“ ’Cause Richie wasn’t getting married, and neither were you, so you and he could be whatever you and he were.”
I nodded.
“And, as I recall, you were bopping that guy from LA.”
“Spike!”
“Which made it easier to feel like you were happy,” Spike said. “Right now you feel badly alone.”
“Except for you,” I said.
“And as we both know, I’m gayer than three humming birds,” Spike said.
“Doesn’t mean I don’t love you,” I said.
“Doesn’t mean I don’t love you, either. But that’s not what we’re talking about.”
“What are we talking about?”
“You need to see a shrink.”
“Oh, God,” I said.
“We need to know what’s wrong with you.” He grinned at me. “I can only take you so far.”
“That seems so long a hill to climb.”
Spike nodded.
“I mean, do you think I’m crazy?”
“I think you need to know what’s making you unhappy.”
“Duh,” I said. “Richie’s marriage might have something to do with it.”
“I think you need to know why that’s making you so unhappy.”
“Because I love him, for crissake.”
“Then I think you need to know why you love him and can’t live with him.”
I was silent. Spike gave Rosie the final bite of roll. The ladies that Rosie had offended finished their free lunches and got up and left. They were careful not to notice me or Rosie.
“You bastard,” I said to Spike.
He smiled.
“Explain to me where I’m wrong,” he said.
“You’re not wrong. It’s why I called you a bastard.”
5
Barbara Stein had a law office on the second floor of the old Musgrove Building in downtown Andover, with a nice view of the town library. There was an outer office for her paralegal, two small offices for her and her husband, Jake Kaplan, and a modest conference room. Barbara, her client, and I were in the conference room.
The client’s name was Sarah Markham. She looked about twenty. She was taller than I was, and slim, with long, straight, dark hair, large brown eyes, and a lot of dark makeup. She wore low-slung pants and a cropped long-sleeved T-shirt that exposed her navel. She had rings on most of her fingers, including one on her left thumb, and her nails were painted black. It was a hideous fashion, and thankfully, I was just old enough that it was not required. Barbara had gray hair pulled back into a tight knot, and round, black-rimmed eyeglasses. Exposed navels were not an issue with her.
“I don’t look like anyone in my family,” Sarah told me.
“Eye color?” I said.
I had a dim sense, lingering from my science-requirement biology class, that two blue-eyed parents couldn’t produce a brown-eyed child.
“Except that,” she said. “But I don’t look anything like them.”
“What do your parents say?”
“They say I’m their biological child.”
“Barbara tells me they won’t allow DNA testing.”
“No,” Sarah said, “they won’t.”
“Because it’s demeaning?”
“Yes. They’re pretty phobic about doctors and things.”
“Things?” I said.
I was trying to focus. Trying to care about her problem.
“I think my mother has a religious thing about it.”
“About DNA testing.”
“I guess,” Sarah said. “They’re pretty phobic, you know?”
“Give me an example,” I said.
“Oh, I don’t know. They’re scared of everything?”
“Besides doctors and God, who are they scared of?” I said.
“Everyone,” she said. “What difference does it make. How is that helping me find my birth parents?”
Vague and impatient. What a lovely combination.
“They are not at ease with me,” Barbara said.
“Tell me again, how did Sarah get to you?” I said.
“I have done some general legal work for her family,” Barbara said.
“Have they always been ill at ease with you?”
“No, it’s more since I’ve been helping Sarah.”
“For God’s sake,” Sarah said. “You’re supposed to be a detective? Why don’t you detect something instead of asking all these dumb questions.”
“Asking a lot of dumb questions is sort of how you do that,” I said. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Live at home?”
“I’m in college. I live in the dorm. I’m at home during vacations.”
“Where do you go?”
“I’m going into my senior year at Taft University,” Sarah said. “What difference does all that make?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “How will you pay my fee?”
“I have money from my grandfather.”
“Does he give it to you, or did you inherit?”
“He left me a trust fund, he started it when I was born.”
“Did you know your grandfather?”
“I don’t remember him.”
“Paternal or maternal?” I said.
“Excuse me?”
“Which of your parents did he father?” I said.
“He was my mother’s father.”
“Was he wealthy?”
Sarah gave me an it’s-none-of-your-business look. I bore up under it.
“I don’t know. He didn’t put so much in to start, but... have you heard of compound interest?”
“Only secondhand,” I said. “Can your parents control the fund?”
“Not now.”
“The money passed outright to Sarah,” Barbara said. “When she turned eighteen.”
“Besides appearance,” I said, “is there anything else that makes you think you’re not biologically related?”
Sarah breathed in deeply and looked even more annoyed, but she answered me.
“There’s a ton of clues,” she said. “They were always talking when I was little about how my mother couldn’t have kids... except of course you, Sarah. It was like they’d catch themselves.”
I nodded.
“What else?”
“They can’t find my birth certificate,” she said. “They don’t remember which hospital I was born in.”
“Where were you born?”
“Chicago, Illinois.”
“When did you move?”
“I don’t know. It was when I was a baby.”
“So what’s your earliest memory of where you lived?”
“Here.”
“Andover,” I said.
“Yes,” she answered, in a tone that suggested that I was very stupid. “Isn’t that what I just said?”
“What you said was ‘here.’ I was confirming that you meant Andover, and not simply Massachusetts.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Sarah said. “Do you want the job or not?”
“Sarah,” I said. “I know how to do this, and you do not. But I have to do it the way I know how. And I have to be able to stand the client. So far, I can’t.”
Sarah looked at me in astonishment and began to cry. Perfect. Maybe I could join her and we could both have a good cry and fall into each other’s arms. Barbara got up and patted Sarah’s shoulder.
“Sunny Randall is a very good detective. I know she can help you, but she has to ask questions. I know it seems clear to you. But Sunny’s just come aboard.”
Sarah sniffled and nodded. And sniffled and wiped her eyes and blew her nose on a Kleenex that Barbara gave her.
“Yes. Please. I’m sorry. I’ll tell you anything you need to know.”
“With less attitude?” I said. “I’ve not been having the best week of my life, either.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I didn’t mean to have attitude. Really, I’ll try to tell you everything.”
“That’ll be good,” I said. “Can you get me pictures of yourself, and of your mother and father?”