Dear Irene ik-3 Read online

  The house wouldn’t tell her age, either. The furnishings were sleek and contemporary. Her son had far more old-fashioned furniture in his home.

  “This whole Thanatos business stinks to high heaven,” she said with conviction. She had seated us on her black leather sofa and given us each a cup of coffee in about three minutes flat. “I don’t like it at all. Not at all.” She turned to Frank, giving him the look mothers reserve for children caught sticking their fingers in the frosting. “When do you suppose you police fellows are going to catch the bastard?”

  “We’re doing our best, Mrs. Parker,” Frank said, managing somehow to maintain a serious expression.

  “Well, you damn well better catch him soon.” She turned to me and smiled. “What can I tell you?”

  “Do you remember much about the Olympus Child Care Center case?”

  “Of course I do. I don’t mean to be a shameless braggart, but I have an excellent memory. At my age, that’s something to crow about. If you’re as gray headed as I am and you so much as misplace your keys, people think you’ve got Alzheimer’s.”

  As she continued on, I noticed that she hardly spared Frank a glance. “Yes, I most certainly do remember it. And I think it was one of the saddest things ever to happen to someone I knew personally. Pauline Grant was a lovely young woman, and she truly did love children. I took the time to get to know her a little, since I wanted to know the person who would be caring for my child while I was at work.”

  “That’s always wise,” Frank said, but she ignored him, and I could tell he was a little irked about it.

  “The children who were Howie’s age went over to the Olympus Center right after school, at about two o’clock,” she said. “They stayed there until about five thirty, when we picked them up after work. I guess they call it extended day care.

  “Well, Pauline was a woman trying to raise a child all by herself, just as I was. She doted on her son. I suppose that was her downfall. Try to understand. We were patriotic, but that side of the war, losing a loved one, was as painful for us as it ever has been for anybody. For those of us who had lost our husbands — well, that protectiveness of our children was hard to avoid. We were all our children had left, and quite often, the reverse was true as well. Pauline had no other family to turn to. She was all alone. So it was easy for her to become overprotective of her little boy.”

  “So you knew both Pauline and Jimmy?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes. Jimmy, her son, was a sensitive child to begin with, and Pauline’s attitude just made him something of a whiner. Clung to her apron strings. I’m afraid the other children didn’t give him a very easy time of it. Maggie Robinson’s boy was a nasty little booger, if I may speak so ill of the dead. He had a temper on him. A born hell-raiser. And if you want my opinion, in another ten years he would have been one of the people Detective Harriman goes hunting for.”

  “Maybe so,” I said, “but he was only a child, just eight years old. He wasn’t much of a physical match for a grown woman, was he?”

  “No,” she said quietly, “I suppose you’re right. But I tell you, that child was the kind of kid that could tempt Mother Theresa to knock the crap out of him.”

  “Do you know what became of Jimmy Grant?” Frank asked.

  She looked between us with wide eyes. “You mean you don’t know?”

  “We’ve only known of his existence since yesterday, Mrs. Parker.” He caught himself, and quickly added, “We would appreciate any information you could give us.” He glanced over at me, then back at her.

  She smiled, knowing she had nettled him. Suddenly she looked between us slyly. “Is something going on between you two?”

  “Engagement,” I answered, noting Frank was slightly taken aback by my directness.

  She brightened. “Well, congratulations! I’ve been married twice myself, and recommend it highly.” Now she was eyeing him from head to toe. “Well, well, well. Well, well, well!”

  With each “well,” Frank apparently received a higher approval rating. He was embarrassed by the appraisal process, which in turn forced me into a hopeless struggle to keep a straight face.

  “Jimmy Grant?” he asked, as if in pain.

  “Oh, yes,” she sobered. “We were talking about poor little Jimmy. Well, I suppose that is exactly what makes the whole thing so sad. Sad and bizarre, if you ask me.”

  “Bizarre?”

  “Yes, Detective Harriman. Bizarre. A sign of the kind of corruption we had around here in those days. Pauline, as you know, was jailed almost immediately after the Robinson boy died. The mothers of the children at the Olympus Center were divided into two camps, you might say. Those that lined up behind Maggie Robinson were crying for blood. The rest of us felt that the whole thing had been an accident. Her lack of self-control meant Pauline should lose her job, but not her child. And certainly not her freedom.”

  “Did Pauline have many supporters?” I asked.

  “Oh no. By supporting Pauline, I was in the minority camp. None of us had the kind of money it would take to get her a good lawyer or to help her get out on bail. So she was in custody from the day of the incident on.”

  “And Jimmy?”

  “As I said, there were no relatives available, so Jimmy was placed into foster care. He was — oh, I hate to say it, but he was a difficult child. He didn’t accept what had happened at all. Blamed himself, in the way children will. When Pauline was sent to prison, he became totally uncontrollable, and there was doubt as to whether he could ever be placed anywhere for long. That’s when Maggie Robinson stepped in.”

  “Maggie Robinson?”

  “Yes. She somehow finagled it so that she became Jimmy’s foster mother.”

  “What?” We asked it in chorus.

  “Yes. She had some twisted notion that this was a just solution. I thought it stank. When Pauline was killed, Maggie adopted Jimmy.”

  We sat in stunned silence for a moment.

  “How was that possible?” I asked.

  “J. D. Anderson,” she said.

  “The president of Mercury Aircraft?” Frank asked. “What did he have to do with it?”

  “Rumors were, Maggie was J.D.’s mistress. For all her other faults — and believe me, you don’t want to sit here while I name them — Maggie was stunningly beautiful.”

  I shook my head. “I still don’t understand how that could allow her—”

  “To adopt Jimmy? Irene Kelly, you surprise me. At that time, J.D. was one of the most powerful individuals in the Los Angeles area. And while you may believe there is corruption now, back then, things were absolutely rotten. Didn’t Mr. O’Connor ever tell you about what it was like then?”

  “Well, yes, but a child—”

  “Especially a child. Surely you can see that even now, children have little say over what becomes of them. They’re at the mercy of adults. Adoption has changed now, not so much because of the law, but because of supply and demand, if you will. Abortion rights changed the supply. Back then — remember the recent revelations about the judge who made a small fortune from adoption? She ordered babies removed from their parents’ custody and then accepted payment to place the children with wealthy clients.”

  “Wasn’t there anyone who spoke up for him?”

  She wrung her hands together. “I’m ashamed to admit it, but no, I didn’t. Maggie wasn’t working at Mercury by then, but we all knew she was J.D.’s kept woman. The rumor I heard was that he had pulled all the strings himself, had even fixed it so that if anybody went looking for Jimmy’s records, they wouldn’t find a thing. As if the kid didn’t exist before he was adopted.”

  She paused, then continued in a much lower voice. “The war was over, and lots of women had lost their jobs. At the time, I was the sole source of support for my son. I had never worked before the war. Not as a teacher or a nurse, not even as a waitress. If I lost my job at Mercury, I didn’t have a thing to fall back on. If it had just been me, well, maybe I would have spoken up. But I had Howi
e to think of, and I stayed silent.”

  “I appreciate your telling us now,” Frank said. “You’ve saved me a lot of effort. I’ll have a better idea of how to look for him now. Did you ever see Maggie Robinson after the war?”

  “Yes, once I saw her here in town, at a store during a Christmas sale. Must have been two or three years after the war. She seemed quite nervous about the encounter. She tried to avoid me, truth be told. I sort of pushed my way over to her and asked about Jimmy. She looked furious, but she said she didn’t know any Jimmy, and I must have mistaken her for someone else. Then she managed to disappear into the crowd. I never did like that woman.”

  “Do you know Hobson Devoe?” I asked.

  “Yes, the former head of personnel. I understand he runs the museum out there now.”

  “Would he have known about Maggie?”

  She frowned. “I’m not certain, of course, but I’d tend to doubt it. Mr. Devoe has always been very active in his church. The other men used to call him ‘The Boy Scout.’ Treated him as something of an innocent — or perhaps I should say, they treated him as if he were prudish. They didn’t tell dirty jokes around him, or use foul language, so I’m sure they didn’t discuss J.D.’s mistresses — according to rumor, J.D. had several. Maggie was certainly not the only one who let J.D. sample her wares, although she was apparently a favorite over many years. I just don’t know. Hobson was a straight arrow, but he wasn’t naive or unable to get what he wanted in the corporation.”

  We talked for a few more minutes, then thanked her and said our good-byes. As we went down the sidewalk, she shouted out to Frank from her front porch. “You be good to her, Detective Harriman, or you’ll answer to me.”

  We waved and drove off.

  On the way home, I told Detective Harriman that he had indeed been good to me, and started to list off some possible rewards. He was looking forward to them, but it wasn’t to be. When we pulled up in his driveway, we noticed a car parked out in front of the house. A woman was sitting in it.

  Frank’s mother had decided to surprise us with a visit.

  24

  FORTUNATELY, BEA HARRIMAN hadn’t been waiting long. Unfortunately, Frank and I had spent that morning arguing, not housekeeping. The place wasn’t a wreck, but it wasn’t what I wanted it to look like when my future mother-in-law stopped by for her first inspection tour. Although she had been inside Frank’s house several other times, this was her first visit since the dawn of our cohabitation.

  I was nervous when we opened the front door, but my fears about her reaction to the house were unfounded, it seemed. She was full of leftover Christmas goodwill and quite pleased with herself for surprising us. As we made our way down the hall, she happily commented on the fact that this was the first time she had seen me out of my casts. She even turned a blind eye to the pile of dishes in the sink.

  She was startled to see two big, barking dogs in the backyard. Cody, not to be outdone, bit Frank on the ankle and then ran around like Beelzebub was after him, knocking books and papers to the floor in his wake. The pandemonium was raised to a new pitch by the ringing of the telephone.

  Home sweet home.

  Frank took over the task of carrying his mom’s packages, taking her coat and getting her settled in the guest room. I tried to get the dogs to be quiet. “Shush!” I shouted to them as I picked up the phone.

  “What?” the voice on the other end said.

  “Oh, not you, Steven. The dogs. They’re raising Cain. Hang on just a minute.”

  I opened the door a crack, intending to get them to settle down. They bowled me over and ran over to Frank’s mother, who was still remarkably calm about the whole situation. She petted the dogs, who were giving her a sniffing over and an enthusiastic greeting all at once.

  “What are their names?” she asked.

  “They don’t have names yet. I think we’re narrowing it down between Frick and Frack or Yes and No. If it’s Yes and No, we might rent them out to spiritualist parties.” She looked at me as if I might be serious.

  “Who’s on the phone?” Frank called from our small spare bedroom.

  “Steven,” I answered, going back to the receiver.

  “I vote for Yes and No,” Steven said. “Otherwise, you’ll have Frick, Frack, and Frank, and that could get confusing.”

  “So would saying, ‘No, Yes,’ if Yes misbehaved. Frank thought we should give them mixed-up Western names. Since Cody is a cross between Wild Bill Hickok and Buffalo Bill Cody, maybe we could have Buffalo Hickok and Calamity Annie Oakley.”

  “You lost me. Besides, too hard to say. Although Calamity isn’t a bad name, from what you’ve told me about your dogs.”

  “Hang on again, Steven. Now the doorbell’s ringing.”

  The dogs were barking again and got to the front door before I did. “What’s wrong with you mutts?” I heard a voice call from the other side of the door. They immediately settled down into anxious whines. Not to be fooled by this, I grabbed on to their collars.

  “Come on in, Jack,” I shouted.

  He opened the door and stepped in. The dogs sat prettily and were quite well-behaved for him. “If I had known you could have this effect on them, I would have made sure you were here when we walked in tonight. They’ve been candidates for the banana ranch.”

  Frank stepped out into the hallway and invited Jack back to meet his mom. I could tell that it took everything in her power to control her initial reaction to him, taking in his scarred face and shaved head, his earring and tattoos. But Jack has an ability to make almost anybody like him, so Frank and I no longer worry over people’s first reactions to his appearance. I headed back to the phone.

  Steven Kincaid was apparently just feeling lonesome, and had no particular reason to call. I chatted with him for a moment, then covered the receiver and motioned to Frank. After a brief discussion, we ended up inviting Jack and Steven to join us for dinner. While we waited for Steven to make his way over, we fed the dogs and Cody. Jack had already won Bea over by the time Steven arrived. Bea wasn’t too old to appreciate Steven’s good looks, either, so we were happy campers when we headed out to Bernie’s All-Night Cafe.

  It was just as we were finishing dinner that the trouble started. “Irene,” Bea said to me with a smile, “I have the loveliest place picked out for the wedding.”

  Frank and I exchanged a look.

  “Mom, Irene’s sister is already working on that.”

  I tried not to laugh out loud as I added, “We’ll probably be picking something out ourselves when the time comes.”

  The check arrived and we haggled over who would pay, Frank and I finally convincing everyone that we’d cover it this time. We piled back into the Volvo; I sat between Steven and Jack in the backseat.

  Bea took up where she left off. “I’m sure your sister will adore this place. But you two need to set a date and set it now. I think June would be nice. Traditional, I suppose, but still — Irene, have you picked out your dress yet? We need to get going on invitations as well. And set up a florist, and a photographer, a caterer and — oh, of course, a minister.”

  “Irene’s Catholic,” Frank said, the moment she stopped to draw a breath.

  “What? Catholic? Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Oh, Frank.” The disappointment level would have better matched an announcement like “Irene’s an ax murderer and cannibal, as well as a polygamist, but by golly I love her anyway.” “Well,” she said, bucking up admirably, “we’re Episcopalian, Irene, and I don’t think you’ll find it too much of a change.”

  We had just pulled up in the driveway. Jack took my hand and gave it a squeeze of silent support, or I don’t think I could have kept my mouth shut. Steven was looking extremely uncomfortable. I suppose it was Frank’s tone of voice that made everyone in the car suddenly snap to attention. It was quiet, but chilled.

  “Irene, why don’t you and Jack and Steven take the dogs for a walk on the beach?”

  I n
odded, and we got out of the car. Jack and Steven let the dogs out of the backyard. Frank opened the front door for his mom, who hadn’t said another word, then he came over to where I stood. He put his arms around me and bent to my ear and whispered, “Be careful, you unrepentant papist, and don’t let yourself wander out of sight of Jack and Steven, okay?” He kissed my forehead and went inside.

  The dogs were overjoyed at the prospect of a walk, leaping in circles around us as if they were on springs, bouncing their front and back ends. Their enthusiasm somehow buoyed my own spirits.

  We walked along the shore, watching the dogs chase each other. It was a cloudy night, threatening rain. There wasn’t much wind, but the air was cold. The moon was up; its bright face broke through the clouds now and again, but the night was dark enough to make me heed Frank’s warning — I stuck close to Jack and Steven. Jack was on my left. Steven on my right, as we approached the pier. Each put an arm through one of mine, and we huddled together, listening to Jack tell a story about a job he once had picking pears.

  Suddenly there was hollow “thump” to my right, and I turned to see blood pouring down Steven Kincaid’s face. He stared at me with a dazed look, reached toward his forehead, and collapsed onto the sand. I cried out, and Jack and I quickly knelt down next to him. He was breathing, but out cold. Blood flowed from a deep gash in his forehead, just above his right eye. The dogs started barking ferociously and charging toward the pier, where I saw a thin man running away.

  I looked back to Steven, who was pale and motionless.

  “Get Frank, Jack. Hurry. Tell him about the man on the pier.” As I spoke I took Steven’s head in my lap. I reached beneath my jacket and tore off a wide strip of my cotton blouse and used it to try — gently — to stop the bleeding on his head. Jack whistled for the dogs, who turned and came back. “I’m not leaving you here without them,” he said. The man who had been on the pier was nowhere in sight.