The Kindness of Strangers (Skip Langdon Mystery #6) (The Skip Langdon Series) (11 page)

She said, “English, P.E., algebra two, piano, ancient history, and French.”

“I don’t think I like your tone of voice.”

“You asked me what I was taking.”

“Fine. And you answered me.”

They ate in silence for a while, awkwardness spread before them like a picnic cloth.

Lise couldn’t stand it—Torian knew she’d blink first. “I wish you’d have a little appreciation for what I try to do for you.”

Torian said nothing. What was there to say?

Lise said, “Well?”

“I do, Mother. I really appreciate what you’re trying to do for me.” She had to say this at least once a week. Lise never let her forget what she was fucking trying to do for her, as if Torian had asked for it, as if her greatest desire in the world was for prefab stuffed peppers and frozen corn, and a mother who’d go out later and fuck her brains out, leaving Torian to watch television or drink Lise’s booze or rob convenience stores if she felt like it.

I wish I was fucking my brains out.

It bothered her a great deal that Noel didn’t consider her adult enough to have sex.

“There are laws, darlin’ girl,” he’d finally said. “They’d toss my ass in jail and throw away the key.”

As if she would tell. As if she, Torian Gernhard, who loved him, couldn’t be trusted. That distressed her as much as anything else—that he didn’t trust her. It frustrated her so much she wanted to bite something.

Lise is over forty—why does she get to fuck and not me? She’s too old to enjoy it.

But then, why does she do it?

Why does she consider that more important than behaving like a mother?

Because she’s pathetic, that’s why. She probably confuses sex with love. She thinks if she sleeps with old Charles he’ll keep coming around.

Which I cordially wish he wouldn’t.
Who would want him, anyway?

Lise’s eyes filled. “I wish you really meant that.”

Really meant what? Torian could barely remember what she’d said.

Oh, yes, that she appreciated Lise’s efforts.

God, I wish I lived with my father!

She said, “I wish you’d stop asking me to say it.”

Lise said nothing for a while, just ate mechanically. Torian thought it was possible she’d get off light, but out of the blue, her mother started sobbing. “You heartless little bitch! You don’t understand anything and you don’t know anything, and you don’t care about anyone. You haven’t got a decent bone in that skinny little body you’re so goddamn proud of. You haven’t got a second for anyone but your own selfish, pathetic little soul. Well, let me tell you something, young lady—you’re not nearly as smart as you think you are!”

Torian gasped, terrified. What had set her off? What was wrong with her?

It’s so unfair
, she thought.
She must be crazy
.

I’ve never said a word to her about my body. I’m not proud of it—where on Earth did she get that idea? I’m ashamed of it—I don’t have any boobs, and my legs don’t even go together at the top and my butt’s too big. How
could she think something like that? And where does she get off saying I don’t care about anybody? I love Noel. Love him. I ‘d do anything for him. And Daddy, too; and Sheila. How could she say something like that?

And I don’t think I’m smart at all. Certainly not compared to Noel. I mean, I’m smarter than Lise, but that’s nothing. It doesn’t mean I think I’m smart. Why does she think all this stuff?

Lise got hold of herself long enough to stare at Torian for a long time, nearly a minute, Torian thought later, tears rolling out of eyes so hurt you would have thought Torian was dead, not sitting here being berated by a crazy woman.

Torian stared back, afraid to look away, afraid Lise might hit her or jump out a window, or pick up a frying pan and throw it—she had no idea what was going to happen next, she just knew her mother had flipped her wig and might be dangerous.

Should she run?

Instead, Lise ran. Got up, overturning her chair, and fled the room, her butt wobbling in the cotton pants she was wearing.

Torian sat stunned for a minute, not at all sure what was happening.

I’m eating dinner
, she told herself.
Dinner is what’s happening.

She forked a bit of the pepper and chewed for a long time.

Eating was definitely not what was happening.

Feeling dazed, she got up and scraped the plates into plastic bags, which she tied and dumped in the garbage. She put the lid on tight, the whole procedure being designed to guard against the roaches she hated so much and which pervaded the Quarter. There wasn’t a single roach in her father’s house in Old Metairie.

Mechanically, she washed the dishes, and put away the plates, listening for any noise at all from her mother’s room. She heard nothing.

Finally, feeling curiously empty and lonely, her throat tight, she went to her own room, wishing she could call Noel. She did her homework, which took about forty-five minutes, and then she did hear her mother stirring about the apartment. Her body tensed. She wondered if Lise would knock on her door. When she didn’t, Torian’s muscles let go, and she fell back on her pillow.

She wrote a poem, which was what she always did when she felt sad, but it failed to satisfy her. It was a poem about confusion, which was all she knew right now, all she could write about, and that wasn’t helpful.

She thought about Noel, about what it would be like to live with him, but the thought was so frightening she had to stop. She had to wait at least three years. Wasn’t that it? They could have legal sex when she was eighteen, he had said, and there was absolutely no chance they were breaking that particular law—he had been clear on that.

She felt the ache between her legs that she always felt now when she thought of him.

I can’t wait three years.

I have to wait three years to graduate, too—to get away from Lise.

Why is everything always in the future? Why can’t I have anything now?

She lay there awhile, her cheek against the pillow, wondering how long she would have to be unhappy until one good thing came to her.

I can’t stand it. I just can’t stand it. There ought to be something I can do.

It occurred to her that there was.

There was a way she could stand side by side with Noel, a way she could function in the adult world, a way she might even get to see him every day, or at least sometimes, in a perfectly normal way. No one would suspect a thing, and she’d be doing something useful with her life, maybe even something fulfilling.

Noel had told her how much he thought of Errol Jacomine, what his becoming mayor could mean to the city. And Torian could help. In some small way, she could help. She would go down tomorrow and volunteer as a campaign worker.

* * *

Boo had put on a pot of red beans that afternoon. All that remained was to cook the rice and put together a salad. She was bustling about doing that, having put Joy in her Johnny Jump-up, and thinking about Noel.

Something was wrong with him, but she didn’t know what. She had the vague feeling it was her fault.

Oh, come on
, Boo
you’re a shrink.

That doesn’t mean you aren’t supposed to be a good wife.

I have this weird feeling I haven’t been lately.

She heard the garage door open and the car drive in. Her hand went to her hair, straightening.

Noel came in. “Aren’t you a pretty picture.”

“A little wilted from the heat.” Automatically, she kissed him. “Are you hungry?”

He shrugged. “Not really.”

“Good, let’s have a drink before dinner. I’ll just finish up the salad.”

Noel took Joy out of her seat and did Daddy things— throwing her in the air, making her laugh. Boo felt almost happy with the three of them in the kitchen, for a few minutes able to forget her disquiet.

Noel went to change, and she cut up a tomato. She was thrilled with this new job of his, thinking it was just what he needed at the moment. He’d been a very good, extremely respected television reporter who quit to write a book—not journalism, but fiction, something he’d always wanted to do. She wasn’t sure what the story was, or even if Noel knew. She just knew it was important to him.

But he hadn’t seemed to be making that much progress, and then they bought this house, and that distracted him further. It was deemed that Boo’s office needed to happen first, and so it would be awhile before Noel’s was finished.

Consequently, he’d taken a small office in a building owned by friends of theirs. It was a little damp, a little depressing, at least to Boo’s mind; she much preferred fresh paint to noble rot.

She had no idea if he was getting anything done there—he didn’t talk about it, and had even snapped at her when she tried. But what she thought was that he was used to the daily ego massage of being on television, and, even if he was writing Moby Dick in there, he needed a quick fix to keep him going.

Consequently, this press secretary thing was just what the doctor ordered.

Especially since she was so distant lately. It wasn’t easy overseeing the contractors and taking care of the baby and also keeping her practice up. Still, that shouldn’t take away from her marriage.

Why am I putting it last?
she wondered.
I swear to God I’ll do better.

She had changed into an ankle-length flowing dress, and pinned her hair up, for openers. And she had gotten ice cream for dessert, despite the fact that she hated to have sweets in the house, due to her penchant for eating things she shouldn’t.

What a selfish person I am
, she had thought as she bought it, realizing how seldom she did something extra.

She poured Noel a glass of wine, a Chardonnay of which he was particularly fond, and which she’d also taken the trouble to get today.

Returning in shorts and polo shirt, he kissed the back of her neck.

She said, “How was the first day at work?”

“A little weird. I have a feeling it’s going to be a thrill a minute. And maybe not in a good way.”

“Woo. Let’s go in the living room.”

She waited until he was comfortable in one of the chairs, and then sat on the floor, looking up at him. They had sat like this a lot, early in their courtship; for some reason, it appealed to her.

“‘Tell me everything,” she said.

“Did anyone ever tell you politics is a dirty business?”

“That’s somewhere else, right? Certainly not in Louisiana.”

“Apparently some cop is trying to discredit our boy.”

“How?”

“I don’t know exactly. She’s got a wild hair about him, for some reason. I’m not sure exactly what went on, but I think she met him on a case and took a dislike to him. Probably just your basic redneck racist.”

Boo’s heart had speeded up when she heard the pronoun. “What’s her name?” she asked.

“Langdon, I think. And some nickname. Skip, maybe.”

“Ah.” Confidentiality required that Boo keep her mouth shut.

“Have you ever heard of her?”

Boo shrugged. “I think so. She gets her name in the paper now and then.”

Noel nodded. “So I gather. But since I never covered police—” He shrugged. As a reporter, he had considered crime beneath him.

“Anyway, there’s a lot of stuff I don’t know about the way campaigns are run. Jacomine’s got this scary- looking aide named Potter Menard—sunglasses, power grooming, like the Ton Ton Macoute.”

“Or the Farrakhan guys.”

“Yeah.” A shadow passed over Noel’s face. “Anyway, Jacomine said to him, ‘You know what to do,’ and Menard gave this kind of curt nod like, ‘Sure, Godfather.’ ”

“What? You think she’s in danger?”

“Of course not. I’m sure they’ll tell me what’s happening as soon as I start catching on to things. But it did have this sort of eerie feel. Kind of like a contract killing.”

Boo was fighting panic. “You’re kidding, right? Tell me you’re kidding?”

He leaned over and touched her cheek. “Hey. What’s wrong, baby? This is me, Noel. Am I a bad guy?”

She shook her head, trying to smile.

“And this is just a crummy mayor’s election, not the governorship or anything. It’s not important enough to bother doing anything criminal—you know what I mean?”

“I’m not so sure, Noel.”

She sipped her wine. How could he be so naive?

In a town like this, which was more like a banana republic, it was probably all about who got appointed to what and how much they paid to get access to a particular till.

“Oh, come on. I’m a hardened newsman, remember? Believe me, there is nothing bad going on with Errol Jacomine. He’s a prince among men, and I’m going to get him elected. Everything’s all right. Do you believe me?”

She smiled. “Go get ‘em, Tiger.”

But she had purposely avoided her husband’s query. She wasn’t at all sure everything was all right. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing up.

Chapter Eight

THERE WAS A phalanx of volunteers in the office when Noel got there. They were making phone calls and writing letters, Potter overseeing them.

When he could catch Potter’s eye, he said, “What’s going on?”

“Come in here.” Potter led him to his private office. “This is our organization in action. You want to know how we’re going to stop that cop? We’re going to work at it.”

“Doing—uh—what?” Noel felt a little flustered.

“I’m going to give you a lesson right now.” He gave Noel an appraising look. “I think you’re going to be good at this.”

He dialed a number and spoke to Noel again. “Listen up.”

“Sergeant Sylvia Cappello,” he said, and waited.

Then: “Sergeant Cappello? This is Potter Menard with the Jacomine campaign. I understand you have an officer named Skip Langdon in your platoon. You know, she’s working with Marvin Perretti’s campaign, and I’ve—

“She’s not? Well, I don’t mean to contradict, but I believe she is.” He listened a moment. “We know perfectly well she is, Sergeant.