Part 16 (1/2)
He sighs and looks down at the photo hard. ”I can't promise I won't need to contact you. But I won't push you.”
I breathe in fast.
”Edith Ann Beauvais.” It is a chance. I take a chance.
He writes the name down. ”Who's she?”
”She was someone who ... I saw her with them a few times.”
”Davalos and the victim?”
”Yes.” I am losing track of my own distortions.
”Where does she live?”
”She's dead.” ”Convenient.” ”She killed herself.” ”We'll see how what you say checks out. Does she have any surviving relatives?” ”I guess. I mean, her husband.”
”Name?”
”Charlie Beauvais.”
”Where might I find him?”
”He s gone.”
”He's gone. Of course. Where'd he go? Hop a s.h.i.+p to the Orient?”
”No one's sure. Maybe Mexico.”
”What are you doing to me?”
”Telling you the truth.”
He sighs again, looks out the window for a minute, then turns back to me.
”Don't you want to ask me something?”
I look at him.
”Don't you want to know how I found you?”
I swallow hard, although I'm not sure why. ”How did you find me?”
”Police business.
”Oh.”
”But you might think about this: I found you by accident. Because I was following someone else. Imagine my surprise. You get it?”
”I'm not sure.”
He gestures with his eyes to the Avalon photo. ”Watch your back, Miss.”
Like out of a movie. Like out of a movie, and I clutch my chest. I clutch my chest and shake my head. I didn't see it coming, but I should have.
The next day at school, I keep worrying about when I will see Alice for the first time, for the first time since this most recent conversation with Detective Cudahy. These days she seems to be lurking around every corner.
As I make my way down the stairs after fifth period, I am surprised instead to see my brother standing in the front vestibule, kicking his foot in short strokes against the blasted brick of the wall. My brother, I almost say it aloud.
He must have heard my approach, or somehow sensed me descending, because he immediately turns to see me.
His face has a pinched, anxious look I know very well. It is the face he wears when he feels helpless. Seeing it, I stop short. I can't bear to move closer.
”What's wrong, Bill?”
”Nothing's wrong, nothing. Why do you ask?”
I am still a few steps from the bottom, but somehow I can't get any closer. Why is he here? Has something happened? Has he found something out?
I can't say anything. It is long past saying anything.
He runs the back of his hand over his face. ”It's nothing. It's nothing. It's just- When you drove Alice to school today, did she seem all right to you?”
I make the words come out. ”I didn't drive her today. I had an early meeting. I've had a lot of early meetings lately.”
He turns toward the wall, touching it with his fingertips. Suddenly, he is nine years old again and facing the profuse tears of his sister, who doesn't want to leave for girls' camp the next day.
”What is it, Bill?”
”And she's not here. She hasn't been here all day. They said she called in sick. They called me at work to see if I could pick up her students' a.s.signments and take them home. They ...” He trails off.
”She's probably at home in bed. A misunderstanding-”
”Yes.” He lifts his head. ”I'm sure. Obvious. Thanks, Sis. You know me, overreacting as usual.”
I try for a smile and walk the final steps, moving toward him.
”She's just been a little sick, so I've tried to keep a close eye on her.”
”Yes, of course. I'm sure she appreciates it.” Then I add, touching his arm lightly, ”It's what you do.”
He turns his head and looks at me, his eyes fastening on mine, my eyes. ”That's right, Sis. You always know. You always knew.”
After he leaves, I shut the door to my cla.s.sroom and lock it. I sit at my desk for ten minutes, ignoring the students gathering in the hallway. I don't even hear their rising clatter. I sit at my desk, hands folded, looking out the window, thinking, knowing things. Things I will have to do.
He wouldn't tell me. He'd just make it go away.
I haven't seen him in ten long days, since before seeing Lois's body. Have been avoiding him, not wanting to feel tempted to tell him about Lois, afraid, in part maybe, that he might already know. I haven't returned the calls he's left with the front desk of my apartment building. I don't let myself think about it. If I start to think about it, I remind myself who introduced us.