J is for JUDGMENT Read online

  “I never said a word. I’m just listening.”

  “Anyway, I feel sorry for him. Once people think you’re bad, you might as well be bad. It’s more fun than being good.”

  “I can’t think Brian’s having any fun where he is.”

  “I don’t know what the story is on that. Brian’s talked about that one guy, Guevara I think his name is. He’s a real bad dude. They were in the same quad at one point, and Brian said he was always pulling shit, trying to get him in trouble with the deputies. He’s the one talked him into busting out.”

  “Somebody told me yesterday he died.”

  “Serves him right.”

  “I take it you’ve talked to Brian since he got back. Your mother was in for a visit and so was I.”

  “Just on the phone, so he couldn’t say much. Mostly he said don’t believe nothin’ until I heard it from him. He’s burnt.”

  ” ‘Burnt’ meaning what?”

  “What? Oh. He’s mad. Judge charged him with escape, robbery, grand theft auto, and felony murder. Can you believe it? What a crocka shit. Busting out of jail wasn’t even his idea.”

  “Why’d he do it, then?”

  “They threatened his life! Said if he didn’t go with em, they were going to kill his ass. He was like a hostage, you know?”

  “I didn’t realize that,” I said, trying to keep my tone neutral. Michael was so busy defending his brother, he didn’t seem to catch the skepticism.

  “It’s the truth. Brian swears. He says Julio Rodriguez shot the lady on the road. He never killed anyone. Said the whole thing made him sick. He had no idea them beaners were going to pull that kind of shit. Premeditated murder. Jesus, come on.”

  “Michael, that woman was killed in the perpetration of a felony, which automatically elevates the charge to murder one. Even if your brother never touched the gun, he’s considered an accomplice.”

  “But that doesn’t make him guilty. Whole time he was trying to get away.”

  I bit back the impulse to argue. I could tell he was getting irritated, and I knew I shouldn’t push it if I wanted his cooperation. “I guess his attorney will have to sort that out,” I decided I better shift the conversation onto neutral ground. “What about you? What sort of work do you do?”

  “I work construction, finally making pretty good money. Mom wants me to go to college, but I can’t see the point, With Brendan so little, I don’t want Juliet to have to work. I don’t know what kind of job she could get anyway. She finished high school, but she couldn’t make much more than minimum wage, and with the cost of a baby-sitter, it doesn’t make any sense.”

  We’d reached the corner market ablaze with fluorescent lighting. We let our conversation lapse while Michael moved up and down the aisles, picking up the items he’d been sent to buy. I occupied myself at the magazine rack, scanning the latest issues of various “ladies” publications. Judging by the articles listed on the front covers, we were all obsessed with losing weight, sex, and cheap home decorating tips, in just about that order. I picked up a copy of Home & Hearth, leafing through until I came to one of those features called “Twenty-Five Things to Do for Twenty-five Dollars or Less.” One suggestion was to use old bedsheets to make little dresses with tie sashes for a set of metal folding chairs.

  I glanced up and saw Michael at the front register. He’d apparently paid for his purchases, which the clerk was bagging. I’m not sure what it was, but I suddenly had the sensation that someone else was watching, too. I turned casually, doing a visual survey of the market. To my left I caught a flicker of movement, a blurred face reflected against the glass doors of the refrigerator, cases that lined the wall across from the entrance. I turned to look, but the face was gone. I moved to the entrance and pushed through the door, stepping out into the chill night air. There was no one visible in the parking lot. The street was devoid of traffic. No pedestrians, no stray dogs, no wind stirring in the shrubs. The feeling persisted, and I felt the hair rising up along my scalp. There was no reason to imagine that either Michael or I would warrant anyone’s attention. Unless, of course, it was Wendell or Renata. The wind was accelerating, sending a mist across the pavement like the blow back from a hose.

  “What’s the matter?” I turned to find Michael standing in the doorway with the loaded grocery bag in his arms.

  “I thought I saw someone standing in the doorway looking at you.”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t see anyone.”

  “Maybe it’s my inflamed imagination, but I don’t often do that sort of thing,” I said. I could feel a silver shiver wash across my frame.

  “You think it might have been Dad?”

  “I can’t think who else would take an interest.”

  I saw him lift his head like an animal. “I hear a car engine running.”

  “You do?” I listened carefully but heard nothing except the rustle of wind in the trees. “Where’s the sound coming from?”

  He shook his head. “It’s gone now. Over there, I think.”

  I peered over at the darkened side street he was pointing to, but there were no signs of life. The widely spaced streetlights created shallow pools of wan illumination that served only to heighten the deep shadows in between. A breeze was moving through the treetops like a wave. The rustling conveyed something shy and secretive. I could hear the patter of light rain in the upper-most leaves. Ever so faintly, at a distance, I thought I picked up the sharp tap of heels, someone walking purposefully away into the gloom beyond. I turned back. His smile faded slightly when he saw my face. “You’re really spooked.”

  “I hate the idea of being watched.”

  Behind us, I noticed the clerk in the store was staring steadily in our direction, probably puzzled by our behavior. I flicked a look at Michael. “Anyway, we better get back. Juliet’ll be wondering what’s kept us.”

  We set off, walking rapidly. This time I made no attempt to slow Michael’s pace. I found myself glancing back from time to time, but the street always appeared to be empty. In my experience, it’s always easier to walk toward the darkness than away from it. It wasn’t until the front door closed behind us that I allowed myself to relax. Even then, an involuntary yip seemed to escape my lips. Michael had moved into the kitchen with his grocery bag, but he peered around the doorway. “Hey, we’re safe, okay?”

  He came out of the kitchen carrying the Pampers and a carton of cigarettes. He headed for the bedroom, and I was not far behind him, doing a quick step to keep up. “I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know if your father tries to get in touch. I’ll give you my card. You can call me anytime.”

  “Sure.”

  “You might warn Juliet, too,” I said.

  “Whatever.”

  He paused dutifully while I fumbled in my handbag for a business card. I used my raised knee as a desk, penning my telephone number on the back of the card, which I then passed to him. He glanced at it with no apparent interest and put it in his jacket pocket. “Thanks.”

  I could tell from his tone he had no intention of calling me for any reason. If Wendell tried to reach him, he’d probably welcome the contact.

  We went into the bedroom, where the baseball game was still in progress. Juliet had moved into the bathroom with the baby, and I could hear her voice reverberating through the bathroom door as she prattled nonsense at Brendan. Michael’s attention was already glued to the set again. He’d sunk down on the floor, his back against the bed, turning Wendell’s ring, which he wore on his right hand. I wondered if the stone changed colors, like a mood ring, depending on his disposition in the moment. I took the box of Pampers and knocked on the bathroom door.

  She peered out. “Oh, good. You got ‘em. I appreciate that. Thanks. You want to help with his bath? I decided to put him in the tub, he was such a mess.”

  “I better go,” I said. “It looks like the rain is just about to cut loose.”

  “Really? It’s going to rain?”

  “If we’re lucky.”r />
  I could see her hesitation. “Can I ask about something? If Michael’s dad came back, would he try to see the baby? Brendan is his only grandchild, and s’pose he never had another chance?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me. I’d be careful if I were you.”

  She seemed on the verge of saying something but apparently decided against it. When I closed the bathroom door, Brendan was gnawing on the washrag.

  Chapter 16

  *

  Drops began to dot my windshield as I hit the 101, and by the time I found a, parking space half a block from my apartment, the rain had settled into a steady patter, I locked the VW and picked my way through accumulating puddles to the front gate, splashing around to my door, which opens onto Henry’s back patio. I could see lights on at his place. His kitchen door was open, and I picked up the scent of baking, some rich combination of vanilla and chocolate that blended irresistibly with the smell of rain and drenched grass. A sudden breeze tossed the treetops, sending down a quick shower of leaves and large drops. I veered off toward Henry’s, head bent against the downpour.

  Henry was easing a blade through a nine-by-nine pan of brownies, making parallel cuts. He was barefoot, wearing white shorts and a vivid blue T-shirt. I’d seen pictures of him in his youth-when he was fifty and sixty-but I preferred the lean good looks he’d acquired in his eighties. With his silky white hair and blue eyes, there was no reason to imagine he wouldn’t simply keep on getting better as the years rolled by. I rapped on the frame of his aluminum screen door. He glanced up, smiling with pleasure when he saw that it was me. “Well, Kinsey. That was quick. I just left a message on your answering machine.” He motioned me in.

  I let myself in and wiped my wet shoes on the rag rug before I slipped them off and left them by the door. “I saw your light on and came over. I was down in Perdido and haven’t even been home yet. Isn’t this rain great? Where’d it come from?”

  “The tag end of Hurricane Jackie, is what I heard. It’s supposed to rain off and on for the next two days. There’s a pot of tea brewed if you want to grab cups and saucers.”

  I did as he suggested, pausing at the refrigerator to take out the milk as well. Henry rinsed and dried his knife blade and moved to the kitchen table, brownies still resting in the pan in which they’d baked. At sundown in Santa Teresa, the temperature routinely drops into the fifties, but tonight, because of the storm, the air felt nearly tropical. The interior of the kitchen functioned like an incubator. Henry had hauled out his old black-bladed floor fan, which seemed to scan the room, droning incessantly as it created its own sirocco.

  We sat down at the table across from one another, the .pan of brownies between us resting on an oven mitt. The top was light brown, as fragile-looking as dried tobacco leaves. His knife had left a ragged line, a portion of brownie jutting up through the broken crust. Just under the surface, the texture was as dark and moist as soil. There were walnuts as thick as gravel, with intermittent small clusters of chocolate chips. Henry lifted: out the first square with a spatula and passed it to me. After that show of gentility, we ate directly from the pan.

  I poured us each a cup of tea, adding milk to mine. I broke a brownie in half and then broke it again. This was my notion of cutting calories. My mouth was flooded with warm chocolate, and if I moaned aloud, Henry was too polite to call attention. “I made an odd discovery,” I said. “It’s possible I have family in the area.”

  “What kind of family?”

  I shrugged. “You know, people with the same name, claiming to be related, blood ties and like that.”

  His blue eyes rested on my face with interest. “Really. Well, I’ll be damned. What’re they like?”

  “Don’t know. I haven’t met ‘em.”

  “Dh. I thought you had. How do you know they exist?””

  “I was doing a door-to-door canvass in Perdido yesterday. A woman said I looked familiar and asked me about my first name. Then she asked if I was related to the Burton Kinseys up in Lompoc. I said no, but then I looked up my parents’ marriage license. My mother’s father was Burton Kinsey. It’s like, in the back of my mind somewhere I think I knew that, but I didn’t want to cop to it in the moment. Weird, huh.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Don’t know yet. Think about it. Feels like a can of worms.”

  “Pandora’s box.”

  “You got it. Big trouble.

  “On the other hand, it might not be.”

  I made a face. “I don’t want to take the chance. I never had family. What would I do with one?”

  Henry smiled to himself. “What do you think you’d do?”

  “I don’t know. It seems creepy. It’d be a pain in the ass. Look at William. He drives you crazy.”

  “But I love him. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?”

  “It is?”

  “Well, obviously, you’re going to do as you see fit, but there’s a lot to be said for kith and kin.”

  I was silent for a while. I ate a section of the brownies about the shape of Utah. “I think I’ll let it sit. Once I get in touch, I’ll be stuck.”

  “Do you know anything at all about them?”

  “Nope.”

  Henry laughed. “At least you’re enthusiastic about the possibilities.”

  I smiled uncomfortably. “I just found out today. Besides, the only one I really know of for sure is my mother’s mother, Cornelia Kinsey. I guess my grandfather died.”

  “Ah, your grandmother’s a widow. That’s interesting. How do you know she wouldn’t be perfect for me?”

  “There’s a thought,” I said dryly.

  “Oh, come on. What’s your worry?”

  “Who says I’m worried? I’m not worried;”

  “Then why don’t you get in touch?”

  “Suppose she’s hateful and grasping?”

  “Suppose she’s gracious and smart?”

  “Right. If she was so fu-gracious, how come she hasn’t been in touch for twenty-nine years?” I said.

  “Maybe she was busy.”

  I noticed the conversation was proceeding in fits and starts. We knew each other well enough that we could leave transitions out. Nevertheless, I felt as if my IQ were plummeting. “Anyway, how would I go about it? What would I do?”

  “Call her up. Say hello. Introduce yourself.”

  I could feel myself squirm. “I’m not going to do that,” I said. “I’m going to let it sit.”

  “Dogged” is the word that would probably describe my tone, not that I’m bullheaded about things like this.

  “Let it sit, then,” he said with the slightest of shrugs. “I am. I intend to. Anyway, look how much time has passed since my parents were killed. It’d be weird to make contact.”

  “You said that before.”

  “Well, it’s the truth!”

  “So don’t make contact. You’re absolutely right.”

  “I won’t. I’m not going to,” I said irritably. Personally, I found it irksome to be agreed with like that. He could have urged me to do otherwise. He could have suggested a plan of action. Instead he was telling me what I was telling him. Everything sounded so much more reasonable when I said it. What he repeated back to me seemed stubborn and argumentative. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him unless this was some kind of weird response to all the refined sugar in the brownies.

  The conversation shifted to William and Rosie. Nothing new to report. Sports and politics we reduced to one sentence each. Shortly thereafter I went home to my place, feeling out of sorts. Henry seemed fine, but it felt as though we’d had a terrible argument. I didn’t sleep that well, either.

  It was still raining at 5:59, and I skipped my run. My cold symptoms had improved, but it still didn’t seem smart to exercise in a downpour. It was hard to realize that just a week ago I was lying by a pool down in Mexico, swabbing myself with unnatural substances. I lingered in bed, staring up at the skylight. The clouds were the color of old galvan
ized pipes, and the day fairly cried out for some serious reading. I extended one arm and studied the artificial tan, which had faded by t now to a pale peach. I raised one bare leg, noticing for the first time all the streaking around my ankle. Jesus, I could do with a shave. It looked as if I had taken to wearing angora knee socks. Finally, bored with self inspection, I dragged my butt out of bed. I showered, shaved my legs, and dressed, choosing fresh jeans and a cotton sweater since I’d be lunching with Harris Brown. I took myself out to breakfast, loading up on fats and carbohydrates, nature’s antidepressants. Ida Ruth had told me she was coming in late, authorizing r my use of her parking spot. I rolled into the office at nine on the dot.

  Alison was talking on the telephone when I arrived. She held a hand up like a traffic cop, indicating some kind of message. I paused, waiting for a break in her conversation. “That’s fine, no problem. Take your time,” she said. She put a palm across the mouthpiece while the other party was apparently taking care of other business. “I put someone in your office. I hope you don’t mind. I’ll hold your calls.”

  “What for?”

  Her attention jumped back to the telephone, and I assumed the other party had finally returned. I shrugged and walked down the interior corridor to my office, where the door was standing open. There was a woman at the window with her back to me.

  I moved to my desk and slung my handbag on the chair. “Hi. Can I help you?”

  She turned around and looked at me with the sort of curiosity reserved for celebrities at close range. I found myself looking at her the same way. We were enough alike to be sisters. Her face was as familiar as the faces in a dream, recognizable but not bearing up well to close scrutiny. Our features were not identical by any means. She looked not like me, but like the way I felt I looked to others. As I studied her, the resemblance faded. Quickly I could see that we were more dissimilar than similar. She was five feet two to my five feet six, heavier in a way that suggested rich food and no exercise. I’d been jogging for years, and I was sometimes conscious of the ways my basic build had been affected by all the miles I’d put in. She was heavy-breasted, broader in the beam. At the same time, she was better groomed. I had a glimpse of what I might have looked like if I paid the money for a decent haircut, learned the rudiments of makeup, and dressed with flair. The outfit she wore was a cream-colored washable silk: a long, gathered skirt and matching cardigan-style jacket, with a coral-colored silk tank top visible underneath. Through the magic of fashion, some of her chunkiness was hidden, the eye distracted by all the flowing lines.