“The desert will help. It always does.”
Billie continued to gaze at me for a few seconds more. Then she surprised me. “All right.”
I smiled. “Good. I need to stop at my office first, then we can drive back out to the monument if you like.”
She shook her head. “No, I want to meet your father.”
That was the last thing I’d expected her to say. “My father? Billie, that’s. . I usually go to his place on Tuesdays.”
“So this week you’ll see him twice.”
I let out a breathless laugh, shook my head, frowned. Boy, she’d caught me off guard. It had been years since I’d taken anyone out to my dad’s place. Kona had come with me once, several years ago, and that had gone well. But still, taking Billie to meet him seemed. . risky in some way.
“What I told you last night was true,” I said. “He has these episodes. There’s no telling what state he’ll be in when we get there.”
“Is he dangerous?”
“Of course not,” I said without hesitation.
She shrugged. “Then I’ll deal with it.”
I didn’t know her very well, yet. But I could tell when she had made up her mind.
“All right,” I said, getting out of the car. “I need to stop by my office first. Follow me?”
We parked around the corner from the office and I led Billie inside.
“Wow, Fearsson,” she said, turning a slow circle in the middle of the room. “I’m impressed.”
Wood floors and a fancy coffee machine will do that, I guess.
I keep a fresh set of clothes at the office, just in case. I grabbed these now, and changed in the bathroom. Then I checked the answering machine. I had only two calls-the first was from an insurance company I’d worked for the month before. I’d quit because they were trying to deny a claim I’d told them to pay. Now they were threatening legal action if I didn’t resume work on the case.
I glanced at Billie, and she grimaced.
“You get a lot of messages like that?” she asked.
“Not too many,” I said. I erased that one and played the next.
“Fearsson?” said a voice on the machine, sounding young and scared. “You there, dog? I know we said eleven, but. . but we gotta do it sooner. I’m in trouble here, man. Real trouble. I’ll be at my place. Come as you soon as you can.”
“Who was that?” Billie asked.
“That was Antoine Mirdoux.”
“Mirdoux,” she said, her forehead creasing. “You mentioned him to Kona. Isn’t he-?”
“He’s dead. He was killed last night.”
I checked the time on the message. It had come in right around the time I was talking to Kenny Moore in Robo’s. I wondered again if Antoine had been trying to set me up, if maybe Red had been trying to lure me into Mountain View and had only resorted to attacking me in the bar when that didn’t work. Had he killed Antoine because the kid had failed him? Had he been so angry after failing to kill me that he took it out on ’Toine?
“What’s going on in there, Fearsson?”
“What?” I blinked. “In where?”
She walked over and stopped in front of me. Then she tapped my temple gently with her index finger. “That head of yours. I can see it churning away.”
I was about to tell her that it was nothing important, but that wasn’t true, and I’d had to lie to her too many times already. I didn’t want to now.
“I’m wondering if Antoine is dead because of me, because I survived the attack at Robo’s.”
“Do you think that’s possible?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. My mind’s muddled.” I almost said something about the phasing starting that night, but I stopped myself in time. “I’m working things out,” I told her instead.
She nodded, then took my hand and pulled me toward the door. “Well,” she said. “Maybe you should do that somewhere else.”
“Why?”
“Because if you’re right, then this guy is still after you, and I don’t want to be here when he tracks you down.”
I planted my feet, forcing her to stop. “Aren’t you the one who accused me of being paranoid?”
“Yes. But I was also the one who didn’t believe in magic.”
“And you do now?”
Billie gazed at me a moment. Then she dropped my hand and clapped three times.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Come on, Fearsson. ‘If you believe in magic, clap your hands’?” She shook her head. “Didn’t you ever see Peter Pan?”
“A really long time ago.”
“You’re hopeless.” She took my hand again and dragged me out the door.
CHAPTER 19
Against my better judgement, I drove her out to Wofford, wondering the whole way if my dad would be in the same state he was in the last time I visited, or maybe even worse. But as we drove up the dirt road to his trailer, I saw him sitting outside with a book in his hands. He spotted the Z-ster, stood, and waved; always a good sign.
“He seems to be in good shape today,” I said.
Billie answered with a vague nod. She was surveying the surroundings. Compared with the Desert National Monument, the area around Wofford was desolate country. A few stunted saguaros grew here and there, and my dad and I often saw hawks and coyotes on the low ridge behind his place. Truth was, I liked it here. It smelled like sage and a person could see for miles in every direction. But I could tell what she was thinking.
“There’s nothing out here,” she said.
“There’s more than you think.”
She gave me a “sure, whatever you say,” look.
I parked by the trailer and we got out. A breeze blew off the hills, and the heat, which had been stifling in the city, didn’t seem so bad up here.
My dad was walking toward us, a big grin on his face. He’d shaved not too long ago, and his clothes were reasonably clean. His t-shirt was even tucked in. “Hello,” he said, a hand raised in greeting.
“Hey, Dad. Sorry I didn’t call first.”
He waved off the apology and took both of Billie’s hands in his. “Who’s this?” he asked. “And what in God’s name is she doing with you?” He’d always been a charmer.
“Billie Castle, I’d like you to meet my father, Leander Fearsson. Dad, Billie Castle.”
“It’s Lee,” he said guiding her to the chair next to his own. “Jay, get us some drinks.” He didn’t even spare me a glance. I had to smile. This was my dad at his best. We’d been lucky.
I brought out three Cokes, and another chair for me.
“A journalist?” my dad said, as I sat down. “Didn’t I warn you about dating people smarter than you?”
I grinned. “Yeah, but that didn’t leave me too many options.”
Billie laughed.
“Justis,” Dad said, his tone stern. “What about rule eleven?”
I shrugged. “Kinda broke that one. But you’ve met her. Can you blame me?”
“What the hell is rule eleven?” Billie demanded, eyeing both of us.
“My father taught me a lot about being a cop. And he had ten basic rules. Things like, always stick by your partner-”
“That’s rule one,” he said.
“-Right. And never lend your firearm to anyone, when in doubt call for backup, things like that. Common sense stuff, really.” I smiled. “Rule eleven is never become emotionally involved with a member of the press.”
“Gets in the way of an investigation,” Dad told her. “And more often than not the investigation gets it the way of the relationship. It’s just a bad idea.” His eyes twinkled. “Most of the time.”
“But you’re not a cop anymore,” Billie said to me.
My dad shook his head. “Rules don’t change that much for PIs.”
“You must have been very proud when your son joined the force.”
“I’m proud of him now, too.”
The blood drained from Billie’s face. “Of course you are,” she said. “I didn’t mean. .”
She looked to me for help, but Dad leaned over and patted her hand.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I know what you meant. I was proud, though Justis and I weren’t as close back then. But in a way I think he’s better off now, working on his own. It wears on you being a cop.” He grinned and gave a nod in my direction. “He got to see Randolph Deegan’s house, you know. That might not have happened if he’d still been on the job.”