Last to Know: A Novel(58)

He saw his father quite a lot too, now he was back home, rowing around the lake looking lonely as hell, but hey, he’d brought it on himself. Currently, Diz was not a fan of his father. He did not know exactly what had happened, but Wally had hurt his mom and nobody should be able to do that. He wasn’t even sure his mom and dad were speaking. How could his father ever have gotten himself arrested in connection with the murder of nice Jemima Forester. And horrendous Lacey Havnel. How could those two women even be spoken of in the same breath? Young as he was, Diz recognized the Havnel woman was bad news, which made her daughter’s sweetness and simplicity even more astonishing.

With a mother like that you wouldn’t have thought Bea stood a chance, which was why it wasn’t a surprise when she was arrested along with his father. The police had soon dropped that, though, but now his mom was having nothing to do with her. Bea was forbidden from their house. Diz hoped Rose was doing the right thing. He thought maybe he should ask her about that.

He went down to the kitchen, where Rose stood over the ancient Aga stove that generated a load of heat in the winter as well as keeping its ovens and hot plates always on the go. It was Rose’s pride and joy and she claimed it had made a good cook of her. Perhaps it had.

Diz hovered in the doorway, worried he might say the wrong thing. His mother looked up, saw him, and smiled.

“Your old favorite for supper,” she said. “Spaghetti Bolognese.” She heaved a great sigh. “Truthfully, it’s all I could think of, right at the moment. My mind seems to be on other things.”

“We could always do the burger joint.” Diz stuck his hands in his shorts pockets, staring worriedly at her as she stirred the sauce. “You know Bea is back. I saw her across the lake. She’s at the small house behind the wreck.”

“Pity it didn’t burn down too,” Rose said, astonishing Diz, who had never before heard his mother say anything nasty about anyone.

“Mom?” She glanced up again. “Like, well, I mean … is everything okay with Dad now?”

Rose stopped what she was doing. She put down her spoon and folded her arms, leaning back against the stove and regarding him with the new eyes of a mother who has just seen her son grow up quite a lot.

“I never thought I would need to say this, but your father acted like a fool. He got involved with bad people. It’s over with now, thank God, and we should say no more about it.”

“What about Jemima?” Diz was going to say “what about Jemima’s murder” but couldn’t quite bring himself to articulate that word.

“The homicide detectives are investigating that.” Rose looked closely at him. She walked over, put her arms round him in a bear hug. “Listen, kiddo,” she said gently, “your dad is okay. He did nothing wrong. Seriously wrong, I mean, and I don’t want you ever to think that. Okay?”

“Jemima was murdered, Mom. Even I heard that,” Diz said. “On the TV news,” he added.

“We didn’t know Jemima. Your father didn’t know Jemima. The poor young woman foolishly got herself involved in the investigations of the fire and Mrs. Havnel’s death.”

“Murder,” Diz corrected his mother, who heaved another great sigh.

“Look, Diz, Harry Jordan is in charge of the investigation, he and Detective Rossetti. I have complete faith in both of them. They are the best. Whatever happened, whatever the truth is, they will find out, and the person, or persons, responsible will be arrested.”

“Like Dad, you mean,” Diz persisted. “And Bea.”

Rose turned back to the stove, took up the spoon, and began stirring again. She tasted it on a finger, added a touch more salt. “I do not want to talk about her,” she said in the quiet voice Diz knew meant trouble. “Please do not mention her name to me again.”

Diz went and stood next to her. “Can I have a taste?”

“May I,” Rose corrected him again. That’s what mothers did, corrected, Diz thought, dipping a spoon into the bubbling red sauce and burning his mouth.

“It’s too hot,” Rose told him, too late.

“Thanks, Mom.” Diz wandered back out of the kitchen, en route to his room. “It’s great.”

It always was, Rose thought, wondering whether if she made a salad they would eat it. Nobody seemed much into food these days. Especially Wally.

Out on the porch Diz spotted his father in the small boat, rowing toward the house. He walked out onto the jetty, waiting for him.

“Hey, Dad,” he said, as Wally pulled alongside. “How about we go fishing.” He thought his father needed a little friendly company.





44


Harry said goodbye to Mal at the airport and was back on what Rossetti jokingly called terra-cotta, meaning terra firma, “home ground.”

“How come you always go away at the wrong moment?” he demanded, when Harry walked into the precinct. “Shit, man, what’s with Paris, anyway?”

Harry leveled a look at him that spoke volumes. “Go there,” he said. “Try it and see.” He appeared to think for a moment, then added, “Just take a woman with you, that’s all I have to say about that.”

“I heard the food’s not too great.” Rossetti grinned at him. He was glad to have him back. “Stuff’s goin’ on here,” he said. “Lacey Havnel, aka Carrie Murphy, was quite the dealer. Poor Divon was small stuff to her, simply the one who hand-delivered the shit. He’s still in custody, by the way. Still haven’t let him off the hook, for Jemima.”