Sue Grafton - U Is For Undertow

Brent was parked across the street. Walker waved and he started the car, swinging around the block to pick him up. Walker got in the backseat. Sitting up front with Brent was a little too chummy for his taste. Fortunately, Brent was discreet and he knew his place. He and Walker exchanged only the most banal of remarks. Walker didn’t want to be Brent’s buddy and he was sure Brent wasn’t interested in being his. This was a business arrangement and Brent seemed to understand that Walker didn’t want to hear his observations or opinions. Brent conducted himself as though he were invisible, squiring Walker from one place to the next without comment.

Walker stared out the window as Brent navigated through the heart of town, following Capillo to the top of the hill. At the crest, he turned right on Palisade. The road curved down to Harley’s Beach and up the hill again on the far side. The route took them through the back entrance to Horton Ravine, stone pillars marking the outer limits of the enclave. Earlier in the day Walker had called Carolyn, asking if she objected to his stopping by after his AA meeting to pick up a load of clothes. He passed off the reference to AA as an afterthought, but he knew it would register with her, perhaps winning him points.

When possible, he avoided the motel he’d moved into. He’d have preferred a place with more class-the Edgewater Hotel being his first choice-but he didn’t want to give Carolyn the impression he was being extravagant. She was already pissed off about the money he paid Brent, but what was he supposed to do, take public transportation? He could just picture himself on a city bus. The Pelican Motel was perched on a rise overlooking the main road through what was known as “the lower Village” in Montebello. The building had a drab air about it, just the place for a penitent. All he needed was a hair shirt and a cat-o’-nine-tails and he’d be set.

Brent pulled up in front of his house and parked. Walker let himself out of the backseat, wondering what Brent’s impression was. The place looked good. He’d never liked the word “quaint,” but that’s how it struck him now. This charming home was forbidden turf until he’d straightened up his act. Carolyn was the keeper of the gate. He’d have to kiss serious butt for the rest of his life to get back into her good graces. The very idea made him tired, the pretense, the carefully guarded behavior, the facade of virtue when all he wanted was the life he’d had before. Plus, a drink, he thought.

Brent accompanied him to the door. Politely, Walker rang the bell, feeling like a door-to-door salesman with a trainee at his side and a traveling case full of wares.

When Carolyn opened the door she scarcely looked at him. She said, “Oh, it’s you” like she was expecting someone else and had suffered a disappointment. He thought a pleasant greeting would have been nice, some semblance of goodwill for the children’s sake. At the moment they were off at school and Carolyn was having none of it. Brent didn’t warrant a greeting of any kind, so Walker should have been grateful she spoke to him at all.

She turned away and proceeded down the hall, talking to him over her shoulder. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Let me know when you’re done. I put the mail on the table. Remind me and I’ll tell you about a call I should have mentioned before.”

Walker wondered if she was worth the effort it would take to win her back. She’d lord it over him from this point on. She had all the power and he was the supplicant, begging to see the kids, begging for an audience with the Queen, begging for attention, which she’d decided was undeserved. In return for crumbs, she’d want all his pay-checks deposited to her account. She’d dole out a few bucks to him from week to week-not enough for a binge, but a modest sum she’d say was his to do with as he pleased. Maybe he’d appeal to the pastor of their church, citing Christian forbearance as a means of bringing her to heel. Ha. Like that would do any good.

He went upstairs with Brent tagging behind. Walker ’s ribs still pained him and he wasn’t allowed to lift anything, which was why Brent was forced to follow him around like a dog. Walker went into the walk-in closet and pushed through the hangers on his side of the hanging rods. With his left hand he pulled out sport coats, four suits, his raincoat, and his leather jacket, passing them to Brent, who laid them on the bed while Walker went through the dresser drawers removing underwear, socks, and T-shirts. He’d have to borrow a suitcase or go down to the kitchen and find a paper bag to carry all his stuff. He went out into the hall and looked in the storage area under the eaves. After a grubby search he came up with a duffel into which he jammed the pile of personal items.

Idly he wondered what would happen if he just walked away from the entire situation. He’d pack the car, cancel credit cards, empty all the bank accounts, and leave the state. By the time Carolyn realized what he’d done, he’d be out of her grasp. He pictured her at Saks, pricey merchandise piled up on the counter while the saleswoman rang the sale and returned her card, looking mystified. “I’m sorry, Mrs. McNally, but this was declined.”

“Declined? There must be a mistake. My husband pays our bills in full the first of every month.”

“Would you like to try another card?”

She’d pull out her Visa or MasterCard, her embarrassment mounting as one after the other was rejected.

Without him busting his ass to keep the coffers full, her life would grind to a halt. She didn’t have a dime of her own. She was dependent on him for everything. The problem was, if he stuck it to her, he’d be sticking it to his kids. He didn’t want Fletcher and Linnie to suffer, which meant he’d be tied to Carolyn for all eternity.

Brent made a couple of trips to the car, ferrying Walker ’s clothes. Meanwhile, Walker went into the kitchen, where Carolyn was unloading the dishwasher, a job she’d always insisted was half his to share. He stood and watched her, making no effort to pitch in, a gesture she noticed but refrained from remarking on. Looking at her without the filter of affection, he realized she wasn’t pretty anymore and she was picking up weight. She was thick through the middle and her pants were riding up. Maybe his losing the marriage wasn’t such a big deal after all. He had wealthy women clients who’d made it clear they were interested in him. He’d been bemused by their attentions, but he might be more receptive now that he was on his own. Where would Carolyn find a guy willing to take her on, a plump premenopausal woman with two kids underfoot?

He leaned against the counter. “You said something about the mail?”

“It’s out on the hall table in a manila envelope. You must have walked right by.”

“Fine. What about the phone message?”

“Oh, right. This was last week and I apologize. It completely slipped my mind. A woman called and asked for you. Someone you went to high school with. She said she was a private eye and she was looking for your dad.”

“Dad?”

“That’s what I said. She wanted to get in touch with him.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know. She told me, but it went in one ear and out the other. It didn’t sound all that urgent.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I didn’t tell her anything. I hung up on her.”

He thought about it, wondering what he’d missed. “What would a private investigator want with Dad?”

“Why are you asking me? I don’t have a clue.”

He stared at her, trying to make sense of what she’d said. “Did you get her name?”

“Millhone. I forget the first. Something odd.”

“Kinsey?”

“You remember her? I thought she was feeding me a line of bullshit.”