Discovering You (29 page)

“Hey, I live across the street over there.” He gestured as if someone else could see them. “Just wanted to tell you that you have a broken sprinkler that's been shooting up like a geyser every morning.”

“I don't live here,” Rod told him, “but I'll tell the people who do.”

“Great. Thanks. With what we have to pay for water, I thought you'd like to know,” he said and walked away as if he was merely doing his neighborly duty.

Breathing a long sigh, Rod stood in the entry. He wanted to text India, but he knew Frank would reassure her, that Frank had come on her request. And he didn't want to be holding his phone if Sebastian walked out of the back bedroom to see who'd been at the door.

He shouldn't have worried. Sebastian didn't appear. Neither did Eddie or Sheila. The noise roused only the kids. Two little girls came out of a room—one dragging a blanket behind her and the other sucking her thumb.

Rod was surprised that they barely looked at him. They didn't approach him the way most kids would, didn't speak to him, either. They showed no curiosity or interest at all. They just found a channel showing a cartoon and sat down to watch.

Obviously, having a stranger in the house was nothing unusual. Rod was considering getting Van out of bed. But that didn't turn out to be necessary. Van appeared of his own volition a few seconds later. Although he seemed groggy—had the waffle-like imprint of a blanket on his cheek and his hair was mussed—he took one look at Rod and then Rod's cast and stopped short.

“Hey, are you the guy—”

Rod interrupted before he could finish. “Good morning. Sleep well?”

He nodded but was distracted when his cousins begged him for food.

Van went to the kitchen and got them each a bowl of cold cereal, which he put down in front of them. Then he offered Rod some.

Rod was impressed. He could tell there wasn't much cereal left. He was afraid these children weren't getting the nutrition they needed. Meth addicts often went without food for long periods, since the drug suppressed appetite. Rod wasn't about to take the little they
did
have. “No. I'm not hungry,” he said. “You eat it. Then maybe we can go out and throw a baseball. Would you like to do that?”

His eyes widened. “You mean...
you and me
?”

“Sure. Why not? It'd beat sitting here watching these lame cartoons, wouldn't it?”

He grinned. “Heck, yeah!”

“You have a mitt?”

His face fell. “No. I don't ever get to play baseball.”

“Then we can buy you a mitt. There's got to be a store around here somewhere.”

“You're going to
buy
me a mitt?”

“If you'd like one.”

He looked around as if he thought this must be a setup, and Rod felt terrible that, in a way, it was. “Sure. But I'm not very good, not like the other boys at school.”

“All it takes is practice. Why don't you ask Sheila if you can go to the store with me?”

“I can't.”

“Go to the store?”

“Ask. She won't be up until a lot later. And I'll get in big trouble if I bother her or Sebastian while they're sleeping.”

“Then you'd better stay here while I go grab the mitt. So you don't get into any trouble.”

“I can go with you,” he said. “They won't care. Not if I don't wake them up.”

Rod suspected that was the truth but still felt he should leave him behind. It wasn't right to take someone's kid without asking. But Sebastian or Eddie could be up when he got back, could insist on going out to throw with them or come sit on the porch to watch. That meant he might never have another chance to really talk to Van.

He'd risked this much; it was time to go all in.

“Okay,” he said. “Let's get in the truck.”

26

E
ddie had to meet his supplier. That meant he had to drag his ass out of bed and get showered. “Yogi,” as the man called himself, wasn't a thug. He worked downtown San Francisco, in the financial district. Selling crystal meth helped him maintain an enviable lifestyle, one that included owning a yacht and jetting off to Paris at will, and he took all sources of income seriously. He wasn't a user; he was far too much of a health fanatic for that. This dude had his life
in control
. He just didn't have any compunction about making money off those who weren't quite so disciplined.

“What's wrong with people these days?” he'd say. “It's such a lie that drug dealers are ruining lives. We're not forcing this shit on anyone. At what point can we expect people to take responsibility for their own actions? If they're stupid enough to destroy their bodies and brains by smoking stuff they know is harmful, that's their problem. It's not as if people haven't been warned. The dangers of drugs are plastered all over billboards from here to New York City! Sixth-graders have been taught to avoid this shit!”

His philosophy made it easier for Eddie to sleep at night. But he hated Yogi. The guy was a coldhearted bastard who would never make any exceptions or concessions. When Eddie had shown up late for their last meeting, he'd been put on “probation,” which meant he'd be fired if he was ever late again.
Late!
As if that was such a big deal!

Eddie was tempted to take the fat stack of cash he had to turn in and skip town. Losing ten grand might make Yogi think twice about treating his dealers like bottom-feeders. But the money wouldn't last forever, and Eddie was too afraid Yogi would catch up with him. As “civilized” as Yogi pretended to be, Eddie had no doubt he'd resort to very drastic punishment, maybe even murder. After having him killed, Yogi would probably say, “He knew the rules. He chose to break them.” With Yogi, it was infraction, punishment, period.

But now that Sebastian was back home, and the cops were driving through the neighborhood all the time, perhaps watching the house, Eddie was afraid he'd be followed. Yogi had warned him that they might try to get him on a drug charge so they could make a deal—information on Sebastian in exchange for a lighter sentence—and that worried Eddie. He could wind up going to prison because he wouldn't rat on his brother. And if he went to prison, he'd be even more vulnerable than the average inmate. Yogi wouldn't tolerate him screwing up like that after he'd been warned; Yogi would be too worried he'd eventually rat him out.

Eddie needed to move, get away from his brother. But he hadn't expected Sebastian to ever be released. That he'd gotten off was a miracle.

Eddie felt better after a shower—until he found out the kids had eaten all the damn cereal. “What the hell? You didn't save me
any
?” he said, glaring at the two little girls sitting in front of the TV.

Matilda and Peggy blinked up at him but turned back to their cartoon without answering. He hated it when they did that—looked through him as if he wasn't there. What happened to respect? They deserved a good spanking, which he'd be more than happy to deliver.

“I asked you a question. Did you hear me?”

Matilda, the older, flinched when he raised his hand and finally answered. “Van got it out for us. We didn't know we couldn't have it.”

“Van's awake?” he said. “Where is that pain in the ass?”

“He went outside with some guy.” Peggy still had her hands up, as if she might have to fend off a blow.

“
What
guy?”

“I don't know.”

He walked over to the window, parted the drapes and saw a big blue truck parked at the curb. Rod Cunningham, the guy who'd partied with them last night, owned it. He hadn't gone home? Why the hell not? And what was he doing with Van?

A trickle of unease ran down Eddie's spine. Why had that guy taken an interest in Sheila's kids? Was he some kind of sexual pervert?

No way. They'd hung with him last night. He'd seemed cool. A guy like Rod could get just about any woman he wanted. Why would he be interested in kids? And he couldn't be working for the cops. He'd known Dave at the pool hall, hadn't he?

Eddie remembered that little wave, the one he hadn't bothered to check out, and could already feel Yogi's disapproval. He should've been more careful. So what if the dude smoked some crystal with them last night? An undercover cop would go that far, wouldn't he? Undercovers had to do
something
to be believable or they'd be too easy to spot.

“Shit.” He went outside to see what was going on, but he didn't have to go far. Rod was teaching Van how to throw a ball in the vacant lot kitty-corner to them. Eddie could hear him yelling, “No, put your opposite foot forward. That's it. That'll give you more power. Now let me see what you've got.”

Neither of them seemed to notice that he'd come out of the house, so Eddie walked over to Rod's truck, which blocked him from view, and took a peek inside. Except for a Starbucks cup, a sack and some packaging from the sporting goods store where he'd apparently bought the athletic equipment he and Van were using, it looked fairly clean. The doors were locked, but whoever had gotten out of the passenger door hadn't shut it tightly enough to latch.

Eddie opened it and poked around. Found some papers stuffed under the seat. They were work orders from some place called Amos Auto Body in Whiskey Creek, California. Did Rod work there? Because he'd said his cousin owned the auto body shop where he was working and it was nearby.

They had to come from his work, Eddie decided. They weren't for
his
truck; they were for all different makes and models. So maybe they were from a previous job. But then, why would he keep them?

“Hold on! You're using the wrong foot again,” Rod yelled to Van.

Eddie opened the glove box. Inside, he found a pack of gum, an owner's manual, a tire pressure gauge, a box of condoms and the DMV paperwork for the truck. He expected to find Rod Cunningham as the registered owner, but the slip read Rodney
Amos
—like the Amos in the company name on those work orders—and had an address in Whiskey Creek.

What the hell? Why didn't the names match? And where was Whiskey Creek?

He glanced at his watch. He had to get going.

After folding up the registration and one of those work orders, he shoved them in his pocket. Then he put everything back in Rod's glove box and hurried inside the house to brush his teeth and get his keys.

Before he left, he woke Sebastian. “Something's going on with that guy you brought home last night,” he said.

Scratching his head, Sebastian squinted up at him. “What're you talking about?” he mumbled, still half-asleep.

Sheila stirred in the bed beside him but didn't wake completely. With a groan, she rolled over as if she didn't appreciate the noise. Eddie didn't care if he disturbed her. It was about time she got her ass out of bed so she could take care of her kids. Maybe Van wouldn't be out playing ball with a total stranger if she was any kind of mother.

“That guy? The guy who said his name was Rod Cunningham?” Eddie said.

Sebastian yawned. “Yeah? What about him?”

“I don't think Cunningham's his real name. It's Rod Amos.”

As those words registered, Sebastian sat up—and the sleepiness fell away. “What makes you say
that
?”

Eddie pulled Rod's registration and that work order out of his pocket and threw them both on the bed. “This stuff.”

“What is it?”

“The registration on his truck and some auto body work order.”

“You checked his registration?”

“I went through his glove box.” Eddie had no more time to explain. “I gotta go. I'll come back as soon as I can. Meanwhile, you better hope he isn't a cop.”

Sebastian peered at the documents. “He's not a cop. Cops don't work out of their own jurisdiction. And Whiskey Creek has nothing to do with Charlie Sommers.”

“Then maybe he's not a cop. Maybe he's another private investigator. Charlie Sommers's parents have the money to hire an army of them, and they've hired a few over the past year. I told you that when you were in jail we had guys sniffing around here all the time, trying to talk us into giving up something that would get the charges against you to stick.”

The blood drained from Sebastian's face. “Oh, shit...”

“Exactly. You need to get your ass out of bed and deal with this
now
,” Eddie said. “Check him out real good, because if I get arrested, I'm going to tell the cops everything I know. No way I'm going to prison 'cause you let the wrong guy get too close.”

“He came right into our house. Smoked some crystal with us, man. That's ballsy,” Sebastian marveled, his voice filled with shock.

“Don't let him become a problem.”

“Where is he now?”

“Outside, playing ball with Van.”

“He's
what
?”

“You heard me,” Eddie said and rushed out.

* * *

Frustrating though it was, Rod hadn't been able to get any information out of Van.

The boy knew
something
. He was holding back; Rod could feel it. But no matter how often Rod brought up the night Charlie was murdered, Van wouldn't talk about it. Rod guessed he'd been upset when he'd said what he did before, and now that he was calm, he was too afraid to talk about the adults in his life.

Getting him to open up would take some time. He'd have to build the boy's confidence and trust—maybe more than he'd initially believed. He still considered it worth the effort. The anger in this child, the outrage, would eventually cause the truth to come out. But that was more likely to happen when Van was a teenager or an adult and he felt less threatened.

Rod didn't have nearly that long, couldn't keep chasing this on the off chance he was right.

“What're you doing?” Van's face creased with worry when Rod paused to text India. Rod knew Frank would've told her he was okay, but he didn't want her going crazy in that motel room, wondering why he hadn't come home since then.

“Telling someone I care about where I am.”

“Oh. You don't have to go home yet, do you?”

The poor kid was so starved for positive attention and so grateful for what Rod was teaching him that Rod didn't have the heart to disappoint him. “Not quite yet.”

“Good.” He smiled, which wasn't something he did as often as most young boys. But after Rod had thrown him a few more balls, half of which Van missed, Van's smile disappeared. He was becoming frustrated with his own lack of ability. “How long will it take me to get good at this?” he asked.

“It doesn't happen overnight, Van,” Rod said. “You have to be patient.”

“Will it take a week?”

Rod chuckled as he threw another ball, and this time Van managed to get it in his mitt. “Probably several weeks. But you could improve quickly.”

He groaned when he missed another one.
“How?”

“Practice. The more you practice, the better you'll be.”

He hesitated before throwing the ball back. “Are you going to take my glove when you go?”

“No, of course not. That belongs to you. You'll have to work it in, make it more supple. You should write your name on it.”

“But who'll throw to me?” Sebastian wasn't likely to take an interest in his wife's nephew.

“Why can't your uncle?” Rod knew that the only person Sebastian cared about was Sebastian. But this gave Rod another chance to bring India's ex-boyfriend into the conversation.

Van mumbled something Rod couldn't hear.

“What was that?” he asked.

“I said, ‘He won't.'”

“What about Eddie?”

He shook his head as if Eddie wasn't a possibility, either.

“Your aunt?”

A roll of Van's eyes told Rod he should know better than to suggest any of them.

“There's gotta be boys at school who like to play ball,” Rod said.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But they won't play with
me
. I'm no good. I'm always the last one who gets picked at recess or PE.”

Fortunately, Rod had never had to go through that. He'd always excelled at sports. He'd had older brothers who were also athletic and had taught him and played with him. In any event, if anyone ever
had
said he couldn't play, he probably would've given that kid a bloody lip. Like Van, he'd been angry—so angry that he'd acted out a lot. Only, he hadn't been quite so beaten down. He had Dylan to thank for that. This boy had no one.

“I'll throw with you whenever I'm around,” Rod said.

Van perked up. “You're coming back?”

The last thing Rod wanted to do was hurt this boy in any way, so he felt it was important not to set his expectations too high. “Probably. For the next little while. But I have to move in a couple of weeks, so I won't be around forever.”

His shoulders drooped. “Oh.”

“By then you'll be playing as well as the other boys, and you won't need me,” Rod said, hoping to encourage him.

Van didn't respond. He needed somebody for a lot more than throwing and catching.

It was a hot day, so after another fifteen or twenty minutes, Rod called him over to the sidewalk, where he'd left the sports drinks he'd purchased when they went to the store.

“This is good!” Van said as he gulped half the bottle.

Rod stifled a smile. Van was feeling pretty pleased with the attention he was receiving. “Tell me something,” he said.

The boy squinted up at him. “What?”

Rod lowered his voice. “Would you like it if Sebastian was gone?”