Sue Grafton - V is for Vengeance

She felt herself detach, a state that was becoming all too frequent with her of late. Whatever Robert’s business with Dante, he clearly didn’t want to talk about it now. Gretchen would have enlightened her, given half a chance. In their social set, gossip was a sport. There was no “fact of the matter,” only rumor and innuendo. Points were awarded for anything juicy, regardless of the truth content. This was what she knew of Dante, that he’d come to her defense. This was what she also knew, that he’d offered her a way out.

She tuned in to Robert’s conversation with Channing and heard him propose lunch and a round of golf.

“You have a tee time?”

“Don’t need one on Sundays. The course won’t be crowded. We can walk on anytime we like.”

Channing caught Nora’s eye. “Is that okay with you?”

“Fine.”

The talk shifted to Robert’s last round of golf. He’d played Pebble Beach the weekend before, and the two men discussed the course. Neither she nor Gretchen played golf, which meant the two men could hold forth while nothing was expected of them. The salads arrived and the topic of conversation shifted again, this time to the cruise to the Far East the Hellers were taking at the end of June. They compared notes about cruise lines, and Nora was able to keep up her end of the conversation without effort. Once she disconnected, everything was so much easier.

Channing poured her another glass of wine. He smiled when their eyes met, but there was no emotional content. She missed the early days of their romance. Thelma was now the recipient of all that she had cherished in him. If she were honest about it, she’d acknowledge how little of herself she’d given Channing in the past few years. The disconnect wasn’t the direct result of his affair, it was habitual to her.

The petrale sole turned out to be a mistake. White and flavorless, lying in a pool of butter. Nora picked her way through the meal, and in the lull between the entrée and dessert, she excused herself and headed for the ladies’ lounge. She went about her business, ran a comb through her hair, reapplied her lipstick. She’d felt so clever disguising her feelings from Channing, making sure he had no inkling of where she was or what she knew. But in pretending not to care, she’d actually ceased to care. Reviving her old feelings for him seemed to be out of her control.

As she emerged from the ladies’ lounge, she saw Dante coming down the corridor. She felt a jolt-tension or apprehension, she wasn’t sure which. He wore a pale gray suit and a dark gray dress shirt with a black tie. The combination gave him the look of a gangster, which he was either unaware of or didn’t care to hide. She knew he’d timed his leaving the table to coincide with her return.

She said, “What are you doing here?” Somehow the question seemed accusatory, which wasn’t her intent.

“I told you I’d be here. I’m having dinner with a friend.”

“I thought you were just making conversation.”

“I was. You left the office, I decided I better have a look at the guy lucky enough to be married to you. I don’t think he appreciates what he has.”

She dropped her gaze. “I have to get back.”

“Why don’t you have a drink with me tomorrow, just the two of us?”

“I don’t drink.”

“You had wine with dinner. We should talk.”

“About what?”

“How you ended up married to a bum.”

“He’s not a bum.”

“Yes, he is. You just haven’t seen it yet. I know his type. He looks good on the surface, but underneath, he’s a royal shit.”

Nora felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “My friend says you’re Mafia.”

He smiled. “Flattering, but false. I’m connected in other ways.”

“You’re a thug.”

He smiled. “Now you’ve got it. A bona fide badass,” he said. “Give me an hour of your time tomorrow. That’s not too much to ask.”

“I can’t.”

“There’s a place out on State Street called Down the Hatch. You can look it up in the phone book. It’s a dive. You won’t see anyone you know.”

“Channing and I have plans.”

“So cancel ’em. One o’clock. The place will be deserted.”

“Why would I agree?”

“I want to sit someplace quiet and dark so I can look at you.”

“That’s not a good idea.”

“I’d say lunch, but then you’d think it was a date and that, I know, you’d refuse.”

“No, thank you.”

“Think about it.”

She started to protest and he put a finger on her lips. His touch was brief but startlingly intimate. “Excuse me,” she said and moved away.

When Nora returned to the table, Channing was talking about leg-hold traps. She was confused that such a subject had come up. As she took her seat, she said, “Leg-hold traps? Where did that come from?”

Gretchen said, “Your gardener’s complaining about the coyotes.”

Nora realized Mr. Ishiguro had told Channing about the coyote scat he’d showed her Wednesday when she was at the house. Since she’d told him she’d sent Mrs. Stumbo, she had to play dumb. Even if Mr. Ishiguro had mentioned her being there, his English was so fractured that Channing wouldn’t get the reference. “What about the coyotes?” she asked.

Channing’s gesture was impatient. “They’ve invaded the property. They’re crapping everywhere. Mr. Ishiguro says he’s seen the male leap that six-foot wall between us and the Fergusons’. Karen’s two cats disappeared this past week. I told you about that.”

“She shouldn’t have left them out. You said yourself how irresponsible it was.”

“You’re missing the point. They’re getting bolder by the minute. Once they lose their fear of humans, they’re really dangerous. Mr. Ishiguro suggested traps and I said fine.”

“Why would you let him use leg-hold traps? Those are horrible. They can snap an animal’s leg in two. If the poor things don’t bleed to death, they’re in excruciating pain. Why would you agree to something so barbaric? Those coyotes have never bothered us.”

“They’re predators. They’ll eat anything. Birds, garbage, carrion. You name it.”

Gretchen said, “I’ll tell you something gruesome. A friend of ours had her little shih tzu dragged off and eviscerated. She was standing right there. The poor dog all bloody and screaming. She said it was the worst thing that’s ever happened to her. She went out and bought a shotgun and she keeps it by the back door. She won’t go out in the yard now unless she’s armed.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Nora said.

Gretchen said, “I beg to differ. Even where we are, you can hear them howling after dark. Sounds like a pack of wild Indians about to attack. It gives me the willies.”

“I better keep my pistol loaded,” Channing said with a smile. “If the traps don’t work, I can pick them off from the deck.”

“You have a pistol ?” Gretchen asked.

“Of course.”

“Well, aren’t you the wily one. I had no idea.”

“Stop it,” Nora snapped. “If that man sets leg-hold traps, I’m firing him.”

“Well, you better be quick about it. He picked the traps up yesterday and he’s using chicken carcasses for bait.”

“Won’t work,” Robert said. “They’re too smart. Even the faintest whiff of humans, a coyote won’t come anywhere close.”

Nora snatched her bag and got up. “I’m going out to the car. You want to talk about this shit, you can do it without me.”

On the way home, Channing made an attempt to jolly her out of her mood. “It was a joke,” he said.

“There’s nothing funny about suffering.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Jesus, Channing, nothing’s wrong . Coyotes were here long before we were. We’re the ones encroaching on their territory, not the other way around. Why don’t you just leave them in peace?”