I sat up, embarrassed by my belated appreciation of what should have been obvious at the time. In describing the motivation for the tape, they’d all used the same words and phrases. It was a lark. We were laughing our asses off. Who the hell uses the word “lark” unless the discussion is about birds? I didn’t think any of the four realized they were echoing each other’s comments or they’d have paid greater heed to their accounts.
I checked my watch, wondering where the day had gone. It was close to five and I’d hoped to grab a bite to eat, shower, and change clothes before the birthday party. I gathered up my cards and rubber-banded them together. I grabbed my shoulder bag and shoved the cards into the depths while I searched for my keys. I went through the ritual of arming the system and locking the door, and then I headed for my car, thinking what a pain in the ass my security measures had become.
I could have initiated the upcoming conversation with any of the four, but Troy had been the most amenable. Besides which, he and Kerry were not far away, a stone’s throw from Sea Shore Park, which sits on a bluff overlooking the Pacific. The proximity to the ocean should have made the location desirable, but the houses were built in the 1950s and mirrored one another with a depressing similarity. Exteriors were stucco, painted Easter egg colors that had long since grown dingy. The roofs were shake and the trim was plain, peeling paint in most cases. Aluminum window and sliding glass door frames were pitted by the salt-laden sea air, which also wreaked havoc on the condenser coils in ancient air-conditioning units I could hear from two doors away. The front yards were small and flat. In most cases, the drought had left them bald, with sparse tufts of grass here and there.
It crossed my mind that Camilla and Jonah lived in the same area, but I let that slide.
I parked my car and as I approached the Rademakers’ front door, I picked up the cooking scents of half a dozen dinners wafting from nearby houses. I stood on the porch and knocked. There was a brief wait and then Troy answered the door. He’d showered and changed from his navy work coveralls into a T-shirt and shorts. He was barefoot.
His look was blank, not exactly welcoming. “Oh. You.”
“Sorry. I know it’s not an ideal time to stop by, but I have a question that will only take a minute.”
He stepped out on the porch and pulled the door shut behind him. “What’s this about?”
“The tape.”
He said, “Shit.”
Bored or annoyed, I couldn’t tell which.
“Mind if we sit?”
He didn’t seem happy about it, but he gestured to two white molded plastic chairs of the sort I’d seen sold in drugstores.
Once settled, I reached into my bag and pulled out my cards. “I’ve been going over my notes and came up with something that struck me as odd.”
“You couldn’t have called to tell me about this—whatever the fuck it is?”
“I thought talking face-to-face was a better idea,” I said, inwardly wincing at his use of the F-word. Ordinarily, I don’t object to it, but this was jarring, given his former friendliness. I couldn’t understand what had changed. This was not the same Troy I’d spoken with two days before. That guy seemed open, honest, and decent. Obviously, I was treading on dangerous ground, but now that I was here, I didn’t have much choice but to plunge ahead. I turned over the first card.
“At the McCabes’ Tuesday night when Fritz talked about the tape, he referred to it as a hoot and a game. To quote him, you guys were just ‘horsing around.’ Interview with Iris, you guys were just messing around. Wednesday when you and I talked, you called it a hoax, a spoof, and a mockumentary.”
Troy glanced at his watch.
“When I talked to Bayard, he said the tape was essentially a practical joke.”
“Okay.”
I held up the cards. “Three of you used identical phrases. You said ‘it was a lark.’ And, ‘we were laughing our asses off.’”
He stared at me. “So what?”
I studied him as I spoke. “It was a cover story, wasn’t it?”
I waited and when he said nothing, I went on. “I don’t know which of you came up with the idea, but it’s clear you coached each other so if a question was ever raised, you could all claim you were goofing around. I think you talked Iris into the idea as well. Back then, she was drunk, stoned, or both, but now—by some miracle—she’s singing the same tune you are.”
He was silent, staring at the porch paint. I waited, thinking he was wrestling with his conscience. He finally raised his eyes to mine. “You know what? I’m done talking to you.”
“Why is this suddenly a problem? If I’m wrong, just tell me I’m wrong.”
“We will not have this conversation. I told Kerry you’d stopped by the shop and she didn’t like it. At all. She says you don’t have any right to question me about this stuff.”
“I’m sorry she feels that way. Lauren McCabe thought you might be helpful.”
“Helpful to Fritz maybe, but she doesn’t give a shit about me. She’d throw me to the wolves if she thought it would prove useful to that sniveling son of hers. You can tell her to shove ‘help’ up her ass. In the meantime, I’d like you to get the hell off my property.”
His tone was dead and the look in his eyes was cold. I was paralyzed by embarrassment. The last thing in the world I’d expected him to do was give me the boot. Clearly, it was na?ve of me to think he’d confirm my theory and confess everything with relief.
I don’t remember how I managed my exit, but my departure wasn’t graceful. Troy stood on the porch, staring pointedly, until I started my car and pulled away from the curb. The shirt at the small of my back was damp with flop sweat as I drove off.
? ? ?
Thus far my day had been a strange mix of enlightenment and mortification and I looked forward to Rosie’s birthday party for the comic relief. I reached home with just enough time to shower and change clothes. As I came out of my studio, wearing a turtleneck, tights, and a skirt, I was surprised to find Lucky standing at my door. He’d cleaned himself up, taking advantage of Henry’s largess. He stood freshly showered, shaved, and radiating the scent of Henry’s aftershave. In front of him, Pearl sat in her wheelchair in jeans and a peasant shirt I’d never seen before. Killer sat near the tent flap, his gaze fixed on me.
“You two look festive.”
Pearl said, “Thanks. I think we can tart ourself up pretty good.”
Lucky seemed self-conscious, shifting from one foot to the other. “Honor of Rosie’s birthday, I been sober six hours.”
“Good for you,” I said. “I hope you can keep it up.”
“Trouble is I keep thinking I should have a drink to celebrate.”
Time to stop talking about alcohol, I thought. “Where’s Henry?”
“He went to the party early to help set up,” Pearl said. “We decided to wait for you.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Look what I done,” she said. In her lap she held a loaf of homemade bread that peeked out of an aluminum foil wrap. The crust was a golden brown and the top listed only slightly to one side. It smelled heavenly, as though she’d pulled it from the oven just a short time before.
I realized then that Lucky held a parcel in one hand. “Made Rosie a present as well,” he said shyly.