There Must Be Some Mistake (10 page)

“And she's an artist now,” Chantal said. “Ain't that something?”

ON JULY 1,
my late brother Raleigh's birthday, I got a visit from Cal, Jilly's ex and the gentleman who was most recently sleeping with my ex, setting aside the Crosley fellow who died in the car crash up north. Cal was in cowboy regalia, no doubt in honor of his return to Texas, including a cowboy hat and a cowboy shirt and a pair of highly decorated cowboy boots, and he was standing on my front step. I looked at him for a long time before I spoke.

“Hello,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

“I've got very special things to discuss with you, Wallace,” he said.

I figured I knew what he wanted to talk about, but I said, “Like what?”

“Diane,” he said. “I think we're getting serious, and I wanted to talk to you about that.”

I didn't want to talk to Cal about Diane. Cal looked positively greasy. He looked worn and tired, red around the eyes like one of those hyenas you always see in nighttime pictures of Africa.

“You're walking dead, Cal,” I said. “You're under arrest on the minors charge, there's the thing with Jilly, there's Morgan—I don't know what makes you think you can talk to me about anything.”

“We've got a lot in common,” Cal said.

This was where I closed the door. I knew I'd open it again if he knocked again, and I knew he would. Could have saved myself the trouble if I'd let him come inside in the first place.

Sure enough, he rang the bell. I opened the door. He followed me to the kitchen where I offered him a beer. He accepted. I pulled a beer out for myself, asked him to follow me out to the deck, then waved at a chair.

“You gotta know I'm not happy about being the man I've been all this time,” Cal said. “I got started wrong, went wickeder after that, and didn't get it until years later. Jilly got the worst.”

“That's her sense of it,” I said.

“She's dead right. I was a mess then. I'm better than that now.”

“That's a song, Cal.”

“I know. Sorry. I didn't mean to say it that way.”

“What way did you mean to say it?”

“Some better way,” he said. “I'm over myself, I'm finished stalking the kids, I've grown up some since this thing with the girl. I mean, it wasn't like they said, anyway, but I was probably wrong to be working in that vein, if you know what I mean.”

“OK,” I said. I squinted at Cal because I was carrying on a conversation with myself about what the fuck he did want. He didn't need anything from me. If Diane was willing to take him on, I had nothing to say about it. Maybe he was angling to get a character reference for his trial. Maybe he was on the level, feeling lousy and thinking I was the therapy that would clear up all the bad juju.

There was a fly buzzing around his head and he didn't even notice, or if he did, he didn't try to evade it in any way. I'd never seen anyone not react to a fly buzzing around his head. It was astonishing, really. Could have made an act out of that. Put some monkey grease on his head, let out a bunch of flies, watch 'em circle like bees to honey, he wouldn't even flinch.

I was getting off track. “So, what about Diane?”

“We are serious, a little bit,” Cal said.

“Well, that's good, I guess,” I said. “How's her place up there? Nice? You just came back, right?”

“She's not very happy there.”

“Yeah, she told this horror story about a friend of hers.”

“Dan Crosley,” Cal said. “She liked him a good bit.”

“I felt bad when she told me about it,” I said.

“She doesn't want to stay up there,” he said.

This was it, the news, the reason for his visit. He was on a mission for Diane, sent to inform me that she was coming back. She was finished with Rhode Island.

I said, “Doesn't she? What's she thinking of doing?”

“Not sure yet,” he said. “Looking over some options. I don't think money's a problem, so she can go wherever she wants.”

“Her father set her up pretty good,” I said.

“That's what I understand,” Cal said.

“She could go anywhere,” I said. “Watch those
House Hunters International
shows and find a nice beach someplace.
Buying Hawaii.
That'd be good.”

“Nope,” he said. “Thing is, I think she wants to move back here.”

“Here?” I said. “As in Houston?”

“Kemah,” he said. “She was looking at places online. She's got a couple Realtors hooked up, sending her stuff.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “Well, she doesn't need my permission.”

“She wasn't sure how you'd feel,” Cal said.

“I'd feel fine. We're pals. It would be nice to have her around. We get along since the divorce.”

“Yeah, she said that. But…I don't know how to say this exactly.”

“Say,” I said. “Don't worry.”

“Well, she wondered where you were on this place,” Cal said. “She was wondering how attached you were to it.”

“You mean here? The condo? My house? Pretty attached,” I said.

“She said you were pretty easygoing about where you lived. Said there were a lot of nice places here and you might want to trade up or something.”

“I hadn't given it any thought,” I said.

“It's an idea,” he said. “Diane was thinking top dollar, no special arrangements. A straight-out cash deal if you were interested. And if not, well, she'll get some other place.”

“Hmm,” I said, nodding. “I get the picture. It's an idea, I get that. Be easy, wouldn't it? You're going to have to let me reflect on this for a while, Cal. It's a weird idea but has some aspects. I'll think on it.”

“Let me give you my number,” he said. “We can talk it out.” Here he, for the first time, lifted his hat and brushed a hand back over his hair, which I noticed was newly dyed a rusty red-brown.

“Nice hair,” I said, pointing toward his head.

“Yeah,” he said. “Got it done in Houston. Close to natural.”

“I see that,” I said. “Looks good.” I waited a minute looking out at the bay, then stood up. “So, that's about the extent of it?” I said. “You going to be staying down here for a time?”

“No, I'm headed back. There's a lot of packing and such, and I promised Diane I'd pitch in. Then I have to be back here for legal stuff.”

“Pitch in,” I said. “Good. Well, I'll tell Jilly you said hello, next time she's down.”

“She doing all right?” he said.

“Seems to be doing great,” I said. “I don't see her as much as I'd like, but she's always pleasant when she comes. I guess she's got a lot of work.”

“Good, good,” he said. “Give her my best, will you? She's a great gal.”

“She is a great gal,” I said.

“OK then,” Cal said, getting out of his chair. “I'll leave it with you. And I appreciate you giving me this opportunity to talk a little. I hope we'll have a chance to do more.”

“Hell yes,” I said. “I'm sure it's going to work out, one way or another.” I grabbed his elbow in the friendliest possible way and steered him back through the house and down to the front door. “You have a safe trip now,” I said. I patted his shoulder a couple times for good measure.

I didn't know who to call first. Jilly won the toss and I rang her immediately. “Guess who just left the house?” I said.

“Malcolm X,” she said.

“Cal and Cal alone, in cowboy duds. That boy got a tin ear and tin eye and tin brain, you ask me.”

“Cal? I thought he was up north interfering with your wife?”

“Now, Jilly,” I said.

“Sorry. What did Cal want? I mean, is he here to stay? Do I have to lock my doors?”

“Took him a bit of time to get it out, but he was apparently sent by my ex-wife, with whom he is interfering, to tell me that he and Diane are a ‘serious' item and that they are moving back here from Rhode Island and that she wants to buy this house from me for ‘top dollar.' Get that? Top dollar.”

“Top dollar,” Jilly said. “That's great. You being poor as a church mouse and all. Her being rich as Croesus. A sad truth.”

“He was all cowboyed up,” I repeated. “Hat, shirt, boots. I don't remember that being the Cal way, was it?”

“Don't think so,” Jilly said. “But I better get in my crappy car and get down there right now before you fall into the slough of despond.”

“‘
Slew,
'” I said. “I looked it up.”

“You're always doing that,” she said. “Whatev. I arrive presently.”

“OK. That'll be good. Call for landing instructions.”

“Will do,” she said.

I wasn't ready to talk to Diane, so I started to call Chantal when the doorbell rang again. I figured it was Cal, back with one last thought, and considered ignoring it, but then I answered. It was Duncan Parker.

“Can we talk?” he said. “I need a minute.”

I was startled. Duncan Parker had never been to my house in the years I'd owned the place. I rarely saw him and then not usually to speak. We did wave, but that was it. I asked him in. “You want something to drink?” I said. “It is hot out there, isn't it?”

“Not too hot, no,” Duncan Parker said. “And I'll have a soft drink if you have one.”

“Diet Coke?”

“Perfect,” he said, following me to the kitchen. “I need some information about Chantal White,” he said. “I understand that you have made her acquaintance?”

I stood at the refrigerator a minute, feeling the cool breeze coming out. “Yep. We're friends, new friends since her situation. I went to her restaurant one time and we started talking. I didn't know her at all previous to that.”

“Right, right. That's what I understood. Your wife knew her, correct?”

“My ex-wife Diane, yes. They occasionally chatted when my ex was still here, some time ago.”

“Correct,” he said. “So, what can you tell me about Miss White? I understand she has recovered from the incident. I gather there's no progress on apprehending the perpetrator. There is some suggestion among the neighbors that this may have been a prearranged event that went bad somehow—have you heard that?”

“I have,” I said. “But not from Chantal, if that's what you're asking.”

“Well, the police are always asking me and I don't have squat to tell them, so I'm, you know, looking around a little bit to see what folks know.”

“You could tell the police what
you
know and leave it at that,” I said. “That's what I did.”

“You didn't tell them you knew her and all,” Duncan Parker said.

“I did not know her when they talked to me,” I said.

He shook his head and put an expression on his face that I interpreted to be friendly and intended to put me at ease. “Right, that's right. I know that,” he said. “But you know her now. I understand that you've been spending some time with her down at her restaurant? She has an apartment where she's been staying recently and not in her place here. And you've been down there with her sometimes?”

At this point I considered ending the conversation, as I think I would have been within my rights to do. But instead I said, “Yes. I've been hanging out, but I don't know anything about the attack. We've only talked about it briefly, and only to say it was awful.”

“You meet the daughter?” Parker said.

“Yes, I did.”

“She's been staying here, at their condo. Kind of a hippie girl?”

“Well, yeah. Sure. You could say that.”

“So you got nothing for me on the perpetrator,” he said. “She has no idea, or she hasn't said anything to you that would suggest she knew the perpetrator.”

“That's correct.”

“Which is correct?” he said. “She has no idea? Or she's said nothing suggesting she knew him? If it was a him.”

“She told me she has no idea who it was, what it was about, or why it happened. She's a little frightened about it, but grateful it wasn't worse.”

“OK,” Parker said. “OK. That's something. That's clear and direct, I can forward that information to the detective.”

“Sure,” I said. “Be my guest. If they want to talk to me I am available.”

“You will make yourself available?” Parker said, apparently writing that down in a small notebook not unlike the ones the police were using when they talked to me earlier.

“Absolutely,” I said.

“I don't think that'll be necessary,” he said. “But I will advise them.”

“Good.”

“I think that's all I need.”

We'd been in the kitchen the whole time. He left his Coke on the counter and I could see the line of condensation around the middle of it, showing how little he'd drunk. He started for the front door and I followed him out. “Thanks, Wilson,” he said. “You've been a help. Not everybody can say that, you know.”

I nodded, shut the door behind him, then leaned into the peephole to watch him walking away.

I met Chantal for dinner at the Half Shell, an oyster house down by the marina. She looked terrific. “I was up in Houston today,” she said. “It's lawyer day. This is one of my best getups, reserved for those times I need to look like a serious person on serious ground.”

“Convinced me,” I said as we weaved through the place to a window table. We were eating early, so there were plenty of prime tables available. This had become a norm for me, eating early. I liked restaurants best when they were empty. They were quiet then, oddly pleasant, something about preparation, all being in readiness, anticipation.

“You were on Parker's mind today,” I said.

“So you said earlier. Via the very modern text you sent.”