Tall Man Down - 12. Chapter 12

No one was in our house when I came in, though there was music playing. It turned out that Pete had the backyard speakers on and was lying on a lounge chair reading Henry James. Beside him, Josh was sitting in his wading pool, sloshing.

“Longer than you thought,” he said.

“Sorry.”

“Interesting?”

“Kind of.”

“Well?”

I pretty much told him what had happened, condensing where I could, but giving him the detail stuff I knew he’d like. He listened without interrupting, then wished he’d been there and I’d been taking care of Josh.

“How about I make dinner? That even things?”

“If it weren’t already made.”

“Freeze it.”

“Salad?”

“Red-blooded stuff.”

“I thought we should keep it light.”

“It’s not that hot.”

“No, but if we’re going to see Sandra...”

I’d hoped that had gone away. “I take it she called.”

“Yep. Didn’t want us for dinner but maybe for a drink.”

“Wasn’t she trying to get away?” I joked. “Wasn’t that the point?”

Pete didn’t rebut that, instead, taking another tack. “We won’t stay long. Just to make sure she’s all right.”

“What if I watch Josh? And you go?”

“I’d rather you were with me.”

It seemed the family was going to Vermont.

“How would you like your salad?” I asked.

“Served.”

“Dressing?”

“Already on.”

“Wine?”

“Chilled.”

“How about a cigarette and a blindfold?”

“For you? They’re waiting on the dining table.”

There was no point trying to one-up Pete when he’d been reading Henry James.

By six, we’d finished dinner, repackaged Josh, and were on the interstate. Pete rode in front with me but spent most of his time amusing Josh, strapped safely in the back. Pete missed the scenery this way, but when I offered to trade places, he told me he was fine.

The inn was enough off 91 to isolate it pleasantly, yet near enough to make the drive easy. Along the way, I persuaded myself the trip might not be lost time. At least, I’d be able to ask Sandra about the files.

She was waiting for us on the long front porch. We settled into oversized lawn chairs, with drinks, and for a while she and Pete fussed with Josh. It must have been some time since Sandra had been near a baby, since she seemed so freshly amused by Josh’s to us familiar routines. I mainly watched, figuring her time spent with him was as therapeutic as anything else we could offer.

Finally, Josh and the light started fading. Pete gave him one last bottle, then we all took turns reciting dopey nursery rhymes until he was asleep. Other guests wandered by, but the place wasn’t crowded, and by nine, the porch and mosquitos were ours.

“I can’t believe you’re going back,” Sandra said. “It’s so peaceful up here.”

“So’s driving at night,” Pete replied.

“I really am glad you came. As I said on the phone, I thought I wanted to be alone until I actually was. Then I realized how much I wanted to talk.”

She paused.

“Driving up here, I kind of tallied how many things I’ve been putting off with Steve – and for how long. I guess I kept pretending they’d all go away. And part of me still wishes they would. But it also feels like the first time I can breathe, comfortably, for years. A hard thing to say on the day of a funeral.”

That seemed weeks ago.

“I can’t blame it all on Steve,” she went on. “He gave us all so many opportunities – Lisa, Ted, and me. He almost accidently made so much more money than he expected – he’d set out to be a respected historian. Still, most of our family choices were ultimately his. None of us really fought. But there was this underlying sense of submission.”

She stopped again.

“I’m sorry. You don’t want to hear this.”

“It’s all right,” Pete said. “We wouldn’t be here if we minded.”

Sandra smiled.

“The point is really what Ted told me last night – to let go. Though I think that may be easier for me than for him.”

“He seems all right,” I said.

“I wish I knew. Now that he knows he’ll always have money – directly – I can’t guess what that’ll do. And anyone who thinks raising girls is easier hasn’t met Lisa. I’m mainly glad they’re old enough to be on their own. I can just help when they ask.”

“Is there much you have to do with Steve’s writing?” I asked, gently heading toward some police-like questions.

“I haven’t really looked. Steve always used me as a sounding board – he did that with so many people. But Abby said there are at least three books he had in progress... and a couple of screenplays. She can finish some of them – and I can write, too. I’ve had the education. So we may be able to finish off everything.” She smiled. “And who knows where that will take us.”

“It’s a different career from design.”

“That’s always been easy for me – my art training. And it was non-competitive. With Steve, I mean.”

That was understood.

“Still, I was never bored with him. And he was the best person to travel with – he knew how to ask easy questions that got people talking about their lives.”

“Abby said he built quite a file on the campus, too.”

She smiled again. “So she told you about those.”

“Yes. And what happened to them.”

“I’m so relieved – that she told you – we’d talked about that. And that they’re gone.”

“She didn’t tell me. There’d be no reason – we barely know each other. But she called the police station, and they sent Don.

Sandra clearly didn’t remember who Don was.

“Don Burris,” I explained. “The detective you met on Tuesday? He came to your house?”

“Oh, yes. The quiet one who returned Steve’s keys and wallet. And phone.”

I didn’t know that. “Yes, well...” I continued. “Don brought me along because I know the college. I fill in details.”

Sandra absorbed that and then simply said, “Those files were obnoxious.”

“Did you read them?”

“No. Steve was terrific at keeping secrets. But I knew the files existed. And I knew why.”

“So you went at them with hammers?”

“It was cathartic. Abby told me that some of the files could have done some of the people good. But why take a chance?”

“They’re in the trash?”

“What’s left of them – the tiny pieces. Mostly the metal – I don’t know what you’d call it – the collar? – survived.”

“In the outside trash?”

“Probably by now. I simply put them under the kitchen sink.”

“When’s trash day?”

“Tuesday,” she said, then laughed. “You’re not checking up on me now? Or do you think someone can piece them together?”

I grinned. “No, I’m pretty sure they’re well smashed. I was just double-checking Abby’s story.”

“Why would she lie?”

“No reason. But it doesn’t hurt to make sure you knew.”

Sandra seemed amused. “We’ll if you really want to find them, they should be inside a small white paper bag – the kind you get from a bakery for a couple of cookies. And that should be inside a kitchen garbage bag – one of those plastic white ones, with a twist tie. Not the big black lawn bags with drawstrings.”

“You seem to know lots about garbage bags,” I joked.

“It’s stupid stuff you pick up.” And then we all laughed at her accidental joke.

“Do you happen to know if there are any other copies?” I went on.

“Of the files? Abby said there were only two sets.”

“She also mentioned safe deposit boxes.”

“No, those are for papers – legal papers. And a couple of small family daguerreotypes and some useless jewelry. The studio that made millions off Steve’s book gave him a gold Rolex he’d never wear.”

“Pay for a year of Smith or Amherst.”

“Or four at Umass – and it wasn’t that fancy.”

“So there wouldn’t have been any other copies? Not that those would be easy to get.”

“You’d really have to ask Abby. She knew so much more about Steve’s work than I did. Especially for last three years.”

“Then he kept writing?”

“Almost constantly. The college was his volunteer job. He regarded it as public service. You know he turned most of his salary into scholarships.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“And not even as a tax write-off – though that was in there, too. But Hollywood people are strange. They’ll give you money for nothing. After his big hit, people took options on everything else he wrote. Even his early, really academic papers – the stuff even I couldn’t get through.”

“I didn’t know that, either.”

“Yes, as I said, he was good at keeping secrets. Maybe especially at hiding good deeds.”

It appeared there were sides of Steve Catlin I was beginning to like – maybe again. I glanced at Pete but couldn’t read his expression.

In any case, Sandra seemed tired out. She finished her drink – from a glass that was mainly empty – and stood.

“Time for us to leave,” Pete said, also standing.

“Sure you don’t want to stay?” Sandra said, and I was hoping she didn’t offer to pay. But she must have realized that would embarrass us.

“We stay up late anyway,” Pete told her. “Theater hours... And it’s an easy drive.” He turned to lift Josh, who was curled on a chair between us.

“I’ll get him,” I told Pete.

“Nah, he sleeps better on my shoulder.”

I deferred, and we walked Sandra to the lobby.

“I hope Ted took Steve’s car,” she said at the front doors. “The school sent a limo for us this morning, and Ted and Lisa could have walked home – or gotten a lift from any number of their friends. But I made sure he had Steve’s keys.”

“I didn’t see the car at the reception.”

“Abby moved it across the street this morning – to clear the driveway for the catering trucks. But with all the fuss, Ted may have forgotten.”

“Do you want me to check?”

“No. I’ll be home by tomorrow evening, even if it’s late. It’ll wait.”

She hugged Pete – half-embracing Josh while she was at it. He kind of woke and squinted at me. Then Sandra and I shook hands, and she went inside.

“Are you getting pulled into this?” Pete asked a few minutes later. He’d just pulled out of the inn lot, and it seemed another of his statements from nowhere.

“You mean about Steve?” I had to clarify. “No. It’s almost over.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. I still say he died by accident.”

I guess he thought about that. In any case, he didn’t say anything until we turned onto 91, maybe twenty minutes later.

“The nice thing about Steve,” he suddenly continued, “was even if you hated him – well, heavily disliked – he was always interesting. I doubt anyone talks that much about us.”

I considered. “The kids.”

He laughed. “I never pay attention to that... not about gossip.” He drove a bit further. “Though some of the girls think I’m very lucky to have ‘caught’ you. That’s how they put it. And – despite what they know – I think some of them would like to have you taped to their walls.”

“In pictures, I hope.”

He laughed again. “So they probably talk as much about us,” he concluded. “And they possibly know as much about us – or think they do – as we think we know about Steve and Sandra.”

I considered again before admitting, “The girls in the shop think you’re cute, too.”

“Cute?”

“You know... attractive... in a ‘knowledgeable’ way.” I waited. “Of course, they know they’d get hell if they actually tried anything.”

“Right.” But he was smiling. “You do need to be more careful,” he went on eventually. “Especially when it’s warm, and your T-shirt’s soaked through. All we need is a kid with a handy phone, and you’ll be on the Internet.”

“Teacher porn?”

“Yep.”

And we giggled.

Before we drove home, I had Pete pull into the alley behind Steve and Sandra’s garage. He drove the last fifty feet with our headlights off, then I did a little dumpster diving. There were lots of bags, from several days of guests, but using the light from my phone and one of my keys, I slashed the bags and explored until I found the white paper bag. Inside, were bits of smashed plastic and electronics. I took it to the car and then had Pete detour further, and I dropped the bag at the police station.

“Tell Don Burris it’s a present from Gil Andrus. He’ll know what that means.”

The kid at the front desk – I think his name was Cassidy – said, “Sure thing.” Then Pete brought us home.