Lye in Wait (22 page)

Dick stared at Meghan. His mother's lip curled, and she shook
her head. She began to speak, but the doorbell interrupted her.
Erin was on her feet and out of the kitchen in a flash. I followed
her out to the hallway.

I was downright overjoyed to see Barr Ambrose standing in
the doorway. "Come in, Detective!" I said, louder than warranted.
He gave me a funny look and stumbled as I grabbed his arm and
pulled him across the threshold.

"What-?"

"Shh"

I led him into the kitchen, where we found Grace and Meghan
nose-to-nose, glaring at each other.

"I don't give a damn if some stupid judge gave you custody,
missy, you don't have the right to keep Richard away."

Meghan's eyes flicked over the woman's bony shoulder to Ambrose and me. She said, "I don't keep your darling son from seeing his daughter. He's the one who brings her home early on their
weekends so he can party and gamble. If he's so interested in being
a good father, maybe he ought to try paying a little child support
once in a while. Now, I told you I want you out of my house, and
I'm not kidding." She shifted her attention. "Hello, Detective."

Ambrose had recovered from my brisk treatment. He smiled
and inclined his head. "Ms. Bly."

Turning his gaze to Dick and his mother, Ambrose raised his
eyebrows in an unspoken question. I had expected his presence
to quiet things down a little, but I was unprepared for the look of
horror that passed over Dick's face before he managed to squelch
it. His mother remained expressionless, but that could have been
as much due to botox as to self-control.

"This is Dick Bly and his mother, Grace Thorson," I said. "Dick,
Grace, this is Detective Ambrose"

Dick didn't even take the time to shoot me the usual withering
glance for abusing his name. His words came out in a rush as he put
his arm around his mother's shoulder and guided her toward the
door.

"I'm sorry we can't stay to chat, but we've got dinner reservations. Talk to you later, Meghan. Bye, Angel." This last as he patted
Erin's head on the way to the front door. Grace didn't say a word, just
clicked across the hardwood in her high heels. Dick grabbed their
coats off the back of the chair, but they didn't pause to put them on
before they left. Meghan, Ambrose, and I stared after them.

"What happened?" I asked.

AMBROSE PULLED OUT A chair and sat down. "I wouldn't mind
knowing that myself. What was that all about?"

Meghan sighed. "My ex-husband. His mother's in town,
and they wanted to take Erin out for dessert. I didn't want her
to ... where is she? Erin?" I heard panic in her voice.

"It's okay. She's getting Brodie from the laundry room," I said.

Erin came into the kitchen, the little dog padding behind her
as if nothing had happened. Then he saw Ambrose and ran over
to him, wagging his whole behind since he didn't have a tail to do
the job. Ambrose bent down and scritched him behind the ears,
laughing.

"I'll go up and do my homework," Erin said. Her eyes were red.

Meghan picked up Brodie. "Then I'll bring your little buddy
along for company."

I was left with Ambrose. "Want some chili?" I asked.

"It smells pretty good," he said, craning his neck toward the
stove.

I got up and ladled him a bowl, and he started loading it
with condiments. I cut him a slab of corn bread, and, on second
thought, cut myself another piece, too.

"Things always so crazy around here?" he asked between bites.

I shook my head. "Never. Well, hardly ever."

"Hmmm" He ate some corn bread. Watched me. Waited for
me to fill the silence, maybe explain about the message Meghan
had left him. I ate, too, keeping my mouth full so I wouldn't have
to talk as I tried to decide the best way to tell him about the pickup
trying to run me down. Should I tell him about the missing paperwork? He'd hit the roof.

Before I'd decided whether I wanted to weather that storm,
Meghan returned, saving me from having to eat a fourth piece of
corn bread.

"Erin okay?" I asked.

"No. She's not," Meghan said, sounding defeated.

"She's bound to be upset."

"She doesn't want to talk about it."

"Give her a little time," I said.

When Meghan didn't respond, Ambrose asked, "Why didn't
you want her to go have dessert with them?"

I'd been wondering the same thing. As nasty as Dick's mother
had been, Meghan's vehement reaction surprised me. Meghan
swallowed, then reached out a trembling hand for her water glass.
She held it in both hands and took a sip.

She said, "I know it sounds stupid, but when they showed up
like that and wanted to take her out, I just knew they weren't going
to bring her home."

No wonder she'd been so scared. Ambrose swallowed a mouthful of chili, leaning forward. "Why? Have there been incidents in
the past?"

Meghan shook her head. "Nothing. He's a flake, and he's irresponsible, but I never thought before that he might take her. I
mean, so often he brings her back early when he does have her that
it never occurred to me he'd try to keep her until tonight."

"So what was different this time?" Ambrose asked. His tone was
conversational, nonjudgmental, inviting. Part of me wanted to tell
Meghan to be careful, but another part found his compassion very
appealing. I offered him more corn bread. He smiled his thanks.

"I don't know," Meghan said.

He persisted. "There was something."

She took another drink of water. "This afternoon he called and
wanted to take Erin out of school tomorrow. To have lunch with
his mother. Erin had never met her. I told him no."

"You didn't want Erin to miss school," Ambrose said.

"She's in fifth grade," Meghan frowned. "It wouldn't have killed
her to miss part of a day. I took her out for Walter's funeral on
Monday."

"So she would have missed school for the second time in a
week."

"Well, I guess that bothered me. But what really got me was
how... off it sounded. Richard said his mother got in town Sunday.
And he had Erin last weekend but brought her home on Saturday.
He could have picked her up again on Sunday if he'd wanted. I don't
know, maybe Grace was tired when she got in. But he also said his
mother would be visiting for a week. Then she says she's leaving in two days. Either way, they could have spent the afternoon with her
after school, so why take her out of school for lunch?"

I said, "His charming mother seems to decide what she wants,
and she demands it immediately."

"I wish I knew what she wants. The way she acted with Erin
tonight. It wasn't..."

"Grandmotherly," I said.

"No" Meghan looked at Ambrose. "So I don't have any proof
of anything. I just felt scared."

He shook his head. "I'm not going to argue with a mother's
fear. And you were well within your rights if you're the custodial
parent."

"I'm so glad you came when you did. Does your presence always diffuse situations like that?" Meghan asked Ambrose.

"Rarely," he said with a wry expression, scooping the last of his
chili into his spoon.

"They sure scooted out of here in a hurry," I said, glad he took
Meghan's instincts seriously, and hoping he'd take my story about
the truck seriously, too.

"Yeah, I noticed that." He finished off the corn bread.

"Want more?" I asked.

"No, thanks. That was great, though. Good chili's hard to come
by."

I set a mug of coffee in front of him. "You take anything in it?"

"No, this is fine. Thanks."

Meghan stood up and gestured toward the living room. I
limped behind them, carrying two more mugs of coffee. I sat on
the sofa, and Ambrose sat beside me. Meghan took the armchair at
one end of the coffee table.

"Now, what's this about someone attacking you, Sophie Mae?"

I hesitated. "Attacking?"

His eyes narrowed. "You weren't attacked?"

It wasn't the word I would have chosen, but I supposed it was
accurate enough. So I told him. I'd been crossing Avenue A in the
middle of the block. I'd checked for traffic first, but had lowered
my head as I crossed, because of the rain. I'd heard the squeal
of tires in time to see the pickup barreling toward me and had
jumped out of the way, falling between the two parked cars.

Ambrose's face creased into a frown as I spoke, and I finished
and waited for him to tell me it was all in my imagination, that I
must not have looked where I was going. He pulled a notebook
and pen out of his shirt pocket.

"You said she'd been attacked, Ms. Bly. But a near hit-and-run?
You neglected to mention that."

"Sophie Mae didn't think you'd put much stock in what happened. Being almost run down sounds a bit... dramatic."

He looked at both of us. "But that's what happened, right?"

We nodded.

"Good God," he muttered. "Who else saw what happened?"

"No one," I said.

"No one? So close to downtown?"

"The street was empty. There may have been traffic a few
blocks up, or someone could have been looking out a window. But
the only person I saw was a young guy on a cigarette break. Works
at the insurance office. He says he didn't see anything and made
it pretty clear about not wanting to be involved. I got his name,
though."

"Good. What is it?"

"Wait-I wrote it down when I got home." I got up and went
into the hallway, returning with a sheet off the memo pad by the
telephone. His lips thinned as he watched me limp back. I handed
him the name.

"Have you seen a doctor about that ankle?"

I shook my head. "It's not my ankle. I hit my hip on the curb
when I fell. I'm bruised, but nothing's broken."

Ambrose looked like he wanted to say more, but changed his
mind.

"Tell me about this truck. Did you see the license plate number? What make was it?"

"I would have told you already if I'd seen the number," I said in
a testy voice. Meghan coughed. I wiped the edge from my tone and
continued. "And I couldn't tell the difference between a Chevy or a
Ford or anything else, just by looking."

"Okay. That's fine. What color was it?"

"Blue"

"Bright? Dark?"

"Dark. And kind of dirty."

"Dirty dark blue," Ambrose said, writing it down. "Was it a
truck you'd see on a new car lot?"

"Oh no. It was old. It seemed, um, wider than the newer trucks?
Boxier. And there were rust spots. And the front grill was dented."

"But it wasn't a really old truck-like a classic."

"Huh uh. Maybe something from twenty years ago. Maybe
older. Real square looking."

"Good. And the driver? What did you notice about the driver?"

"Nothing," I said, feeling defeated. "I didn't see the driver at
all."

"Anybody in the cab besides the driver?"

"I don't... no, I don't think so. One figure outlined against the
rear window." I closed my eyes, trying to remember. "The hands
on the wheel were dark. Gloves? Or just my perspective. I don't
know. The driver didn't have a face. Too dark. No features."

"Do you mean the driver was dark complected?"

"I don't think so"

"Why?"

I squeezed my eyelids together, trying to pry the reason out of
my brain. "I didn't get the impression of any skin tone. I think it
might have been fabric. Like a mask. Something with folds of fabric. Like a scarf or something." My eyes popped open. "It was a
Ford."

"You remembered something."

"Yeah. That grill got damn close before I twisted out of the way.
I saw the letters set into the chrome."

"Can you draw how they appeared?"

"I guess. I'm not a very good artist."

"That doesn't matter, I just want the general idea of placement.
It can help us determine the year of the vehicle." He turned to a
fresh page in his notebook and handed it to me. I sketched out
the way the word "Ford" had looked on the grill of the truck and
handed the notebook back.

"Excellent. Can you think of anything else?"

I shook my head. "I think that's the limit. You made me remember more than I thought I could."

Ambrose smiled. It was a nice smile.

"So, do you believe someone tried to run me down?"

The smile faded. "Why wouldn't I believe you? Have you lied to
me about anything else?"

"No" I hadn't, not once. I might not have mentioned the boxes
of paperwork, but that wasn't quite the same thing as lying, now
was it?

"Tell me what you were doing downtown."

"I was in Piccadilly Circus, picking up some tea." But something in my voice or my eyes gave me away.

"And before that?" he asked, looking... amused?

Meghan said, "Tell him, Sophie Mae. He needs to know."