“Now let me get this straight, Mrs. Merchant,” I said. “You’re worried about the black man? His well-being?”
“Sin is like a cat, Mr. Phillips. She’ll always land on her feet, and on a pile of money too. This is just a game she’s playing with her father. She doesn’t believe he loves her unless she can make him mad.”
“I guess shackin’ up with a poor black hobo is about as mad as he’s gonna get.”
“He loves Sin more than any of the other children,” she said. “It’s really unhealthy.”
I waited for her to say something else; maybe she wanted to, but at the last moment she held back. I noticed then the errant strands of gray in her hair.
“When Etta told me about your daughter and Willis,” I said, “I told her that there wasn’t much I could do. I mean, L.A.’s a big town. People around there move from house to house like you might go from one room to another.”
“I know something,” she said. “Something that neither Lymon or Abel are aware of.”
“What’s that?”
Sheila Merchant looked from side to side as if there might be spies in her sewing room.
“There’s a big bush next to the left-hand post that marks the beginning of the eucalyptus drive. It bears red berries.”
“I saw it.”
“Under that bush is a basket. It’s in there.”
“What is?”
“A little journal that Willis carried with him. He could barely read or write, but there are some notes and lots of clippings.”
“Excuse me, Sheila, but what are you doin’ with Willis’s diary?”
“He asked me to hold it for him,” Sheila Merchant said. “He didn’t want somebody to steal it out of the bunkhouse. And we were always talking about music. In my house, when I was a child, we all played an instrument. All except for Father, who had a beautiful tenor voice. None of my children are musical, Mr. Phillips.”
“What about that ivory piano I saw?”
“That is an abomination. It cost thirty thousand dollars to build, and the only one who ever played it was Willis Longtree.”
“I see,” I said. “So you said he was talkin’ to you one day...”
“Yes. He was telling me about how much he loved music and performing. He showed me his journal, really it was just a ledger book like the accountants use. He had articles clipped about movie stars and L.A. nightclubs.”
“If he couldn’t read, then how would he know what to clip?” I asked.
“You not here to give nobody the third degree,” Etta warned.
“No, I’m not. I’m here to help you. Now if you want me to do that, just button up and let me ask the questions I see fit.”
EttaMae glared at me. I’d seen her strike men for less.
“It’s all right, Etta,” Sheila said. And then to me, “Willis had people read to him. He’d go through the newspaper until he saw words he knew, like Hollywood, or pictures of performers, and then he’d have someone read the article to him.”
I got the feeling that she had read to the young man once or twice.
“What do you want from me, Mrs. Merchant?”
“Find Willis before Abel does,” she said. “Tell him what Sin did. Try and get him somewhere safe.”
Sheila Merchant reached into her apron and came out with a white envelope.
“There’s a thousand dollars in here,” she said. “Take it and find Willis, make sure that he’s safe.”
“What about your daughter?”
“She’ll come home when she runs out of money.”
Sheila Merchant looked away, out the window. I looked too. There was a beautiful pine forest under a pale blue and coral sky. It seemed impossible that someone with all that wealth, surrounded by such natural beauty, could be even slightly unhappy.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I said.
On the front porch Etta and I were confronted by a sandy-haired man with dead blue eyes.
“Hello, Mr. Snow,” Etta said quickly. She seemed nervous, almost scared.
“EttaMae,” he replied.
He was wearing gray slacks and a square-cut aqua-colored shirt that was open at the collar. Folded over his left arm was a dark blue blazer. He wore a short-brimmed straw hat, tilted back on his head.
His smile was malicious, but that’s not what scared me about him.
EttaMae Harris had lived with Mouse most of her adult life; and Mouse was by far the deadliest man I ever knew. Not once had I seen fear in Etta’s face while dealing with Mouse’s irrational rages. I had never seen her afraid of anybody. Abel Snow therefore had a unique standing in my experience.
“And who is this?” Abel asked.
“Brian Phillips,” I said.
“What are you doing here?”
“Seein’ how the other half lives.”
I smiled and so did Abel.
“You lookin’ for trouble, son?”
“Now why I wanna be lookin’ for somethin’ when it’s standin’ right there in front’a me, pale as death?”
Etta cleared her throat.
“You here about Willis Longtree?” Abel Snow asked me.
“Who?”
Snow’s smile widened into a grin.
“You got something I should know about in your pocket, Brian?”
“Whatever it is, it’s mine.”
Snow was having a good time. I wondered if his heart was beating as fast as mine was. We stared at each other for a moment. That instant might have stretched into an hour if Etta hadn’t said, “Excuse me, Mr. Snow, but Mr. Phillips is givin’ me a ride to L.A.”
He nodded and stepped aside, grinning the whole time.
The basket was where Sheila Merchant said it was. I flipped through the ledger for a minute or two and then put it in the trunk.
Etta fell asleep on the long ride back to L.A. I asked her a few more questions about Mouse, but her story never wavered. Raymond was dead and buried by her own hand.
I dropped her off at the mariner’s house in Malibu and then drove back home. That was about nine o’clock.
Bonnie was waiting for me at the front door wearing the same jeans and sweater.
“Hi, baby,” she said.
“Can I get in?” I asked, and she stepped aside.
The house was quiet and clean. I had straightened up now and then, but this was the first time it had been clean since she was gone.
“Where the kids?”
“They’re staying with Mrs. Riley. I sent them because I thought we might want to be alone.” Bonnie’s eyes followed me around the room.
“No,” I said. “They could be here. I don’t have anything to say they can’t hear.”
“Easy, what’s wrong?”
“EttaMae called.”
“After all this time?”
“Mouse is definitely dead and she knows a young boy who’s in trouble.” I sat in my recliner.
“What? You found out all that?” Bonnie went to sit on the couch. “How do you feel?”
“Like shit.”
“We have to talk,” she said in that tone women have when they’re treating their men like children.
I stood up.
“Maybe later on,” I said. “But right now I got to go out.”
“Easy.”
I strode into the bathroom, closed the door, and locked it. I showered and shaved, cut my nails, and brushed my teeth. When I went to the closet to get dressed, Bonnie was already in the bed.
“Where are you going?” she asked me.
“Out.”
“Out where?”
“Like I told you, to look for that boy Etta wants me to help.”
“You haven’t even kissed me since I’ve been home.”
I pulled out my black slacks and yellow jacket. Then I went to the drawer for a black silk T-shirt. It wasn’t going to be Easy Rawlins the janitor out on the town tonight. A janitor could never find Willis Longtree or Sinestra Merchant.