“I don’t know.”
Robbie was quiet again. “You had your mind made up even before you opened the envelope, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because—” James began, but he stopped.
I will kill you both.
“Call it my detective’s intuition,” he said.
Robbie seemed impressed by that, and they left it there. James folded the letter, put it back in the envelope, and the two of them headed upstairs to his bedroom. Megan was in her own room, and the two of them locked eyes for a second as he passed by the open doorway. He was filled with a sense of helplessness. He wanted to tell Robbie what had happened, but couldn’t. Wanted to talk to his parents about it, but was afraid.
What could he do? James wondered, and the only answer he came up with was expressed in a single word.
Nothing.
Fifteen
Pam and her husband, Joe, were the first ones to arrive at the party. Claire greeted them warmly, accepted the expensive bottle of wine they brought, and took them on a quick tour of the house before returning them to the dining room and the food.
“This place is terrific,” Pam told her. “The kitchen is amazing! And I really like the openness. And the high ceilings.”
“Thank you.”
“Even your kids’ rooms look like something out of a magazine.”
Claire laughed. “Well, we made them clean up before packing them off to Grandma’s. Believe me, they don’t usually look like that. Especially James’s room.”
“It is a nice place, though,” Pam said. She punched Claire lightly on the arm. “Now aren’t you glad you did this?”
The doorbell rang.
“Ask me in two hours,” Claire told her.
Julian reached the door before she did and ushered in a pleasant-looking young man who had also brought a bottle of wine and whom Julian introduced as Cole Hubbard, one of their neighbors. It was his turn to give the tour, so Claire graciously accepted the gift and brought it to the kitchen, while Julian took the man upstairs, no doubt to show off his office.
Julian’s friend Rick was the next to arrive, and Claire forced herself to smile at him as he entered, bringing nothing. Rick was a printer, and Julian had met him years ago when he’d needed some new business cards. The two of them had hit it off for some inexplicable reason, though outwardly they would seem to have nothing in common. Jardine-born and -bred, Rick had never finished high school, let alone gone on to college, and his sole interest appeared to be beer, his favorite brands of which were advertised on the series of grimy, faded T-shirts that made up his wardrobe.
Claire had never liked Rick, and she knew that, as usual, he would end up drinking too much and railing against his ex, who’d moved to Las Cruces over three years ago. Declining to take him around their new house, she pointed him toward the food, and was saved from further conversation by the ringing of the doorbell. It was Julian’s other friend, Patrick, along with his wife, Kathleen. The two of them, both workers at the hospital, were the polar opposite of Rick, and she stood with them in the entryway for a few moments, talking and catching up and apologizing for not having them over sooner. It was getting too crowded to give tours, so she bade them explore to their heart’s content and answered the next ring of the doorbell, which turned out to be her friend Janet.
The floodgates opened after that, and for several minutes she did not even have a chance to close the door between arrivals. They’d decided not to invite family, only friends, and while she’d bristled at that at first, Claire was happy now that Julian had stuck to his guns. It was hard enough dealing with the disparate personalities of their respective circles without throwing relatives into the mix.
Julian had turned on some music, low and not overpowering—one of Brian Eno’s ambient records, she was pretty sure—and the party seemed to be going well. People were eating and drinking, talking and laughing, her friends from work getting to know the neighbors from her street, and though her natural instinct was to hang out with her closest friends, the ones like Janet whom she’d known forever, she made a concerted effort to mingle. There was a long-haul trucker, she discovered, a retired accountant, a veterinarian, a bank teller, a contractor. It was an eclectic group, their new neighbors, and Claire was glad she and Julian had decided to host this get-together. Two of the couples from down the block were just as unfamiliar with their other neighbors as she and Julian were, and they made a special effort to let the two of them know what a great idea this was and how much fun they were having.
After spending a few moments talking to Patrick and Kathleen about recent cutbacks at the hospital and an unseasonal uptick in flu cases, Claire excused herself and maneuvered her way into the dining room to refresh her drink and grab a handful of chips. She practically bumped heads with Julian, who had arrived at the table to snag a couple of taquitos.
“It’s going well,” she said.
He motioned toward the table. “Do you think we have enough food?”
“We have enough drinks. So if we run out of food, it’s your job to make sure everyone’s drunk enough that they don’t notice.”
He smiled. “Deal.”
In the kitchen, Rick and Cole were arguing politics. Loudly. Claire hadn’t noticed before, but now their voices were carrying. She nudged Julian, nodding toward the open doorway.
“It’s those damn pensions,” Rick was saying. “Public employee unions have taken this nation hostage. Our tax dollars are going to pay off the retirement of those bureaucrats.”
Cole shook his head. “Your dollars are going to pay off everyone’s retirement. Oil company CEOs? That’s where those extra pennies you pay at the pump go. Computer company pensions? That’s why you’re paying a hundred bucks for a word-processing program that cost fifty cents to mass-produce in China. You know, instead of pissing and moaning about how other people have it better than you and how their retirement systems should be as bad as yours, why don’t you insist that your retirement be as good as theirs? Instead of trying to drag everyone else down to your level, try to push yourself up to their level.”
“Don’t give me that commie crap.”
“Do you want to know why we’re really on the hook for those pensions? Because the stock market went south, and brokerage firms pawned off toxic assets to pension fund managers, promising that they were good investments, and everyone got screwed. The pension funds lost their money due to fraud and deception, and now taxpayers are on the hook for it. That’s why those executives and Wall Street types are so rich. They just take the money and let everyone else fight over the crumbs.”
“Good point,” Julian whispered.
“And, of course,” Cole continued, “they want to eliminate retirement systems and Social Security and have everyone gamble their retirement money on the stock market—which is exactly what got us into this mess in the first place.”
Rick’s face was getting red with anger. Sensing trouble, Claire dispatched Julian to defuse the situation. “Your friend,” she said. “You take care of him.”
She watched with more than a little admiration as he did just that, walking between the two men and deftly changing the subject to a mash-up YouTube video he’d recently seen featuring John Wayne, a supermodel and a condom ad. Seconds later, all three of them were laughing.
But the mood of the party seemed to have shifted, and Claire was not quite sure why. She turned back toward the living room. The light, friendly tone that had dominated the gathering until now was gone, replaced by an edgier, more competitive vibe. Even the background music seemed darker, although she knew that Julian had not changed CDs.