Faye Kellerman: The Garden Of Eden And Other Criminal Delights

My family was stunned. No one spoke.

Finally, Beth said, “Dad, say something.”

Jack faltered. “Honey, I admire your nobility. But there’s no reason to be hasty. Besides, we’ve made plans for that money.”

“I know we’ve made plans,” I ventured on. “And Toni has made plans. And Beth has made plans as well. So whose plans do we listen to? And you know as well as I do that someone is always going to feel shortchanged. All the money has done is build resentment!”

Again the room fell silent. I could see desperation on my daughters’ faces.

Toni said, “Look, I know I’ve been selfish.” Tears were in her eyes. “I’ll do better, Mom. I really can do better.”

Beth started crying as well. “So can I. I’m sorry I’ve been so selfish.”

Jack winked and said, “I think you got the point across.”

But they didn’t understand. I wasn’t trying to get a point across. “Then you spend the money, Jack. Put it in your wine collection, give it to the girls, I don’t care. I don’t want any part of it-”

“Amanda, you’re being…” He looked at the girls, keeping his accusations in check. “As I stated before, I think your idealism is commendable. Giving money to charity is a fine idea. But that’s your idea. There are other people in this house. As you always said, we don’t make unilateral decisions.”

Beth said, “How about this?”

All eyes went to her.

“We give away some money… even most of the money. But let’s keep a little for fun.” She paused, then her eyes lit up. “I know who we can give the money to. The homeless guy we always see in the park. He could use some money, I bet.”

Jack stifled a laugh. “Yes, maybe we could give him a handout.” He turned to me. “If you’re serious about this giveaway program, what about the National Endowment for the Arts? With all the budget cuts, I’m sure we could fund something.”

“Art doesn’t feed people, Dad,” Toni said. “How about LIFE-Love Is Feeding Everyone? They feed poor people, Dad, including children. Best of all, it doesn’t cost them anything. They use expired but good food from supermarkets. All they need is people to collect it and distribute it. We could give them something.”

“You really want to feed people, just go downtown to Mission Street,” Jack said. “I’m sure we could supply some meals there.”

I put in my own two cents. “I like Children’s Hospital. So many sick kids. And even the healthy ones. They’re very poor. Their parents have to wait hours just to get seen.”

Toni said, “I hope we have enough money for all these good causes-and a little left over for fun.”

No one spoke.

Beth said, “Not that I mean to be selfish. But… does this mean I’m not going to get any new stuff? And what about Toni’s car?”

Toni sighed. “You know, I really don’t go many places without friends. I suppose I could…” Another sigh. “ Save up for a car… like we originally planned.”

I said, “A car was promised to you. But it doesn’t have to be a new one.”

Toni nodded. “I agree. Anything that gets me to school and back is okay. Who needs a Jeep, anyway?”

She was disappointed but trying to hide it.

I said, “In answer to your question, Beth, yes, you will still get new stuff. You always did get new stuff. But we don’t have to spend as if we own the store.”

“About that fun money, Amanda?” Jack said. “There was this bottle of cabernet…”

“Oh, let him buy the wine, Mom,” Toni broke in.

“I’m not his mother. He can do what he wants.”

Toni said, “He wants your approval. Stop being so withholding and enjoy life!”

She was right. I said, “I love cabernet.”

“A bottle a year,” Jack announced. “I propose we put twenty percent of the newfound money into our savings, twenty percent in a fund for the kids’ education, ten percent for fun stuff, and the rest goes for those who truly need it. A great idea, Amanda.”

Toni said, “But Beth came up with the idea of keeping a little for fun. And a great idea it was.”

Beth beamed golden rays at her older sister’s approval. I smiled, too.

There were still things that money couldn’t buy.

“Small Miracles” was from a best-selling anthology of everyday coincidences that truly seemed directed by divine intervention. My contribution, reprinted here, shows that I’m not only a mama lion when it comes to my children but that I’m also equally protective of my mother, Anne Marder, who’s about five feet tall and tips the scales at 100 pounds after a hearty dinner. This story should have been entitled: “You Mess with My Mom, You Mess with Me.” In all seriousness, this incident taught me a lot about myself.

Unrelentingly logical, I have always been a math-science person. I graduated from high school in 1970 as a math major and went to UCLA, where I received a bachelor of arts in theoretical mathematics in 1974. Then, being a practical sort who aspired to employment, I entered UCLA Dental School and graduated with a doctorate of dental surgery four years later. At that time I fully intended to pursue a career as a dentist. One doesn’t usually attend dental school for self-actualization.

That was twenty-two years ago. And during those past twenty-two years, I’ve never picked up a drill-euphemistically known as a handpiece-nor have I scraped a single tartar-coated tooth. Instead, I am now a writer of detective fiction, choosing to explore the human condition instead of oral hygiene.

I couldn’t pinpoint the metamorphosis, but I am glad it worked out that way. I could list several factors that steered me toward mystery writing-a desire for justice, a suspicious nature, an overactive imagination, and, of course, a penchant for the bizarre. All of the above can be summed up by what transpired the day I nabbed a mugger.

On that particular morning, my then-four-year-old son-now a strapping lad of eighteen-had chosen to come down with a high fever and a burning sore throat. I suspected strep throat. My mother was at the house, lending a comforting hand while caring for my year-old daughter, Rachel. Rather than drag the entire crew to the pediatrician, I suggested that my mother take a walk with the baby to the corner bakery while I ran my preschooler to the doctor’s. It was a fine L.A. day-sunny but not too hot. Yes, I thought, a walk would be refreshing for both Grandma and baby. Not to mention the fact that the softhearted bakery lady was always good for a couple of extra cookies for my tyke.

Grandma, baby, and stroller left first. I followed a few minutes later, and I could see them easily about a half-block up. As I pulled out of my driveway, I noticed a car near them but on the opposite side… slowing… then stopping. A young man got out of the front passenger’s seat and started walking. And walking. And walking. Across the street from my mother and daughter, about twenty feet behind them.

But keeping pace with them.

I straightened the wheel of my automobile and shifted into drive. The car up the street was still there… creeping by… slowly.

And the man kept walking. Still across the way from my mother and child, still keeping pace.

That is odd, I thought. When I let someone out of the car, that person usually goes into a house. He doesn’t keep walking for a block or two.

I’m being paranoid, I decided. Nevertheless, this was my daughter, this was my mother. I drove down the street, pointedly behind the creeping car. And then it drove away.

Just like that.

And I felt a little better.

Meanwhile, the man across the street kept strolling aimlessly, not doing anything suspicious. I waved to my mom and she waved back. Then I drove off.