U Is for Undertow (Kinsey Millhone 21)

“In other words, you want me to stick it to him instead of you.”

Ryan said, “There’s nothing personal at stake. We’re setting the record straight. If you want us to put copies in the mail to him, we will.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

He reached into the inner pocket of his sport coat and took out a checkbook and pen. “We’re assuming he didn’t have the money to pay for your services.”

“Which is another reason we’re here,” Diana said. “I have no idea how much time and energy you’ve devoted to this wild-goose chase, but we’re prepared to cover what he owes.”

Ryan leaned forward to use the desk in writing the check.

“Michael’s paid in full.”

Diana’s smile flickered. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”

“Life is a barrel of surprises, Diana. Was there anything else?”

Ryan put the checkbook away and the two exchanged a look, apparently at a loss as to what should come next. They’d probably hoped to hear me rage about Michael and his tenuous hold on the truth, but I’d have cut my own throat before I gave them the satisfaction. Their departure was awkward, hard-pressed as they were to detach themselves with any ease or grace. I didn’t offer to escort them to the door, but I did trail after them without the usual end-of-meeting pleasantries.

Once they were gone I locked the door and returned to my desk, where I sat and stewed for the better part of an hour.

27

JON CORSO

June 1967

A week after the family left for Europe, Jon arrived at Walker’s house on his scooter just as Walker was coming down the drive in the secondhand 1963 Buick Skylark his father had given him the day he was accepted at UCST. The car wasn’t new, but it was better than the crummy Chevrolet Lionel had bought for Jon. Walker leaned across the passenger seat and rolled down the window. “I gotta make a run. Leave the scooter in the carport and hop in.”

Jon walked his scooter up the incline, parked it, and then hustled down the driveway to the street where Walker was waiting. He got in on the passenger side and slammed the door. “Where to?”

“Alita Lane. You won’t believe this pair. They’re living in a school bus. Creed and Destiny. He’s an asshole but she’s a trip. They went over to the high school, hoping to score some dope, and Chapman turned them on to me.”

“Good deal.”

When they reached Alita Lane, Walker parked around the corner and the two hoofed it back. Walker was careful to avoid parent types when delivering weed. He mentioned, in passing, that the house belonged to Creed’s parents, Deborah and Patrick Unruh, whom Jon knew distantly from the country club. Mona was particularly enamored of Deborah Unruh and took every opportunity to fawn over her. Immediately Jon anticipated the moment when he could casually refer to the time he’d spent at Deborah’s. Soon afterward, however, he decided the connection would never pass his lips. There were things Mona wasn’t meant to know and most began to unfold on that day.

Jon followed Walker around the side of the house to the cabana in back, where the school bus was parked. A boy of ten or so was splashing naked in the pool, probably peeing in the water when it suited him. The school bus was ratty on the outside, but when Jon finally saw the interior he thought it was cool—decked out with mattresses, a camp stove, storage boxes. An Indian-print spread served as a privacy screen, dividing the vehicle into two parts. The couple crashed in the back while the kid sacked out on the futon in front.

The bus doors were open and the boyfriend was fussing around with something inside. The chick was cross-legged in the grass, knotting a length of hemp, using hitches and half-hitches to make a wall hanging, or something equally useless since the bus had no walls to speak of. She looked up as they approached. “Hey, Creed? We have company.”

Creed emerged from the bus and Walker made the introductions. Nobody bothered to shake hands. Even years later, it was odd how vivid the moment seemed. Destiny was in her mid-twenties, six or seven years older than he. He’d never encountered anyone as hang-loose as she was. Her nails were bitten to the quick and her hair was a mass of curls. Her earrings were big silver hoops. She wore a scoop-necked peasant blouse, a long skirt, and Birkenstocks. She was chunky and smelled sooty from all the dope and cigarettes she smoked, but the scent reminded him of his mother. Destiny was a walking warning about the health hazards of poor nutrition and substance abuse. Within minutes, she mentioned she wasn’t married to Creed.

Jon said, “Is that your kid in the pool?”