Big Red Tequila (Tres Navarre #1)(86)

I headed for the side office where Dan and I had last talked. When I looked up again Cookie had noticed me. I smiled and waved. Except for the makeup, the color drained out of her face. Then she excused herself politely from the mayor and left the balcony.

The office door was locked. I took out a piece of laminate from my pocket. Ten seconds later I was inside. Dan wasn’t there either. Lillian’s parents were. The Cambridges cut short their conversation and looked up as if they were expecting someone else. Sitting behind Dan Sr.’s desk, lvir. Cambridge looked weary. He was hunched over into a pale triangle of light from the desk lamp, staring up at me over bifocals. Mrs. Cambridge stood next to him, holding tightly to her own wrists. She’d been crying.

“God damn you," said Mr. Cambridge to me. He started to get up, hands straightening his tuxedo.

“Zeke—" murmured his wife. She came toward me, her hands trembling a little. “Tres—"

I guess that’s when she saw the look on my face. She hesitated. But Lillian’s mother wasn’t one to be stopped long by a derelict’s expression and the smell of liquor. Tentatively she touched my arm.

"Tres, you shouldn’t really, dear—I mean, things are so complicated right now. You shouldn’t—"

"God damn you," Zeke Cambridge said again. “Don’t you ever stop?"

He swept some knickknacks from the top of Dan Sr.’s desk onto the floor.

We glared at each other. It didn’t feel like much of a triumph when he looked away first. He was tired, old, distraught. I was half-drunk and I didn’t give a damn. Mrs. Cambridge held my arm a little tighter.

"How are things complicated?" I asked, trying to see straight. My eyes had started burning and I wasn’t sure why. “Lillian’s missing, nobody’s doing shit about it, and, you’re sitting in the private study of the woman I’d vote Most Likely to Abduct Someone. How is that complicated?

Zeke Cambridge scowled. His huge gray eyebrows came together.

“What the hell are you talking about, boy?"

“Please, Tres," Lillian’s mother said.

The door behind me opened. Cookie stormed in, followed by my friend the chauffeur. Kellin was almost smiling. I don’t think he would’ve waited for permission this time before killing me if Zeke Cambridge hadn’t raised his hand.

"Zeke, Angela," Cookie crooned, “I’m so sorry. Kellin, see this person out immediately."

“Wait a minute," Mr. Cambridge said. “First he explains himself."

"Tres." Lillian’s mother was almost pleading now.

“There’s been a murder. Mr. Karnau, Lillian’s partner. The police are very concerned that—"

"The police." Zeke Cambridge spat the words out. "If the police had handled things correctly, this son of a bitch would be in jail by now."

The silver-framed photo of Dan Sr. was the only target left on the desk for Zeke Cambridge’s anger. He slapped it away with the back of his hand.

Everyone was quiet. When Lillian’s mother tried to speak, Cookie cautioned her with a shake of her head.

“Mr. Navarre," said Cookie, very carefully, “I believe I asked you to stay away from my home. I do not appreciate you disturbing my party, breaking into my house, and bothering my friends. Especially now. If you do not leave immediately, I will call the police."

I looked at her. Her eyes were as blue as her son’s, only much smaller and a thousand times harder. They looked past me, as if they’d frozen onto one particular point in the distance decades ago and couldn’t be bothered with anything closer.

“You afraid I might give them a slightly different take on the situation?" I asked.

Zeke Cambridge was watching Mrs. Sheff now, his anger getting diluted with confusion. He said: "What the hell is the son of a bitch talking about, Cookie?"'

Out in the main room, the band blazed into a hyperactive version of “San Antonio Rose." Somebody did his best drunken “yee-haw" into the microphone. I felt disoriented, like someone was spinning me around for pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey.

Mrs. Cambridge took my arm again. She spoke with the same kindly tone she’d used on numerous Thanksgivings to plead for peace at the dinner table.

“Tres," she said, "there’s really nothing you can do. Please don’t start this."

Her face looked blurry to me. She was crying.

“What did Rivas tell you about Lillian’s disappearance?" I asked her. "Or did the Sheffs even let you talk to him?"

Cookie sighed. “That’s enough."

Kellin knew better than to grab me this time. He just came and stood next to me, relaxed, alert, arms ready. I ignored him and kept my eyes on Cookie.

“Where is the future son-in-law?" I said. “He and I were just having a nice chat about Randall Halcomb over a couple of beers."

“You leaving?" said Kellin. He sounded pleasant enough. Somehow, though, I got the feeling he really wanted me to say no.

"Zeke, Angela," said Cookie. “You shouldn’t be bothered with this, and I can see that Mr. Navarre is not considerate enough to cease prying. Let me speak to him for a moment."

It might’ve been a hypnotist’s command. Zeke Cambridge stood up without argument, and took his wife’s arm. They drifted out of the room, looking half-asleep, Mrs. Cambridge still crying without a sound. Cookie sat down behind Dan Sr.’s desk. Then, with a look of mild distaste on her face, she waved me to the chair opposite. Kellin and I exchanged looks of mutual disappointment.