Fallen Idols (36 page)

“For how long?” He thought for a moment. “Do you think he's suspicious?”

“Of what?”

“Of us. Of everybody. If he isn't, he ought to be. He's been lying his ass off ever since mom died. Liars are paranoid. He's got to be wondering when the dime's going to be dropped on him.”

“Not necessarily,” she said in disagreement. “Maybe he thinks he's pulled it off, not telling you guys the truth.”

She got up and sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, facing him. “If he hadn't bought this expensive house, we wouldn't be here,” she said. “If he had moved to some reasonable place, no one would have thought to look into all the other stuff, the stocks, the insurance, none of it. It was the only chink in his armor, because what father expects his children to investigate him? Plus he's in heavy denial, you don't need to be a shrink to see that. Your mother's death, leaving the school, I know he could have fought to stay on but let's face it, they screwed him over, a man of his achievement and reputation. Those were bitter blows to absorb. We've talked about this before, but you can't forget it, Clancy. He is not seeing the world through a clear lens. So confronting him is not the way.”

He fell back. “So we do nothing?”

“No. We keep trying.”

“How?”

“I don't know yet,” she answered. “But I have a feeling that sooner or later we'll figure something out that'll give us a key.”

Callie didn't know how long she had been awake. She I was warm and uncomfortable. She wasn't sleeping well—ever since the hormonal changes that came with pregnancy she hadn't been able to sleep through the night. Clancy, lying beside her, slept heavily, his body curled up into itself. Quietly, so as not to disturb him, she slipped out of bed, took off her nightgown, donned the thick terry cloth robe that Emma, ever the gracious hostess bad laid out for her, grabbed a towel from the bathroom, and tiptoed out of the bedroom.

When she stepped out onto the back deck, she saw she wouldn't be swimming alone. Emma was already in the pool, stroking back and forth with practiced ease.

As she watched Emma swimming she thought, do I or don't I? This would be her final opportunity to try to pry open Emma's shell.

Let it go, she decided. She was too tired to engage Emma in psychological warfare. She had done what she could, and had drawn a blank. She'd have a nice swim, tire herself out so that she could fall asleep, and worry about Emma later on down the line. She stepped off the deck and walked barefoot across the lawn, which was damp with nighttime dew, toward the pool.

Emma was naked. Callie wasn't wearing a bathing suit, either; she hadn't expected anyone to be out here. As she stood at the edge of the pool, she hesitated for a moment. She was an athlete, she had been naked with scores of women in the locker room, but there was something about this situation and this woman that caused her to waver.

As Emma came to the shallow end of the pool she stopped swimming and looked up at Callie. “Couldn't sleep?” she asked with a smile.

“No,” Callie answered.

“It's the moon.” Emma pointed skyward. “I always have a hard time sleeping when the moon's full. Plus the Santa Ana winds. The Devil's Wind, I've heard it called.”

It's an ill wind that blows no good, Callie thought. “With me it's being pregnant,” she responded. “I'm having a hard time sleeping in general.”

Emma stood. The water dripped off her hair and body in shimmering rivulets. “Come on in. The water's soothing. We keep it warm, I don't like swimming in cold water.”

Callie dipped a toe in. It was almost bathlike. “Does Walt swim with you?” she asked, involuntarily glancing over her shoulder.

“Not very often,” Emma replied. “He's not coming out here, if that's what you're concerned about. He's dead asleep.”

A revealing phrase, Callie thought? Don't read too much into this, she cautioned herself. You're not out here to psychoanalyze.

She sat on the edge of the pool, dangling her legs in the water. Then she slipped in, ducked her head under, and pushed off from the wall. As she started a slow, methodical crawl toward the other end, she could see from out of the corner of her eye that Emma was swimming in tandem with her.

Back and forth they went like synchronized swimmers, stroking languidly. Callie lost herself in the rhythm, feeling her muscles expanding with the effort. It felt good, swimming. When she got back to Chicago she'd join a health club that had a pool. Emma was swimming effortlessly, an easy reach, catch, and pull, then gliding. She's good, Callie thought. I wonder if she ever swam competitively. I could ask her, that's innocuous. But not now. She was too tired to be a detective at the moment. Maybe in the morning, if the opportunity presented itself.

When she started to feel winded she stopped; she didn't have as much energy now as she'd had before she had gotten pregnant.

Emma also stopped. Callie sensed that Emma was timing her movements to hers. It made her feel uncomfortable, for a moment, as if Emma was playing a subtle head fame with her, trying to match their internal rhythms. It reminded Callie of a phenomenon that occurred when she played team sports with other women, and spent a lot of lime with them in intimate situations. Gradually, over a period of months, they would all begin having their periods at the same time. Some kind of vestigial pack instinct. This was different, of course, but she felt a certain psychic similarity. An attempt to bond. Or perhaps, to Control.

They got out and lay down on chaise lounges on the deck, towels draped modestly across their midsections, the water rapidly evaporating from their bodies from the hot, dry deserty wind.

“It's a shame you have to leave tomorrow,” Emma said. “I'd like to get to know you better.” She paused. “We're like sisters now, in a way.”

That was bold, Callie thought. She had decided not to probe anymore, but here was an opening that shouldn't be missed. “Are you and Walt thinking about getting married?”

Emma sat up with an involuntary jerk. Her towel dropped to the deck. “Why would you ask that?” she said, a note of perturbation in her voice.

Callie sat up, too. “Walt mentioned to Clancy that you might be thinking about having a child. If you're planning on having one, you might be getting married, too.”

Emma shook her head. Her expression, rather than being one of anger or annoyance, was almost sad. “I'm not going to have a child with Walt.”

“Why not?”

“This is going to sound callous, but it isn't meant to be.” She hesitated for a moment. “Walt's too old.”

Callie was taken aback by Emma's frankness. These were the first honest words of consequence out of the woman's mouth since we've been here, she thought. “Men his age have children. He even recited a list to Clancy.”

“I know. I've heard it. I don't mean too old biologically. I mean he's too old for me.” She sighed. “That sounds cruel, doesn't it?”

Callie didn't answer.

“I don't know how much longer Walt and I are going to stay together,” Emma confessed.

Callie tried to keep her face from registering the shock she felt.

“I care deeply about Walt,” Emma declared. “He's a wonderful man, and he's been through hell, you know that as well as I do. But when he's eighty, I'll be fifty. I don't want that. I want a man who can be my equal partner, not only in the mind, but physically.” She paused. Like you have with Clancy. A man your own age, whose life is all ahead of him. Not behind him.”

Callie fidgeted. This was too personal; it was almost painful in its openness. Why are you telling me this, she thought? We are not sisters, not even remotely.

“I agree there are advantages to being with a partner who's close to you in age,” she said. “I can't imagine myself being with a man—” She stopped herself—she had almost said “Walt's age.” Instead, she said, “That much older than me.” It didn't sound any better, but there was no way around it, no matter how you said it.

“You're lucky,” Emma told her. “Clancy's a terrific guy.”

“I know.”

“All the Gaines men are. Tom, too,” Emma said. “Can I confess something to you?”

“If you want to.” This was getting closer to the bone than she could have imagined.

“I almost made a play for Tom, when he was out here.”

Callie was mystified by this revelation, not that it had happened, but that Emma was confiding in her about it. Was she trying to ferret out if Tom had told her and Clancy? Or was she looking for some way out of her relationship with Walt and was setting herself up to be busted? Either way, this was getting more serious than she'd bar-gained for.

A confession like that had to be responded to, and she couldn't have held her tongue anyway, this was too juicy.” You're kidding me!”

Emma looked serious, almost wistful. “No, I'm not. There was a charge between us.”

“That's pretty heavy, Emma.”

“I know. I felt ashamed, but it was there, I couldn't deny it.”

“So did anything happen?” Callie asked, almost too eagerly.

Emma started to speak, then she paused. “I wouldn't do that to Walt.” She looked at Callie. “Tom would have, though. I could feel it. It was very powerful.”

Callie felt the need to defend Tom's honor. “You can't say that, since it didn't happen.”

Emma shook her head in disagreement. “If you had been there, you would have felt it, too. There was real anger—rage, almost—between them, first under the surface, then it broke through into the open. Walt was bullying Tom unmercifully, it was ugly, especially in front of me, a woman who Tom barely knew. Tom would have had sex with me just to get back at Walt.”

Callie stared at Emma. Am I being set up, she wondered? What's with this sudden soul-revealing? It seemed so out of character.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked. “We barely know each other.”

“Because it's wrong for Walt not to be dealing with reality,” Emma said firmly, almost harshly. “He's been living in a false world, ever since his wife died. When I try to think of what it was like for him, her being killed in the jungle, then having to deal with the funeral …”

The funeral. Callie's mind flashed back to that terrible time. “I know,” she said with sadness in her voice. “I was there.”

“And then all the trouble with the university afterward, and—”

Callie put up a hand to stop her. “We've all been through this way more than any of us want.” Sighing heavily, as if the memories were too painful to bear, she stood up. “I'm going inside. I'm tired, and Clancy and I have a long day of traveling tomorrow.”

Emma got up with her. “I didn't mean to dredge up bad memories.” She took Callie's hand. “I've really unburdened myself on you, haven't I? I apologize.”

“I'm glad you did,” Callie said honestly.

“If you can, I'd like what I've told you to stay between us,” Emma asked. “I kind of put myself out there.”

Callie smiled at her. “I know you did, and I appreciate that. You can trust me. I've been wanting to get to know you better, and now I have.”

Callie shook Clancy violently. “Wake up!” she whispered urgently.

“What is it?” he asked in a voice thick with sleep.

She sat on the bed on her knees. She was bouncing up and down, she was so energized. “I remembered where I've seen her! When we first got here and I asked her if we'd ever met? And she said no? Do you remember?”

“What're you talking about?”

“The funeral!”

“What?” He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs.

“Your mother's funeral! We were looking at a cluster of mourners grouped around your dad and I asked you about a particular woman. You didn't know who she was, so I asked him. He said he didn't know, that she was one of your mother's friends. But it was
her
!
Emma
!”

Clancy sat bolt upright. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! Her hair was layered and a darker shade of blond then, but it was her. You don't remember? Think back!”

Clancy closed his eyes for a moment, trying to recall. “No, I don't,” he answered, opening them again. “I had more important things on my mind that day. Are you sure? That was over a year ago, and nobody was thinking too clearly back then.”

“I'm positive! No doubts at all.” She stared at him. “You believe me, don't you?”

“If you're really sure, then yes.” He leaned back against the headboard, stunned.

“This points us in a clear direction now,” Callie said urgently. “Walt knew her
before
he moved to L.A., not after. That changes everything.”

Clancy nodded. “It sure as hell does. The question is, how did they meet?”

“And when, and where.”

He gave her a lopsided smile, shaking his head. “You called it, on the nose. Female instinct about wanting to come out here and see her in person—we laughed at you, but you were right. I will never doubt a woman's instincts again—at least not yours.”

“I'm glad you're figuring me out, finally,” she teased him. “But that's not important. What we have to do now is find out who Emma Rawlings really is. And what part she plays in all of this.”

The wind had died down with the rising of the sun. Emma was her usual early-to-rise industrious self. She stood at the center island, squeezing oranges. The coffeepot was perking. As Callie came to pour herself a cup Emma leaned toward her. She glanced over at the table, where Walt, comfortably disheveled in a T-shirt and shorts, was busy reading the L.A. Times financial section. “Are we still secret friends?” she asked quietly.

Callie nodded. “Absolutely,” she whispered back.

“I don't want to hurt Walt, regardless of what might happen in the future. He's already suffered enough.”

“You can trust me.”

“Thank you.”

Walt looked up from the paper. “Sleep well?” he asked his son and daughter-in-law.

“Like a log,” Clancy told him, grabbing the sports section.

“Two logs,” Callie chimed in. She and Emma exchanged a quick, conspiratorial look. She kissed Walt on the top of his head.

“I wish you could stay longer,” Walt said. “You just got here.”

“We'll be back,” Clancy assured him. “Now that we know you want us to.”

“Anytime,” Walt told him. “I needed to get my legs under me, but that period's over now.”