Now that she was poised on the brink of matrimony, she seemed at peace with herself: playful, full of smiles. William’s siblings had accepted her without a moment’s hesitation … except for Henry, of course, who was dumbfounded when the two connected. I began to see the wedding not so much as a union between her and William, but as an official ceremony by which she’d be initiated into the tribe.
From the other room, Henry began to pound out his rendition of “Happy Birthday” to Lewis, which he belted out at top volume. We joined him in a sing-along that continued for an hour before we ate. After dinner, Henry drew me aside.
“What’s the story on the break-in?”
“I’m not really sure. Chester seems to think there’s some nefarious plot afoot, but I have trouble buying it. Somebody broke in … there’s no doubt about that. I’m just not sure it has anything to do with his dad.”
“Chester thinks there’s a link?”
“He thinks it’s all connected. I think the guy’s seen too many bad movies. He suspects Johnny was a double agent during World War Two and somehow has this stash of stolen documents in his possession. He feels the VA claim was what alerted the government, and that’s who broke in.”
Henry’s look was confused. “Who did?”
“The CIA, I guess. Somebody who finally figured out where the old man was hiding. Anyway, that’s his theory, and as they say, he’s stickin’ to it.”
“I’m sorry I got you into it. Chester sounds like a nut.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not like he actually hired me, so what difference does it make?”
“Well, it sounds like you did what you could, and I appreciate that. I owe you one.”
“Oh, you do not,” I said with a wave of my hand. In the years of our friendship, Henry had done so much for me, I never would catch up.
At ten, when they hauled out the Monopoly board and the popcorn paraphernalia, I excused myself and went home. I knew the game would continue until midnight or one, and I wasn’t up to it. Not old enough, I guess.
I slept like a stone until 6:14 a.m., when I caught the alarm mere seconds before it was set to ring. I rolled out of bed and pulled on my sweats in preparation for my run. Through the spring and summer months, I run at six, but in winter the sun doesn’t rise until nearly seven. By then I like to be out on the path. I’ve been jogging since I was twenty-five … three miles a day, usually six days a week, barring illness, injury, or an attack of laziness, which doesn’t happen often. My eating patterns are erratic and my diet is appalling, so the run is my way of atoning for my sins. While I’m not crazy about the pain, I’m a sucker for the exhilaration. And I do love the air at that hour of the day. It’s chilly and moist. It smells of ocean and pine and eucalyptus and mown grass. By the time I cool down, walking back to my place, the sun has streaked across the lawns, unrolling all the shadows behind the trees, turning dew to mist. There’s no moment so satisfying as the last moment of a run: chest heaving, heart pounding, sweat pouring down my face. I bend from the waist and bark out a note of pure bliss, relieved of tension, stress, and the residual effects of all the Quarter Pounders with Cheese.
I finished my run and did a cool-down walking home. I let myself into the apartment, took a shower, and got dressed. I was just spooning down the last of my cold cereal when the telephone rang. I glanced at the clock. It was 7:41, not an hour at which I would ordinarily expect the world to intrude. I grabbed the phone on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me. Chester. Hope I’m not bothering you,” he said.
“This is fine. What are you doing at this hour?”
“Was that you I seen running along Cabana a little while ago?”
“Yeeees,” I said cautiously. “Is that what you called to ask, or was there something else?”
“No, no, not at all. I just wondered,” he said. “I got something I want to show you. We came across it last night.”
“What kind of ‘it’?”
“Just come over and take a look. It’s something Bucky discovered when he was cleaning out Pappy’s place. I wouldn’t let anyone touch nothing ’til you saw for yourself. You might have to eat crow.” He sounded nearly gleeful.
“Give me five minutes.”
I rinsed my dish and my spoon, put the cereal and the milk away, and ran a damp sponge across the kitchen counter. One of the joys of living alone is the only mess you clean up is the one you just made. I tucked my keys in my jacket pocket, pulled the door shut, and took off. In the time since I’d run, the neighborhood was coming alive. I spotted Lewis halfway down the block, taking his morning constitutional. Moza Lowenstein was sweeping off her front porch, and a fellow with a parrot on his shoulder was out walking his dog.
This was one of those perfect November days with cool air, high sun, and the lingering smell of wood fires from the night before. Along our block, the palm trees and evergreens provide constants in a landscape that seems to shift subtly with the passing seasons. Even in California we experience a rendition of autumn, a sporadic mix of colors provided by the ginkgo, the sweet gum, the red oak, and white birch. An occasional maple tree might punctuate the foothills with an exclamation point of vibrant red, but the brightest hues are supplied by the blaze of forest fires that sweep through annually. This year the arsonists had struck four times across the state, leaving thousands of acres an ashen gray, as eerie and as barren as the moon.
When I got to Bucky’s, I circled the main house and walked up the drive. The crudely patched concrete parking pad was littered with assorted cardboard boxes, and I assumed that progress was being made with Johnny’s personal effects. I headed up the wooden stairs to the apartment above. The door was standing open, and I could hear the murmur of voices. I stepped through the doorway and paused in the entrance. Without the maze of bulky boxes, the space looked smaller and dingier. The furniture remained, but the rooms seemed almost imperceptibly diminished.
Bucky and Chester were standing near the closet, which had been emptied of the remaining clothes. Both men were wearing versions of the same short-sleeved nylon Hawaiian shirt: Bucky’s in neon green, Chester’s in hot blue. Nearby, Babe was folding and packing the garments into an old steamer trunk. Coat hangers were piled up to the right of her as each piece of clothing was removed.
She was wearing her usual flip-flops, along with shorts and a tank top. I had to admire the comfort with which she occupied her overblown body. I’d have been cold in that outfit, but it didn’t seem to bother her.
Chester smiled when he saw me. “Hey, there you are. We were just talking about you. Come over here and take a look at this. See what you think.” Mr. Friendly, I thought.
Bucky stepped back, showing me a panel he’d swung away from the back wall of the closet. A small residential safe had been tucked into the space, encased in what appeared to be a block of poured concrete. The safe door was approximately sixteen inches wide and fourteen inches tall. The panel itself appeared to be carefully constructed, a flush-mounted plywood partition with inset hinges. The magnetic latch looked to be spring-loaded and probably released at a touch.
“Impressive. How’d you find that?” I asked.
Bucky smiled sheepishly, clearly pleased with himself. “We’d emptied the closet and I was sweeping it out when I bumped my broom handle up against the back wall. Sounded funny to me, so I got a flashlight and started looking at it real close, you know, knocking across the wall. Seemed like there was something goofy about this one section, so I give it a push and this panel popped open.”
I hunkered down in front of the opening, peering into the cavity that had been hidden in the “found” space between the joists. The front face of the safe was imposing, but that might have been deceptive. Most home safes are not built to withstand a professional burglar with the proper tools and sufficient time to force his way in. The safe I was looking at was more likely a fire safe, in which what appears to be a solid steel wall is only a thin metal outer shell filled with insulating material. The function of such a safe is protection from a home fire of fairly short duration. Insulation in an old safe might be something as basic as natural cement. A more modern safe might rely on vermiculite mica or diatomaceous earth, particles of which can often be traced back from a burglary suspect’s tools and clothing to the specific safe manufacturer.