Sue Grafton - U Is For Undertow

She’d urged him to join AA, but he’d balked at that. He didn’t need outside help to get his drinking under control. He had absolutely no intention of standing up at a public meeting, with god knows who present, confessing his sins, and looking for approbation. He’d always been a man who held his liquor well, and his heft actually allowed him to metabolize alcohol more efficiently than many guys his age. He had to admit that after a couple of hours at the club, if he were stopped by the CHP, he could probably pass a field sobriety test, but he’d blow a blood-alcohol level that would put him in jail.

Happily for him he’d managed to restrict his drinking the past eight months. He’d have a beer or two after working in the yard, or he’d sip the occasional glass of Champagne, celebrating an occasion such as a birthday or an anniversary. He made sure Carolyn knew and approved of these exceptions because it underscored his stance of moderation. She’d never believe it if he claimed he’d quit altogether. She knew him better than that.

Now at business lunches and dinners he bypassed hard liquor in favor of white wine, which scarcely registered on his internal alcohol meter. Going dry was really no big deal. He made do with iced tea, or soda water with lime. He slept better and he had more energy, but he noticed he was often bored. Friends and cohorts, who’d seemed so amusing when he drank, began to get on his nerves. He wasn’t as smooth or relaxed as he’d been in the past and he was aware that certain of his friends now shied away from him. And why would they not? He thought teetotalers were a tiresome bunch and he was sorry he’d been thrust into their ranks. It was also true that the temptation to drink was with him every minute of every day, like a low-grade headache he didn’t know how to shake.

With Carolyn gone, he tooled along Via Juliana, actively fantasizing about the highball he’d make for himself when he got home. He planned to sit on the back patio, which Carolyn had recently refurbished with faux wicker furniture, upholstered in a fabric impervious to the elements. Rain and sun could beat down on the cushions without ill effect. The view from the back terrace was still amazing to him, stretching across the hills and treetops all the way to the ocean. The air would be still, smelling of sage and bay laurel. He’d take his time, savoring a predinner cocktail. Then he’d have a pizza delivered and eat in front of the television set, maybe catch a golf match or a guy flick of the sort Carolyn would find tedious. He might allow himself a wee nightcap, but he’d wait and see what his mood was when the time came. He didn’t feel the same compulsion to drink as he had in the past. This was purely for the pleasure of it.

On his way home from the office, he’d stopped at the liquor depot and picked up a pint of Maker’s Mark, a quart of vodka, and a six-pack of Bass Ale, which he intended to parcel out to himself over the four nights his family would be gone. All he had to do then was dispose of the empties before Carolyn got home. Would she ever know? He thought not. He’d keep his drinking simple-whiskey with a water back, vodka over ice-and remove any telltale evidence first thing Monday morning. No mixers in the liquor cabinet, no bottle caps in the trash, no cut limes in the fridge, and no conspicuous rings on the glass-topped table, where he’d be sitting while the sun went down.

Ahead of him at the curve, cars had slowed and he wondered if there’d been an accident. Maybe someone had hit a deer. He hoped to god it wasn’t a kid on a bike. Fletcher had just mastered his two-wheeler. Linnie was still riding a tricycle, and then only in the park. He wasn’t sure he’d ever permit them to take their bikes on a public road. There wasn’t much vehicular traffic through Horton Ravine, but at the end of the workday, when people headed for home, they often drove faster than the posted limit.

As he got closer, he spotted two cop cars and a mobile evidence van parked on the berm, which suggested an event of a more serious sort. He slowed. There was a smattering of people standing by the road, looking idle and indecisive. The crowd was modest, and it was clear they didn’t quite know what to do with themselves. On impulse, he pulled onto the gravel strip where a number of other cars were parked. He killed the engine and got out. He still had no clue what was going on. An attractive redhead, in slacks and a sweater, stood leaning against the fence. She turned to look at him and gave him a little finger wave. Avis Jent. He recognized her from the country club, though she’d dropped from sight after her divorce.

She held her hand out. “Hello, Walker. Fancy meeting you here.” He smiled and took her hand, leaning forward to give her a perfunctory buss on the cheek. “Avis. It’s been ages. What have you been up to?”

“I just got back from my second stint in rehab. What a drag.”

“Ouch.”

“Big ouch,” she replied. “How are Carolyn and the kids?”

“Good, thanks,” he said. “What’s this about? Was there an accident?”

“The police got a tip about a body buried in the woods.”

His smile faded. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m afraid so. Someone said it was a kid, but that’s as much as I’ve heard. The cops are very tight-lipped.” She removed a cigarette from a packet in her purse. “I don’t suppose you have a match.”

He patted his pockets. “No, sorry.”

She waved him off. “Just as well. I smoke too much as it is. Can you imagine? Horton Ravine and cops are digging up a corpse.”

“Unbelievable. No talk at all about what happened?”

“Nope. They brought in a cadaver-sniffing dog and once they pin-pointed the spot, they went to work. They started digging a couple of hours ago and none of them looked happy,” Avis said. “So what brings you out? Do you live around here?”

“A mile down in that direction. I was driving by when I saw the cars and I was curious. What about you?”

“ Alita Lane. They blocked off the street so now I’m stuck. Shit, and it’s the cocktail hour.”

“Did this just happen today?”

Avis shook her head. “This was something old. They sent out an intrepid girl reporter so I suppose we’ll read about it in tomorrow’s paper.”

Walker ’s attention was drawn to a surge of activity-two or three uniformed officers led by a guy who must have been the homicide detective assigned to the scene. Walker nodded toward the group. “It looks like something’s going on.”

“At long last,” she replied.

He watched the detective make a brief remark to a woman in jeans. Walker saw him place an item in her hand, though he couldn’t see what it was. A second woman zeroed in on the exchange, clearly peppering the detective with questions as he continued walking to his car.

Someone tapped Walker on the arm. “Sir?”

He turned to find a middle-aged man standing beside him, his expression anxious.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I wouldn’t advise parking there. They’ve been asking people to move on to keep the area clear. They said they’d be writing tickets if motorists didn’t cooperate.”

“Thanks, but it looks like they’re done. I’d hate to leave without knowing if they found anything.”

The man glanced over at the commotion. “Oh. I guess you’re right.” Walker could see word trickling through the crowd, those closest to the front turning to pass along what they’d heard.

Avis said, “Hang on.” She moved forward and made her way through the bystanders. She tapped a woman on the shoulder and quizzed her for news. The two chatted briefly. Avis nodded, gesturing her thanks, and then returned to Walker ’s side. “Well, that’s a relief,” she said. “Turned out to be a false alarm. The only thing they managed to dig up was a dog.”