CHAPTER 115
I PARKED IN the driveway of a house with a pediment and Doric columns and underwater lights turning the reflecting pool deep ocean-blue. It was the very picture of over-the-top conspicuous consumption as only Californians could do it.
Lights were on in the house.
I set the brake, climbed the walk, rang the doorbell a couple of times, and when no one came to the door, I let myself into the house.
I found my sister-in-law in the five-hundred-thousand-dollar kitchen, making chocolate pudding and watching Goodfellas on TV. Her back was to me.
I said, not too loud, “Annie. Hey.”
Annie screamed and dropped the spoon. She turned, hands to her cheeks, still screaming.
“It’s me, it’s me. I rang the bell.”
She took a breath, put her arms out, and hugged me. “You’re a menace, Jack,” she said. “Feel my heart racing?”
“I’m sorry.” Maybe she’d lied to give my brother an alibi, but I loved her anyway.
“Are you okay?” she asked me.
I hugged her, patted her back, said, “I’m fine. But I’ve got to see Tommy. Believe it or not, I need his help.”
“He’s in the barn. Go wake up your nephew. He’s worried about you. Take this.”
She took a jug of milk out of the refrigerator, poured a glass, and handed it to me. “You remember where his room is?”
Ned was asleep.
I turned on the lamp and lit up a room lined with posters: military recruitment, dinosaurs, action figures. I sat on the side of the bed, looked at the eight-year-old boy who wasn’t my child but carried half my genes.
I put the milk down, touched Ned’s arm, said, “Hey, buddy. It’s your old uncle Jack.”
His eyelids flew open and he sat up fast, throwing his arms around my chest. I hugged him and kissed his hair.
“How are you, buddy? How’s Ned?”
He pulled back and grinned at me. “I was digging and look what I found. Dad says it’s older than he is.”
I followed his finger, saw the old glass Coke bottle on the night table. I picked it up, and admired it under the light.
“This is fantastic. It’s a real antique.”
“I saw you on TV,” Ned said. I put the bottle down, and Ned was back in my arms, talking into my chest. “They said you killed someone. Colleen.”
“It’s not true, honey. I know what people say, but I didn’t kill her. I’m being framed.”
He looked up at me, questions and tears in his eyes.
“Someone lied about you? But why? ”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not right. That’s whack, Uncle Jack.”
“He’s not going to get away with it. I’m not kidding.”
“Good. Go get him. Bring the dirty dog down.”
I bumped fists with the little guy and hugged him again. Then I left the house with its elaborate coved ceilings, formal furniture, and fireplaces in every room, walked past the Olympic-sized heated pool and out to the six-bay car barn.
Tommy had a classic American car collection, a passion he’d shared with Dad. I found him under a 1948 Buick Roadmaster, a pewter-gray automobile that looked as if it had been blown from a bubble machine. It was a beautiful thing.
I grabbed Tommy’s ankles and pulled him out on the dolly he’d rolled in on.
He stared at me, his expression changing as his initial fear turned to mocking anger.
“What’s your problem, Jack?”
“I know who set me up, Junior. I know who killed Colleen.”