A Shot to Die For (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-two

My father was the one I called the next morning.

I’d spent a sleepless night filled with terrors. It was my fault David and I were finished. Even my daughter didn’t want to be around me. I was incapable of sustaining intimacy with any man. A failure in the relationship sweepstakes. As the sky lightened, I felt the need to connect with someone who loved me unconditionally. There was only one person.

I met Dad at Bagel World, a kosher deli in Skokie. I don’t keep kosher, and neither does my father, although he claims his parents did. But I remember a conversation with my grandmother: I must have been about ten, and my opa had already passed on. Oma and I were putting dishes away. I knew we were supposed to store the meat dishes separately from the dairy, but Oma said not to bother.

When I asked why, she confessed she wasn’t really
kashrut
anymore. It was the dishwasher, she explained. “It makes things too easy. First you’re sneaking in
parve
dishes with meat, then
parve
with milk. Pretty soon, you’re mixing milk with meat. There’s no point after that.” She shrugged. I remember I thought she was overly rigid. Surely God didn’t send you to hell for a little mixing. She shook her head. “You’re either kosher, or you’re not,” she said. Then, with the same dry sense of humor that my father inherited, she added, “Now pass the bacon.”

Dad was already in a booth. His arms were so skinny they protruded from his sleeves like a kid in a shirt too big for him. His face brightened when he saw me. I threw my arms around him. He seemed surprised but pleased by my display of affection. “I should get a welcome like that from every woman I meet.”

I sat down opposite him. “I’ve missed you.”

“That’s what they all say. Must be my princely good looks.” He slid his hand over mine and gave it a squeeze. “
Nu?”

“I—I’m okay.”

His eyebrows shot up. “What’s wrong?”

Why is it that people assume something terrible has happened unless you’re brimming with joy? Or was it just my father? I glanced over at the next table, where a group of young orthodox Jews, with full beards, black hats, and
payos
dangling down their cheeks, were talking passionately, their faces serious and intense.

Maybe it was cultural.

“Let’s order.” We went to the counter, where a man with a flowing mustache and a stern expression took our order and gave us a number. As we waited for drinks, I started to tell Dad about my dealings with the Suttons.

He put two iced teas on his tray. “Suttons—the railroad family?” He carried the tray back to our booth.

I followed him. “You know them?”

“What dealings do you have with them?” Dad often answers questions with a question. It’s the lawyer in him.

I added sweetener to my tea. I didn’t want him to worry. Or to pry. Which was about as useful as a three-dollar bill. He does both. “You remember the woman who was shot at the rest stop?”

His eyes narrowed.

I cut him off before he started. “Don’t worry. I’m not in any kind of trouble. But the woman who was killed—Daria Flynn—had been seeing one of the Sutton sons. There are two, you know. I’ve met them.” I paused. “And their father.”

I launched into a description of Luke and Chip. I left out the part about the near miss with Luke’s plane, but I didn’t spare anything about the sons. When I got to their father, though, my tone changed. “He was pleasant. Even charming. And apparently, one of the foremost authorities on Thomas Jefferson.”

Dad threw me a dubious look.

“You don’t believe me.”

“This is Charles Sutton you’re talking about?”

I nodded.

He laced his hands together and leaned forward. “You know that saying ‘shirtsleeves to shirtsleeves in three generations’?”

“Sure. But the Suttons are well into their fourth, and they’re still as rich as Croesus.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “I’m talking about cycles of behavior. Personalities.”

I frowned. Where was he going with this?

“I’m sure the first Charles Sutton was a charmer, too,” he said. “Would have to have been to get that patent.”

“You know about the automatic coupler?”

“Everyone does. It’s practically folklore. Charles Sutton sweet-talked a former slave into selling him the patent. Then
he
went out and made a fortune on it, while the slave disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“Disappeared? Are you implying something?”

Dad spread his hands, affecting an injured look. “Me? Who knows what happened a hundred years ago? I’m just glad Sutton didn’t talk the poor shlub into selling him the Hope diamond.”

The man behind the counter yelled out our number. I went to get our sandwiches: tuna on a bagel for me, smoked fish and cream cheese for Dad. As I brought them back to the table, Dad said, “You understand what I’m telling you?”

I sat down. “Not really.”

“Ellie, these are people who will do anything to get what they want. They don’t let anyone stand in their way. Certainly not a former slave. In fact, these people remind me of David’s—”

“I get it.” I took a bite of my sandwich. The last thing I wanted was to bring David into the conversation.

My father picked up a fork. “Did you know that Charles Sutton made a run for the Senate?”

I stopped chewing. “This Charles Sutton?”

My father nodded, speared his pickle, and sliced it into wedges. “You’d see him at all sorts of functions. Glad-handing, schmoozing, building friends and allies. Then all of a sudden, he drops out.
He
practically disappears, in fact.”

My brain started to race. “When was this?”

“I think it was in the early seventies. Chuck Percy was still Senator. I remember the cracks about two Chucks in the Senate. You know that riddle about how much wood can a woodchuck—”

“I remember.” I was curious about the timing. “Why did he drop out?”

Dad chewed his pickle thoughtfully. “Why the questions? I thought you weren’t mixed up with them.”

“I’m not. But—”

“But nothing. I know when I’m being pumped. Especially when the pumper is my daughter. What’s going on?
Emmes.
”

I sighed.
“Emmes”
means no fooling around. “I just saw some old newspaper articles about them.”

“Yeah?”

Halfway through my explanation, Dad cut me off. “I’d forgotten about that. The daughter drowned. It was a tragedy. That’s why he dropped out of politics.”

“It wasn’t just a drowning, Dad.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She was murdered.” I explained what I’d learned from Willetta Emerson.

“Now you mention it, I do remember something about that. Or was that the Percy girl?”

“It was both of them.”

“You’re right.” He picked up his bagel. “How ironic. Didn’t get the guys in either case, did they?”

“No.”

He took a bite of his sandwich. “Didn’t they have a suspect in one of them?”

My father and his memory. I nodded. “There was some suspicion that the Suttons’ caretaker did it, but they never found any evidence. And he left Lake Geneva afterward.”

Dad picked up his iced tea, took a sip, and looked down his glass at me. I knew what he was thinking.

I debated whether to tell him whose father the caretaker turned out to be. I decided not to. He’d fret and arch his eyebrows and warn me to back off. “Dad, I’m not involved in anything. Don’t worry.”

“Good.” He set down his glass. “Then I don’t have to give you the speech.”

“No. You don’t.” I patted his hand. “But it is curious. Chuck Sutton seems okay, even to have moved on since his daughter’s death, but his wife hasn’t.”

“Your children are supposed to outlive you. Not the other way around.”

I thought about Luke and Chip and Anne Sutton. They were close in age. Did they play hide and seek together in the icehouse? Climb trees in that beautiful backyard? Tell secrets and laugh and fight? I never knew what it was like to have siblings. There was just Mother and Dad and me. “Sometimes I wish I’d had a brother or a sister, you know?”

Dad pushed his plate away. He moved his glass two inches to the right. Then he sat very still. “What do you mean?”

“Just that sometimes I wish I weren’t an only child.”

My father didn’t move. “You know what a rough time your mother had with you,” he said quietly. “The doctors told her she shouldn’t risk it again.”

“I know.” I took a sip of tea. “But don’t you ever wish you’d had another child?”

My father gazed at me for a long, uncomfortable moment.

Something was off. “Dad, what’s wrong?”

“What else did your mother tell you?”

“About what?” Two could play the question game.

Another silence.

“Dad?”

His eyes flicked over me, but I sensed he wasn’t really seeing me. Then he sighed. “She never wanted you to know. Honestly, I don’t know why. It wouldn’t have made any difference. But I promised to respect her wishes.”

A buzz skimmed my nerves. I put my hands in my lap. “What didn’t she want me to know?”

He swallowed. “You had an older brother. He was born with severe deformities. He only lived a day.”

His words lingered in the air: unreal, almost fantastic. “A brother.” I said slowly. “Did he have a name?”

“Joseph.”

“Joseph,” I whispered. I had a brother named Joseph.

“Your mother nearly died giving birth to him. And as it turned out, there was a reason. He—he was never meant to come into the world.”

“And I never knew.”

“She didn’t want you to.” My father pressed his lips together. “Your mother—she blamed herself. She thought there was something wrong with her. She couldn’t form children, or bear them, or something. And though she loved you to distraction, she still carried that sorrow to her grave.”

I looked down at my hands, still folded in my lap. There had always been a distance between my mother and me. I didn’t know why, but I was aware that she was never fully happy. Or satisfied. She’d worn her unhappiness like a gossamer wrap; never admitting it, never complaining. I’d always assumed it was my fault. That somehow I’d fallen short. Done something to displease her. When the cancer came, and I was an adult, it was too late to heal the breach. Even at the end, when I held her hand, and there was nothing more to lose, we never talked about it.

“I never agreed with her, Ellie,” my father said. “It was wrong. We should have told you.”

I nodded. I was grateful—I think—that Dad finally acknowledged it. We didn’t say anything more about it, but he hugged me close when I dropped him off. I drove home thinking about family secrets and their unintended consequences. My mother had gone through life feeling less of a woman because of Joseph. Even my birth wasn’t enough. The distance, the coolness—it wasn’t my fault. I was just a tacit reminder of her failure.

Thoughts and feelings I’d never entertained before sifted through me. In one way, a burden had been lifted from my shoulders. I hadn’t done anything. Still, the echo of my mother’s sadness resounded. I’d had an older brother. It had only been for a day, but he existed. I wished I could have seen a picture of him, fingered a lock of his hair. But there were no mementoes—I would have found them when I went through my mother’s things. Did they have a funeral service and sit
shiva
? Or did they just say
kaddish
? I didn’t know Jewish law concerning the death of an infant. I wish I did. Maybe I could honor him in some small way.

Chapter Twenty-three

A few days later, Mac and I went back with the crew to the airstrip to shoot pickups. We’d rented a car mount to film a traveling shot down the runway. Before we set up, Mac dropped me off at the Lodge’s offices to check in. They apologized again for our earlier difficulty and said they’d discussed it with the police. They admitted they didn’t have anyone monitoring the airstrip but couldn’t guarantee when there might be an occasional take-off or landing. They were working on the problem, though.

I met the crew at the hangar. It was late afternoon and the airstrip looked deserted. I spotted the Cessna and two other planes inside, but no one—and, more significantly, no planes—interrupted our shoot. Aside from a bump or two due to the runway’s patchy surface, I was pleased with the shots. Hank probably could smooth out the bumps in post, even speed up the motion so it looked like a plane taking off.

I was watching Mac and the crew break down the camera, thinking how we’d edit the sequence, when it came to me. “Of course!” I exclaimed. “Why didn’t I think of that before?”

“Excuse me?” Mac looked up.

“You know what we need?”

“What?”

“An aerial.”

Mac frowned. “An aerial?”

“For the opening of the show. Think about it. We’re introducing the Land of Lodge. What better way to do it than with an aerial of the compound? We start wide: We see Lake Geneva, the lake, the roads, the town. Then we slowly zoom in—or maybe cut to a series of shots, each one closer and closer—until we dissolve to a ground shot.”

“You mean like those shots of the earth from space, and then you move closer and closer and you finally zoom in on the man walking down Main Street?”

I cocked my head. “Well, maybe not that grandiose, but yeah.”

Mac considered it. “It could work.”

I beamed, grateful for Mac’s approval, however understated.

He looked around. His gaze stopped at the hangar. “You know anyone with a plane?”

“Um…actually, I thought maybe you might be able to scare one up through your uncle.”

“I told you. We haven’t spoken in years.”

“It was just a thought.” I paused. “Maybe the Lodge can recommend someone.”

“I have another—”

The sudden whine of an engine cut through the air. I jumped at the sound, but it wasn’t a plane. A green pickup was heading down the access road. It veered onto the tarmac and swerved to a stop. Luke Sutton slid out and headed over to the hangar.

Mac turned around. “What’s that they say about prayers being answered?”

I stared at the truck.

“You’re not still pissed about the other day, are you?”

“He drives a green pickup.”

“And I drive a blue Expedition.”

“The shooter in all three sniper attacks drove a green pickup.”

“Ellie,” Mac said with a trace of scorn, “get over it. There are hundreds—no thousands—of green pickups in the world.”

Luke let himself in a small door on the side of the hangar building. Mac started walking toward the hangar.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I called after him.

Mac turned around. “You want the shot?”

“Not if I have to—to suck up to him.”

Mac stopped and gave me a shrug. “You’re the producer.”

The overhead hangar door rolled up. The interior went from gloomy to bright, bathed in the afternoon sun. Mac went back to the camera. The Cessna started to roll out of the hangar, with Luke Sutton in the cockpit. He was wearing sunglasses. Then the plane stopped, and the cockpit door swung open. He jumped down and walked over. Mac put the camera gently on the ground. He and Sutton exchanged nods. I stood behind Mac.

“What can we do for you?” Mac asked.

With his sunglasses on, I couldn’t tell if Sutton was looking at Mac or at me. “It occurred to me I probably should check before I go up this time. I don’t want any problems when I land.” He gestured toward me. “I’m sure you don’t, either. Are you still going to be here in, say, two hours?”

Mac pointed to the camera on the ground. “We’re pretty much all wrapped up here. Right, Ellie?” He turned around. “Unless you want to do that other thing.”

My throat closed up. I wanted to kick him. I wouldn’t ask Luke Sutton for help. Not when he’d nearly run me over in his plane and never apologized. Not when I had questions about his relationship to Daria Flynn.

Mac waited for what seemed to be an eternity, then shrugged. “I guess we’re on our way. But hey. Thanks for checking.”

Luke gave us—Mac?—me?—another nod and started back to the Cessna. Mac folded his arms. Another eternity passed. Luke was about to hoist himself back up in the cockpit when I reconsidered. Maybe I was being shortsighted. If he did help us out, there might be a way to ask him—subtly—about his meetings with Daria Flynn. Get his take on the other shootings. His relationship with Jimmy Saclarides.

“Hold on a minute,” I called.

Luke stopped.

“We—Mac and I—would like to ask you a question.”

He turned around.

I looked over at Mac. He was watching me with interest. I took a step forward. “We’d—I’d really like to get an aerial shot of the Lodge. From the air. For the video. Would you—I mean—do you think you’d be willing to help us out?”

Luke stood there, not saying anything.

“We could pay you,” I added. “Not a lot. But enough to cover your fuel.”

The lowering sun glinted behind him, throwing his face into shadow but shooting a corona of rays around him. “I might.”

“Really? That’s great.”

“But I can only take up one of you.” He yanked a thumb back toward the Cessna. “There are only two seats.”

“That’s okay,” I said quickly. “Mac’s the cameraman. I won’t be going.”

Luke came back over. Something about him: the tilt of his head, his stance, the way he slid his hands in his jeans pockets, made me think he was pleased. “When did you want to do this?”

“Anytime it’s convenient. Over the next few days.”

Mac cut in. “Actually, Ellie, shouldn’t you scout the shot ahead of time?”

A ripple of panic shot through me. I spun around. “That won’t be necessary,” I said worriedly. “I trust you.”

“But you’re the producer. You call the shots.”

What was he doing? He knew how I felt about planes. “Mac, like I said, I trust you to get the shot.”

“It’s me you don’t trust,” Luke said.

I whipped around. “No. That’s not it. I mean—not really.” Did he know about my fear of flying? How could he?

He planted his hands on his hips. “I’m going up. You could check out the shot right now.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “I—I don’t think so. It’s late.”

Despite the shadows, I thought I saw a smile on his face. “Are you afraid?”

“Of—of course not,” I blustered.

Mac made a small snorting sound but covered it with a cough. What was going on? Was there some kind of private old boys’ network that made guys like these stick together?

Sutton waited.

“We’re finished here, Ellie,” Mac said. “You coming or not?”

Suddenly I remembered. I couldn’t go up in the plane. I’d driven out with Mac, and my car was at his studio in Chicago. I motioned toward Mac. “I can’t. I—they’re my ride. I have no way to get back.”

“You can take the van,” Mac offered. “I’ll drive back with the crew.”

I skewered him with a hard look.

He pasted on a bland expression.

Luke watched.

No more excuses. I had to decide.

***

As soon as I was strapped into the Cessna, I knew I’d made a mistake. I was voluntarily going up in an airplane, something I’d never do by choice. Even worse, I’d put my life in the hands of someone I barely knew. And trusted even less. What was I thinking? How could I have been so stupid?

The interior of the Cessna didn’t help. The cockpit was more cramped than a car. My head grazed the ceiling, and I had to keep my knees bent. A bewildering jumble of dials and gauges, each of them probably measuring something critical for our survival, were built into a wood-paneled console in front. The leather seats swiveled and were surprisingly comfortable, but they were nothing like a commercial airliner’s. A contraption that looked like half a steering wheel was wedged in front of both seats. Why was there one in front of me? Was I supposed to do something?

Sutton strapped himself in and started the engine. The roar was so deafening my body started to vibrate. I leaned toward him. “You know, maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.”

He studied the dials in the cockpit.

“Listen, Luke….”

He did something with the throttle that kicked the engine up another notch. The Cessna started forward and taxied to the end of the runway. I put my hands over my ears.

He reached behind the seats and pulled out two pairs of headphones. “Here. Put these on.” He handed one pair to me and slipped the other over his ears.

“Now,” he yelled. He pulled back on the wheel. The engine grew even louder.

I put them on, and we accelerated. As the plane gathered speed, the familiar panic started to build. The hangar flew by in a blur of white. The trees at the edge of the runway loomed ahead. We were going to crash into them! I squeezed my eyes shut and recited the Sh’ma. At least I would die quickly. Then the plane lifted, and I felt it buck. There was a powerful surge, and we angled sharply up.

When I dared to open my eyes, we had cleared the trees by at least fifty feet and were climbing fast. I glanced over at Luke. His features relaxed. He checked the dials again, then looked over at me. He did something with the wheel and the plane leveled out. He pushed his sunglasses on top of his head.

“Take a look.” His voice came through the headphones, tinny and nasal.

I peeked out. The ground was rushing away from us, but the higher we went, the more I could see. Below us was the Lodge: the hotel, the condos, the pool, the spa building, even the bunny hill. To our right a palette of earth colors—fields and crops—stretched to the horizon. To our left lay Lake Geneva, whitecaps sparkling in the late afternoon sun.

“Is this what you’re looking for?”

“It’s perfect.”

“Good.” He pulled on the wheel. The nose shot up again. I gripped my seat. He saw it. “You’re afraid to fly, aren’t you?”

I bit my lip. How did he know? I nodded.

His face softened. He did something with the wheel. The plane started to bank. “Don’t worry. I’ve been doing this a long time. I want to get back just as much as you.”

We rose even higher. Long shadows crept across the ground. A blush stained the western sky. Despite the roar of the engine, I imagined a deep silence on the ground.

“Nice, huh?” For the first time since I’d known him, he smiled. Such a sunny, wide-open smile, I had to smile back.

“It is.”

“Why do you think I’m involved in Daria Flynn’s murder?”

His frankness caught me off-guard. I ran a finger underneath the strap of my seat belt. “If you’re not, why haven’t you said so?”

“Because everyone knows I’m not.”

“Everyone who counts.”

He squinted.

“Including the chief of police, who happens to be your best friend.”

“I thought so.” His voice through the headphones turned grim.

“Thought what?”

“You think because Charles Sutton is my father and Jimmy Saclarides is my buddy, I can get away with anything.”

“Like I said, if you haven’t done anything wrong, why not say so?”

“You’ve heard about an individual’s right to privacy?”

I shook my head. “Everybody up here falls back on that. But don’t you think you should have waived it in this situation? I mean, your reputation was at stake.”

“My reputation’s been trashed for years,” he said tiredly. “I don’t care about that.”

“What do you care about?”

“My mother. She doesn’t need any more publicity.”

He stared straight ahead. I wasn’t sure how to respond. After a moment, he motioned out the window. “Now look.”

We were much higher now. Below us stretched a ribbon of highway. Cars crept in both directions, resembling those miniature models little boys collect. Dollhouse buildings with postage-stamp lawns sat beside them. Every so often, a highway cloverleaf twined around the road. We weren’t that far up, but I felt strangely exhilarated, almost as if I’d run a marathon. I made it. I was flying!

“You know where we are?”

“That’s 94. The toll road.”

He nodded. “The Lake Forest oasis is directly below us.” He started to bank the plane again. But as the plane rolled diagonally, there was a bump. Fear spiked through me.

“That was just an air pocket,” he said through the headphones. “In summer, the heat rises, and when it hits cooler air, you feel a bump or two. Nothing to worry about.”

I nodded. I wanted to say thank you but something held me back. He glanced at the dials on the cockpit. One of them was called an altimeter, I suddenly remembered. It measured how level you were. Eventually the lines on the altimeter went horizontal.

“I did see Daria Flynn,” Luke said. “A couple of times.”

I looked over.

“But it was all business.”

He had this habit of suddenly sprinkling critical bits of information into the conversation.

“She wanted to start her own catering business, and she wanted to cater my airline.”

“Your airline?”

“It’s a new business venture.”

“Like United and American?”

“No. A no-frills kind.”

He was starting an airline? “Why? I mean, how? Where? When did you start?”

He smiled. “You missed ‘who.’”

“Sorry. I just meant…well, I didn’t expect—”

“Because I don’t
need
to work for a living?”

I felt my cheeks flush. “Well, to be honest, yes. Partly. Why didn’t you go into the railroad business?”

He hesitated for a moment. “I’ve been flying all my life.” I wondered about the pause. “I was about ten when my uncle took me up in his Piper for the first time. I never knew you could feel so—so full of possibilities. There’s something liberating about being in the air. That feeling never went away. Even in the army, I couldn’t wait to go up.”

“You were in the army?”

“Something wrong with that, too?”