Big Red Tequila (Tres Navarre #1)(35)

Mr. Impassive, already immaculate in a fresh black uniform, appeared instantly from an interior doorway, a full Bloody Mary in hand. He walked like he enjoyed the sound his boots made against the flagstones.

“See Mr. Navarre out, please," Cookie said.

Kellin looked at me and nodded. Maybe a faint smile--permission to kill at last.

Then on one of the balconies above me, Dan jr. appeared, fashionably dressed in a maroon velour housecoat-looking thing. His hair was sticking up on both sides.

I waved at him and smiled. “Dan," I called up. “Thought we might have a talk."

His face compacted. Before he said anything he looked at his mother, who shook her head.

“What the hell do you want, Navarre?" he said.

“To find Lillian," I answered. “You interested or not?"

"Danny," said Mrs. Sheff, “do you think it’s a good idea to talk to this man?"

Her voice was soft, sweet and cold as Blue Bell ice cream. Her tone implied that the right answer was “no," and the wrong answer would probably mean no allowance for a week.

Dan thought about it. Then he looked at me. I angled, letting him see a little of my amusement. That did it.

“Come on in the office, Tres," he said. Then he disappeared from the balcony.

The slight shake of Mrs. Sheff”s head told me there would be a Conversation at the family dinner table tonight. Then she gave me a look that was meant to suggest no dessert for the rest of my life. She took her Bloody Mary and exited up the nearest staircase.

“Come on," said Kellin.

He led me into a smaller room, not much bigger than my apartment, really. Above the fireplace on the right was a recent oil painting of Cookie, minus the wrinkles. Opposite it, on the left wall, was a huge black and  white enlargement of a young Dan Sr. dressed for war—Korea, probably. Directly between them, Dan Jr. pulled out the chair behind an oiled mahogany desk.

Behind him, outside a heavily curtained picture window, a true South Texas storm was raging, brief and violent. I could see my VW on the street, its roof fluttering, threatening to peel off. Small newly planted trees along the sidewalk were bent to the ground.

"Have a seat, " Dan said.

He’d combed his hair but was still drowning in maroon bedclothes. In his hand was a drink that looked like plain orange juice. I sat down across from him and waited.

After a minute of staring at me he said: " Okay. What the hell is it?"

"You know about Lillian."

Either he was a great actor or his anger was genuine. His knuckles curled up white. "I know that you show up, and a day later she’s gone."

"When did you see her last?"

Dan looked at me with red eyes, then looked down at the desk. He ran his hand through his hair and a lick of blond sprang back up like a canary wing.

"You goddamn know when," he muttered. “And you were still there when I left. That’s what I told the police, not that they have a f**king clue. If it was up to me you would’ve been put away by now, Navarre."

"Darmy," I said, "we agree about something."

He made a sound like a bull that’s been zapped with the same cattle prod once too often. "Don’t call me that. And we don’t have shit in common."

"The police don’t have a clue. I agree with that. I didn’t come all the way back to Texas to see Lillian disappear and then watch the police f**k up the investigation, Dan. Think about that."

He didn’t look very convinced. Shadows from the rain crawled across his face along with guilt, frustration, and some other things I couldn’t read. He looked down at a more recent picture of his father on the desk, Dan Sr. the way I remembered him. when I was in high school: a big man in flashy clothes, the football team’s biggest patron, or the cheerleaders’, anyway. That was before he’d come down with his well-publicized cases of Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s. Now, from what Lillian had told me, the old man was upstairs somewhere, silently withering down to a husk while the best and prettiest nurses money could buy looked on.

"There was a time he’d say something and the police would jump," Dan said, almost to himself. "You remember that, Kellin?"

Behind me Kellin said nothing.

"Now . . . shit," said Dan. "They tell me not to get too worried. ‘She might be out of town,’ they tell me. Shit."

I thought about that. "Your mother said the Cambridges want to keep it quiet for a while, downplay things."

Dan snorted, like that was a good joke.

"Downplay things," he echoed.

I leaned forward and picked up the picture of his dad. The silver frame must’ve weighed ten pounds. It was just about the coldest thing I’d ever touched. "Only child, right?"

"If you don’t count my fifteen cousins."

"And they’re all dying to inherit a piece of the business," I suggested. "Must be tough on you."

"What the f**k do you know about it?"

His shoulders slumped; the anger in his face loosened up into melancholy.

It was time to change tack.

"What did Beau Karnau say to you yesterday, Dan?"

I’m not sure what kind of reaction I was expecting, but it wasn’t what I got. I’ve never seen a man turn molten red so fast. Dan was on his feet and if the desk had been any narrower he would’ve had his hands on my throat. As it was he just leaned toward me and shouted.