“Yes, it is,” he managed between sputters of laughter. “It’s hilarious. Does that make Curt my father?”
I growled at him, and he wandered off to find another car to mind-drive, happier than he’d been in days.
A voice that was anything but happy cut through the showroom silence. It came from the frosted glass door Howard had neglected to close.
“Who did you say?” It was a low roar.
I couldn’t make out the answer. I assumed poor Howard was giving my name again.
“Tell her I’m not here.” The statement was abrupt and emphatic. “I will not talk with her.”
There was a rumble from the salesman again, then a resounding, “I said no! Just get rid of her. If she gives you any trouble, go get Joey.”
I walked toward the frosted glass door. If Bill Bond was so anxious not to talk with me for some reason I couldn’t begin to imagine, I was suddenly dying to speak with him. I was reaching for the knob when the door swung open and Howard emerged, effectively blocking my way.
“I’m sorry,” he said, looking acutely uncomfortable. He pulled the door firmly shut behind him.
“Mr. Bond isn’t available.”
“Sure he is. I heard him talking with you.”
Howard blanched. “Oh, no. You must be mistaken. Mr. Bond isn’t here.”
I looked at him, disappointed that he lied so willingly. “Oh, Howard.”
He flushed and looked away.
“Mr. Bond isn’t here,” he repeated.
“Sure he is.” I pointed to the car lot. Howard looked, just as I’d hoped he would. I stepped around him quickly, taking him by surprise, and threw open the frosted door.
“You can’t go in there!” Howard cried in a panic.
“Sure I can.” I walked into what was essentially a hallway with two small offices opening off it on each side, four all together. The first door had a sign that read Bill Bond, Sales Manager. The room was empty except for a desk and three chairs.
I hurried down the hall and pushed through the far doorway. I found myself in a great, cavernous space filled with cars of varying ages and descriptions, all with men and an occasional woman working on them in some fashion. Bill Bond was nowhere in sight. At least I assumed he wasn’t. I saw no one with a shirt like Howard’s.
A couple of the mechanics looked at me curiously, but none spoke. Between the blare of music and the whir of power tools, a conversation would be difficult. But worth a try, I decided.
I walked to a young woman who leaned over the front fender of a car, her arms lost in the bowels of its motor.
I tapped her on the shoulder and she jumped like I’d bitten her. I smiled placatingly.
“Have you seen Bill Bond?” I yelled over the pneumatic roar of the mechanic at the next car freeing lug nuts on a tire. “I think he came through here.”
She shook her head and turned back to her motor, which was obviously more interesting to her than I was.
I walked along the wall, peering between cars and searching on my own. A person in a dark green twill shirt was nowhere to be seen.
I turned to go back to the showroom, disappointed that I wouldn’t discover why Bill Bond refused to see me, when I saw a once-white door with a permanent black, greasy stain just above the chrome push plate that was supposed to prevent just such a stain. Men, the door read.
“See if he’s in there,” I ordered Howard, who watched me like a nervous mouse watching a hungry cat. I don’t know what he expected me to do, but eating him would be too offensive to the palate.
“I can’t do that,” he said primly.
“Why not?” Randy’d do it, I thought. Where was the kid when you needed him?
“I just can’t.” He’d cast our little drama as an us-against-her scenario, and he wasn’t going to do anything to help me.
I sighed. “Then I guess I’ll have to.”
He looked shocked, but he did nothing. He probably didn’t believe I’d breach that male bastion. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
Squeezing my eyes shut against I didn’t know what, I burst into the room. “Mr. Bond! I need to speak with you. You can’t hide from me using this old ploy.”
“Well, well,” said a voice appreciatively. “What have we here?”
“Pretty little thing, isn’t she? Obviously lost.”
My eyes snapped open, and I stared at two mechanics who stared back, goofy smiles on their faces. Unfortunately Mr. Bond wasn’t anywhere in the room. I know because the door to the single stall was hanging drunkenly open, and every other facility was right out in the open. I backed out quickly,
my face scarlet, immensely grateful that the two were merely washing their hands.
I turned to flee back to the showroom and ran into the solid chest of Joey. I know it was Joey because the name was written on his blue Dickies workshirt.
“Can I help you?”
I looked up at him and wondered how he could say something so innocuous and sound so threatening.
“I’m looking for Bill Bond.” I was pleased to hear myself sounding firm and rational in spite the fact that Joey made me very nervous.
“Who?” Joey growled.
“Bill Bond. The sales manager.”
“Don’t know him,” Joey said. “Never heard of him.” Right.
“Is there another Joey here?” I asked, hearing Bill Bond’s
if she gives you trouble, go get Joey
.
“Not hardly.” He puffed out his already impressive chest. “One Joey’s all this place can handle.”
I could tell he expected me to be impressed, but I didn’t play along. His face darkened. “You need to leave, lady.” He pointed toward the showroom. “It’s dangerous out here. Lots of possibilities for accidents.”
Again what should have been just a statement of the obvious sounded like a threat. Knowing I had no choice, I turned and left, aware of Joey’s smirk and resenting it mightily. When we were back in the showroom, I spun to Howard.
“Tell me about Tom Whatley,” I said, hoping my abrupt change of subject would take him off guard. It worked.
“Nice guy,” Howard said. “I couldn’t believe it when they said he stole all that money.”
“Why do you think he stole the money?”
“I don’t know. Maybe his wife’s sick or something. He loves his wife. Always talks about her.”
“I don’t mean why, for what purpose. I mean why do you think he’s the guilty one? Especially since you said he was so nice.”
Howard looked at me like anyone could figure that out. “The money’s missing and so’s he and so’s a car he signed out.”
“Howard, if you were going to ruin your life, would you actually sign out the car you were stealing?”
“No, but if he didn’t do it, then where is he? And where’s the car?”
I stuck out my hand and shook his like I was congratulating him. “You’re a genius, Howard. If we answer those questions, we solve the mystery, don’t we? Will you call me if you think of anything that might help Tom? Or hurt him, for that matter.” I handed him my card.
He stared at it a minute, stuck it in his shirt pocket and nodded. “I liked Tom.”
“You should still like him,” I said. “He’s a nice man. Even his stepson says so.”
Howard snorted. “Not hardly.”
“Hey, Randy,” I called.
He looked up reluctantly from his inspection of the motor in a black car.
“Do you like Tom?”
He nodded. “Nice guy.” He abandoned the motor and climbed in the black car.
“That’s Randy, the monster stepson?” Howard stared in amazement.
“He’s recently had a change of heart.” I waved my hand in the boy’s direction. “Come on, Randy, we’re leaving.”
He climbed reluctantly out of the black car which had so many bells and whistles that its name was emblazoned on the
trunk in gold letters. While he schlepped across the floor to me, I turned to Howard.
“One last question. What’s Joey’s last name?”
“Alberghetti. Joey Alberghetti.” He looked at me thoughtfully. “Be careful.” He walked away as Randy reached me.
“Come on, son. Time to leave.”
He grinned. “Right, Mom.”
To get out of the congested lot, I had to back up across the entrance to the service bays. I looked over my shoulder just before I drove off and there against the far back wall was Joey Alberghetti talking to a man in a green twill shirt. The man’s back was to me, but I was willing to bet it was Bill Bond. He was sticking his finger in Joey’s chest and gesticulating wildly with his other hand.
Bill Bond, if that’s who it was, was upset with Joey Alberghetti.
TWELVE
A
s Randy climbed out of the car, he looked young and scared in spite of his height and the breadth of his shoulders. He gave a toss of the head that was supposed to appear casual but was more like a nervous jerk.
One part of me wanted to comfort him because he was still young. It was easy to forget how young because of his size and mature good looks. Another part of me thought that the nervousness, guilt and regret might be a good thing. Sweating out the consequences of his actions had to be a strengthening experience. Certainly anything that painful must produce character.
When we arrived at Edie’s room, she was dressed and waiting, resting on her bed with a book she wasn’t reading. To look at her, you wouldn’t know there had been any physical injury, but her eyes were full of pain. I hugged her, willing my chin not to wobble.
Randy hung back at the door and peeked in. I don’t know what he expected, but all he saw was his mom looking much like she did every day, just a bit more worn.
He walked awkwardly, hesitantly to the bed. “Are you okay, Mom? Does your head hurt a lot?” Then his eyes filled with tears. He stared at the floor, trying to control himself.
I watched Edie watch him. Her face was a study in love
and trepidation. She understood, even if he didn’t, that he was teetering on the edge of good and evil. He would fall one way or the other, setting a pattern that would govern his life for years. Since neither of them thought much in terms of the place of Christ in their lives, I wondered where she got her hope. Maybe from her mother’s heart that couldn’t believe her kid would go bad.
When Randy finally lifted his head, his face was full of anguish. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I—” He couldn’t continue.
Edie stood and wrapped her arms about her son’s waist. He threw his arms around her, and his shoulders began to shake.
“I don’t want to be like Dad.”
“You won’t be, Randy,” she promised. “You won’t be.” I left the room and waited in the hall, sniffing a fair amount myself.
It was ten more minutes before a nurse arrived with a wheelchair. She went blithely into the room, unaware of the emotional breakthrough inside, and emerged in a couple of minutes with Edie in the chair and Randy, red-eyed but obviously lighter in spirit, walking beside her, carrying her tote bag.
When we were in my car, Edie gave a great sigh. “I hated being in the hospital.”
“Most people hate the hospital,” I said. “I’d worry about you if you liked it.”
Edie nodded. “But I hated it more because Tom didn’t know I was there. What if he tried to call me?”
But he hadn’t called. At least if he had, he’d left no message. I watched her shoulders sag and the hope in her eyes dim as she checked her answering machine.
“He’ll show up, Mom. He loves you too much not to.”
Edie looked at Randy in surprise. I smiled. Apparently he meant some of the things he’d said last night in the darkness.
Together he and I set Edie up on the blue leather couch with everything we could think of that she might need. Finally she held up her hands.
“Enough, you two! I’m not dying here. I can get anything I need all by myself. Or Randy can get it for me.”
Randy and I looked at each other.
“What?” Edie said, an edge to her voice.
“I have to stay with Merry.” Randy looked apologetic. “Sergeant Poole gave me the choice of staying with her or going to juvenile hall.”
“And he chose me.” I tried to sound bright and positive.
Edie glanced from me to her son. “Well, at least you made the better choice. I don’t mind telling people my son is staying with a friend.”
“A female friend,” Randy said, wagging his eyebrows.
“Hey, now,” I groused. “It’s bad enough that Howard thought you were my son.”
“Your son?” Edie laughed out loud. “Howard, whoever he is, needs glasses.”
Randy picked up his laptop and became very businesslike. “I’ve got stuff to tell you two before Merry and I leave.” He had settled in the big chair I’d sat in the other night, and I noticed the chair fit him a lot better than it fit me.
“I’ve been online most of the morning looking for information about Tom,” he said.
Edie gasped. “Randy!”
“Look, Mom, I figured we needed to find out all we could about what happened ten years ago so we could better defend Tom today.”
“Better defend him?” Edie stared at her son.
“Yeah,” he said, head buried in his laptop. “Somebody’s got to speak for him since he isn’t here to speak for himself.”
“I thought you didn’t like Tom.”
“I didn’t.” His fingers flew over the keyboard. “Not at first. Then I couldn’t admit I’d been wrong.” He glanced at his mom. “It’s dumb, but it’s a teen thing, you know?”
Edie nodded weakly.
“But I’ve learned a lot these past couple of days, most of it about me and how stupid I’ve been.” He fell silent as he continued to work over his computer.
Edie sat, poleaxed. I had to smile at her expression. Of course, she didn’t have the benefit of hearing last night’s musings as I had.
“Edie, I’ve got a couple of questions for you while we wait for Randy.”
“Ask away.”
“Was Randolph an abuser? Is that what Randy’s referring to when he says he’s afraid he’ll be like his father?”
Edie nodded, brushing at the wrinkles in her slacks. “You’d think I’d have known better, being raised by an abusive father, but I stepped right into my marriage without seeing it coming.”
“That’s why you didn’t want to write the article on abuse? It was too painful?”
“But to my surprise that’s proven not to be true. I’ve found the writing has been cathartic.”
“The other night,” I said, “you referred to thinking your days in the paper were over. What did you mean?”