Truth or Dare (15 page)

“Got a hunch it was that day in the hotel room when you realized everything had fallen apart. Was that when it hit you that your scam had cost a hell of a lot more than you realized?”

“I do love her,” Morrow muttered hoarsely.

“Maybe,” Ethan said. “Maybe not. But I'll tell you something, Morrow. She really cared about you. You had something good and you blew it because you couldn't resist the shot at a big score. Guess some habits are just too hard to break, aren't they?”

Morrow started to weep. “I wasn't going to go through with it. I was going to call it off. Then you came around, offering to buy the projections. I figured I'd expose you and make myself look like a hero to Katherine.”

“It's a nice story, and maybe, looking back, you wish it was the truth. Maybe you've even managed to convince yourself that was the way it was. But you're rewriting history here, Morrow. You know it and I know it.”

“No.”

“You want to do something to make it up to Katherine? Leave
town so she doesn't have to worry about running into you in places like the cocktail lounge here at Las Estrellas. The best thing you can do for her is get out of her life.”

Morrow lurched to his feet and stood, swaying for a few seconds. When he regained his balance, he walked away without another word. The slump of his shoulders spoke volumes.

Zoe gripped her shawl very tightly around her shoulders. “Think he'll call a cab? He's in no shape to be on the road.”

“No, I don't think he'll call a cab.” Resigned, he took her hand and started back toward the lobby. “I'd better go talk to someone inside who will do it for him. Damn. I really hate cases that end the way that one did.”

Zoe tightened her fingers around his. “I can see why. Ethan, I think he's dangerous. Maybe you should report this incident to the police.”

He just looked at her, not speaking.

“Okay, okay,” she said. “So it's against the PI code to go sniveling to the cops when some drunken idiot throws a punch at you.”

“The code is certainly a major consideration,” he said. “But there's another, larger issue. Katherine Compton hired me because she wanted her problem handled quietly.”

“And filing a complaint against Dexter Morrow would certainly draw the attention of the local press, which, in turn, would probably mean that the entire sordid affair would make headlines in the business pages tomorrow morning.”

“Honey, you were born to be the wife of a PI. You understand the situation perfectly.”

“What if he tries something else?”

“I don't think he will. This was one of those wrong-place, wrong-time things. Morrow spent the evening in the bar and it was just bad luck that we happened to have dinner here tonight. He probably saw me when we walked through the lobby on the way out the door and everything just boiled over. He lost it. Tomorrow morning he'll start thinking like the smart scam artist he is and realize that he had a close call. He won't try anything else.”

He could tell that she was not convinced, but she did not argue the point.

“Think he really loved her?” she asked.

“No. I think he's feeling sorry for himself so he's convinced himself that he never intended to go through with the scam and that what he felt for Katherine was real.”

“That way he gets to blame you for everything that went wrong.”

“Yeah.”

Zoe continued to look troubled. “Promise me you'll be careful.”

“I'll take an extra all-purpose vitamin in the morning.”

 

Singleton stuck his gleaming head out the door of Single-Minded Books just as Ethan was taking the Truax Investigations mail out of the box in the narrow hall.

“How'd the big date go?” Singleton asked.

“Things went fine right up to the moment when we left the restaurant and Dexter Morrow followed us outside with the expressed intent of pounding me into the pavement.”

“Oh, man, see that's what I hate about the modern dating
scene. You put on a tie, you take out a loan to cover the dinner tab and then some jerk comes along and wrecks the romantic ambience by trying to beat you up in front of your date.”

“Got to admit that Morrow did somewhat negatively impact the mood of the evening.” Ethan flipped through the assortment of catalogs and advertising circulars. “Lucky I was married to my date or I might have ended up going home alone.”

Singleton surveyed him. “Doesn't look like Morrow did any serious damage.”

“He was so drunk he could barely stand. The resort management sent him home in a cab.”

“He probably isn't feeling any more sweet-tempered this morning than he did last night.” A couple of deep furrows appeared in Singleton's brow. “Watch yourself.”

Ethan tossed everything except a catalog featuring pool and garden accessories into the trash can and started up the stairs. “Guys like Morrow are opportunists. They don't like to take physical risks. I doubt that he'll make another run at me, but if he does, I'm prepared.”

“How so?”

He jiggled the new key chain Zoe had given him. “I'll blow my whistle and shine the little light right into his eyes.”

“Yeah, that should work,” Singleton said. “You know, I may have to get myself one of those.”

19

T
he following afternoon Zoe extended her arms along the edge of the spa pool and sank deep into the bubbling water. “I think I may be losing it.”

“What now?” Bonnie asked. “Did you buy another safety gadget for Ethan? One of those fold-up ladders that you can drop out of a window in an emergency, maybe?”

Arcadia's eyes twinkled with amusement. “Or maybe one of those nifty hidden wallets that a man can wear under his shirt when he travels abroad?”

Humiliated, Zoe sank to her chin in the frothy waters.

Arcadia was the one with the membership at the expensive athletic club but she seemed to have an unlimited number of guest passes. She used them frequently to invite Zoe and Bonnie to join her in the club's elegant spa room.

“No hidden wallets,” Zoe said. “I took a break this morning and went to the drugstore.”

“Ah.” Arcadia assumed a knowing expression. “You upgraded his sunscreen again, didn't you? The one you bought last week was thirty-something, as I recall. What did you get this time?”

“SPF forty-eight-plus,” Zoe admitted. “Full spectrum protection, guaranteed waterproof and sweat proof.”

Arcadia raised her eyes to the spa room ceiling. “Most authorities agree that SPF fifteen or thirty is fine for routine daily use.”

“Especially in November,” Bonnie said dryly. “It's not as though Ethan is into serious sunbathing.”

“I know,” Zoe mumbled. “He must think I'm obsessing. And it's true, isn't it?”

“Maybe,” Arcadia replied. “But I think that's entirely understandable under the circumstances.”

Zoe frowned. “What circumstances?”

“You're married to a man who occasionally takes chances for a living.” Arcadia moved her hand through the water in a lazy, sweeping motion. “You worry about him so you try to compensate by giving him a little extra protection where you can. Sounds perfectly natural to me.”

“She's right,” Bonnie said. “I'm like that with Jeff and Theo. I fuss. Sometimes a little too much.”

“That's exactly what I'm doing, isn't it?” Zoe sighed. “I'm fussing. When Ethan finally realizes what's happening, he won't be able to stand it.”

Bonnie looked thoughtful. “I wouldn't be too sure of that.

Ethan hasn't had much experience with being fussed over. None of his previous wives ever fussed, I can tell you that. Wouldn't surprise me if he's secretly enjoying the experience.”

“He might feel that he has to draw the line if the sunscreen gums up his gun, though,” Arcadia said.

20

S
tupid game.” Jeff punched a button on the video game player, silencing the machine. “Dumb, stupid game. I hate this game.”

He hurled the game player aside, jumped up from the chair and stormed along the aisle of old books. He halted in the doorway of Singleton's tiny office and glowered. “Don't you have anything else to play with?”

“Afraid not.” Singleton looked up from the on-line antiquarian book catalog he had been studying in hopes of finding a lead on the missing Kirwan manuscript. “I guess if you're really bored, you could always do your homework.”

“I don't want to do it. I hate homework. I want to go home.”

“It's almost four. Your mom will be leaving the spa soon to pick you up here.”

“I wish I'd gone with Theo and Uncle Ethan to watch the mechanics change the oil in the car.”

“It was your choice to stay here.”

“That's because it sounded boring.” Jeff's face scrunched up a little more. “But so is this place.”

This was the third or fourth time that week that Jeff had opted to spend the afternoon at the shop while Bonnie ran errands or took Theo to various appointments. Usually when the kid hung around the place he divided his time between pestering Ethan upstairs and playing computer games down here. But on these last few visits he had shown little interest in rushing back and forth between the two offices, choosing instead to spend most of his time down here. It was almost as if he was avoiding Ethan, Singleton thought.

He got to his feet. “Let's go for a walk.”

“I don't wanna go for a walk.”

“Well, I do and you're coming with me because I'm going to lock up the shop.”

Jeff scowled, mutinous, but he understood an order when he heard one.

He raised both shoulders in one of those elaborate shrugs that conveyed a bottomless well of youthful ennui.

“Whatever,” he muttered.

“Get your hat.”

“I don't wanna wear a hat.”

“Your mom says you're supposed to wear a hat whenever you go out in the sun.”

“Mom's not here.”

“Doesn't matter. A rule's a rule.”

Singleton snagged a floppy-brimmed canvas hat off a wall hook and planted it on his own head. He was not just trying to set a good example, he told himself. A man who shaved off what little hair he still possessed had to take a few precautions when dealing with the desert sun, even in November.

Jeff snatched up his own canvas hat and stomped out the front door. He waited, doing the eye-rolling thing, while Singleton locked up and pocketed his keys.

Outside they turned left and walked toward the neglected little park at the far end of Cobalt Street. Jeff said nothing for half a block.

“Race you to the park,” Singleton said.

“Huh?”

“You heard me. I'll race you to the old fountain in the park. Loser buys sodas.”

“Okay.”

It was as if a spring that had been wound too tightly had suddenly been released. Jeff exploded into action, pelting off full-speed toward the small patch of greenery at the far end of the street. There was a furious energy in his pounding legs and pumping arms.

Singleton ambled after him, not altering his leisurely stride, trying to think of what to do next. The kid needed a father-son talk but he didn't have a father. He had an uncle who had done a better than passable job of filling in for the missing dad but for some reason Jeff wasn't taking his current problems to Ethan.

That leaves me,
Singleton thought. Unfortunately, he didn't know much about father-son talks.

When he arrived at the fountain, Jeff was waiting for him,
breathless and slightly red in the face from his exertion. He still looked angry.

“You didn't even try,” he said. Accusation dripped from every word.

Singleton sat down on the edge of the stone fountain. The water had been turned off years before. The cracked basin was filled with several seasons' worth of dead leaves and desert sand.

“You're the one who needed to run today,” he said. “Not me.”

Jeff's face screwed up into a baffled expression. “Why did I have to run?”

“Because that's the kind of thing a smart guy does when he gets mad,” he explained, hunting for the right words. “He goes outside and runs or maybe he goes to the gym and works out.”

Jeff tilted his head a little and squinted up at him from beneath the brim of his hat. “How come he does that?”

“Because when a guy gets mad it's like a circuit breaker gets tripped in his brain. He suddenly goes from being real smart to being real stupid. If he doesn't get that breaker reset fast, it's for sure he'll do something dumb.”

“Like what?”

“He might say stuff that he doesn't really mean to someone or he might bust up a perfectly good game player. Maybe he picks a fight with someone.”

“What's so dumb about any of those things?”

“When he does stuff like that, people look at him like he's weird on account of they know he's not in control of himself. They lose respect. When a guy is in stupid mode it's for sure he's going to embarrass himself sooner or later.”

“So he resets the circuit breaker by running or something?”

“The smart ones do that. The dumb ones just stay locked in stupid mode and generally end up making fools out of themselves.”

“What if a guy wants to be mad?” Jeff demanded sullenly. “What if he just happens to feel like being mad?”

“Being mad is okay. Everybody gets mad sometimes. The difference between smart guys and stupid guys is that the smart ones reset the switch right away. That way they can start thinking logically again. They can still be mad but they're cool about it, see? They're less likely to do stupid things and look like idiots.”

“What if a guy resets the switch and he's still mad? What does he do then?”

“He figures out why he's mad and he fixes the problem.”

Jeff picked up a rock and thew it into the dry fountain. “What if he can't fix anything? What's he supposed to do?”

“Depends. He could try talking it over with his mom.”

“No.”
Jeff picked up another rock and hurled it into the basin. “What if that won't work?”

“Guess he could try talking to another guy. His uncle, maybe.”

Jeff shook his head adamantly, swallowing so hard that Singleton could see the movement of his throat.

“Well,” Singleton said slowly, feeling his way. “He could talk to a friend.”

“What good would that do?”

“I don't know. But sometimes other people can give you some ideas about how to fix things.”

“But it wouldn't do any good to talk about something if there was nothing anyone could do to fix it, right?”

Enough with the subtle approach,
Singleton decided.
I don't know what the hell I'm doing here. Might as well get to the point.

“Look, Jeff, I know that you and your family have been having a tough time of it for the past couple of weeks. I know that you lost your dad at this time of year and sometimes you feel bad all over again when November rolls around. Maybe you're mad because he's not here anymore. That's okay. You've got a right to get mad. Maybe some of that mad is aimed at your mom and your uncle.”

“I'm not mad at Mom or Uncle Ethan,” Jeff said, voice rising to a raw, sharp edge.

Progress of a sort.

“Okay, so who are you mad at?”

“Me.”

Singleton did not move. He did not speak.

“I'm mad at me.” Jeff's voice cracked on a sob. “I can't remember him. He was my dad but I can't remember him anymore. How could a kid forget his own dad?”

He started to cry. His small shoulders shook with the force of racking sobs. Tears leaked down his face. He tried to dash them away with the back of his hand but he could not stanch the flood.

Singleton wondered what he was supposed to do now. Unable to think of anything helpful, he just sat there and waited.

After a while Jeff ran dry.

Silence descended.

“You won't ever forget him,” Singleton said eventually. “Not deep down where it counts.”

“I already have.” Jeff used the hem of his shirt to dry his eyes. “I can't remember what he looked like. Mom has some pictures of him. I keep looking at them but it's like I'm looking at a picture of a person I never even met.”

“There are a lot of different ways of remembering. What your dad looked like isn't important.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No.” Singleton looked out across the park. “It's
interesting,
but it's not real important. What matters is that he's a part of you. You couldn't change that, even if you tried.”

“Then why can't I remember him?”

“Some parts of you do remember him. There are bits and pieces of him in your genes, for instance. Have you studied genes yet in school? About how you inherit stuff from your folks?”

“I know about how I'm supposed to look like my dad, if that's what you mean. Mom says that all the time. So does Uncle Ethan. But when I look in the mirror, I can't see him.”

“It's not just the superficial stuff like the color of your eyes and your hair that you inherit in your genes. You get other things that way, too, things like your intelligence. Ethan says you're just as smart as your dad was and that you'll probably be just as successful. The next time you ace a test in school you can think about how one of the reasons you were able to do it is because your dad gave you some good, smart genes.”

Jeff thought about that. “What if I flunk the test?”

Singleton smiled. “Good question. A very, very smart question. The kind of question your dad probably would have asked when he was your age. The answer is a little complicated.”

“Why?”

“Here's how this gene thing works. Nobody gets a perfect set. You get a few good ones and you get a few bad ones. What matters is what you do with them. All the smart genes in the world
won't do you a lick of good if you don't put them to work by studying for the test.”

Jeff made a face. “So if I flunk, it's my fault.”

“Yep. But it works both ways. If you get an A, you get all the credit on account of the only reason you passed is because you studied hard.”

“Huh.”

“There's other things you remember deep down about your dad, things that have nothing to do with genes. Things that are even more important.”

“Like what?”

“Like the fact that he was a good man and that he loved you a lot.”

“But I just told you I don't remember that.”

“Don't worry, it's hardwired into you. It's part of what makes you the great kid that you are today.”

“What happens if a kid gets a dad who doesn't love him?”

“Someone else has to teach the kid how to be a great kid. A mom, maybe.” Singleton sorted through some of the faded images that he kept stored in a quiet corner of his mind and came up with a couple of familiar faces. “Or the kid's grandparents.”

Jeff sat down on the side of the fountain. “I don't understand.”

“That's the beauty of it, see? You don't have to understand. You just need to know that no matter what happens, you won't ever forget your dad. You'll think about him lots of times as you grow up. Heck, you'll think about him years from now when you have a son of your own.”

“Yeah?” Jeff frowned. “What kind of stuff will I think about him?”

“There will be questions that you'll wish you could have asked him and you'll feel kind of sad sometimes because you never got the chance. Mostly you'll wonder if he would have been proud of you. But that's the way it is for everyone. None of us ever gets all the answers we want from our dads.”