“What if I don’t know anything?” she called after me. “What if I can’t help anyone with what I know?”
“Then you won’t be able to help yourself.”
“But I don’t! That’s the truth! Karen—she—”
She broke down and hid her eyes with her fingers. Travis looked at her, then at me.
I smiled at him. His return grin was quick—more of a grimace, his eyes clouded and dull. Most people with cerebral palsy are intellectually normal. The eyes told me he wasn’t. Despite the contortions he was almost handsome, and I could see traces of the young man he might have been. A faint, almost holographic image of a golden Malibu kid.
His mother kept her face concealed.
I walked up to the chair. “Hey, pal.”
He started to laugh, gulping and whooping. Did it louder and tried to clap his hands.
“Shut up!” Gwen screamed.
A crestfallen look wormed its way among the boy’s involuntary facial movements. He began stabbing with his arms and kicking his feet. His lips twisted like an out-of-hand garden hose, and a deep, foggy noise issued from his mouth.
“Aa-nglm!”
Gwen embraced him. “Oh, I’m so sorry, honey! Oh, honey, honey!”
I felt like surrendering my license.
Gwen said, “He needs me. No one knows how to take care of him properly. Have you seen the kind of places they put kids like him?”
“Lots of them,” I said.
“But you’ll put him in one without thinking twice.”
“I won’t put him anywhere. I have no official power, other than the fact that the police sometimes ask my advice. Sometimes they even listen. I got involved in Karen’s case, and I’m going to see it through.”
“But I don’t know about any murder. That’s the truth.”
“What do you know?”
She turned away, facing PCH.
“You know something valuable enough to get paid off for your silence,” I said.
“Why do you keep saying I’ve been paid off?”
I looked at her.
Travis rolled his head out from under her embrace.
She said, “That was twenty years ago.”
“Twenty-one this August.”
She looked ill. “All I know is she went off with some guys at that party and I never saw her again, okay? Why’s that worth anything?”
“You tell me.”
She looked at the asphalt.
I said, “Other people were paid off, too. Some of them were murdered. Now that the net’s tightening, what makes you think you’re safe? Or Tom, for that matter, wherever he is in Mexico?”
A new fear pierced her eyes. She’d been beautiful a long time ago, one of those lithe, laughing beach girls for whom bikinis were invented. Life had glazed her like pottery, and I’d added a few new cracks.
“Oh, God.”
A car pulled into the shopping center. As its headlights washed over us, she jumped. The car was going to the sandwich place. An old Chrysler four-door. Two pony-tailed, tank-topped men in their thirties got out. Surfboard clamps were attached to the roof, but no boards.
One of the men cupped his hands and lit a cigarette. Gwen turned her back on them. Not afraid, embarrassed.
“Old customers?” I said.
She stared at me, then at her keys in the lock.
“Inside,” she said.
CHAPTER
39
Keeping the lights off, she pushed Travis to the back of the store and unlocked a door. Inside was a small neat storeroom: metal shelves filled with merchandise, a desk, and three folding chairs. Positioning Travis in a corner, she pulled a box down and gave it to him. A diving mask. He began turning the package over and over, working hard at holding on to it, studying a photograph of a girl snorkeling as if it were a puzzle.
She started to go behind the desk. I got there first and checked all the drawers. Just papers and pens and staples and clips.
She gave a weak smile. “Yeah, tough old me’s gonna shoot you.”
“I’m sure you can be plenty tough.” I looked at Travis.
She sat down heavily. I took a chair.
“Tell me what happened,” I said.
“Promise me they won’t put him away.”
“I can’t promise, but I’ll do my best. If you had nothing to do with Karen’s murder.”