A Crack in Everything Read online

  It wasn’t my watch, it was Roddie’s. He’d opened the car door and was leaning over me, a surprised teddy bear in his nut-brown terrycloth robe. “Susan, why are you sleeping in my driveway?”

  I lifted my eyebrows, a move I hoped gave me an alert, knowing look. “Just passing by, thought I’d drop in.”

  We exchanged upside-down smiles. The tweeeeeping continued.

  “Turn it off!”

  “Oh, sorry. It’s my back-up alarm.” He cut off the sound, and I sat up, not inclined to speak again, or breathe much, without a cup of strong coffee. Roddie’s worried eyes stayed on my face. “Is everything all right?”

  “Not really. We need to talk.” I combed my hair with my fingers.

  He offered his hand. “Come inside. I’ll make coffee.”

  In the kitchen, I sat at the table under the dangling pot rack while Roddie set up the Gaggia and placed a bowl of peaches and tangerines at my elbow. “Your campaign needs a spin doctor,” I said.

  “You came here at dawn to tell me that?”

  “Friday night you promised you’d call, but you didn’t. Now, Odette tells me the media’s been bugging you.”

  “The press, cable, network TV. Nothing from the blogsphere, yet. I hired Odette’s nephew to run interference. This is coming down hard on Lauren. I’m thinking about dropping out of the race.”

  “Want me to weigh in on that?”

  “No.” He walked back to the Gaggia and watched coffee dribble into the mugs which, on the watched-pot principle, seemed to drag out the process. “Everything depends on Lauren’s health. And how quickly the police cross me off their list.”

  “When Snow gets back from Alaska, he’ll explain why he authorized the Cordelia Trust loan, and that’ll take care of the police.”

  Roddie may have heard a tremor in my voice because he interrupted the brew cycle and brought me a nearly full mug. The coffee was luscious, and the first sip hot-wired my brain.

  Back at the counter, he pulled a round of bread from a jumbo biscotti tin. “Lauren’s dilly-potato,” he said. From the way he dawdled, slicing the entire loaf, hunting for butter and napkins, I could tell he had something to say that required careful presentation. Finally, he set the bread in front of me. “Turns out I authorized the loan. Forgot all about it.”

  “You?” My hand froze over the platter. “How could you forget a million dollars?”

  “One and a quarter million, actually. Bear with me, because this is going to sound incredibly stupid.” He tore into a slice of bread with short strong fingers that reminded me of Nino’s. “Snow’s old money-bags network told him NGT had a fantastic new product but was strapped for cash. He liked what he heard and decided to offer a subordinated debenture with a double payback. High interest now, big piece of the action up the road. When he recommended the investment, apparently I said sure, sure, without really listening. Not unusual for me, and two months ago I was in the thick of organizing my campaign.”

  He laughed, a little edgily, I thought. “So, in a way, I blame you. Susan’s siren song: Newton first, then Congress. I forgot about business and began to dream.”

  “Oh, no you don’t. Congress is your dream.” I toyed with my bread and ended up leaving it on my plate. Too much dill, not enough salt. “So what triggered your memory?”

  “The man himself, John Snow.”

  “But no one could reach him.”

  “John’s got a satellite phone. I called him after I got home from the police station.”

  “Why didn’t you give Michael his number?”

  “Once I calmed down and started to think, I realized I wanted John’s input before I talked to your friends on the force again. Isn’t that the way you crafty lawyers do it? No surprises? Well I’d had enough surprises. I wanted Snow to refresh my memory, before I got snared in your boyfriend’s bad-cop, bad-cop games again.” The chair creaked under him, and he shifted abruptly, rocking the fruit bowl. There were crumbs trapped in the folds of his robe. He looked exhausted and unhappy, and I could feel his campaign slipping away.

  “I hear you, Roddie,” I said, trying to soothe his upset. I didn’t like his jab at Michael but I let it go. “You must be relieved, about your daughter’s trust money, anyway. If Snow has confidence in NGT, it’s got to be a fine company.”

  He peered into his now empty mug. “John makes the occasional crap shoot. In this case, he felt the only real risk was the time lag between NGT’s research trials and FDA approval.”

  “You’re talking about a long time lag.”

  “Even if I am, the Cordelia Trust can afford to wait. Delia’s only five. But the bureaucrats may fast-track this one. The way John talked, NGT’s new product is going to change the world. It’s some kind of anti-aging thing.” He flashed the old Roddie-smile. “Hey, Susan, that’s almost as good as a bug that eats lead and shits gold.”

  “Better. Lots of people want to be rich, but everyone wants to stay young.” I finished my coffee and refused a second cup. Any more caffeine and I’d be prancing around the kitchen like a horse with a saddle burr. “Okay, Snow is responsible for your NGT connection. That leaves your alibi. Once that’s confirmed the media will lose interest, Lauren will recover, and we’ll get your campaign back on track.”

  “Consider it confirmed.” He began paring a peach the way Nino did, letting the peel loop in one long curl. “After I spoke with John, the name came back to me. Hotel Arvada. I called, and they even remember bringing breakfast to my room on Sunday.”

  “Great. You’re in the clear. Let’s move ahead.”

  “I’ve always been in the clear.” He looked wistful. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

  At just past six by the wall clock, the front doorbell rang. Roddie and I looked at each other. A second more insistent ring brought Roddie out of his chair. I gave him time to see who was disturbing his breakfast, then stepped into the dining room where I could eavesdrop from behind the ficus tree.

  “Mr. Baird, a few more questions.”

  I recognized Sergeant Tyre’s voice and rushed to join Roddie in the hall. “What’s going on, Paul? Isn’t it a little early even for an unfriendly visit?”

  Tyre barely glanced at me. A lanky detective with faded acne scars stood at his elbow, and no one bothered with introductions. “We want to talk with you again at the station, Mr. Baird. Get dressed. We’ll drive.” He was brusque and peremptory, and I could see Roddie’s hand moving along his terrycloth belt the way Delia’s little fingers stroked her blanket.

  “I’m not going anywhere. Now get out of my house before I…” He raised a fist that dropped like a stone when I tugged his arm.

  “Does Michael know you’re here?” I said to Tyre.

  “I’m in charge now, Suze.” There wasn’t enough room on his face for the soup-sucking grin. “The lieutenant stepped down.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since an hour ago.”

  I didn’t bother to ask why. I wanted to lie on the floor and take a short guilty nap while other people sorted things through. “Paul, don’t badger Mr. Baird. If you’ve got a question, ask it and leave, or I’ll advise him to lodge a complaint against you.”

  “You got it ass-backwards again, Suze. We found the pilot. If Baird doesn’t come voluntarily, we’re prepared to read him his rights.”

  The fight went out of Roddie then, just as it rose up in me. “What charges?” I shouted. “What pilot? What’s happening?”

  “Your client knows,” Tyre said.

  “Susan, I wasn’t—”

  “Roddie, don’t say another word! I’ll call Gordon Brenner. And I’m coming with you to the station.”

  “No. If you want to help me, stay with Lauren. I’ll call Gordon myself.” He disappeared upstairs and came down moments later in his mountaineer’s outfit, Lauren shu
ffling behind him in bright gym clothes that were rumpled and too loose and somehow looked gray. Hanks of hair stuck to her face. Hollow shadows sunk her eyes. In the space of a week she seemed to have dropped ten pounds and most of her sentient being.

  “You’ll stay?” Roddie’s eyes pleaded.

  “For as long as Lauren can stand me. Don’t worry. You’ll be home ten minutes after Gordon Brenner shows up.”

  Roddie hugged his wife, and she clutched him until Tyre began snapping his fingers against his palm. “Tell Delia I’ll take her to Drumlin Farm when I get back,” Roddie said. “Tell her we’ll feed the ducks.”

  They left, Roddie walking between the two detectives, shorter than either of them, but more of a presence. Just before he got into the cruiser, he looked back and waved. A sound escaped Lauren, and only when the cruiser was long out of sight did she turn away, leaving the door open on the lingering after burn.

  I gave her a minute to collect herself, then I said: “What pilot?”

  She walked past me into the den and stood by the window, one hand gripping the sill. “Roddie came home last Saturday night. Not Sunday afternoon.”

  “I don’t get it. The hotel verified his alibi, they brought him breakfast.”

  “The hotel didn’t know he’d gone. They leave an early morning tray for all the airline guests. An hour after he checked in, Roddie found a pilot and chartered a jet home.” She opened the casement on a hazy dawn, deliberately keeping her back to me, able to hide her face, but not the frightened stiffness of her spine.

  “But he’d just volunteered to be bumped! Why the sudden switch?”

  “Saturday evening, Roddie called home…and…Delia…No, I won’t tell you. I’ll let you hear for yourself.”

  Still contriving to hide her face, she maneuvered herself to Roddie’s desk with its dowdy old phone and built-in message machine. “Thing’s got a mind of its own. Once it starts recording, it keeps going even after someone picks up.” She ejected the tape and inserted one from a drawer, playing with the switches until she found her place.

  A long beep, then: “Nobody’s home. ‘Bye.”

  “Wait, Delia! Don’t hang up. Where’s Mommy?”

  “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! When are you coming home?”

  “First thing tomorrow, bunny. I’ve got a present for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a surprise. Put Mommy on.”

  “She’s not here.”

  “Where is she?” Tension gave Roddie’s voice a fearful clarity.

  “At the store. I want you to come home.” There was a touch of panic in Delia’s voice, and I suddenly felt as worried for her, alone in this oversized house, as if I were listening to her future instead of the past. I remembered her uneasy sleep in the coatroom at Spaal’s, the way she lay sobbing on the floor outside Roddie’s den the night of the finance meeting. This little girl spent far too much time alone. No wonder she clung to her blanket.

  Roddie’s voice continued to crackle. “Let’s talk till Mommy gets back. Okay?”

  A silence, then Delia shouted, “The bread and butterflies!” Disney music surged and faded in the background. “The flowers are singing to Alice.”

  “All right, sweetie. Go watch Alice. I’ll call you again in fifteen minutes. If Mommy comes home first, tell her to call me right away. And don’t open the door to anybody.”

  “Not even Mommy?”

  “Mommy’s got her key.”

  “What about Grandma?”

  “Grandma’s in Maine with your brothers.”

  “What about Curious George?”

  Roddie sighed. “Nobody,” he said. “Not even Curious George.”

  “Okay.”

  “I love you, bunny.”

  Delia began to sob. “The caterpillar’s blowing smoke. He’s going to eat Alice up!”

  “No he’s not. He’s Alice’s friend.”

  But Delia’s sobs were turning to wails. “My tummy hurts! Come home now! “

  “Sshh, sshh. Don’t be scared. Mommy will be right back, and…listen to me, Delia, I changed my mind. I’m flying home now. I’ll be there very soon.”

  “In five minutes?” she whimpered.

  “Longer, but I’ll call you from a special phone on the airplane, and we’ll talk while I fly through the sky.”

  Lauren turned off the machine and put the tape back in the drawer. “I’d gone to Whole Foods for a few things.” She faced me now, steely and reserved. “I shouldn’t have left Delia, but I didn’t expect to be gone long. Turned out the store was crowded, and then my car wouldn’t start. By the time I got back, Roddie was on his way, talking to Delia from the plane. By ten-thirty, he was here with us.”

  “Why didn’t Roddie explain all this to the police?”

  Her defiant expression collapsed. She seemed unaware of the tears, which were trickling down her face. “I’m a negligent mother. It’s not the first time I’ve left my children alone, and Roddie doesn’t want anyone to know. He’s very protective of them, especially Delia. And of me, our reputation in the community.”

  “Hang your reputation. You’ve got to tell Gordon Brenner that Roddie was with you from the moment he got back from the airport Saturday night. The tape explains why.”

  “What if Gordon doesn’t believe me?”

  “Why wouldn’t he?”

  “Roddie and I both lied.”

  I wasn’t satisfied. Something else was going on, I was sure of it, but Gordon would have to draw it out. “Call him now. If you can’t reach him, leave a message.”

  “I’ll wait for Roddie. He’ll have to agree.” There was a shawl on the sofa, and she draped it around her shoulders, as if the stifling room were cold. “Did anyone make coffee?”

  I offered to get her a cup.

  On my way to the kitchen, I heard a sound behind me. Delia, in an eyelet nightgown, was thumping down the stairs dragging her blanket, her thumb slewed to the side of her mouth. “Where’s my daddy?”

  “Gone to work.” It was such a little white lie, even a Jesuit might have missed it, but Delia’s eyes were truth-seeking missiles.

  “No, he’s not. I saw his car.”

  “He got a ride.”

  “Why didn’t he wake me up?”

  “Does he wake you up every day?”

  She nodded, pressing a corner of the blanket to her cheek. “He brings me my juice.”

  “He didn’t have time this morning, but he’s going to take you to Drumlin Farm when he gets back.”

  Her eyes got a faraway look, as if she could see barns and smell clover. She uncorked her thumb. “I have to get bread for the ducks. It’s my responsibility.” The syllables came out topsy-turvy, but Delia’s serious face told me she knew exactly what the word meant.

  “Let’s go find mommy.” I offered my hand, and she held it all the way to the den.

  Lauren was on the sofa, cocooned in her shawl. When she saw Delia, she opened her arms. Delia ran to her, and their sadness billowed out to me.

  The mastodon rocker was by the fireplace, and it creaked like old bones when I sat down. Lauren startled, then closed her eyes, keeping her face pressed to her child’s. Delia’s blanket had merged with Lauren’s shawl, and after awhile, she peeked out at me from a muddle of pink and purple fringe. “I’m hungry,” she said, probably figuring every adult could at least pour milk over cereal.

  “Want cornflakes?”

  “I like pancakes,” she countered, not understanding who she was talking to.

  “I don’t do pancakes.” I smiled to show that I meant it, but not in a bad way. “How about eggs?”

  “I hate eggs.”

  “Me too,” I said.

  Lauren stirred. “I’ll make pancakes,” she murmured. “What t
ime is it?”

  “Going on six-thirty.” I turned off my wristwatch alarm. “Would you like me to fix Delia some sort of breakfast?”

  “I can do it. I just need another minute to rest.” Her eyes stayed closed, and I wondered which tranquilizer she had taken on top of which sleeping pill, and how long ago.

  Delia patted her mother’s cheek. “I’ll read you a story, Mommy.”

  “I’d like that, sweetie. When you come home from camp.”

  Little fingers rubbed the satin edge of the blanket. “I don’t want to go to camp.”

  “You have to. As soon as I rest, I’ll help you get ready.”

  “I’m not going! My tummy hurts!”

  Lauren opened her eyes. “I can’t take care of you today.”

  In a jumble of blanket and shawl, Delia pitched head first off the sofa. “My tummy hurts! I want my daddy!”

  This ship was foundering, so I stuck in my oar. “Maybe she ought to stay home, under the circumstances. I’ll look after her while you rest.”

  “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

  Delia studied me over her thumb. “I want Susan.”

  This, in spite of my culinary lacks. I was flattered.

  We decided that Delia would stay with me until Roddie returned, or one o’clock, whichever came first. After she rested, Lauren would ask her mother to drive down from Maine and take Delia back with her. If not tonight, then first thing tomorrow. And she would discuss the phone tape with Roddie as soon as he walked in the door.

  Forming a plan seemed to lift Lauren’s mood. She managed a smile. “You’re awfully kind. Delia can be a handful.”

  On cue, Delia began to caper and chant, “Susan, Susan, Susan,” tearing around the den until I grabbed her blanket. “Sshh,” I said. “Your mommy’s trying to rest. It’s time for you to get dressed. Come on, I’ll help you.”

  “I know how to put my own clothes on.” She raced out, blanket whipping after her.

  “I hope she won’t be too much for you,” Lauren said.