“You saw Emma for all of two minutes, Louey. The first time you’ve seen her, I might add, in two years. I was thinking that you could have her play her new piano for you. You’ll be impressed, I promise.”
Louey Santera looked more harassed than scared at the moment, and he knew he had good reason to be scared. “Look, Molly, I saw her. What was I supposed to do, for God’s sake? She’s just fine. Oh, all right. The next time I see her, I’ll ask her to play that ridiculous piano.”
“All right, how about this after she’s played for you- how about telling her you love her? You are her father, and she needs you, although that’s a concept that never really took root in your brain.”
“You wanted her, I didn’t. You were a lot more fun before you had a kid, Molly. Remember those photos you took of me that Rolling Stone featured? Now those could have made you, but what did you do? You just laughed and said they were okay, not all that great. The editor at Rolling Stone said you were terrific, but you wouldn’t hear about doing any more work for them.”
“Louey, you’re not remembering quite right. I was pregnant with Emma at the time and puking my toenails up on a very regular basis. I’ve been getting back into it since Emma’s older.”
“No one has ever photographed me as well as you did.”
So that was it. As usual, Louey was thinking about himself. She wanted to roll her eyes and smack him. She did neither, just smiled at him. She really didn’t hate him most of the time, actually; she really didn’t even think of him except rarely, and even on those rare occasions she felt only mild dislike simply because she understood the bone-deep fears that always festered beneath the surface in him. They occasionally even overwhelmed his remarkable conceit and ego. Because she was sometimes so weak-headed, she forgot about the damage he could wreak. It was fear that was driving him now and so she said without rancor, “You’re an excellent subject, Louey. You know how to mate with the camera. Don’t be impatient. There are lots of terrific photographers out there, but that’s neither here nor there.” She stopped, then just shook her head. “Never mind. Sometimes I’m a fool. Now, tell me what you know about Emma’s kidnapping, if you want me to help you before my father gets nasty. And he will, Louey, he’ll get nastier than anything you can begin to imagine, nastier than he was to you in Denver three years ago.”
“You weren’t in Denver when he showed up three years ago, so just how would you know what your dear daddy does?”
“I remember one summer when I was here. I was twelve years old and I woke up late, probably about midnight, and walked downstairs to the kitchen. I saw a light under his study door and I could hear men’s voices. I pushed the door open and looked inside.” She shuddered from the force of the memory, but she said only, “Tell him, Louey. Don’t be cute. When he sets a goal, his focus never falters. His patience is formidable, but when it’s gone, it’s well and truly gone. Tell him. Or tell me. How were you involved in this? Tell me the names of the men you owe money to.”
Ramsey pulled back around the corner. He’d just come up the stairs to go to bed. It was late. There stood Molly and Louey Santera facing off like two gunslingers in the hallway outside his bedroom door. He’d heard her last few words. He knew she didn’t really think that Louey had had anything to do directly with Emma’s kidnapping. But he was involved indirectly. She was covering all the bases, which was really smart. He wondered if Louey was buying it.
Louey cast a furtive look at Gunther, who hadn’t moved a muscle, then leaned against the door, crossing his arms over his chest. “I sure made a big mistake marrying you, didn’t I? You were Little Miss Sweet Innocence with a big crook for a father. But I found that out too late.”