She jumped out of her car, opened my passenger door, slid into the cab, and then closed the door behind her. “Tell me everything you know,” she said. She opened up a black leather bag and left her right hand inside it.
“You don’t waste time,” I said. “And do you mind telling me what kind of gun you have in that bag?”
“Somebody will see us,” she said. “Just tell me. Is he going to live?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “The doctor says they’re going to operate on him. A fragment went up into his brain.”
“I can’t believe this is happening.” Her right hand stayed in the bag. I imagined a little revolver with a pearl handle. At least it wasn’t a shotgun.
“I’m supposed to call the hospital later,” I said. “The doctor may have a better idea then.”
“How do you know Randy?” she said. “You’re a friend of his?”
“I was an old teammate of his. He came to me last week and asked me to help him find you. He told me all about how he met you in Detroit, back in 1971.”
“You were his teammate then? In Detroit? I’m sorry, I’m trying to remember you…”
“No, we played ball together in Toledo. He got called up in September, but I didn’t. So I wasn’t around when he met you.”
“Why did he say he was trying to find me?”
“Maria, I don’t blame you for being careful, but I’ve had too many guns pointed at me this week. It’s starting to get to me.”
“It’s not pointed at you,” she said. “I’m just holding it.”
“Either you trust me or you don’t,” I said. “If you don’t, then get out of the truck and I’ll be on my way.”
She pulled her right hand out of the bag. For one frozen instant, I saw a flash of something white in her hand.
It was a hairbrush.
I took a breath. “Remind me to never play poker with you,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “After all I’ve been through… Well, never mind. Just tell me what he said. Why was Randy trying to find me?”
“He said some pretty crazy things. About running out on you back then, and still thinking about you all these years later. And then suddenly deciding that he had to find you again.”
“My God,” she said.
“Of course, now I know he was probably trying to scam you.”
She looked at me. She didn’t say anything.
“We ended up at your brother’s house,” I said. “You know about that. I thought it was all over. I thought he went back to California. Then I found out he came here and got himself shot.”
She looked out the window. The sun went behind a cloud, turning the lake a different shade of green.
“Maria,” I said. “I swear, I had no idea he was a criminal. Not until the chief told me.”
“You hadn’t seen him at all in what, thirty years?” she said. “You had no contact with him?”
“No,” I said.
“And then he just comes back and asks you to help him? Why did he do that?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Because I live in Michigan. Because I know Detroit.”
“And why did you help him?”
“I don’t know that, either,” I said. “Because he asked me to. Because I thought he was looking for you for a good reason. Or at least a harmless reason. I had no idea he was trying to scam you. Although I suppose it makes sense now. His racket is real estate, and I assume this has something to do with Zambelli-Harwood…”
She looked me in the eyes. “How do you know about that?”
“My partner,” I said. “He found an old news article. He just told me about it. The Zambelli in the name, is that you, or…”
“My husband,” she said. “My late husband. Har-wood killed him.”
I didn’t say anything. The words hung in the air.
A car drove by on the road behind us. Maria slid down in her seat.
“When we were in the bar,” I said, “why didn’t you want Harry to know you recognized Randy’s name?”
“It’s a long story,” she said. “Can you come to my house?”
“I can do that,” I said. “Are you sure you want me to? Your friends in the bar wouldn’t like it if they found out.”
“I showed you my gun, didn’t I?” She put the hairbrush back in her bag. “I’m not as good as my mother, but I think I have some sense of what’s inside a person, as soon as I meet them. I think you’re telling the truth.”
“I’ll follow you,” I said. “Lead the way.”
She got out of the truck and went to her own car, got in and pulled back out onto the road. I followed her for a half mile, until she turned left into a gravel driveway that was heavily rutted. There was an old wooden fence running along the front of the property, so I couldn’t see the house from the road. As soon as I did see it, I knew it was the biggest house in town.
The driveway snaked around to the front door, but she didn’t stop there. She kept going until the driveway stopped at the side of the house. I pulled in behind her, next to a small boat on a trailer. The plastic tarp that covered it was tied down with enough rope to withstand a hurricane.
She took me in the side door. There was a low concrete porch, and then a path that led down to a small boathouse. A late-morning wind was coming in off the lake.
“Nice house,” I said as I stepped inside. There was little room to take your coat off in, and then a large living room done up in white pine, with big roughhewn beams running across the ceiling. I saw a few nautical maps framed on the walls, and a mariner’s barometer set inside a gold wheel. Somehow, I knew she hadn’t decorated the place herself.
“I’m renting it,” she said. “You’ll never guess who from.”
“Captain Nemo,” I said.
“Chief Rudiger,” she said.
“That’s wonderful,” I said. “He’ll be so happy if he finds out I was here.”
“For what he’s charging me, I should be able to entertain anybody I want. Can I get you a drink?”
“A beer?” I said. “I didn’t get much service at Rocky’s.”
When she left, I looked out the big picture window at Lake Michigan. It was calm now, but I knew that could change without much warning. A pair of binoculars sat on the windowsill-one of those Leica models that cost at least five hundred dollars. I picked them up and looked out at the lake, spotted a freighter in the distance. It was heading north, probably from Chicago. It would go under the Mackinac Bridge, sneak around Drummond Island, and then head through the Soo locks. If I go home right now, I thought, I’ll be able to see it again, coming through Whitefish Bay.
Maria came back into the room with two beers and two glasses. She was one of those women who always surprise you with how good they look, even if they’ve only been away for thirty seconds. The beers in her hands didn’t hurt the effect.
“He’s got good taste in binoculars,” I said. “Why’s he renting this place, anyway? Where does he live now?”
“He’s got a little place in town,” she said, putting the bottles down on a coffee table. “He says he doesn’t need this big place now that his wife is dead and his kids are moved out. So he rented it to me. Not that I need this big a place, either. It’s just temporary.”
“Until what?” I said.
She looked at me. “Until I move someplace for real,” she said. “Now sit down here and tell me more about Randy.”
I obeyed her. I sat down and poured myself a beer. She sat down on the couch next to me.
“So, you do remember him,” I said, “from 1971?”
“Yes,” she said. “Of course I remember him.”
“It was almost thirty years ago.”
“It could be eighty years,” she said. “I’d still remember.”
“He certainly is one of a kind, but-”
“Alex, I know I already asked you this,” she said, “but why did he come here, really? Do you really think he was-what did you say? Trying to scam me?”