Indigo Slam

Teresa said, 'We were just finished, but there's more if you'd like some.'

'That's okay, but thanks.'

'Just let us clear the table.'

'Sure.' I wandered into the living room and sat on the couch. I had to move a library book to sit. Brennert's Her Pilgrim Soul.

Winona slid from her seat, placed her silverware onto her plate, then carried the plate and her glass into the kitchen. Teresa gathered her things, too, and so did Charles. No one had to badger him. Everyone knew what to do and everyone did their job as if it were part of a larger accepted pattern. They gathered their things and brought them into the kitchen, and then Teresa and Charles returned, Teresa picking up the place mats and Charles wiping off the table with a damp cloth. Like they had done it a thousand times and would do it a thousand more, and had accepted it as a natural part of their lives. A ritual. I watched them and wondered at the secrets families keep. Teresa wanted me to find her father, but the man I was finding didn't appear to be the man she knew. And the man that I would eventually find would be different still. It is often that way in my line of work.

When the table was clean, Teresa came over, sat in the big chair, and gave me a smile. 'Would you like a cup of coffee?'

'No, thanks.'

'Well, if you change your mind.' Prim and proper. In absolute control of her environment, and of this meeting with the employee. 'Now, what have you found?'

Water was running in the kitchen. Winona 's night to do the dishes. 'Has your father mentioned a man named Tre Michaels to you?'

She shook her head. 'No. No, I don't think so.'

'How about Wilson Brownell?'

She stared thoughtfully as if maybe this rang a bell, but then she shook her head. 'Uh-uh.' Charles skulked in from the dining room and leaned against the wall.

'Tre Michaels worked with your father. He saw your dad a couple of weeks ago, and your father said that he was thinking of taking a trip, but he didn't say where. At about that same time, your dad made five long-distance calls to Seattle and spoke with Wilson Brownell, twice at considerable length.' When I mentioned Seattle Teri and Charles glanced at each other, and Charles crossed his arms. 'I phoned Mr. Brownell, but Brownell denied knowing your father. I think he's lying, and I think maybe your dad went to Seattle to see him. I'm going to fly up tomorrow to ask Mr. Brownell in person.' I didn't mention the drugs, or why Clark had been fired from Enright.

Teresa looked nervous. 'Why do you have to go to Seattle?'

'I told you why.'

She frowned harder. I thought she wanted to object some more, but you could tell that whatever her objections might be, her desire to find her father was stronger. 'Okay. I guess I should pay you some more money.'

I raised a palm. 'Forget the money. I'll take that part of it up with your father when I find him.'

Charles was frowning, too. He seemed less happy about my going to Seattle than Teresa. She said, 'How long will you be gone?'

'Two days, maybe three. Less if I get what I'm after right away.'

They were watching me now, all big eyes.

'I've asked my partner to come over. His name is Joe Pike, and he'll be around if you need anything.'

Charles looked sulky. 'What are we gonna need? You think we're babies?'

'No, but I'll sleep better if I know there's someone to help you if you need it.'

The doorbell rang. Charles grabbed his knife and raced for the door. I said, 'Ask who it is.'

Charles threw open the door and there was Joe Pike, filling the frame, motionless. Pike is six-one, with long ropy muscles, short dark hair, and a face that gives you nothing unless you know him well. His arms are laced with veins, and bright red arrows had been tattooed onto the outside of his deltoids a long time ago. They point forward. He was wearing a gray sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off and blue Levis and bottomless black pilot's glasses. The glasses tilted toward Charles.

Charles dropped the knife and screamed, 'Run!' He tried to slam the door, but Pike caught the door without effort, and gently pushed it open.

I said, 'Lighten up, Charles. This is Joe Pike. Joe works with me.'

Charles was leaning into the door with everything he had, making little sounds like 'Grr, grr, grr.'

Teresa snapped, 'Charles!'

Charles jumped away from the door and ran past Winona into the kitchen, breathing hard. Winona was standing in the kitchen door, hands soapy and dripping, sniffling like she was about to cry.

Teresa said, 'It's okay, honey. He's one of the good guys.' She looked back at me and shook her head. 'We can take care of ourselves. We don't need a baby-sitter.' Charles peeked out from behind the door.

Joe Pike looked at the knife on the floor, then at the children, and then at me. 'Baby-sitter?'

I spread my hands. 'He won't live with you. He'll just be around, and you'll have his phone number. If there's anything you need, you can call him.' I looked at Joe. 'Right?'

Joe's head swiveled so that the flat black lenses angled my way. I thought he might be amused, but you never know.

Teresa's mouth set in a stubborn line. 'It's all right. We're fine.'

I said, 'Look, I'm not leaving you guys here alone. Joe will be outside, and he might drop in a time or two, and that's the way it has to be.'

Teresa wasn't liking it, but I wasn't giving her a lot of choice. 'Well, I guess there isn't much I can do about it, is there?' Stiff.

I shook my head. 'No.'

Charles finished eyeing Joe and skulked out from behind Winona. 'Lemme see your gun.'

Pike picked up the serrated knife, flipped it into the air, then caught it by the blade. He looked at Charles, and Charles ducked behind Winona. Pike walked over and held out the knife. Handle first. 'Put this away before someone gets hurt.'

Charles took the knife and disappeared into the kitchen.

Pike turned to Teresa. 'It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Haines. My name is Joe.' He held out his hand and she took it. I think she blushed.

Winona smiled. 'My name's Winona.'

Pike glanced over at me and said, 'Go ahead and leave. We'll be fine.'

That Joe. To know him is to love him.

I left them like that in the deepening purple of twilight, and went home.

I approached my house with a suspicion I do not often feel and let myself in. The three drops of blood were still by the cat's door, and the quiet house still held an air of alienness that I resented. The cat slipped in through his cat door, sniffed the three drops, then snicked across the floor and sat by his bowl. Guess he had moved past it.

I gave him a can of Star Kist tuna, then opened the sliding glass doors that lead to my deck. The twilight air was cool and scented with wild sage. I put Jimmy Buffett on the CD player, then poured a glass of Cuervo Gold, had some, then went out to the side of my house and selected a fat green lime from the tree I planted two years ago. It went well with the Cuervo. My home had been invaded, and I could either let my feelings for the place be changed by that event or not, but either way would be my choice. The event is what you make of it.

I spent the next two hours cleaning both bathrooms and the kitchen and the floors. I threw out my toothbrush and opened a new one, and I washed the sheets and pillowcases and towels. I pulled the plates and the silver from the cupboards and drawers and loaded them into the dishwasher, and vacuumed the couch and the chairs and the carpets. I scrubbed the floors hard, and spent the remains of the day cleaning and drinking until, very early the next morning, I had once more made peace with my home.

I packed, then fell into a fitful sleep as Jimmy Buffett sang about Caribbean sunsets, over-the-hill pirates, and a world where fifteen-year-old girls didn't have to carry the emotional weight of their families.

Later that morning I went to Seattle.

CHAPTER 7