“So for once in your life, you did something for yourself.”
“Oh, not for once,” he said. “She made a lot of sacrifices for me.”
“Your wanting to leave the nest-it was the natural course of things, Travis. I remember how my father-well, never mind.”
“Your father didn’t want you to move out?”
“No. But at that time, I felt as if we’d end up hating each other if I stayed. And I think we would have.”
“But you came back.”
“That’s true. It was what he wanted, what he asked for. For me to be there. I did what he asked. Your father asked for something different. You did what he asked.”
He was silent.
Ghosts, I thought, then suddenly remembered Travis’s e-mail address. “Was he your George Kerby?”
He smiled. “Topper. My dad and I watched a videotape of that film one day. He threatened to start calling me ‘Toppie’ because he said I was just like Cosmo Topper, confined to routine and taking life far too seriously. He said I needed to get out and do the things I wanted to do. He said he’d come back and haunt me if I didn’t start living a little. So Cosmo became my storyteller name.”
“I wonder if he was also trying to take you out of harm’s way for a while.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe by sending you on the road, making it difficult for people to find you after his death, your father saved your life.”
He was thinking that over when his cell phone rang.
“It’s Rachel,” he said, “but she said I should ask you to pull over before I give you the phone.”
“Oh, brother. Once a cop-” I said lightly.
“She sounds upset,” he said.
31
I had just started up Highway 18, so I pulled over and took the phone from Travis.
“Rachel? Is Mary all right?”
“Mary’s fine. Her house is fine, too, although there was a fire.”
“A fire! Her house caught on fire?”
“No, the Karmann Ghia.”
“The…” I couldn’t say it.
“Jack and I went over there to pick it up, there was already a fire truck on the scene.”
“Not my Karmann Ghia…”
“I’m so sorry, Irene. I know you loved that little car. I know you’ve had it for a long time-”
“Since college,” I said blankly. “Since college.”
“Can you forgive me?”
“Forgive you?”
“If I had gone straight over there, after I talked to you-”
“Oh, Rachel. Don’t do that to yourself. I’m the one who left it there. What happened?”
“Molotov cocktail.”
“We must be rushing him. The bomb on Travis’s camper was much more sophisticated.”
“Let Travis drive-you’re upset.”
“Steer a van up mountain roads with one hand? Not if you aren’t used to it. But now he’s wondering what has happened. Explain it to him, will you?”
I handed the phone to Travis and started up Waterman Canyon. He spoke briefly with Rachel, hung up, then said, “I’m sorry, Irene.”
“Just a car,” I said, which was such total bullshit, I’m surprised he didn’t call me on it. But he fell silent, which is what I needed.
I was grateful for the mountain roads; they required my absolute concentration. The sun was setting, and by the time we reached Mr. Brennan’s large, lake-view mountain home, it was dark. I parked along the road, took out a large flashlight that Jack had apparently included in the price of the van, and Travis and I stepped outside. I felt the chill mountain air, heard the crickets sing, smelled the pine fragrance and saw the stars overhead. I promptly bent over double and started throwing up.
“Irene!” Travis rushed over to me.
“Some water, please,” I said between dry heaves. “Bottle in the van fridge.”
He brought it to me. I rinsed my mouth out. “Is it because of your car?”
“No.”
“The curving road?”
“No.”
“The altitude?”
“No. The mountains,” I said.
“The mountains?”
“I’m-I’m afraid of the mountains.”
He stopped asking questions.
“I was taken to a place not far from here once,” I said. “Against my will. Locked me in a little dark room. Spent three days beating the shit out me. Haven’t been to the mountains since. And if you ever want to see me go nuts, lock me inside any confined space.”
He reached over, took my hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You had enough on your mind. Besides, I have to try to get over this sooner or later.” I laughed. “Frank is going to be so pissed.”
“At me? I won’t blame him.”
“No, me. He owns property up here. I always make him go without me.”
I stood up, took a little bit of time to get myself back together, or what I hoped would pass for together. It was an act, of course, but sometimes you have to make do with an act.
There was a dignity about Ezekiel Brennan that made one approach him calmly and quietly. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a full head of perfectly combed white hair, watchful gray eyes-slightly enlarged by the lenses in his pewter-rimmed glasses-a strong nose and chin, a firm mouth. He wore casual clothes when he greeted us at the front door-a light sweater and jeans-but it wasn’t hard to picture him in a finely tailored suit, carrying a leather briefcase.
Brennan was gracious to both of us, a perfect host. Travis obviously meant more to him than the average client. It would be easy to assume it was the millions, but even before he started talking about Arthur Spanning, I knew that he looked upon Travis as he might a grandson.
When he first saw my cousin, his smile became much warmer. “Travis!” he said in his deep voice, embracing him with an arm around the shoulder.
“Thank you for allowing us to come to your home on such short notice, Mr. Brennan,” he said, returning the embrace.
“What has happened to your hand?!” he asked.
“Oh-that’s a long story,” Travis said, then added, “I’m so glad to see you!
The hand on Travis’s shoulder gave it another squeeze. “An extremely difficult time for you, I know. I am so very sorry.”
“My dad-your friendship was so important to him. He was grateful for all you did to help him over the years.”
“That was my pleasure. And his friendship was equally important to me,” Brennan said. “I find myself somewhat at loose ends these days-I do miss him.”
He showed us into a spacious living room, where a small fire burned in a brick fireplace. Large windows and sliding-glass doors looked out on the lake below. It was too dark to see much more than the outline of the shore, but in daylight, it would be a beautiful view. Travis was watching me nervously. “I’m okay,” I said softly.
We declined the offer of a drink. With nothing more than a raised eyebrow, Mr. Brennan indicated to me that he expected to have a private conversation with Travis.
“I want her here,” Travis said, reading the look. “She may hear anything you have to say to me.”
“Whatever you wish, of course,” Brennan said, “but wouldn’t it be better-”
“When my father warned me about being bothered by the family,” Travis interrupted, “was he referring to the Kellys?”
“No,” Brennan admitted. “Your father was referring to your uncle Gerald and his other in-laws, the DeMonts.”
Travis studied the lawyer for a moment, then said, “I am willing to explain why I want Irene to be here, but I don’t want to upset you-”
“My boy, I am old, but I am healthy, and working in law has strengthened my nerves remarkably. Say what you have to say.”
“Irene is helping me to discover who murdered my mother. She needs to hear everything. And she’ll have some questions of her own.”
But Brennan was still caught on one word. “Murdered?”
“Yes.” Travis seemed unable for a moment to go on, and said, “Irene- will you please tell him?”