Sue Grafton - V is for Vengeance

“This is your house?” she asked.

“A weekend place. No one knows it’s mine.”

As they walked toward the front door, he took out a set of keys. The exterior of the house was board-and-batten, painted yellow, the windows shuttered in white. The roof was standing-seam metal with a low pitch that suggested the architecture of the tropics-Key West or Jamaica. Palms were grouped in the small yard, which was half sand, half grass. The front door swung back and she stepped into the small foyer, pausing to take in the space.

The front wall of the living room was floor-to-ceiling windows. Just outside there was a wide wooden deck enclosed by a board-and-batten barrier wall, waist high, topped with darkly tinted glass panels, which kept the ocean visible while anyone standing on the deck was screened from view. She walked as far as the glass and looked out. The air was fully saturated with the scent of ocean, and Dante watched her close her eyes and inhale.

“You like it?”

She smiled at him. “It’s perfect. I love the ocean. I’m a water baby. Pisces.”

“Me too. Only I’m Scorpio.”

“How long have you had the place?”

“Three days.”

“You bought it this week?”

“Lease-purchase agreement. You’re my first guest.”

“I’m flattered.”

“You want to look around? I can give you the tour.”

“I’d like that.”

The two moved from room to room. His commentary was minimal because the house was small and the spatial designations were self-evident. Kitchen, big master bedroom, one guest room, two baths, living room with a dining area at one end. The place was furnished right down to the bed linens.

She said, “I like buying on impulse. It’s fun. I confess I can’t imagine doing it on such a scale.”

“It was a good deal all around. The guy owns the house owes me money so he’s paying off a debt. I called and told him I wanted it and he was happy to oblige. The fifteen thousand a month includes the vig. We close in thirty-six months. A bargain from his perspective.”

Nora seemed taken aback. “How much did he owe you?”

“A lot. I offered him a discount to sweeten the deal.”

“Why would someone have to borrow that much?”

“Cost of living’s up. The market’s down. The guy’s well known in town and he has a front to maintain. His wife has no idea how far in the hole he is.”

“Don’t they use the house?”

“Not anymore. He told her he sold it.”

“Just like that?”

“Sure.”

“And her name wasn’t on the deed?”

“Her name’s not on anything. He’s like Channing in that respect.”

She hesitated, perhaps reluctant to pursue the point, but curiosity got the better of her. “Meaning what?”

“I’m guessing the Malibu house is in his name.”

“He owned it before we met.”

“So when you married him he declared it his sole and separate property.”

“Of course. I have separate property as well. We’ve both been married before so it’s only right.”

“What about the house up here? Your name on the title?”

“Well, no, but he said it was for tax reasons. I can’t remember now how he explained it.”

“How many times was he divorced before you married him?” Nora held up two fingers.

“Bet he got taken both times, yes?”

“According to him.”

“That’s why your name’s not on the title. Because he’s screwing you in advance.”

“Stop that. This is a community-property state. If we divorce, I get half of everything regardless.”

“Nora, he’s an attorney . All his friends are attorneys and if not, they know other attorneys whose sole purpose in life is to keep assets out of the hands of women like you. The tax reasons he referred to? Guys call that the stupid tax-paying through the nose because they haven’t played it smart.”

“I don’t think we should be discussing this. It’s inappropriate.”

“‘Inappropriate.’ Well, that’s one way to look at it. You want my take? You’re a beautiful woman. You’re in trouble and you know it. I can see it in your face. The way I read you, there’s a reckless streak in you a mile wide. You used to be a wild child and you did as you pleased.”

“I thought that’s what being young was about.”

“My point exactly. This is how we get old. Thinking too much about things we used to do without any thought at all.”

“Please don’t go on with this.”

“Why not?”

“I shouldn’t have come here. I made a mistake.”

“We’re having a conversation. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“You know better.”

“Yes, I do. I wasn’t sure you did. That’s the problem with choices. Eventually you have to decide. Maybe not right this minute, but soon,” he said.

“What about you? What do you want? You fault me for indecision, but you haven’t declared yourself.”

“For starters, I’d like to avoid spending the rest of my life in prison.”

“Is that a possibility?”

“According to my attorneys. I have four of ’em and they’re top guns. I mention their names and trust me, Channing would know who they are.”

“What did you do?”

“The question is, what am I accused of doing? You want to hear the list?”

“Of course.”

“Income tax evasion, filing false returns, failing to report offshore bank accounts and international income. Also, racketeering, conspiracy, money laundering, interstate transportation of stolen property, sale of stolen goods. That about sums it up. Well, mail fraud. I don’t think I mentioned that. There might be a few I forgot, but most are variations on a theme.”

“No violent crimes?”

“Those charges were filed separately. The ones I mentioned are all under the RICO Act.”

“Will you be convicted?”

“Not if I can find a way out. My attorneys tell me the feds will offer a plea bargain, but the terms won’t be nice.”

“What kind of sentence are you looking at?”

“Forty years. Plus forfeiture of a shitload of property, which really pisses me off.”

“Forty years? Well, I’m sorry to hear that. I don’t think I’ll wait, but I’ll miss you.”

He laughed. “It hasn’t happened yet. The good news is these investigations move forward at the typical government pace. Glacial. It’ll take ’em years. In the meantime, there are contingencies in place.”

“Well, that’s interesting. What contingencies?”

“I’ve told you enough. The point is, if I opt out, you might consider going with me. There’s more than one kind of prison.”

“Don’t be theatrical.”

“I’m stating a fact. Stay married to Channing and you know what you’re in for. He’ll have a string of affairs that everyone will know about before you do. The best you can hope for is an affair of your own.”

“Which is where you come in.”

“Why not? I’m not trying to talk you into anything, except maybe taking off with me when the time comes.”

“I should go.”

“It’s not even two o’clock. You don’t have to be home until four.”

She laughed. “You’re bad. If I’m not careful, I’ll end up calling my therapist about you.”

“You’re in therapy?”

“I was. Twice a week for a year.”

“Why?”

“I lost a child.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Did therapy help?”

“No. That’s why I quit. I got tired of the sound of my own voice. Grieving is like being ill. You think the entire world revolves around you and it doesn’t.”

He reached out and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “Poor little sparrow.”

“Yes. Poor me,” she said, but she didn’t pull away.