She stuck out her tongue at him. ”Yes dear, yes dear, the words of the truly henpecked husband.”
“What?” At least he put down the paper.
“You were very funny at lunch.”
“I was?”
“I don’t know anyone who makes me laugh as you do.”
“What a nice thing to say, thank you.”
“And you were most insightful with Lupe this evening.”
He looked at her quizzically, “What’re you getting at?”
“Oh nothing.” She worked her needles. “I just wondered why you haven’t mentioned that Tyrannosaurus Rex standing over there by the piano, slobbering all over my best carpet.”
He actually looked across the room.
“He’s a fearsome, husband-taking, widow-making monster, Walter.”
After a long pause he said, “I think he’s more a pussy cat.”
“No, no, pussy cats get mentioned regularly. Only the big, bad things are ignored.” She sniffled. “Only they just get bigger and badder. What did the damn doctor say, Walter? I won’t be cut out of your life at this late stage.”
His sigh was a deep one. “He biopsied my prostate. He’s running tests. Take a few days.”
“For what? The Big C?”
Another sigh. “It could be the little b, as in benign.”
“Tell me every word he said.” She listened, asked some questions, then said, “Thank you, I feel better now.”
“You do?”
“Of course. It’s always better to know. Your day-long silence scared the wits out of me.”
“I've been afraid to tell you.”
“Don’t be silly. Whatever happens we’ll both deal with it when the time comes. “
He arose from his chair and leaned over her. His fingers felt so cool, touching her chin, raising her head to his. “What a magnificent woman you are.”
“It’s about time you noticed.”
As he kissed her she knew she had done the right thing. No matter what, this beloved man must never know the terrible churning in the pit of her stomach.
11: A Warning
Henry Clay hopped into the van. “Can I ride along today, Doc?”
Byerly liked his privacy. Some of his best ideas came while driving. But he knew boredom was chronic among the homeless, particularly for a man like Henry. He may have lost half his wits, but he still had a college education. “Sure, Henry, glad to have you.” Then he smelled him. Should he suggest a bath? No, Henry’s pride might be hurt.
After his second trip to the county clinics, Walter said, “I have to run out to UCSB.”
“Whatever you say, doc.” A few minutes later he said, “Pretty out here, ain’t it, doc?”
“Sure is, Henry.” He raised his voice, imitating a travelogue. “Surrounded by the blue Pacific on three sides, the University of California at Santa Barbara ranks as one of the most scenic institutions of higher learning in the country. Lucky kids!”
He returned to his normal voice. “Of course the university regents have done their best to ruin the place by erecting less than inspiring buildings, however cheap.”
“UCSB has more bicycles than any college in the country.”
“How do you know that, Henry?”
“I dunno.”
He parked and headed for the registrar’s office, Henry Clay in tow. Again he couldn’t refuse him.
“Oh, Professor Byerly, it’s good to see you.”
He had taught a couple of terms and still filled in occasionally. That made him an Adjunct Professor. Sounded so much better than substitute teacher. “And you, too. I wonder if I could see the records of a former student, Harry Gould.”
“The man who shot himself? How awful!”
“Yes.” To both the question and the comment.
“The police were here for the same thing yesterday.”
At least they were still investigating. He studied Gould’s record. Better than average student, pre-law group, international club. Nothing special. Somehow he wasn’t surprised.
“Do you have any record for-” He extracted the photo of Jamie’s mother from his pocket.
“I know her,” Henry Clay said.
“You do?”
“Sure, Mandy Sykes, we called her Cyclone. I had classes with her.”
He studied. “How old are you, Henry?”
Henry blinked and looked away. “I forget.”
“That’s okay, it’s not important.” Henry looked scruffy, but probably not that old. He could have gone to school with Amanda Sykes. “What else can you tell me about her?” Henry had his vacant look. “Was she a good student?”
He shrugged. “Sure, I guess so.”
“Was she pretty?”
“Yeah, sure.”
That qualified as faint praise. Henry was too nice to say she wasn’t. “Did you ever date her?”
“Me? Naw.” Henry blushed. “I never-she was spoken for anyway.”
“She was?”
Henry rubbed the stubble on his chin. His name was…” He stared off into space. “I forget.”
“That’s okay, Henry.” He perused Amanda Sykes’ record. Lots of political science courses and activity in conservative organizations. She left after her junior year.
“His name was Harry, I remember Harry.”
Byerly turned to him. “Harry Gould?”
“That’s it, Harry Gould. Them two was hot and heavy. Everybody figured he was into her pants, but good.”
Back in the van heading downtown, Walter did a quick calculation. If Harry Gould were Jamie’s father, the boy would be five or six, not three-unless he’d seen Amanda after college. No, Amanda wouldn’t be on the run from Harry Gould. Somebody else put the bun in her oven, as the Brits say.
Walter stopped at the clinics. No passengers returning to town. He now headed there himself, driving on city streets, Calle Real, State Street, and the west side along De la Vina Street.
“You were a big help, Henry.”
“I was?” Byerly could see his wide grin in the rear view mirror.
“You knew all about Cyclone and Harry.”
“Sure, I remember them.”
In his outside mirror Walter saw a large black car tailgating him. “The speed limit’s 30, my friend. I’m not about to get a ticket because you’re in a hurry.”
One block below Alamar the street turned one way. He saw the black car pull into the left lane. “Now’s your chance, fellow, go for it.” The black car turned out to be a limousine. “Hey, what’re you doing!” Byerly jerked the wheel to the right to avoid being hit, then braked sharply. He was against the curb, unable to move.
He hollered out the window, “What kind of a driver are you?” A uniformed man got out and walked around the front of the limo toward him.
“Hey, that’s the guy what grabbed the girl.”
“Be still, Henry, I’ll handle this.”
The Ninja’s voice was a gruff as his looks. “Listen, Byerly-”
“You know my name?”
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from the estate-and from that dame, too.”
“You can’t be serious.” He had to laugh. “And if I don’t I suppose you’ll break both my knees.”
“A good idea, smart ass. I hadn’t thought of that.” A huge hand burst through the window and grabbed his shirtfront, pulling him sideways and forward. “An old guy like you, I could make you into a pancake, and I will, if you don’t watch it.”
“Take your hands off me.”
“Or else what?” He grinned, showing pretty good teeth actually. “What’re you going to do about it, old man?”
He hesitated. “I’m going to blow this horn.” He pushed the button on the steering wheel. “And I’m going to keep blowing till you release me and get the hell out of my way.“
The horn was surprisingly loud. A couple of cars slowed to look.
“Mind what I say, you old fart, stay way.” Ninja gave him a final jerk, then went back to the limo and drove off.
“What was that all about?” Henry asked.
Byerly sucked in air and straightened his shirtfront, trying to control his shakes. He turned the van away from the curb and drove off, finally able to say, “In one-star movies that is what is known as a warning, I believe.”
By the time he parked in front of The Sally and sought out Addie Kinkaid, he felt fairly calm. “You’re not very popular in certain quarters,” he said.