was another thing looming, a question—so who killed Carl?
I knew Kate would be asking me that later. I didn’t know what answer to give. I wondered if any of us would ever know.
I called Sister Mary, got voice mail. “We won,” I said after the beep. “And tonight we’re going to Kate’s house. Can you make it?”
I didn’t get any call back.
Five minutes later my phone vibrated. It was a text message. I brought it up.
Congratulations. I must take you to dinner. K.P.
You must, I thought. You must.
163
AT ST. MONICA’S, I collared Father Bob, an appropriate thing to do with a priest. “What’s up with Sister Mary? She got out of the hospital—where is she?”
“Come into my humble abode,” Father Bob said. We were outside his trailer, the orange hotplate of the sun dropping behind the hills.
“Let’s talk right here,” I said. “I’m not sitting down for a while.”
“All right,” he said. “Maybe it is better this way. Sister Mary has left St. Monica’s.”
It sounded like the report of a death. “Meaning?”
“She is going to reassess her calling, in a time of prayer, away from…” His voice trailed.
“Me?”
“From everything,” he said.
“Where is she?”
“She’s fine.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Ty, it’s best that you just leave this alone for now. Let things simmer down.”
“She leaves? Just like that? Says nothing to me?”
“She asked me to tell you. It’s best this way.”
“I want to know where she is,” I said.
“It’s best that you don’t know,” Father Bob said. “And please don’t call her.”
“Padre, do not treat me like some pimple-faced teenager, okay? Do not.”
“Just give her this time.”
I said nothing.
“And please remember,” Father Bob said, “that you always have our love and support and friendship.”
“Fantastic.” I looked at the basketball court. They could tear it up now. Put in outhouses if they wanted to. Or a statue of Saint Hildegarde. In fact I was ready to start tearing it up myself.
164
AND I WAS still feeling that way when I got to Kate’s house. Father Bob was there before me. Kate had a spread laid out, cold cuts and bread and soft drinks on ice. And a big cheesecake. With a piece missing.
“Eric was here,” Kate said, “but had to go.” She tried to smile, but it was an effort. She added, “His wife. He needs to work things out with her.”
“She didn’t come with him?” I said.
“Fayette is, well, high-strung sometimes,” Kate said. “But that doesn’t mean we all can’t celebrate. My son is home. Like in the Bible story, right, Father?”
Father Bob nodded. “The Prodigal Son. He was lost and is now found.”
We sat around and ate sandwiches, but this felt more like a funeral than a celebration. Kate was hurting but tried not to show it.
I was steaming. Eric should have had his ungrateful heinie right here. But for Kate’s sake, I made conversation. That seemed to help her a little. And the cheesecake was, in fact, delicious.
Around nine o’clock Kate asked what her legal obligations were concerning Carl’s debts and papers and effects. She was getting his mail forwarded to her and had a stack of bills. I told her to give them to me and I’d arrange for all the notification. I told her I’d handle the estate. Carl had died intestate, so she would be entitled to the assets under the laws of succession. But creditors could take a bite out of the assets.
She was glad to hand it all over to me. She said she wanted to pay for the work. I told her to make me two cheesecakes. One for me, and one I’d take to Father Bob.
Deal, she said.
I made conversation for an hour or so longer. Then I said I should get going. Father Bob stayed. I took off for the townhouse in Warner Center. I had a few things I wanted to say to my client.
165
HE WASN’T HOME. Neither was his wife.
At least they didn’t answer the buzzer.
I sat in my car across from the townhouse. No lights on in the window. I decided to wait.
While I did, I went through some of Carl’s mail, separated the bills from the junk. He had bills and dunning letters from the cable company, the DWP, the gas company, and three notices from Capital One Visa. I opened the Visa bills and looked at the last one with any charges, from mid-January to mid-February.
The last purchase Carl made was on the night he was killed. He bought something at BevMo, the big wine and liquor store.