Double

I was silent for a moment. “You know,” I finally said, “everything was like a chain reaction, with one catalyst setting off three separate but connected personal explosions.”

“The murders.”

“Yes. The catalyst could have been Elaine’s death, but actually I think it goes back further than that, to the night Sugarman fell in love with Elaine and let things get out of hand.”

“Or even further, to when Sugarman introduced Elaine to the club.”

“You’re right. The club probably would have gone along as usual if it hadn’t been for Elaine joining. But because she did, Sugarman couldn’t handle her emotions, and that explosion ended in Elaine’s death.”

“And Woodall blew up at Lauterbach — who wouldn’t have known anything about Les Club, much less Woodall’s animal farm, if Nyland hadn’t hired him to find out about the ‘bizarre thing’ Elaine was involved in,” Wolf said. “And chances are Nyland never would have killed anyone if he hadn’t found out Sugarman had brought Elaine into the club and then killed her.”

“It makes me think of that old saw about evil begetting evil,” I said. “And more evil than just what was going on at Les Club. All these people with all their little scams that they didn’t want exposed — like a lot of people these days, I guess. Beddoes and Ibarcena had their fugitive-smuggling operation. Lauterbach was a blackmailer. Woodall had his illegal animal sales. Even Henry Nyland had a scam.”

Wolf looked at me with interest. “How do you figure that?”

“Reactionary politics. In a way, it’s the most dangerous scam of them all.”

My mother came into the room, smiling. “Cioppino’s almost done,” she said cheerfully. “But before we eat, your brother John wants to talk to you, Sharon. I’ll just take your friend into the kitchen for a nice little chat of our own.”

“John wants to talk to me?”

“Yes, he’s in the canyon—”

“Huh. He probably plans to murder me out there and leave me for the coyotes to eat.”

“Sharon!”

“Well, face it, Ma, I’m not John’s favorite person today.”

“You were awfully hard on him last night.”

“I couldn’t help it.”

“Well, go see him anyway. He asked me to tell you—”

“I’ll go! I’ll go!” I got up slowly and reached for the cane I’d been using. It was my father’s, bought when he’d sprained his ankle dancing the polka — of all things — at a friend’s daughter’s wedding a few years ago.

My mother looked at the cane and frowned. “I don’t know why John can’t talk in the house. Are you sure you’ll be all right, climbing down those steps?”

“Yes!” I left them and went outside. Pa was humming loudly as he repotted plants under the grape arbor; I waved to him and made my way across to the canyon.

I had been rough on John last night, but I’d been half out of my head with exhaustion and pain, and when he’d come into my bedroom — ostensibly to see how I was doing — and started whining about his troubles, I’d let him have it. I’d told him about Timmy Ferguson and the whip marks Wolf had seen on his back. I’d told him about Elaine’s handyman — the guy down at the beach with the two little boys and the pizza crusts on the kitchen counter. I’d told him how difficult it was to be a single parent if you weren’t prepared; how anger and frustration can lead to child abuse; how he’d better be damned sure he could handle custody before he went out and tried to get it. And then I’d told him to grow up.

What made me feel so damned high and mighty? I wondered as I climbed down the canyon steps, holding up my caftan so I wouldn’t trip, going slowly in deference to my sore rear. I wasn’t a parent, hadn’t the slightest idea what it was like. But maybe one didn’t have to be. Maybe all it took was common sense...

I spotted John, sitting on his usual log. He turned and looked at me. And then he smiled.

Surprised and somewhat encouraged, I kept going. “You wanted to see me, John?”

“Yeah. I’ve got something to tell you. I went to see the kids’ mother this morning.”

The kids’ mother, I noted, not “that bitch.” John’s ex-wife was coming up in the world. “And?”

“And I told her all the things you said last night. She agreed. She said she’s been having trouble being a single parent herself. She got mad and slapped Johnny the other day.”

“So what do you intend to do?”

“Well, we talked it over and we decided on joint custody — they’ll spend half the time with each of us. It’s easier that way. Only we’re not going to drag them back and forth and disrupt their lives.”

“How do you plan to accomplish that?”

“The kids will stay in the house. When it’s her turn to have custody, she’ll live there with them. When it’s mine, I’ll live there. We’ll both keep small places of our own for the time when we don’t have the kids.” He paused to open a beer, then added, “It’s kind of a new concept, but it’s been written up a lot lately, and it seems to work. And it’s better for the kids. They’re who counts, you know.”