Childless: A Novel (22 page)

Tyler sat
in his car rereading the partially completed application he had taken from the New Day Transition Clinic. It stubbornly refused to give him even one additional clue. He took a first bite of his second doughnut before wiping the side of his mouth on a glaze-smeared napkin. He would have used the fresh napkin sitting on the passenger-side seat had it not held notes that, sadly, summarized his entire investigation.

• 4 letters from “A Manichean” 
  
• 3 polite. 4th seems a threat 
  
• Jeremy = most to gain from NEXT loss 
  
• Hannah hates them—possible suspect? 
  
• New Day Clinic a bit pushy but legit 
  

He needed more. He crammed the rest of doughnut number two into his mouth before attempting to speak a command.

“Please repeat,” the device said in response.

Tyler swallowed without chewing and tried again. “Association search for A Manichean.”

“Three thousand relevant results. Please specify to narrow.”

“Within one hundred miles of Denver,” he said while licking glaze from his thumb.

“Please repeat.”

He sighed as he reached for the tablet. “I’ll just type it in!”

“Thank you,” the device said politely.

Two quick taps left a sugary smudge that reminded Tyler he still had four deliciously sticky fingers. He sucked the glaze from each while trying to clean the mess. Then he groaned at the streak left on the keyboard by the used napkin.

These notes are useless anyway
, he thought while grabbing his case summary document. Seconds later the screen was legible again.

The phone rang in his ear.

“Tyler Cain,” he answered.

“Good morning, Mr. Cain.” He recognized the voice, but couldn’t immediately place it. He glanced at the dash screen:
JULIA DAVIDSON, JOURNALIST
.

“Oh, hi, Ms. Davidson,” he said with surprise.

“Simmons.”

“Right. Ms. Simmons.”
Probably calling to thank me
, he thought. “How’d it go with Austin?”

“Actually, quite well. I’m including his story in the series. Thanks for making the connection.”

“Like I told you, Austin’s definitely a dark zone kind of guy.”

“The story won’t use his real name, but you’ll recognize him. It should run in the next few weeks.”

The comment reminded Tyler to subscribe. “I look forward to reading it. Glad I could help.”

“I’d like to return the favor,” Julia began. “Something came up I think might prove helpful in your investigation.”

“Really?” he said as if spotting a sliver of light through an overcast sky. “Let me hear it.”

“During our chat you said the judge had received three letters, is that right?”

“Four, actually.”

“Four letters then. And you said the person seemed urgent to know Santiago’s opinion on the appeal?”

“That’s right.”

“Did the writer indicate whether he or she hoped the judge would decide for or against NEXT?”

Tyler glanced at the notes on his now-crumpled napkin and decided to play the odds. “Against.”

“You’re sure about that?”

He remembered Hannah Walker asking the same question. “Well, actually, the letters don’t indicate one way or the other. But we’ve assumed—”

“Don’t,” Julia interrupted. “Don’t assume the writer wants NEXT to lose the case. There are some very powerful people who need NEXT to win that appeal. Some of them might even go to extreme lengths in order to protect their interests.”

“What kind of interests are you talking about?”

Tyler waited. Why the long silence? Was she trying to convince herself to say the rest? “Mrs. Simmons?”

“Please, call me Julia.”

“OK, Julia. What kind of interests?”

She hesitated, then spoke. “It’s probably totally unrelated to this case, but my husband learned of a conversation that took place in Washington that sheds light on the importance of the NEXT case.”

“Go on,” Tyler said.

Julia told him about the large check Kevin Tolbert had declined to accept from a man named Evan Dimitri.

“So this Dimitri guy has the exclusive supplier contract with NEXT?” Tyler chewed on the revelation for a moment. “And he threatened Congressman Tolbert?”

“Not exactly threatened. But he was clearly upset by Kevin’s refusal.”

He let the additional information settle. “I don’t get it,” he finally said. “I imagine those kinds of lunch conversations happen every day in Washington. Why did you think to mention this one? I don’t see what it has to do with the Santiago case.”

“Maybe nothing,” she said. “But for whatever reason it made me think of you. I remembered you saying you thought those letters came from someone like Jeremy. Someone who has a lot to gain if NEXT loses its appeal.”

“And you think I’m on the wrong track?”

“I do. I think you need to consider who has something to
lose
rather than something to gain. Evan Dimitri, among others, could lose a fortune in sales if anything undermines the transition industry.”

“Like a wrongful death victory against NEXT.”

“Exactly,” she said.

Tyler’s mind began racing as new possibilities breathed life into a dead-end investigation.

“Anyway,” Julia was saying, “I wanted to mention it in case it could help you find the culprit.”

“Thank you, Julia,” he said. “It certainly can’t hurt.”

They ended the call. Tyler remembered his search and grabbed his tablet.

“Association search,” he began. “Evan Dimitri and A Manichean.”

“Please repeat.”

He cursed, then began tapping the revised query onto the screen.

“No results,” the tablet said disappointingly.

He deleted
A MANICHEAN
and hit
SEARCH
again. A string of results surfaced, most of them press releases about quarterly profits, emerging innovations, and recent acquisitions. Tyler tapped the most promising. To his surprise it didn’t bring him to a company site, but rather to the news posting page from a political action group called the Saratoga Foundation.

A musical ping interrupted Tyler’s reading. He looked at the dash screen. A short text message.

“For Pete’s
sake!” Reverend Grandpa shouted from his perch. “Shut the door!”

Matthew should have knocked. He had been too eager to take one last peek at his freshly ironed collar and swish one last shot of mouthwash before leaving. He apologized at the mutually embarrassing intrusion and pulled the door closed as quickly as he had opened it. Then he heard the old man’s voice mushroom from a slow, deep chuckle into a leg-brace-slapping roar of laughter.

“You should have seen the size of your eyeballs!” Reverend Grandpa said between guffaws, his voice slightly muffled by the bathroom door. “You looked like a little boy accidently skipping into the ladies’ locker room!”

If only
, Matthew thought. That would have been much less disturbing than the image now trapped behind his still-closed eyelids.

“Sorry, son,” the old man said after one last snigger. “Thought you had left already. I shouldn’t be long.”

Matthew knew better. Besides, he had no desire to use the room now. “It’s all right. I’m good. See you tonight.”

“Have a good time, my boy.”

Matthew walked back to the bedroom to grab a gift he had finished wrapping moments earlier. The box contained a framed picture of a photo he had clipped and saved from the Littleton High School annual; a little something he hoped Maria Davidson would appreciate. Maybe even like.

“I’m off,” he said, shooting Donny a wave.

“You’re still here?” Donny said. “I thought you left.”

“So did the Rev. I needed to wrap a little something.” Matthew displayed the package.

Donny grinned and nodded.

“Thanks again for covering for me. I owe you one.”

“No problem, man.” Donny’s eyes were fixed on a television screen mounted on the kitchen wall. “Sure you wouldn’t rather hang out with us boys to watch the rest of the game?” He chuckled at his own dumb question. Of course Matthew didn’t want to watch baseball instead of go on his first official date with the most amazing woman on the planet. Still, he sweetened the deal by holding up a partially consumed bag of cheese puffs. “I brought your favorites.”

“Tempting. But I’ll pass.”

Matthew started toward the back door, then looked back toward his in-a-pinch pal with a twinge of guilt. Should he have warned him about Reverend Grandpa’s evangelistic fervor? Should he suggest steering clear of religious topics?

“Forget something?” Donny asked.

Matthew shook his head. “Good luck, buddy.”

Donny shrugged, then looked back toward the game while tossing a single puff in the air to nearly catch it in his mouth.

As Matthew slipped out the door his phone rang from his front jeans pocket. He glanced at the screen and realized he needed to take the call, much as he hated any delays. “Hi, Ben,” he answered. “Thanks for getting back to me.”

“Hello, Matthew.” Just as distant as the last time they’d spoken.

“How’s Carol?” Small talk might help thaw the chill.

“How should she be?”

Matthew could tell Ben intended to make him work for every syllable of conversation.

“Give her my love.”

“I will. Right after we get back from wasting another five hundred or a thousand dollars of your mom’s estate on a romantic dinner and bottle of wine.”

“Very funny. I never said you were—”

“What do you need, Matthew?” Ben asked as if speaking to a disruptive child raising his hand for yet another trip to the bathroom.

Matthew swallowed back contempt. Further antagonism in an already tense relationship wouldn’t help matters.

“Did you get my message?”

“I did.”

“Did it make sense?”

“It didn’t.”

Matthew inhaled deeply. “Well, I need to know whether I can redirect a portion of my mother’s estate to the University of Colorado.”

A brief silence told him wheels were turning in Ben’s head.

“Ben? Did you hear me?”

“You can’t do that,” Ben said decisively.

“Why not?”

“I already told you, the money can’t be released until—”

“It can’t be released to
me
,” Matthew interrupted. “But I’m asking if some of it can go to the university. You know, as a donation. I wouldn’t get a penny.”

Another spell of silence.

“Ben?”

“Why?”

Now Matthew went silent to consider options. Should he tell Ben the whole story? It might help if he knew Dr. Vincent had suggested the idea. Or would it be better to feed Ben information on a need-to-know basis?

“Matthew? What kind of scheme are you up to?”

“It’s not a scheme,” Matthew snapped as he placed the wrapped gift on the hood of his car to free a hand. He opened the door while admiring the package that symbolized his real goals.
Get back to school and become a professor. Do something with your life worthy of a woman like Maria Davidson
. “I just need to know if it can be done, OK?”

Matthew sensed the lawyer’s subdued chafing. He didn’t care.

“All right, Matty.” Matthew hated when Ben used Aunt Carol’s nickname for him. “I’ll look into the possibility. Seems like a long shot, but I’ll check it out.”

Matthew had hoped to know before his date with Maria. A simple question, he assumed, with a quick yes-or-no answer. No such luck.

“When will you know?” Matthew pushed.

He heard Ben’s familiar put-out sigh. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Each waited for the other to speak next.

“Thanks,” Matthew relented. “I’ll expect a call tomorrow.”

He ended the call before Ben could respond.

Matthew knew Maria’s eyes were trying to read his reaction. He had to say something, anything, now.

“Of course I don’t mind.”

He sensed her gaze sinking. Say more!

“In fact,” he added quickly, “this is great!”

He hoped to sound convincing despite the shock. So much for a romantic dinner alone followed by, what had he expected, a trip back to her apartment? His first glance at her incredible outfit had said,
Yes
. Her son’s sulking presence said,
Not a chance
.

Matthew recalled Maria’s asking if he wanted to meet Jared on the day they’d had coffee. He had assumed she meant later, after the two of them spent time together. After they had hit it off. Not on their first real date, if that’s what this was. Did she want the protection of a third wheel? Did the boy lack friends, someone to hang out with during his mom’s date? Or maybe, he hoped, his presence meant Maria really liked Matthew, that she wanted him to see the full package sooner rather than later.

He realized he had been silent for a few seconds. “Put ’er there, buddy,” Matthew said hastily, shoving his hand toward the boy.

Jared crossed his arms while turning to glower at his mother.

“Come on, man, don’t leave me hangin’.”

Which is exactly what the boy did.

Maria gave Matthew an embarrassed smile. “Sorry,” she said.

Her eyes seemed like a plea for Matthew’s help, triggering in him a curious sense of purpose. He tried to imagine the relationship between Maria and her twelve-year-old son, a boy who must be leery of the countless men hovering around his flower of a mom. Some of them, perhaps, had hurt her. Or him.

“Listen,” he said, lowering his extended hand. No point in pretending with the boy. “I get it. You don’t want to spend time becoming best friends with some old guy just because he likes your mom.”

Maria seemed pleased by the comment.

Matthew looked at the restaurant hostess, who had already retrieved a pair of menus in anticipation of seating the “party of two” reserved under his name.

“And I’d be shocked if this young lady even has a table for three available.”

The hostess looked toward the half-empty dining area, then back toward the trio. She followed Matthew’s lead. “I’m afraid I only reserved a table for two, sir,” she said with a complicit grin.

“So we have two choices,” Matthew continued. “We can either call off the whole thing or”—he paused for dramatic impact—“we can jump in my car and head over to Conroy’s to grab some burgers and shakes and then play a few rounds of Battalion Call.”

The boy’s brow lifted slightly at the mention of the vintage virtual warfare game. Then he forced his expression back to a frown, followed by a shrug.

“Sounds fun,” Maria chirped. “What do you say, Jared?” She bumped him with a hip.

An hour later Matthew was sitting at a booth in front of empty burger wrappers and milkshake cups and a smattering of cold, neglected fries. He was listening to a grateful Maria confirm his suspicions. She did indeed have a rocky history with men.

“After that I promised Jared no more surprises. And I figured the best way to keep that promise was to bring him along.”

“Makes sense to me,” Matthew said as he glanced around the room to make sure the boy remained out of earshot. “He seems like a pretty good watchdog to keep away the wolves.”

An embarrassed giggle. “Actually, too good. You’re only my second date in the past six months.”

Matthew dropped his jaw. “Not possible.”

She blushed at the embarrassing secret and at the admiration in Matthew’s eyes.

“How about you?” she asked. “I bet you’ve had a long line of women in your life.”

He laughed awkwardly. “I wouldn’t say a long line.”

“What about Molly? I thought for sure she would pursue you after graduation.”

The name didn’t ring a bell at first. Then he remembered. “Jolly Molly Carson?” He blushed at the recollection. Maria had suggested Matthew ask Molly to the senior prom. It was the excuse she gave for rejecting his request. Said she couldn’t go with a guy Molly crushed on. Molly Carson had a pretty face, but a heavy figure. Her quick wit made her good for a laugh. But not for a prom date.

“We never went out,” Matthew said with a touch of offense. “I didn’t even know she liked me.”

“Who then?”

“Nobody you’d know,” he said limply.

She seemed to sense her mistake. “Well, I’m glad.”

His eyes met hers. “Glad? For what?”

“I’m glad you haven’t been serious with many girls.”

The comment surprised him, and pleased him. “Really? Why’s that?”

Maria turned toward the gaming machines as if looking for Jared. “I don’t know. I guess because it can include complications.” She appeared reflective, as if wondering what life might have been had she made different choices. Then she turned back toward Matthew with what seemed a smile of sincere admiration. She slid her hand toward his. “You look good, Matthew. I’m glad you got in touch.”

Feeling Maria’s softness, he considered slipping to her side of the booth. But he stayed put. Maria Davidson had offered herself to many men over the years. Each, he assumed, had eagerly tasted a small piece of the delicious creature touching him now. But he wanted more than a fragment, more than a short-term fling. And getting what he wanted meant heeding the warnings of a wary watchdog named Jared.

His hand retreated tenderly to retrieve the gift he had placed on the bench beside him. “I brought you something.”

A look of surprise. “What is it?”

“Open it and find out.”

She did. A picture frame. She flipped it over to view the image.

“Do you remember this?”

Watching her eyes, he saw she clearly did not. No matter. “I’ve kept that picture framed in my room ever since high school.”

She looked closer to examine the younger versions of them both. “Where did you get this picture?”

The question bothered him. She must have purchased their senior annual. Maria appeared in dozens of posed and spontaneous shots. But only one, this one, included Matthew Adams.

“It was in the annual,” he explained. “That was us in the lunch room on February twelfth of our senior year.”

“Right,” she said guardedly. “I guess I missed this one.”

A brief, awkward silence passed between them. What was she thinking?

“You know the exact date?” Maria asked.

“I sure do,” he said proudly.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Her soft allure seemed to harden, as if she were suddenly in the presence of a pesky stalker. It was the same look, he now remembered, she’d given him the day he asked her to go with him to the senior prom.

“That was great!” Jared shouted as he approached the booth. Both sets of eyes turned in the boy’s direction, grateful for the interruption. Matthew forced a smile, still wondering what was on Maria’s mind.

Jared slid into the open space beside his mom. The same space Matthew now thought he should have taken when he’d had the chance.

“Level eight!” the boy bragged in Matthew’s direction. “I hit level eight that time!”

Matthew offered a thin smile of congratulation. “Whoa. You rock, dude!” he said like the dinosaur he felt himself becoming.

Had the picture reminded Maria that the mysterious Matthew Adams was not an overlooked gem from high school sweeping back into Littleton after building a successful business? He was the pimple-faced geek who had dared violate class system boundaries by crushing on the most desirable girl at Littleton High. A guy who, it turned out, had been obsessed with her since February twelfth of their senior year.

Maria pulled Jared close, a motherly embrace that seemed to double as a human shield protecting her from whatever danger Matthew suddenly posed.

“Geez, Mom!” the boy said while pulling away. He scanned the room for potential witnesses. Coast clear, he relaxed enough to notice the picture frame.

“Is that you?” he asked his mom, looking closer at the picture.

She nodded. “Uh-huh.”

He continued examining the image. “Who’s the dorf?”

Maria’s eyes met Matthew’s. Both blushed at the embarrassing nature of the question. And at the truth of it.

“He wasn’t a dorf.” She gently slapped her son’s arm. “He was a friend.”

Not a
boy
friend. Not a long-lost love. Just a friend.

Maria quickly gathered the torn wrapping paper and bundled it around the frame before placing the gift beside her on the bench.

“Matthew brought it as a reminder of the good old days, didn’t you, Matthew?”