Sue Grafton - U Is For Undertow

“Senior year we had a class together,” he said, distracted. “What did she want again?”

“ Walker, I just told you. I have no idea. Something about a dog. She didn’t say anything more than that.”

The floor shifted under his feet. For a moment he thought there’d been a temblor. He put out his left hand and grabbed the counter with Carolyn looking on like he was losing it.

He murmured an excuse and left the house, not even sure later how he got to the car. He felt like he’d been walking, looking in the other direction, and slammed into a door. The shock was making the blood drain out of his head, taking his blood pressure down along with it. His body was shot through with a clamminess that carried nausea in its wake. The outside air helped. He leaned against the car, feeling shaken to the core.

Brent slammed down the trunk. “Are you all right, Mr. McNally?”

“I’m fine. Let’s get moving, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure thing.”

Walker got in the backseat. Brent fired up the engine and was on the verge of pulling away when Carolyn called from the front door and then trotted down to the car. Walker lowered the rear window.

“You forgot the mail,” she said. She leaned down to look at him. “Are you all right? The way you bolted out of there, I thought you’d seen a ghost.”

Walker wanted to make a withering reply, but Brent was sitting in range and he didn’t want to make a scene. He took the mail and dropped it on the seat beside him. “Fuck you,” he said under his breath. He pushed the switch that rolled the window up so Carolyn was forced to yell through the glass.

“Fine. I’m sorry I asked.”

Brent drove along Ocean Way toward the stone pillars at the rear of Horton Ravine.

Walker said, “On my way back to the Pelican, I’d like to see my father. He’s at Valley Oaks. I’ll direct you once we get there.”

“No problem.”

Walker glanced out the window and realized they were passing Jon Corso’s house. Jon still lived in the sprawling two-story, gray-shingled monstrosity his father and stepmother had bought when Jon was sixteen. Walker hadn’t met Jon until their senior year at Santa Teresa High, but he’d heard plenty about the Amazing Mona and her three perfect daughters. Jon had confessed to screwing all three before each went off to college. The sisters were married now and living in the East with an assortment of kids. Two years before, when Lionel died of a heart attack, Mona packed up and moved to New York so she’d be closer to her girls and all the grandkids. She’d inherited the house and the bulk of Lionel’s estate. Jon’s inheritance was ten thousand dollars and a life interest in the studio apartment above the garage. Since the business with Mary Claire, Jon insisted that Walker keep his distance, so they’d never discussed the issue. Nonetheless, Walker knew to a certainty that Jon was still chafing at the paltry sum he’d been left. He earned staggering sums from the sales of his books, so it wasn’t about the money. It was the insult of it all, his father’s final slap in the face; game, set, and match to Mona. She was perfectly content to have Jon living at the house. The arrangement bound him to her. Walker was willing to bet she was still sticking it to him any way she could. Eventually she’d put the place on the market, but for the time being, it was a nice vacation spot when she or the girls felt like a jaunt to the West Coast.

The drive continued in silence. Occasionally Brent flicked a look in the rearview mirror. Walker leaned his head back against the seat. He was aware of Brent’s scrutiny but he made no remark. It wasn’t up to him to explain his complicated family life. How had this happened? Everything was fine. Everything was good, and then, in one swift stroke, he realized he was going under. An unseen force, subtle and relentless, had taken him unawares and now he was being dragged toward open water with no way back.

He tried to reason with himself as a defense against fear. There was no reason to think Kinsey Millhone had talked to his dad. How would she do that? Carolyn said she hadn’t given her any information, certainly no means by which she could have tracked him down. And even if she did and she asked about the dog, what would his father be expected to remember? The man was old. He’d been retired for years. In the course of his practice, he’d seen hundreds of animals. What kind of threat could she be?

Walker leaned forward as Brent turned into Valley Oaks. “It’s this lane on the right. Number 17. You can pull into the parking pad and wait. It should be half an hour or so.”

Brent shut down the engine and Walker got out. He hadn’t seen his father since the accident, and while he dreaded the coming conversation, he had no other way of finding out if Kinsey Millhone had succeeded in reaching him. He could see his father peering at him from the window as he came up the walk. Walter opened the door, standing erect, his manner cautious. He seemed to be avoiding the sight of Walker ’s facial bruises, which Walker tended to forget about.

“I didn’t expect to see you.”

“Sorry about that, Dad. I should have called, but I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by. There’s something I’d like to ask about.”

“Come in, come in,” Walter said, stepping back. “You have time for a cup of coffee?”

“I could probably manage that,” he said. “Don’t go to any trouble-”

“No trouble. Let’s go back to the great room, where you can make yourself comfortable. How are Carolyn and the children?”

“Doing well, thanks. I just came from the house, as a matter of fact. And yourself?”

“Tolerable. That pain in my hip is largely gone and I’ve been increasing my walks. I’m up to two miles these days.”

Walker perched on the couch and watched as his father set about putting together a pot of coffee, carefully filling a carafe of water, which he poured into the tank. He added six small scoops of ground coffee, double-checking everything before he pressed the button that set the coffeemaker in brewing mode.

His father returned to the sitting area. “Coffee will take a minute,” he remarked.

Walker couldn’t think of a response. He was casting about for some way to introduce the subject of the accident and all of its attendant horrors.

His father cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose I need to tell you how distressed I am about this recent business of yours. Carolyn stopped by and told me. She made a special point of coming over because she didn’t want me to hear about it from a third party.”

“I appreciate her consideration. I would have told you myself, but I’ve been down for the count.”

“Yes.”

The word seemed like a non sequitur. Walker had hoped for some help getting through the awkwardness of the discussion. “I was horrified, as you might imagine.”

“And rightly so. If your mother were alive, this would break her heart.”

“Well, I guess we can both be grateful she was spared,” Walker said. Wrong tone, he thought. He tried again. “I understand how upset you must be, but I’ve been knocked to my knees as well. How do you think I feel, knowing that poor girl is dead because of me?”

“Carolyn said you’d blanked on all of it.”

“I had a concussion. I was knocked unconscious. The doctor says amnesia is pretty common under the circumstances.”

“Carolyn believes you suffered an alcoholic blackout, which is a horse of another color.”

“That’s ridiculous. I didn’t black out.”

“Perhaps not. I thought she made a good case.”

“Well, I’m glad the two of you had such a happy chat at my expense.”

“She’s entitled to her opinion.”