Too Close to Home

As I drove down our lane, past the Langley house and the cop car still posted there, I noticed a couple of people proceeding, very slowly and with their heads down, across the backyard of the Langley house, heading toward the wooded area that separated their house from ours. Forensic cops, I figured.

I drove my pickup past our back deck and parked out front of the shed next to Conrad’s Audi TT, one of the new redesigned ones. Conrad and Illeana were sitting on the deck, bottles of beer on the arms of their chairs. Ellen’s Mazda sedan was nowhere to be seen, which must have meant Derek was out. Too bad, because I had some new questions for him.

Conrad was on his feet and walking over to the truck as I got out, arm and hand extended, his other hand wrapped around the brown bottle. I didn’t have much choice but to take it. He had a grip that was stronger than it needed to be, like he was out to prove something. He was already a big guy-250 pounds I was betting-and a good six feet tall. Full of swagger and confidence. I wondered if, where I was concerned, he laid on the ol’ buddy routine a bit too hard. He knew he had wronged me in the past, and seemed desperate, even after all these years, to be able to show that we could be friends.

I wasn’t interested.

“Jim,” he said, smiling.

“Excuse the mess,” I said, holding up the grimy hand he’d already gripped, then gesturing to myself and my work clothes. “I had to go out this morning and finish up a yard or two.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, then, tipping his head in the direction of the Langley place, said, “Can you believe it?”

I just shook my head, walking back to the house, Conrad keeping pace with me.

“And to be right next door,” Conrad said, lightly patting me a couple of times between the shoulder blades, demonstrating that you can fuck a guy’s wife and still be pals. “I can’t imagine what that must be like. And you didn’t hear anything?”

We’d already been through this on the phone. “No,” I said.

Conrad said, “I’d known Albert for years, you know. He was more than just my lawyer. He was a good friend. Known him since high school. He and Donna, they’d been to the house a number of times. Albert was on a couple of college committees over the years. Got involved in his community, a terrific guy, at least for someone who managed to get a lot of scumbags off over the years. But hey, that’s the job description.”

We’d reached the deck. Conrad’s wife, Illeana, in a white blouse and white shorts, blond hair cascading down to her shoulders, smiled as I mounted the steps, but didn’t get up. She extended a hand and I shook it lightly.

“Illeana,” I said.

“Hello, Jim,” she said. “Conrad felt we should come over.” As if she were apologizing, justifying their presence. “This is a tragedy for all of us.”

In the years since she’d moved here from Hollywood, Illeana had gotten the small-town-college-president’s-wife thing down pretty well. Expensive but tasteful clothes, heels that were high but not towering and no longer made of clear plastic, a blouse unbuttoned far enough to draw your eye in, but not enough to give you any real kind of a show. But under all that upstate New York respectability, there was still something of the tart about her. Like she was chewing invisible gum, making high-frequency snapping noises detectable only by the true hound dogs of my gender.

Ellen handed me an Amstel and I sat down. Ellen was drinking her new drink of choice, white wine, her glass poured almost to the top. Conrad dropped back into his seat next to Illeana and said, “We just wanted to be sure you folks were okay. You’re part of the Thackeray family, and when something like this happens-not that anything like this has happened before-we need to be sure you’re managing okay.” He looked at Ellen. “We figured that was why you called?”

“Called?” I said.

Conrad said, “I noticed your number was on my cell this morning. Illeana and I were out driving around in the new Audi. You see that? Pretty sharp, huh? Illeana’s getting used to the stick. We must have missed the call.”

Ellen, glancing at me and then to Conrad, said, “That was me. I was actually going to suggest you drop by, and then what do you know, you did.”

I gave Ellen a look. So she’d tried to give Conrad a heads-up on her own. She’d probably tried his home first, and when she couldn’t get him there, tried his cell.

“Next time,” Conrad said, grinning, “leave a message and I’ll get back to you as quickly as I can.” Sounding like a voice-mail recording.

“Well,” I said, “it looks as though it all worked out, you coming by anyway. Here we all are.”

“So, Barry Duckworth,” Conrad said, “he’s heading the investigation, is he?”

I nodded.

“Good man,” Conrad said, “although you have to wonder whether he’ll be in over his head. I can’t imagine he has the background to deal with something like this.”

“I’m sure he’ll give it his best,” I said, taking a big swig from the Amstel bottle. “I think Barry worked for a while in Albany.”