“You know what? It just occurred to me that I haven’t seen any of Father’s wooden robots.”
He rushed to her. “Wooden robots? I’ve seen only one plastic robot in this house. Do you think Edgar could have sold them?”
“Maybe, but as I recall, he didn’t regard them as valuable. He considered it silly for a man Father’s age to collect robots. And when Father began to make wooden ones, Edgar suggested to us that we ought to have him committed. Since only he and Father lived here for the past few years, it’s possible that Father hid them from Edgar. He could have put them in storage somewhere.”
“I see. Has Edgar mentioned the robots to you since your father passed?”
“Not to me, but he could have spoken to Gunther about them.”
“Robots, huh? Can you describe them?”
“He bought plastic and metal ones, but mostly plastic. All were animals—dogs, cats, and bears. I think he must have taken a course in it, because he began to make wooden squirrels and rabbits about two years ago. We joked that he cared more for animals than for humans, but that wasn’t really fair.”
Carson sat on the edge of a little end table near the steps. “I had that guy all wrong. I’d figured he spent his time reading. So he wasn’t an intellectual.”
“Not in my estimation,” she said. “And it’s interesting, because most introverts who prefer their own company tend to be thinkers and intellectuals. Imagine a father of children almost forty years old who lived with him for most of their lives and can’t define his personality. Leon Farrell didn’t do his job as a parent.”
“You’ll get no argument from me about that. Why isn’t Edgar in Atlantic City on the weekends?”
“He said he works locally on the weekends.”
He stared at her. “Does that make sense to you? Are people most likely to go to a resort city on Mondays or on Fridays? Don’t believe everything people tell you, not even if the speaker is your older brother.”
At dinner that evening, she mentioned to Gunther Carson’s skepticism about Edgar’s employment arrangements. “Carson thinks it doesn’t make sense.”
“He’s right. It doesn’t, and Edgar’s probably lying. He might have had a gig there for a short while, but not on a permanent basis. Let’s see. Today’s Friday. I’ll see if he’s at that hotel this evening.” He took out his BlackBerry, dialed Edgar’s cell number, and waited.
“Hello. Farrell speaking.”
“How’s it going, Edgar? Are you on a gig in Baltimore tonight? I thought I might drop by with a friend.”
“Naah, man. I told my boss to shove it. That scum doesn’t know good music when he hears it. Like those airheads in Atlantic City. They take a guy who doesn’t know a pick from a pitcher and make him lead over a boss guitarist. The hell with all of them. A bunch of assholes.”
“Where are you right now?”
“Man, I’m in Vegas. I’ve been stranded, but this gal I’ve met is buying me a ticket home. She thinks she’s clever, buying me a round trip to be sure I come back. See you in a couple of days.”
He related the conversation to Shirley and added, “Looks like he’ll always be a deadbeat. I wonder how much he owes that poor woman.”
“I hope she can afford it. Carson thinks the absence of those robots may be significant.”
“Possibly. It’s his job to consider everything. I agree with you. Edgar didn’t think enough of them to take them, but Father was a little paranoid when it came to those things, so he probably stored them somewhere. But why would he do that?”
“He had a mean streak, and you know he did. Anyway, Carson wants to talk with you. He’s going to find that will or die trying.”
“I don’t expect you want that,” he said dryly.
Since it was Mirna’s afternoon off, they cleaned the kitchen together. “I think I’ll turn in,” he said. “My distributor wants another game. He said the one I gave him is moving. I made it for children, but it seems that everybody’s attracted to it. I hope to get this in shape by the middle of next week.”
“You’re not supposed to work but half a day, so please be sensible about this. And please call Carson in the morning. I may be out for a while. See you at breakfast.”
He stopped midway up the stairs. “You may be out? Out where? You were with that guy
last
night.”
He could almost see her bristle when she stuck her fists on her hips and glared at him. “What guy are you talking about? One more crack like that one, and I’ll move.”
“Move where?”
“I’d love to move in with Carson, but he hasn’t asked me. There’re plenty of hotels here and in Baltimore, so try to keep your bossiness under wraps, please.”
“You’d actually move in with Carson?”
“I hadn’t considered it until you started getting on my nerves. But the thought of being in a position to have my way with that man is enough to send me over the edge. Good night.”
“Are you in love with him?”
“Gunther, please drop it. Carson is important to me, and I don’t want to continue discussing him in a flippant manner. We can speak seriously about this another time. Okay?”
“Yeah. As if I didn’t have enough headaches.”
He heard her cell phone ring, knew it was Carson, and battled with himself as to whether he should confront the man and risk the chance that Shirley would keep her word and move in with him. He didn’t want her to do that. A woman was at a disadvantage and with minimum bargaining chips when she removed a guy’s chief reason for getting married. Too bad their father hadn’t taken the time to give her the facts of life.
Shirley sat on a step midway up the stairs and answered her cell phone. “Hi, how are you?”
“I’m lonely. Want to go for some ice cream? It tastes great this time of night. I know a super place for ice cream. How about it?”
“What are you wearing?”
“Jeans and a collared T-shirt.”
“I’ll be ready when you get here.”
“Gal after my own heart.”
She combed out her hair, put on a pair of silver hoop earrings, washed her face, and buffed it with a dry towel. She examined herself in the full-length mirror that hung on the back of the closet door. Black jeans, a red T-shirt, and blue Reeboks. Definitely good enough for ice cream, she assured herself and tripped down the stairs, humming Eric Clapton’s “Layla.”
“Hi,” she said when she looked up and saw Carson at the door. “Mirna left us cake for dessert, but I was saving mine for later. So when you called—”
He interrupted her with a kiss on the mouth. “Why are you nervous? You look great. Let’s go.”
She was nervous, but she hadn’t thought it would show. She hadn’t been so casual with Carson, and she didn’t know how he’d take it.
“I love your hair down,” he said as he drove away from the curb. “And your outfit is raising my blood pressure. Want to go to Three Scoops?”
“I’ve never been there, Carson, but I’m sure I’ll like it.”
“Are you always so agreeable? I like that about you, but don’t forget that I like to please you. So always let me know exactly what you want and what you like.” He stopped for a red light, turned, and looked straight at her. “And that goes for everything, including and especially, when you’re in my arms.”
She knew what he meant, but she didn’t know how to respond. That was as pointed as it could get.
“Do you understand what I mean?” he asked, refusing to let her avoid answering. The light changed to green, and he turned onto Route 144, drove half a mile, and parked in the Three Scoops parking lot.
“You chose an idyllic evening,” she said, gazing up at the full, bright aristocratic-looking moon, regal in a field of stars. Down on earth, every leaf seemed content to remain unmoving on its limb, and not the slightest rustle of breeze disturbed the quiet. “I don’t even hear an automobile,” she said. “This is a little slice of heaven.”
“So you’d rather not answer.” He flexed his right shoulder in a quick shrug. “The trees and that high wooden panel block out the traffic noise. If you like this, wait until we get inside.”
As they passed the lighted counter that displayed the flavors for sale, she chose raspberry margarita. A waitress seated them beside a window that overlooked a waterfall and a brook. Shirley could see their reflections in the water. “This is one seductive environment,” she blurted out, “and you don’t need any help.”
He looked at her for such a long time that she blanched beneath his stare. “Be careful what you say to me, Shirley. I take everything you tell me seriously, even some things said in jest. You just told me that you’re attracted to me. I know that, and it’s important to me. After all, you’ve agreed that you’re my girl. But that word
seductive
carries a punch.”
He was a grown man, and she shouldn’t have to mince words with him. “Because I’m your girl, you should expect me to tell you like it is. You’re seductive. Period. One of these days, I’ll give you some details. And there’s no reason why knowing it should blow up your ego.”
Both of his eyebrows shot up, and he sat back in the chair and gazed at her, seemingly nonplussed. “Shirley, when you decide to be serious and truthful about what’s going on between you and me, please try not to choose a public place in which to do it. If I had you to myself in a private place right now, I would make love to you before I let you out of my sight, and I wouldn’t play at it, either.”
Her heart began to pound like the hooves of a runaway Thoroughbred horse. “I don’t consider anything you say to me as a threat. You ... You’re piling it on. I don’t think I’m quite ready, but I’m definitely looking forward to it.”
Chapter Seven
Carson hadn’t been in the Farrell house twenty minutes that Saturday morning when he heard a key in the front door. He hadn’t wanted one of the Farrell siblings with him, because he did his best thinking alone, and something teased the edges of his mind, something he simply could not get a handle on. Whatever it was, it would lead him to that will.
“What the fu ... ? Who the hell is in here?” a voice yelled, and he knew he’d have to deal with a surprised and irritable Edgar.
He put the desk upright, straightened his clothes, and strolled slowly and with caution down the stairs, every molecule of his body alert and on edge. “What’s wrong, Edgar?”
“You? I thought you’d checked this place. No wonder it’s taking you—”
“Cool it, man, and act your age. How do you expect me to find that will if I don’t look for it?” He’d figured that the best way to handle Edgar was to remind the man of his obvious shortcomings. “I’m successful, among other things, because I’m thorough. Since you’re here, do you have any idea why your father’s robots are missing?”
“Hell, no, man. He was paranoid about those stupid things. I wouldn’t be surprised if he buried them in the cemetery and marked the grave with an expensive headstone. A grown man sitting around playing with toys. He should’ve been committed, but Gunther and Shirley wouldn’t hear of it.”
“The man was sane. To have had him committed to a mental facility would have been criminal. Didn’t you like your father?”
“He was too harsh. Expected us to be like him. Gunther tried to please Father, but he didn’t treat Gunther any better than he treated me. Shakespeare said it all: ‘To thine own self be true.’ And I been doing my own thing ever since I figured out that nobody could please the old man.”
Carson rested his back against the side of a big hutch in the hall between the dining room and the kitchen. “You’re just getting in from Atlantic City, I suppose.”
“Man, I quit that half-ass job weeks ago. I’m just getting back from Vegas. Now, that’s where the action is, and as soon as I can, I’m going back. But, man, that place eats money like a whirlwind sucking up sand. Haven’t you come up with any leads yet?”
“Sure, and one by one, they petered out. But after a conversation with Shirley about the type of person your father was, I’ve begun a different tactic, and it should work. I’d better get busy. See you.”
“Man, I’m not staying. I gotta run over to Baltimore and see about making some bread. I need to pick up a couple of gigs. You’ll probably be gone when I get back.”
“If you’re not back in an hour, I certainly will be.”
Carson walked back up the stairs, deep in thought. How did a parent avoid creating a person like Edgar? He wasn’t born that way, and he had had the same advantages and disadvantages as Gunther and Shirley, but his resemblance to them began and ended with the color of his eyes.
An hour and a half later, speeding down Jones Falls Expressway, Edgar sideswiped a car. He slowed down, but he neither stopped nor looked back, though from his side-view mirror, he should have seen the car spin around 360 degrees and rock precariously before settling on its four wheels. However, in slowing down, he allowed the driver of that car to see enough of him to remember what he wore, though she didn’t get his license plate number.
In her usually meticulous way, Frieda Davis jotted down the color and shape of his helmet and drew the shape of the two interlocked red Vs on the back of his white leather jacket. Then she examined her tires, got back into the car, and drove on to Bakerville to continue her care of her birth mother. If she ever saw him again, he’d owe her plenty.
When his cell phone rang persistently, Edgar slowed down and pulled over to the shoulder of the highway. He didn’t try to use his cell phone while riding his motorcycle. It would be too dangerous. Besides, he wouldn’t be able to hear one word. “Farrell speaking.”
“When you coming back, Edgar?”
“Look, babe. I got here this morning, and a lot’s facing me before I can leave. Don’t be anxious about me going back there. You got my music, babe, and nobody ever played it like you do. You get my meaning?”
“You bet. When you get back, I’ll be here just like you left me, honey.”
“That’s my girl. See you.” He put the phone back in his pocket, kicked the starter, and headed to the Eubie Blake National Jazz Institute, the one place where he could always get a gig. While he’d talked with the woman who paid for his trip home, Frieda Davis passed, and as she did so, she made a mental note of his license plate. Edgar parked at the Institute and tried without success to reach Gunther by phone.
But while Edgar seethed in frustration because he couldn’t reach his brother, Gunther was learning that
Bravado,
his video game about three mischievous little boys and a nurse, had become the country’s best-selling video game.
“We’re speaking money here, Gunther,” his distributor said, socking his left palm with his right fist. “Yeah, man. Oodles and oodles of green United States money. Man, you’re at the summit. I want fifty thousand more copies this week. When the iron is hot, strike it. And you’re hot.”
Gunther had expected the game to be a hit, but not to the extent that it had. He made an effort to adopt a businesslike demeanor and to resist displaying the excitement that he felt. “I’ll order the copies today, and you should have them by Wednesday.”
“Uh, by the way, if I were you, I’d open a special account for each product to simplify record keeping. That way, you’ll always know exactly what your net gain is from each game.”
“Thanks, Ken.” He didn’t bother to tell the man that he had an MBA from Harvard and knew how to manage a business.
“You keep ’em coming, and I’ll put ’em where your customers can get ’em.”
Gunther left the man’s office shaking his head. Four million copies sold in three short weeks. Even counting what it cost him to produce the video game and get it to stores, he’d made sixteen million dollars net off that one product. Over sixteen times his net worth three months earlier. Frieda Davis had inspired that game, and if he saw her again, he’d make her a present of something valuable
. Leon Farrell, how I wish you were alive to eat the crow I would delight in serving you.
He reached his car, put his hand in his pocket for his keys, and, along with them, he pulled out a yellow slip of paper that he was about to throw away when he noticed the handwriting on it. A flawless script as might be composed by someone who had studied calligraphy. He stared at it until he remembered the writer and how the slip of paper got into his pocket.
Drops of rain reminded him to unlock the door and get into the automobile. He put the key in the ignition but didn’t turn it. While the rain pelted the car, he made up his mind and dialed the phone number on the yellow slip.
“Hello, Caroline. This is Gunther Farrell. I would have called you weeks ago, but I went on a fishing trip and came down with pneumonia. I’m just back to myself.”
“What a surprise this is, Gunther. It’s nice to hear from you. I am terribly sorry that you’ve been ill. How are you now?”
“I’m my old self and very happy about it. Would you have dinner with me one evening? Soon?”
“I’d like that very much. I had about concluded that I wouldn’t be hearing from you, and I’m glad you called, because I thought we got on well that one time we were together.”
“So did I, and that’s why I want to see you again. I have a deadline Wednesday, so I can be free Wednesday evening.”
“Oh.”
“Wait a minute. We can have dinner again Friday, Saturday, and Sunday evenings, but I want to see you soon, and Wednesday’s my earliest free day.”
Her laughter floated to him through the wires. “You’re smart. I was indeed about to conclude that, to your mind, I was only good for a midweek date. Wednesday it is.” She gave him her address.
“Thanks, I’ll be there at six-thirty in a jacket and tie.”
“Wonderful. That tells me how to dress. I’ll look forward to it.”
“So will I.” Maybe he’d finally begun to get his life together. He was thirty-four years old and had never had a satisfying relationship with a woman. He’d had plenty of girls, but every one wanted to go to the best restaurant, have the best seat at a football game or tennis match, get the most expensive seat at a concert. He blew out a long breath. He was not a stingy man, but it irked him when a date told him where she wanted to sit at an event. At least Caroline didn’t ask where he’d take her to dinner or suggest a restaurant.
If he was lucky, Caroline and he would have common interests, and, most importantly, they would care for each other’s well-being. He did not want a woman who had to have the latest fashion, belong to numerous social clubs, and attend every big social function. And he disliked social leeches like Lissa, women whose criteria for a mate consisted solely of his ability to take care of them financially. He wanted a woman who loved him and needed him for things other than financial support.
But I know better than to put too much hope in this. The higher your expectations, the longer you wait for their realization.
Well, he’d waited this long, and though he wanted to settle down and start a family, he’d continue to wait till he was sure he’d found the right woman.
At home that evening, Gunther asked Mirna how she knew Frieda. “Well, Mr. G., I’ve known Frieda ten years. I worked for a family in Baltimore, and Frieda came to take care of the man’s mother. Frieda took care of that old lady like she woulda her own mother. She amazed everybody, even the man what hired her. That old lady loved the ground Frieda walked on. Frieda a real nice person, but if you mistreat her, look out. She don’t take no tea for the fever, Mr. G. I know she good-looking, and some men fall for they nurses, but you ain’t—”
He interrupted her. “Slow down, Mirna. I asked how you knew her. I didn’t ask for a reference, and I am not interested in her as a woman. Got that?”
“Yes, sir. You jes never can tell. Right now, she doing a good deed.”
Frieda had given herself a month to care for her birth mother without charge, but after that, she’d have to start earning, because she had to pay the rent on her apartment and save what she could for the house she hoped to buy someday. She had been saving for that house—sometimes as little as fifty cents at a time—since she got her first paycheck, nineteen years earlier. That afternoon, she sat with her mother in a rocking chair on the screened-in back porch of the house Coreen Treadwell shared with her husband.
“Would you like some lemonade?” Frieda asked Coreen. “You’d never drink a drop of anything if I didn’t insist. You have to stay hydrated.”
“I don’t really like water, though I know I should drink it,” Coreen told her. “You know,” she went on, “I’m kind of glad I got sick. If I hadn’t, you and I would never have gotten to know each other. I hope you’ve forgiven me.”
“I’m the one who needed forgiveness,” Frieda said. “What happened to me was not your fault. You had already suffered more cruelty than I could have imagined, and I added to the pain. I’m sorry I did what I did, but I know I’d do it again.” She didn’t care to rehash that story and changed the subject. “A man on a motorcycle sideswiped me on the highway recently, spun my car all around and didn’t even pause. I got enough information about him to cause him plenty of trouble, and when I get ready, I will.”
“How much did it cost to fix your car?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. Eric took care of it. He’s a really nice person.”
“I see that you like Eric, and I’m glad for that. Have you forgiven Glen?”
Frieda locked her hands behind her head, braced her feet on the floor, and moved the rocker back and forth in a soothing rhythm. “Forgive Glen for what? He didn’t do as much to me as I did to him. We forgave each other. It’s all over.”
“I’m so glad. I’ve worried plenty about that. Maybe I
will
have some lemonade. I don’t know what I would have done without you, Frieda. You’ve made my recovery so pleasant, almost like a nice vacation.”
“It is a vacation. You’ll be back at work in another month.”
“God willing. I sure hope so.”
And in another month, she’d be back at the hospital doing whatever the registered nurses thought was beneath them. If she ever got a few pennies ahead, she was going to school and get her RN. She said as much to Coreen.
“Soon as I can, I’m gon’ quit work, go to college, and get my RN. It took me a while to get my LPN, ’cause I didn’t work hard at it, but I’m sure gon’ work hard at that RN.”
“I know nursing is hard work, and you have to be exhausted at the end of the day,” Coreen said, “but can’t you take a couple of courses in the evenings after work? Then, when you’re able to go full-time, it won’t take you so long.”
“I never thought of that. I can drive to Towson in no time. It’s got a great program for nurses. Well, this is my day. Five years from now, you gon’ see that RN insignia on my cap, my collar, and everywhere else I can put it.”
Coreen’s hearty laugh was the response she sought to her comment. She got up, went to the kitchen, got a pitcher of cold lemonade, and gave a glass of it to Coreen. “It sure is good to see you drink that down to the last drop. I won’t feel so badly about leaving you at the end of the week.”