Go ahead, deduce, deduce. Don
’
t waste all that tuition spent on your logic courses. Detect. But she
’
d help, too.
“
The group has a tradition,
”
Emma said.
“
They insult each other as a way of bonding. You know, the how ugly so-and-so or his sport jacket is, how bad his golf game is, that kind of thing. I don
’
t get it, but neither do I have the time, energy, or inclination to analyze what makes men tick. The group, at least the money it raises, does good things for the county, and the jokes are one of the ways they raise cash
—
they pay for the privilege of insults. The reason I know was that the night we were at Stinson, Redmond
’
s joke managed to offend those rhino-hides, and that takes a lot. He was so gross that even those whose race, sexual preference, country of origin, and income level weren
’
t insulted were turned off. That
’
s the only reason he was mentioned.
”
She folded her hands.
“
So who
…
? I don
’
t like to think this way, but Penny had a car that night
—
Alicia
’
s
—
and she knew where Stephen was, and she
’
d been dumped. Of course, Yvonne
…”
Emma scowled.
“
Of course Yvonne. But the police get paid to speculate about that,
”
she said.
“
We don
’
t.
”
Far as she was concerned, this conversation was over, and if that was as far as she was concerned, then that was as far as it was going.
Billie started to shape a word. Emma suspected the word was
but.
Then apparently she decided against speech and merely nodded.
The
but
hung in the small office like a hard-edged modern sculpture.
“
Well,
”
Emma said cheerfully.
“
Good going on this one but I hope the next one
’
s a little less physical.
”
BUT!
“
We
’
ll read about it in the papers,
”
she said.
“
Thanks
—
about my report and all,
”
Billie said before making her exit, leaving Emma a souvenir, the two-ton
BUT!
hovering above her head. Emma stared at the window. The sky was slating over again to the point where she stood up and turned on the overhead lights. Presidents
’
weekend, too. So much for the myth of its balmy weather. And too bad about Billie. Bright, but she had the marks of not lasting. She
’
d get all entangled in the
what ifs
and
what thens,
be discouraged by reality, and then she
’
d quit.
Emma wondered how long it would be before she had to advertise again. She might start a small pool with Zack and George on that.
Thirty
Billie sat at her desk, rereading the file and
rechecking the clock, always surprised at how little time had passed. Finally she pushed the file away from her. There was nothing to hold her here. Two hours deferred out of the required six thousand weren
’
t going to matter, so maybe she should go home, catch up on domesticity.
She wished she could have talked more about Stephen Tassio
’
s possible killers, but that was a wish for Emma to revise her personality. Speculation didn
’
t produce revenue, but the dead boy could, and
should
be given a moment
’
s consideration. A moment
’
s mourning, a moment
’
s concern. Emma
’
s overreaction was an insult.
Nor had Emma needed to act as if Billie intended to adopt the Redmond children just because she showed some humanity. They had been dealt enough insults by adults who should have been caring for them. She didn
’
t need to add more. For God
’
s sake, they were kids. It takes a village and all that. Why didn
’
t Emma understand? She had kids of her own, but maybe she had wrecked their lives a long time ago.
Wesley and Penny had looked like characters in a fairy tale when Billie left them
—
the orphaned brother and sister, holding hands, Wesley nearly quaking with concern. And even though they weren
’
t in a dark wood, or under a witch
’
s spell, they were sure as hell abandoned and had been for a long time. It was just that upscale suburbanites did it with more panache.
She was exceedingly tired of Emma
’
s narrow range of emotions, and not ready to believe that a refusal to have feelings
—
aside from fierce ones
—
was a bottom-line requirement for this job. Surely somewhere in the field there was a more entertaining and humane PI. And if not
—
if the entire profession was comprised of fire-breathing bullies
—
Billie wanted to know now, before she dug in any more deeply.
She looked at the computer almost wistfully. Stephen Tassio and his misty kingdom were now lost inside it. She tidied her notes from Emma
’
s single attempt to train her. She had notes on the databases, the CD-ROMs, the online services
—
the
“
dossiers
”
they
’
d prepared for Audrey Miller, Talkman, and herself. She nearly tossed the lot of them, then reconsidered. No matter where she worked, she
’
d need information on begging the computer to yield up its innards.
She put the pages in a neat pile, then separated each
“
case
”
and put them side by side so that the tabletop beside the computer looked businesslike, as if serious sleuthing had been going on in this room.
Maybe the next assignment wouldn
’
t veer so close to the bone. No children involved in the harassment thing. No rotten parents. Perhaps, no automatic Emma
—
or Billie
—
buttons to be pushed.
She looked again at the slim file. A Mr. Barton Davies, CEO of a company that made
“
tourist souvenir items
”—
key rings featuring cable cars, tiny red Golden Gate bridges, Alcatraz T-shirts and mugs, little hearts that had been left in
“
Don
’
t call it Frisco.
”
Buxom plastic girls whose breasts read
“
two of the hills of San Francisco.
”
The business was doing well. Not so, thirty-eight-year-old Mr. Davies, one of the two principal owners, married and the father of three. A quality-control supervisor had been let go four months ago. Three months and three weeks ago, the former employee
’
s lawyer had notified Mr. Davies that the discharged worker was bringing suit, claiming her career had been destroyed by Mr. D
’
s amatory advances which she
’
d virtuously put in check. He had, on various occasions, fondled, patted, propositioned, and threatened. She
’
d refused. He
’
d retaliated. Or so her suit claimed.
The defense lawyer, an old friend of Emma
’
s, wanted the skinny on the accuser, one Tina Bright, twenty-six, divorced and childless. Wanted whatever damaging information would weaken Ms. Bright
’
s stance as the irate madonna. Unfortunately, Mr. D was known to be a letch, but he insisted on his innocence this time.
This job sounded infinitely more enjoyable than tracking a sulky, mixed-up teen. Now Billie could work with maladjusted adults.
What should she wear? Would Emma think a question about what people who worked in a tchotchke factory wore would demonstrate ignorance or a lack of imagination? Billie felt a flare of anger
—
at herself for the dithers and at Emma for creating a climate that gave her the dithers.
She decided to hang it up for the week. Might as well be with Jesse during a portion of daylight hours. Make a real dinner and give Ivan bonus free time.
She pulled her bag off the back of the chair and half stood up, but reconsidered. The weekend that so beckoned her must look excruciatingly long to Penny Redmond. Maybe a call before she left. Nobody, meaning Emma, would know and Billie, upon hearing that all was as well as could be expected, could selfishly enjoy her own weekend.
Penny sounded tired.
“
Thought I
’
d check in and see if everything
’
s all right,
”
Billie said.
“
Guess so.
”
“
Last night went all right?
”
She could almost hear the teenager shrug.
“
Wesley freaked. About Mom and the shooting and all. And the cops were here, looking for evidence, and that didn
’
t help. But it
’
s all right. I stayed in his top bunk and that calmed him down, and when he went to school today, he seemed mostly okay.
”
“
Did you go to school?
”
Long silence.
“
It
’
s just that
…
it
’
s going to be a hassle, my missing so much. Tuesday, after the long weekend, I
’
ll go. I kind of
…
Today, it
’
s Friday, anyway, and with all the other things, you know?
”
Billie murmured assent. It had been an incredible blow to the head
—
her boyfriend killed, her father a corrupt criminal who attempted to kill her and her mother
—
all in twenty-four hours. She must be reeling.
“
The thing is
…
?
”
Penny left it an open question.
“
Yes?
”
“
Wesley should be home by now, but he isn
’
t. I went looking for him, but I couldn
’
t find him.
”
The idea didn
’
t sound complete, but Penny left more heavy air in her wake.
“
And you
’
re worried,
”
Billie said.
A deep breath.
“
Like I should have been at the bus stop maybe, even though he
’
d hate it if I treated him like a baby.
”
“
Does he have friends he visits after school?
”
“
He
’
s not allowed to just go off and
…”
She seemed to remember that those who allowed or disallowed were not around.
“
He knows I
’
d worry.
”
Billie thought of the knobby-jointed boy
’
s profound attachment to his sister. Disappearing did not sound like the little she knew of Wesley, and Penny obviously agreed.
“
I mean he
’
s not that late,
”
Penny said,
“
but all the same.
…”
Billie glanced at the doorway, making sure the prison matron wasn
’
t around to observe what she was about to do. The door was clear, with only Zack outside at his desk.
“
I
’
m just leaving the office,
”
Billie said.
“
Would you want me to stop off at your house? Help you figure this out?
”
“
I
’
d like that,
”
Penny said.
“
I don
’
t know why I
’
m so jumpy, but I
’
d feel a lot better if he
’
d come home.
”
She sounded younger and less sure of herself by the second.
“
Give me time to clean up here and take care of a few things,
”
Billie said.
“
And try not to worry.
”
When she hung up, she considered what she might have meant by saying she
’
d help Penny figure out where Wesley was, given that she hadn
’
t exactly proven herself a bloodhound in finding Penny herself.
Emma was right. She should back off and leave this to whatever community Penny already had, the people who knew her, knew Wesley, like the next-door neighbor. Sunny. The pretty woman with the gorgeous life. The one who
’
d stirred up negative sensations, a sense of having been insulted by her. Snubbed. Treated shabbily.
And then an image, like a flashcard behind her eyes. Outside a nursery school, near Billie
’
s home, maybe four months earlier. She saw the blonde woman holding the hand of her four-year-old as they entered the building. Billie had been on her way to work at the mall, frantically assembling herself as she walked to the bus stop
—
her car was in the shop. She was going to be late, was going to be further in debt because of the car; her morning coffee burned at her stomach walls, her son had been having a tantrum she had to will over to Ivan, she
’
d felt raggedy and badly put together, and the day had barely begun. And there was this woman in a tennis outfit, the tiny skirt barely covering perfect legs, and on the wrist of the hand holding the child
’
s, a bracelet set with diamonds that caught the morning light. And then the woman laughed, a silver-gold sound that was echoed by her child as they entered the excellent preschool that Billie was never going to be able to afford for her son.