asking for advice, I can offer some or I can keep my mouth shut.”

“No. What? Tell me what you think I should do.”

“Do nothing. Let another year pass. Once you’ve been on your feet for a while, write a letter of apology. Don’t call. By that time Jeep’s dream just might be reality. Then she’ll be most likely to make peace.”

Catherine watched the half and half swirl around in her coffee cup as she’d added more with a refill. “All right. God knows if she’d give me some money, a small part of what should be my inheritance, life would be easier. I’m tired of all the worry.”

Outside the restaurant in the parking lot, the air was cold.

“The Camaro is rented. I’ll have to take it back. But it’s a good car and really affordable. The engine note is heaven.”

Catherine laughed. “Only you would notice an engine note.”

Just then a hearse pulled up: an attractive man in his mid-thirties emerged from the driver’s side.

Catherine greeted him with a kiss. “Mags, this is Jorge Batista. Jorge, my little sis.”

“Pleased to meet you.” He noticed Mags’s eyes scanning the hearse. “Taking the departed to Los Angeles. Since I have some business here, when this drive was mentioned, I thought I’d do it myself. Also, it was an excuse to keep my princess at my side. She wanted to come and see you.”

Catherine gave him another kiss, then turned to Mags. “Like I said, people want to go home.” She nodded at the hearse. “This was a frat boy. Killed auto surfing. One thing I’ve learned through Jorge is that there are so many ways to die. A lot of them are bone stupid.”

P
ete checked the clock on the wall. Off duty, he stayed behind to read a report from the Susanville Sheriff’s Department. Since he was going to pick up Audrey and her family at the airport there was no point in going back to his cottage.

The Susanville department had gone through Sam Peruzzi’s files, his computer at work, too. The deceased, an obsessive researcher, had identified the aquifers on both sides of Highway 395. Those lots that were still privately owned were marked. He also had maps of Sierra County and Washoe County, in which he had marked areas recently rezoned for development.

Among a huge amount of amassed information, Peruzzi had listed those local companies involved in water purchases and management. All the employees of Silver State Resource Management were listed along with the Board of Directors. The salaries that Peruzzi thought they earned were put alongside the employee’s name with question marks, noting stock options since that would not be noted as salary. Each board member’s business, school affiliations, and charities were neatly listed, along with supposed net worth. Compensation for those politicians working for more water for Reno were also noted.

Sam Peruzzi carefully listed those plants, animals, and agricultural pursuits that would be most negatively affected if water became scarce, paying a great deal of attention to Jeep Reed’s ten thousand acres. Peruzzi had written in the margin that Jeep’s property was filled with wildlife and harbored a lot of water underneath. He had placed a big star by Jeep’s name, but Pete couldn’t infer its meaning. Another document showed individuals selling water rights and others purchasing some. Yet another document identified acreage or parcels where the state engineer granted water rights being changed from agricultural use to municipal.

Sam Peruzzi’s death was not the result of stupidity. He’d gotten too close to something, or someone. Pete looked more carefully at the pages of names and companies, wondering.

He looked at the clock again, closed the folder, and hurried out. He didn’t want to be late picking up Audrey. Good thing he’d borrowed his dad’s car. The whole brood would not fit into the Wrangler.

On the way to the airport he kept returning to the blown pumps and Sam Peruzzi. They were linked by water. Then he couldn’t help but think about Mrs. Peruzzi and their children spending their first Christmas without Dad.