The Devil May Care (33 page)

“I don't think Navarre's in Canada. Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure I know where to look.”

“Will you find him for me?” Riley asked. “Will you give back the ring?”

I closed the box and stuffed it into my pocket.

She lifted my hand and pressed the back of it against her cheek. “Thank you for the loan of this,” she said.

“You're welcome.”

She released my hand.

By then Muehlenhaus had arrived, accompanied by Greg Schroeder and a small army of people I didn't recognize—probably lawyers—and I wondered if the old man always traveled with an entourage. He crossed the room in a hurry, stopped in front of us, and pressed his fists against his hips. He didn't ask his granddaughter if she was okay or how she was feeling; he didn't address her at all. The first words out of his mouth were “Damn you, McKenzie. You've involved yourself with my family for the last time.”

Riley replied in a hard monotone. “Don't speak foolishly, Grandfather,” she said. “I don't like it. For future reference, McKenzie is my friend, and not just because he saved my life. When you disrespect him, you disrespect me. You do not want to do that. I have a bad attitude. Ask anyone.”

Muehlenhaus was stunned into silence. I was a little dazed myself, yet I managed to ask the woman, “Who are you?”

Riley smiled and leaned in close so only I could hear what she whispered.

“Didn't my mother tell you? I'm the Muehlenhaus Girl.”

*   *   *

I found Navarre exactly where I thought he would be—sitting on the front steps of his mother's house in West St. Paul. It was late afternoon by the time I arrived. The streets were deserted, yet I felt the weight of a dozen eyes on me as I parked the Jeep Cherokee in front of the house and walked up the battered sidewalk.

Navarre was dressed impeccably—expensive shoes and socks, slacks with a crease that could spread butter, a shirt that looked like it was being worn for the first time, a gold watch that reflected the sunlight. He didn't move as I approached; he didn't seem to register my presence at all. It was as if he were one of those living mannequins you sometimes see at the more fashionable department stores.

I stopped in front of him. His eyes focused on me. I reached into my pocket, found the small square box Riley had given me, and tossed it toward him. He snatched it out of the air with a quick hand and set it on the concrete step next to himself without even bothering to give it a look.

“Riley said she's sorry,” I told him. “She's going to be all right, by the way.”

“Of course she is,” Navarre said.

“Collin Baird is dead.”

“Did you kill him?”

“Yes.”

“You're McKenzie, right?”

“Yes.”

“Collin was my only mistake. I needed someone to front for me, someone with a legitimate Social Security number and a clean passport. I picked Collin because he was a small-town boy who wasn't nearly as smart as he thought he was. I didn't know he enjoyed hurting people, though, especially women, until Laredo, and by then it was too late. A broken toy with no way to fix him. I'm sorry about Mrs. R. And Annie.”

“Jax—”

“Call me Juan Carlos. That's the person I worked hardest to become. Almost made it, too.”

“Why did you take his identity, of all people?”

“Because he was flawed. I knew Riley's people would think I was too good to be true. I knew they would check my background, well, Navarre's background. Instead of a con man, they would find a prodigal son who didn't get on well with his father—and then stop looking. They wouldn't like Juan Carlos any better, but they weren't going to like him anyway. Riley, though. Riley liked him just fine. She just didn't like him enough.”

“Did you kill him?”

“Who? Navarre? Of course not. I don't kill people. What do you take me for?”

“How did you get his passport? His identity?”

“I bought it. I met him in a bar in Greece. He sold me his name for half a million euros. Said he hadn't had any use for it in years.”

Then I asked him the big question. “Why did you do it?”

“Do what? Be specific.”

“Everything.”

“I took the money from the Nine-Thirty-Seven because I wanted a better life. I became David Maurell and tried to get into Macalester College for the same reason. Meeting Riley—meeting Riley told me
why
I wanted a better life.”

“But you didn't actually meet, did you?”

“Oh, no,” Navarre said. “Not back then. I wasn't worthy of her then. She would have dismissed Jax and David out of hand. I had to become someone else first.”

“Where's your mother?”

“Out shopping. She's going to cook a feast for her long-lost baby boy.”

“Your sister?”

“At work.”

“Don't do this, man.”

“I've got no moves left.”

“The Department of Justice…”

“And go to prison for thirty years?”

“You have almost fifty million dollars of their money. Make a deal. Buy down your sentence.”

“The money is in Switzerland. The account is set up so that I'd have to appear in person to get at it.”

“So? Take a plane ride on the taxpayer's dime.”

Navarre shook his head.

“The Nine-Thirty-Seven Mexican Mafia,” I said.

“I know. Cesar's little brother—last time I saw him he was a little snot-nose punk. Probably still is. I'll find out soon enough.”

“Don't do this,” I repeated.

Navarre had nothing to say.

“Offer the money to Arnaldo,” I said. “Buy your way out of this.”

Navarre had nothing to say to that, either. Still, it's been my experience that a man who's prepared to dive into a pool will fight tooth and nail to keep from being pushed. At the last moment, Navarre might decide he had plenty of moves left. If the Cook County cops hadn't confiscated my SIG Sauer, I would have given it to him.

“Good luck, Juan Carlos,” I said.

I turned and walked back to my Jeep Cherokee. Navarre called to me.

“Tell Riley … tell Riley I left her car at the Signal Hill Shopping Center.”

*   *   *

I drove slowly down the street until I spied a black Cadillac DTS with silver wheels parked at the curve. I stopped. Two men were in the front seat. Arnaldo Nunez was in the back. He glanced out the window at me and nodded the way people do when they want to acknowledge your presence without actually speaking to you. I nodded back. There was nothing to be said anyway.

I drove on.

JUST SO YOU KNOW

It had been a harder winter than most. The ice didn't officially leave Lake Minnetonka until the first week of May—two days after the Twin Cities were pounded by a rogue blizzard that dropped six inches on us—and it wasn't until the middle of the month that restaurant and café owners felt confident enough to open their outdoor patios and decks to customers. It was then that Riley Muehlenhaus Brodin summoned me to Casa del Lago for lunch.

I had missed the grand reopening for reasons I don't remember, so this was my first look at the place since the fire. I was impressed to discover that Mary Pat Mulally didn't just repair the building; she remodeled to give it a more authentic look and feel. Based on the number of customers at the tables inside and out, I guessed it had recovered quite nicely.

Maria Nunez met me at the door. She seemed happy to see me; even said I was “looking good,” which kind of threw me. We compliment women all the time on their appearance, yet we seldom mention it to men unless we're surprised by something.

What did she expect?
my inner voice asked.
That you'd fall apart in the seven months since she last saw you?

We didn't speak about Arnaldo. What information I had suggested that Juan Carlos Navarre disappeared immediately after I left him on his mother's stoop. Whether Arnaldo killed him and hid the body or accepted the bribe I told Navarre to offer in exchange for his life remains unclear. I do know that Navarre spoke the truth—FinCEN traced his money to a bank account in Basel, Switzerland, and after some high-level finagling, the Department of Justice was able to recover it. So wherever Navarre was, alive or dead, he was broke.

Maria led me to a table near the railing of the patio with a splendid view of Gideon Bay. Riley was already waiting for me. I didn't recognize her at first. Her hair was still short, but she had allowed it to return to its natural auburn color. And she was wearing a pristine black business suit over a white silk blouse.

“Look at you, all grown up,” I said.

Riley came out of her chair to hug me.

“You look great,” she said.

“People keep saying that. Is it that much of a shock?”

“Given what you do for fun and games…”

Riley reclaimed her chair, and I sat across from her. Her eyes sparkled in the bright sunlight.

“So, what brings me here?” I asked.

Riley glanced behind her for a moment, saw no one, and turned back.

“I'll tell you in a minute,” she said. “How's the lovely Ms. Truhler?”

“As lovely as ever. How's your family?”

She laughed at the question. When she finished, she said, “McKenzie, have you ever read
King Lear
?”

“Yes. I've seen it performed, too.”

“What was Lear's big mistake?”

“He divided his property among his children while he was still alive.”

“My grandfather put the Pointe in my name as a Christmas gift. Actually, he was trying to avoid the death tax, but still.”

She laughed some more.

“Why is that funny?” I asked.

“By New Year's I had moved my parents in—both of them.”

Now I was laughing, too. “How did Mr. Muehlenhaus take it?”

“How do you think?”

“You are such an evil little girl.”

“Since then, my father has lost nearly sixty pounds. I helped him secure additional financing for his building—he's happy as a clam. My mother—the last time I saw her was at Club Versailles. She was drinking raspberry ice tea and dancing with my father. On the other hand, both my grandparents seem to be drinking more these days. Oh well.”

“Do they talk? What do they say when they pass each other on the way to the bathroom?”

“How should I know? I don't live there.”

Riley laughed some more. While she was laughing, Mary Pat appeared with a tray of margaritas. She set a drink in front of me, gave me a hug, and kissed my cheek. She must have left a smudge of lipstick, because she brushed at the spot with her fingertips.

“A toast,” Riley said.

She lifted her glass with her left hand. That's when I saw it—the green eyelike gleam of an emerald set in a white gold band. I glanced at Mary Pat's left hand, third finger. She was wearing an identical ring.

“I'll be damned,” I said.

“That's not the toast I was going to give,” Riley said. “But it'll do.”

Both she and Mary Pat sipped their drinks. I quickly joined them

“Congratulations,” I said. “When's the big day?”

“I want you to mark your calendar, McKenzie,” Riley said. “That's why I called you.”

“You're not going to blow us off this time like you did my grand reopening,” Mary Pat said.

“The wedding's going to take place the first Saturday after I get the state legislature to allow gay couples to marry,” Riley added.

When you get the legislature to allow…?
my inner voice said.

At the same time I flashed on a headline I saw that morning in the
Minneapolis Star Tribune
newspaper—“Minnesota's same-sex marriage battle goes behind the scenes.”

“I guess that means you're taking over the family business,” I said.

“I think of it more as a hobby,” Riley said. “Besides, I'm really busy these days. Grandfather was involved in so many different enterprises—there doesn't appear to be any synergy, any cohesion at all. It's like he invested in one thing, got bored, and invested in something else almost on a whim. Now I'm the one who's supposed to make sense of it all. The teachers at the Carlson School of Management did not prepare me for this kind of chaos.”

“Nobody said it would be easy being the Muehlenhaus Girl.”

“No, they didn't.”

“As long as you come home at night,” Mary Pat said. “That's the main thing.”

The two women leaned in and kissed each other. I turned my head toward Gideon Bay to give them some privacy.

There were any number of different watercraft sharing the huge lake and I thought about Navarre's boat, the
Soñadora,
and I wondered what became of it. Did it crash and burn like its owner? Probably not. Probably it had been shrink-wrapped in blue polyethylene film and dry-docked until the next dreamer came along to claim it.

I suppose that's what Navarre was—a dreamer. But his dream was rotten at its core. Navarre believed that if he stole enough and lied enough to enough people, if he pretended hard enough, he could become the man Riley Brodin wanted to marry. Only it wasn't a man Riley had been searching for all her young life. It was love—pure and simple. And that's something that cannot be stolen or bought or faked.

In the end, Navarre thought he had almost made his dream come true. He was mistaken. The truth was, he never had a chance.

I drank my margarita and watched the boats some more. I wished them all a safe harbor.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I wish to acknowledge my debt to India Cooper, Pat Donnelly, Tammi Fredrickson, Maggie Hood, Keith Kahla, Mark MacDonald, James McDonald, Anita Muldoon, Alison Picard, Dan Polachek, and Renée Valois.

ALSO BY DAVID HOUSEWRIGHT

Featuring Rushmore McKenzie