U Is for Undertow (Kinsey Millhone 21)

Brent accompanied him to the door. Politely, Walker rang the bell, feeling like a door-to-door salesman with a trainee at his side and a traveling case full of wares.

When Carolyn opened the door she scarcely looked at him. She said, “Oh, it’s you” like she was expecting someone else and had suffered a disappointment. He thought a pleasant greeting would have been nice, some semblance of goodwill for the children’s sake. At the moment they were off at school and Carolyn was having none of it. Brent didn’t warrant a greeting of any kind, so Walker should have been grateful she spoke to him at all.

She turned away and proceeded down the hall, talking to him over her shoulder. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Let me know when you’re done. I put the mail on the table. Remind me and I’ll tell you about a call I should have mentioned before.”

Walker wondered if she was worth the effort it would take to win her back. She’d lord it over him from this point on. She had all the power and he was the supplicant, begging to see the kids, begging for an audience with the Queen, begging for attention, which she’d decided was undeserved. In return for crumbs, she’d want all his pay-checks deposited to her account. She’d dole out a few bucks to him from week to week—not enough for a binge, but a modest sum she’d say was his to do with as he pleased. Maybe he’d appeal to the pastor of their church, citing Christian forbearance as a means of bringing her to heel. Ha. Like that would do any good.

He went upstairs with Brent tagging behind. Walker’s ribs still pained him and he wasn’t allowed to lift anything, which was why Brent was forced to follow him around like a dog. Walker went into the walk-in closet and pushed through the hangers on his side of the hanging rods. With his left hand he pulled out sport coats, four suits, his raincoat, and his leather jacket, passing them to Brent, who laid them on the bed while Walker went through the dresser drawers removing underwear, socks, and T-shirts. He’d have to borrow a suitcase or go down to the kitchen and find a paper bag to carry all his stuff. He went out into the hall and looked in the storage area under the eaves. After a grubby search he came up with a duffel into which he jammed the pile of personal items.

Idly he wondered what would happen if he just walked away from the entire situation. He’d pack the car, cancel credit cards, empty all the bank accounts, and leave the state. By the time Carolyn realized what he’d done, he’d be out of her grasp. He pictured her at Saks, pricey merchandise piled up on the counter while the saleswoman rang the sale and returned her card, looking mystified. “I’m sorry, Mrs. McNally, but this was declined.”

“Declined? There must be a mistake. My husband pays our bills in full the first of every month.”

“Would you like to try another card?”

She’d pull out her Visa or MasterCard, her embarrassment mounting as one after the other was rejected.

Without him busting his ass to keep the coffers full, her life would grind to a halt. She didn’t have a dime of her own. She was dependent on him for everything. The problem was, if he stuck it to her, he’d be sticking it to his kids. He didn’t want Fletcher and Linnie to suffer, which meant he’d be tied to Carolyn for all eternity.

Brent made a couple of trips to the car, ferrying Walker’s clothes. Meanwhile, Walker went into the kitchen, where Carolyn was unloading the dishwasher, a job she’d always insisted was half his to share. He stood and watched her, making no effort to pitch in, a gesture she noticed but refrained from remarking on. Looking at her without the filter of affection, he realized she wasn’t pretty anymore and she was picking up weight. She was thick through the middle and her pants were riding up. Maybe his losing the marriage wasn’t such a big deal after all. He had wealthy women clients who’d made it clear they were interested in him. He’d been bemused by their attentions, but he might be more receptive now that he was on his own. Where would Carolyn find a guy willing to take her on, a plump premenopausal woman with two kids underfoot?

He leaned against the counter. “You said something about the mail?”

“It’s out on the hall table in a manila envelope. You must have walked right by.”

“Fine. What about the phone message?”

“Oh, right. This was last week and I apologize. It completely slipped my mind. A woman called and asked for you. Someone you went to high school with. She said she was a private eye and she was looking for your dad.”

“Dad?”

“That’s what I said. She wanted to get in touch with him.”