Maureen put a fist on her hip. “You’re the detective. There’s a truck on the street, filled with cases of bottled water. Trevor has the key, which allows him to take this truck anywhere he pleases. I’ll wait while you put it together.”
There was noise on the floor above them. Trevor’s old bedroom, where he hadn’t lived for a couple of years. He was getting up.
“He was sorry to have missed you last night,” she said.
“I’ll just bet he was.”
“But at least you get a chance to see him this morning.” When Duckworth said nothing, she continued. “Don’t you be negative about this. Don’t go bursting his bubble.”
“I’m not going to be negative. I just want to know how he ended up working for that asshole.”
“That’s the spirit,” she said.
“He should go back to school, learn a trade. Not drive a truck around for some blowhard.”
Trevor showed up a minute later, his hair suggestive of some sort of electrocution. He had on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. He gave his mother a kiss. “Thought I’d grab some breakfast before I get dressed,” he said to her. He looked at his father and smiled as he ran his fingers through his hair.
“What’s going on with you and Finley?” Duckworth asked.
“Good morning to you, too, Dad,” he said.
“When’d you start working for him?”
“A week ago,” he said.
“How’d that come about?”
“I saw an ad online. He was looking for drivers; I applied; I got it. Is that a problem?”
“Your father and I are delighted,” Maureen said. “Is it part-time, full-time?”
“Full-time,” Trevor said. “It’s not a ton of money, but it’s better than what I was making before, which was a big fat zilch.”
“Does he know who you are?” his father asked.
“Uh, well, I filled out the application form with my name on it, so I would say that yes, he knows who I am.”
“That’s not what I mean. Does he know you’re my son?”
“Our son,” Maureen said. “I don’t remember you making him alone.”
“Shit, I don’t know, probably,” Trevor said. “I mean, he probably told me at some point to say hello. So, hello.”
Duckworth shook his head.
“I don’t need this,” Trevor said. “I’ll get something on the way.”
“Trev,” his mother said, but he didn’t stop. Maureen looked at her husband and said, “You can be a real horse’s ass at times. It’s not always about you.”
She set a bowl in front of him. He looked down at it.
“What is this?” he asked.
“That,” she said, “is fruit.”
When Barry heard the front door open and close, and looked out the window and saw Trevor Duckworth heading for the Finley Springs truck, he chased after him. Trevor was about to close the door when Duckworth, winded, caught up.
“Hey,” he said.
“What?” Trevor said.
“Just give me a second.” He took four deep breaths, then said, “I’m sorry.”
“Sure, whatever.”
“Listen to me. I’m glad you’ve got a job. It’s great. We’re glad to see you get something.”
Trevor, perched on the edge of the driver’s seat, said, “But?”
Duckworth couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, there’s always a but. Look, I’m not going to tell you to quit this job.”
“Like I’d have to if you did.”
“Yeah, I get that. You’re a grown man. You don’t have to do what your parents tell you. All I want to say is, watch your step around Finley.”
“It’s just a job, Dad. I’m delivering water.”
“Sure, that’s the job. But a guy like Finley... he always has an agenda. I had a run-in with him yesterday. He wanted something from me I wasn’t prepared to give.”
“What?” Trevor asked.
“An advantage. He wanted to use me to further his ambitions. Wanted me to snitch on others in the department. And I can’t help but wonder if he’d find an angle using you.”
“I just drive, Dad.”
“Okay. I’ve got one last thing I’ll say, and then I’ll shut up about it. Don’t ever compromise yourself with him. Keep your nose clean and don’t make mistakes. Because if he’s got something on you, I promise you, sooner or later, that son of a bitch will use it.”
Trevor’s eyelid fluttered.
“What?” Duckworth asked.
“Nothing,” Trevor said. “I hear ya. I gotta go or I’m going to be late.”
Duckworth stepped back, allowing Trevor to close the door. He started up the van, turned it around in their driveway, and took off up the street.
Thirty-six
I popped in to see Ethan before he was out of bed, told him I had a lot of things to do today, and that he’d have to get himself to school. No ride.
“Okay,” he said.
“You feel better?” I asked. It was meant as a general question. Did he feel better about Carl, after their meeting the night before? After showing him Dad’s model railroad? And after getting the pocket watch back?
“My tummy’s okay this morning,” he said. So he’d taken the question more literally, but in a way, answered the question I thought I’d asked. If he wasn’t feigning illness, and wasn’t anxious about attending school, then maybe he did feel better about things generally.
I hadn’t planned to have breakfast, but Mom had already put a cup of coffee at my place at the table. I grabbed it without sitting down, took a sip, set it on the counter.
“I have to go,” I said. To Dad, who was struggling as usual with the tablet, jabbing it like he was Moe poking Curly’s eyes out, I said, “Ethan can walk today. Scoot him out in plenty of time to get to school.”
“Sure. He gonna have any more trouble with that boy?”
“I hope not.”
Dad nodded. “That’s good.”
There was something different about him today. Actually, I’d noticed it first late yesterday. He was more pensive. When he’d put his arms around me in the garage and intimated he wasn’t the good man I’d always thought he was, I’d wondered what he was beating himself up about. Maybe it had something to do with Mom. I could tell something was going on with her. That she was becoming more forgetful, that Dad was covering up her mistakes. I could see that getting him down, but if Dad was being any less attentive, less supportive, the evidence wasn’t there. He seemed as devoted to her as always.
“I saw that girl,” Mom said, sitting down with her own coffee.
“What girl?”
“The one who came over last night with her boy. She seemed nice.”
“You didn’t even talk to her, Mom. I didn’t even know you’d seen her.”
“I was looking out the window,” she said.
Ethan and I had to get out of this house.
“Yes, she seemed nice,” I said. “But she’s got plenty of baggage.”
“Who doesn’t?” Mom asked. “You think we didn’t have baggage when we met each other?”
Dad looked up from the tablet. “David doesn’t need to take on another woman with a checkered past,” he said. “What did that detective say?”
“What detective?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”
“In the books. There were a whole bunch of them.” Dad had read a lot of crime fiction over the years. “This one had ‘money’ in the title, I think. The detective says something like, ‘Never go to bed with a girl who’s got more troubles than you do.’”
“Donald!” Mom said.
The thing was, Dad, or the detective he was quoting, was right. I didn’t need more problems. I had something of a history trying to rescue damsels in distress and it had not gone well. Sam Worthington sounded like another one. An ex-husband serving time for bank robbery and nasty in-laws who wanted custody of Carl.