“You spoke the truth,” Max told Kathleen. “You did find Sean. Alive.”
“I heard you laughing in there. You and Sean. What do you have to laugh about? Him disfigured and toiling in a bed and breakfast on the back of beyond, you leaving the woman you loved behind to marry another man.”
“Chill, Kathleen,” Max told her. “You’re back in the land of your birth, having accomplished your aims. I’m here, as you wanted, an exile again. I warn you. I won’t prosecute you, I won’t obsess over you. I won’t be what you need any more than I was almost twenty years ago.”
She kept silent.
“And I’m grateful to you,” he added, savoring a sip of the sweet wine.
“Grateful! As well you should be. I got you out of the doomed pub. I lured you away to the park. You! I picked you. Of all the men and boys I could have had with a snap of my fingers and twitch of my ass, and did, proving it over and over, I had you that day while your cousin was suffering and almost dying. I had you.”
“I had a girl and she had me,” he said, “and the sun wasn’t always shining. You were the thing I desired most in that moment, that I forsook my cousin-friend and my faith for, and well willing to do so. You were beautiful and brave and a fierce patriot, most of all.”
“So you might have loved me. For the moment, I suppose. That ex-priest who tried to analyze me said so. Your rival.”
“It’s not all rivals and religion and truth or dare, Kathleen. My emotional memory is kaput, but I think I must have loved you, as much as a randy teenager understands that concept. I’m sorry the kind of love you needed wasn’t what a boy could give you.”
“I had no faith,” she mumbled. “I had nothing but my anger and my nerve and my female assets. I was almost disappointed when you agreed to accompany me to the Sir Thomas and Lady Dixon Park so readily. I thought you were just like the rest. Until you touched me.”
Max shut his eyes. Did a teasing itch of familiarity dredge up a memory, or a supposition? Yeah, it had to have been a moment a boy dreams of, fears, covets. And…he had shared it with a young woman who’d been an incredibly abused child from the Magdalene Asylums. He’d shared it with a hopeful soul, seeing something in him that wasn’t harsh and dirty and corrupted. And he had not been worthy.
Mea culpa, mea culpa. My fault, my fault. I am not worthy.
Father Flynn would have been happy to hear that from him at last.
30
Paid Off
Breedlove, Conway and Gallagher, attorneys at law, weren’t far from Sam Funeral Home’s, so Temple and Electra shared Temple’s two-seat red Miata while Diane drove her rental car to meet them there.
Temple had to wait in the expected mahogany and leather outer office while Electra and Diane, apparently the only heirs, went into the attorney’s inner office. She tapped her toe impatiently on the forest-green plush carpeting while paging through Newsweek magazine. Thank God some magazines were still in print.
She wanted to be there, an eyewitness at this oft-filmed cinematic cliché, the second she’d viewed today, The Reading of the Will. The first had been the Black Widow from Central Casting.
Of course, with one lawyer who knew no one involved, including the deceased, and two fairly friendly ex-wives, the event was not likely to be drenched in drama.
Which was why Temple leaped out of her seat when a soprano “No!” boomed from behind the closed door to the inner office.
The outburst was followed by a bass male murmur and rapid breathless soprano arpeggios.
Temple paced the waiting room.
She neared the door, stopped, and listened with all her attention. She could hear nothing clearly, except the counterpoint of agitated high and low calming tones.
Then all sound stopped.
Temple waited and wondered, and was caught flat-footed in the figurative sense when the door burst open, emitting a dazed-looking Electra and Diane.
Ethan Gallagher, a thin man in a stuffy, dark three-piece suit that looked horribly hot for Vegas, followed them out, frowning at Temple’s proximity. “Remember, ladies, you don’t have to reveal the terms of the will to anyone except the police.”
He glared at Temple. She glared back and followed the women into the hall. “Well, Mr. Gallagher’s parting words were on the rude side,” she said. “Unless you want to keep the terms private from snoops like me.”
Diane hesitated, but Electra didn’t. “I need a drink. I need to sit down. Ditto for Diane. Take us somewhere, Temple. We are too gobsmacked to think.”
A PR person’s main meeting places are in the community she covers, its restaurants and watering holes. In Las Vegas, there were enough of those to trip over every fifty feet, even at 10:00 a.m. in the morning. After giving Diane directions, in fifteen minutes she had them all installed at the Stratosphere’s 108th-floor Air Bar, with Electra and Diane ordering four-dollar strawberry-lime frozen margaritas, set down on paper napkins that read: AFRAID OF HEIGHTS.
Temple’s stomach quavered at so much alcoholic sweetness, especially at extreme heights, so she stuck to ice water. She was driving, after all.
The cool green neon interior was fairly deserted and the 360-degree view of Las Vegas looked dusty and distant, like any southwest desertscape.
“So what’s the news?” Temple asked.
Diane and Electra noisily sucked up flavored crushed ice. Diane spoke first. “I got the house in Dayton, Ohio.”
“Is that a good thing?” Temple asked.
“At my age, any house is an asset,” Diane said. “I didn’t expect him to leave me anything.”
“And Electra?”
Electra was staring out at the drab landscape, slowly slurping the lurid drink in its lowly plastic glass in front of her. “I can’t believe it.”
“What you got in the will?”
Temple glanced at Diane, who nodded solemnly. “I can’t believe it either. But the lawyer said the house is free and clear, no liens or anything. And Electra—”
“Jay had it in his will.” Electra’s eyes shone with tears. “He left me all his Vegas land and the buildings on it. So I’ve got your baby urban village going, Temple. And to think I cussed him out just before he died.”
Temple couldn’t reveal at this maudlin moment that she had a hugely hot idea for said urban village. Instead, she offered consolation.
“Jay made the bequest long before you yelled at him,” Temple said with a smile. “That’s fabulous. I wonder why he didn’t tell you that?” She jumped down from her skimpy bar-height chair, her heels hitting the smooth floor with a clap like hands. “Let’s find a window that overlooks your new empire.”
She rushed to the slanted glass windows with DO NOT LEAN ON signs posted at regular intervals. Outside, clothed body parts and screaming faces flashed by as the Stratosphere’s extreme thrill rides plunged willing riders up and down and around at fearsome heights and speed.
“We’re right near the Pawn Stars village,” Temple said.
“That looks like an ant hill,” Diane exclaimed.
“Four thousand people a day,” Electra quoted Temple.
But Temple’s high heels were almost striking sparks off the shiny floor as she raced to another window view.
“Come on. This is the window we want. Look. Down there.” Temple pointed. “There’s the police substation roof and your penthouse atop the Circle Ritz and a little bit over and down, your new, big empty building and lot.”
“Oh, my,” Electra said. “It’s more land than just that. I need to get home and look up my plat maps. I think I remember where Jay’s parts began and ended, but we could probably get them from the city too.” Her excitement ebbed. “I’ll always remember that building as where Jay died, where he was killed.”