“How can you be so convinced your dad was guilty when none of you really know if he was home or not? What’s your opinion based on?”
“What she told us, okay?”
“Are you telling me your mother lied about it?”
“Would you just drop it?”
I stared at her. “Your mother perjured herself?”
She looked away from me, her face shutting down. I didn’t think I could coax anything more out of her if I tackled the subject head on.
“Let’s drop the word ‘perjury,’” I said. “The statute of limitations has probably run out on that in any event, so it’s not an issue. I’m curious how you found out she was covering for him. It must have been after the trial.”
She looked off across the room.
“Giving me the time frame doesn’t threaten your mother at all.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I’m just curious. Was it two years later? Five?”
“I don’t see why it matters.”
I shut my mouth. I could see her weigh the question, looking for the booby trap.
“Is that true what you said about the statute of limitations?”
“Sure. I don’t know how long it would run, but it’s been, what, fifteen years? Nobody’s going to go after her at this late date.”
“It was after Dad called Ethan to say he was out. He told Ethan he sued the state and got a settlement and that’s what he wanted to come talk to us about.”
I said, “Really. She never said anything before then?”
“I can see you’re trying to make something of it, but it’s all beside the point. The man was a drunk. First, last, and always. We deserved better than we got.”
Her eyes strayed to a point behind me and she said, “Crap. Look what the cat dragged in.”
19
I turned toward the archway that separated the billiard room from the lounge. Big Rat was making his way through the crowd, beer held aloft as he pardoned and excused himself, moving in our direction. I glanced back and realized that Anna had taken off. I caught a glimpse of her red sequined top as she headed toward the exit and wondered how she’d managed to move so fast. Meanwhile, Big Rat was all smiles. Like Anna, he was in hunting mode, having changed into a black sport coat with a black shirt under it. The silver tie added a jaunty note, like a gangster on the prowl.
He followed my gaze, saying, “Where’s she off to?”
“Who knows?”
“Sorry to break up your little tête-à-tête, though I gotta say she didn’t look all that happy with you.”
“How did you know where I was?”
“I didn’t. I swung by the Thrifty Lodge earlier. I thought with you new to Bakersfield, I might show you around, introduce you to the Brandywine if nothing else. Your car wasn’t in the motel parking lot, so I was leaving you a note when the desk clerk told me you’d checked out. I remembered you said something about a family emergency, so I figured you’d left town. I’m thinking, what the heck, I might as well give this place a try since I was coming here anyway. I walk in and there you are. How cool is that? Can I buy you a drink?”
“Don’t think so, but thanks. It’s just about my bedtime.”
“One drink. Come on. Are you having Chardonnay or Sauvignon Blanc?” He caught my look and laughed. “You didn’t think I knew about white wine, am I right?”
“Ask if they have anything better than the stuff they’ve been pouring. Failing that, I’ll have ice water.”
“Be right back.”
I watched him edge his way through the crowd, and for a moment I flirted with the idea of pulling a disappearing act. Seemed rude when he’d actually been a help to me, telling me where Anna worked. While I waited for his return, I went over Anna’s comments. She hadn’t actually admitted her mother had perjured herself at Dace’s trial, but that was the conclusion I’d reached and it was one she hadn’t refuted. No wonder two of the three kids were so belligerent. In effect, Evelyn had hung her husband out to dry. No alibi in their minds was equivalent to guilty. Perjury is a criminal offense and I couldn’t see why she’d admit to it unless it was true. She’d be opening herself to prosecution unless the statute of limitations had run out, which I didn’t have a clue about despite my reassurances to Anna. In point of fact, even if she’d lied, it wouldn’t have a bearing on the legalities of the situation. All three principals were dead—Herman Cates; his accomplice; and Terrence Dace, the man he’d falsely accused. Dace’s conviction had been overturned, but Evelyn’s sly admission carried more weight in the eyes of his children than the court’s reversal. The claim bothered me. The timing bothered me as well. Why would she suddenly ’fess up? That’s what I couldn’t understand. She hadn’t flat-out accused him of anything. She’d simply opened a door, fanning a small ember of suspicion in the minds of his kids. At this late date, I doubted there was any way to determine the truth.
Above the background noise, which was gradually subsiding, I heard a smattering of applause and then a male vocalist. I thought it was the jukebox, but Big Rat reappeared at that moment and handed me a fresh glass of white wine. “There’s Ethan.”
“You’re kidding me.”
I moved to the doorway and checked the raised dais where the band must have been setting up while the pool match was going on. Ethan sat on a wooden stool in a pool of light, head bent over his guitar. A hush settled and then he began to sing. He wore the same outfit I’d seen him in at home—jeans, desert boots, a long-sleeve white T-shirt with a placket down the front that he’d unbuttoned partway. He looked utterly unlike the man I’d talked to earlier. His vocalizing transformed him from an ordinary mortal to someone from another realm. I blinked, trying to reconcile this image with the man I’d seen only hours before. His voice was mellow; his manner, relaxed. What struck me was the soul shining through his song. Maybe it was technique or maybe he had a natural sense of showmanship. He seemed oblivious, so absorbed in the music he might as well have been alone in the room.
I checked the crowd and saw the same rapt attention. He seemed totally out of place in such a common setting and, at the same time, he seemed completely at home. It dawned on me that these people were here for him. The lounge was packed with avid fans, loyal followers who came specifically to hear him perform. I’d seen this before, this otherworldliness, and it had taken me years to sort the truth from the illusion.
My second husband, Daniel Wade, was a musician. The first time I saw him, he was playing piano in a bar in downtown Santa Teresa. It was late. The air was smoky in the same way it was smoky here. I don’t even remember now why I was there or whether I was in the company of someone else. Daniel, with his cloud of curly golden hair, leaned over the keys like an alchemist. He played like an angel. His talent was magic, the philosopher’s stone that promised to turn base metal into gold. I saw him through a haze of longing. I fell in love, not with the man, but with a mirage. Watching him play, I’d assumed he was as remarkable a person as his music implied. I wanted to believe. I projected onto him qualities he didn’t possess, qualities that only appeared to emanate from somewhere deep inside. I don’t know that he was aware of the effect he had, so I can’t accuse him of trickery or deception. He was accustomed to admiration and it may not have occurred to him that his skill obscured the reality of who he was. I thought I was seeing the truth about Daniel when it was really only a reflection cast up along the wall.
And now, here was Ethan Dace, whose metamorphosis had changed my very perception of him. There was something compelling in his voice; sorrow and wisdom and hope. What was he doing in Bakersfield? I couldn’t imagine him rising to fame and fortune in so unlikely a place, but clearly no one in a position to help had recognized his talent and offered him a break.