The Secret Hour (18 page)

 
“You got it.”

 
“Should we invite Gramps and Maeve?” Maggie asked. “We’re staying at his house,” she explained to Kate. “Gramps would be proud.”

 
“Yeah, we got ’em back for last time,” Teddy said. “But Gramps said he had a late doctor’s appointment.”

 
“It has to be a party,” Maggie said, her eyes shining. “We need more than just us, so we should invite…” Her eyes drifted over—past John, straight to Kate, her gaze really telling the whole story—but Teddy finished her sentence for her.

 
“Kate. Kate and Bonnie.”

 
“Yes,” Maggie said. “You have to come. Definitely. Vesuvio’s has the best pizza in the world. You’ll love it—won’t she, Dad?”

 
John didn’t reply, aware of both kids watching him, expectation filling their eyes, wanting him to do the gracious thing.

 
Kate beat him to it. “I wish I could,” she said. “But I have other plans.”

 
“No!” Maggie burst out. “You have to come. Please? Not just because of the pizza, but because I need to ask you about Halloween costumes. You’re a girl, I mean a woman, and maybe you know more about what I can be than Dad and Teddy…”

 
“Oh, Maggie,” Kate said.

 
“Come on, Kate. Cancel your other plans and come with us,” Teddy said.

 
Kate smiled, biting her lip as if considering doing that. She didn’t want to let the kids down, John could see. His heart was still raging—for some reason, the freight-train effect hadn’t ceased one bit—and he was half tempted to see whether she’d change her mind and say yes. He spoke up, destroying the suspense.

 
“She said no, Mags,” John said. “We have to respect that.”

 
“Your father’s right,” Kate said. Her tone was mild, her expression sweet.

 
“Oh, rats,” Maggie said.

 
“You’re missing out,” Teddy teased. “The pizza’s really great, and we’ll probably have ice cream on the way home. Paradise, have you ever had it?” Just then, out of the corner of his eye, John spotted Sally and Bert Carroll coming their way.

 
“No,” Kate said, picking up Bonnie’s leash and backing away. “Maybe another time.”

 
“Hi, everyone!” Sally said. “Where’s the party? Peter’s busy till later, so Bert and I are inviting ourselves along.”

 
“Vesuvio’s,” Teddy said, and Bert replied, “Awesome!”

 
“Bye, Kate,” Maggie said, and John heard sadness in her voice.

 
“Bye, Maggie.”

 
Kate walked a few steps away, as Sally murmured in John’s ear, “Something I said?” John shook his head, just as Kate turned toward Maggie again.

 
“Amelia Earhart!” she said.

 
“What?” Maggie asked.

 
“That’s who you should go as,” Kate said. “Amelia Earhart…”

 
“For Halloween?”

 
“Yes. All you need is a white scarf…a long, white scarf. And maybe some aviator glasses. And, of course…”

 
“What?” Maggie asked, clutching her hands in front of her heart, listening as if Kate Harris had just offered her the Holy Grail. “What else do I need?”

 
“Courage,” Kate said, smiling, winking as she walked away with Bonnie. “My sister used to say that Amelia was the bravest woman in the world.”

 
“Oh, yes,” Maggie said, nodding, gazing up into the cold October sky, as if the earth had just fallen away, as if John and Teddy and Sally and Bert had disappeared from sight, as if she might spread her wings and go flying bravely into the future, in search of her own destiny.

 
The Witch’s Brew was packed and lively, the Friday night crowd jammed shoulder to shoulder, three deep at the bar. Cigarette smoke was thick, and music blared from speakers everywhere. The room was dark, the crowd was dressed up, and the place was too loud to hear anything Billy Manning would feel like saying. John cursed himself for thinking this was a good idea.

 
Edging his way along the long, chrome bar, John met the eyes of at least twenty people he knew. Hanging out in bars wasn’t his M.O., and he could sense the surprise. He could also feel the ripple of pure animal tension. This was the mating game, no doubt about it, and his body reacted.

 
He found Billy in the back room, where it was marginally quieter, but no less crowded. The cops who went to Henry’s after work on weeknights came here on Fridays. Located half a block from the courthouse, the Witch’s Brew used to be called the Gavel, and it had attracted a law-and-order crowd. Looking to improve business, the owner had revamped the premises, started hiring bands on the weekends, and changed the name to something more overtly that of a pickup joint. The cops and lawyers had stayed loyal.

 
“Hey, Johnny,” Billy Manning called, waving him over.

 
“How’s it going, Billy? Hi, T.J., Dave.”

 
“Hi, John,” the cops said. Everyone shook hands, with “no hard feelings” looks on their faces. Over the years John had gotten them on the witness stand, cross-examining the hearts out of them. He’d come as close as he legally could to calling them liars, eviscerating them as if for sport.

 
“How’s it going?” Dave Trout asked.

 
“Great,” John replied to the thin, white-haired detective. “And you?”

 
“Damn fine. At least I can sleep at night.”

 
“Yeah, well, you need it.” John grinned. “You’re older than I am.”

 
“Puttin’ ’em away keeps me young,” Dave said. “Knowing I’m on the side of right, keeping the streets safe for our daughters.”

 
“Well, I thank you for that, Dave. Let me buy you a beer for them.”

 
“You’re on,” Dave said. “At least you didn’t hit me with—what’s his usual line?” He looked around at the other cops.

 
“Protecting our children’s constitutional rights,” T.J. chuckled. “Their rights to legal representation, et cetera, et cetera.”

 
“Raise ’em right, they won’t need legal representation,” Dave said.

 
“Tell yourselves that,” John said, signaling the waitress. “A whole lot of good parents in this town have.”

 
“Like the Jenkinses,” Billy said, his voice pitched low, gesturing over at the back bar. “Bark and Felicity—who’d have thought they’d raise one like that? There’s their little darling, Caleb. He’s one of yours, isn’t he, John?”

 
“You should know,” John said, watching Caleb Jenkins huddle over the bar with his uncle Hunter, Teddy’s soccer coach. “You arrested him.”

 
“Right. For that little prank involving a fifty-thousand-dollar sportfishing boat. I’d still like to know what he was doing, heading back from North Rock. That’s about half a mile outside the three-mile limit, and if I had to guess, it was either drugs, smuggling, or destroying evidence.”

 
“You left out white slavery,” T.J. said.

 
“Play nice, guys,” John said.

 
“We’re stepping on the sacred ground of privilege,” Billy laughed. “Better back off now. So, what brings you down to the Witch’s Brew, John? Haven’t seen you out drinking for a while. How’s life going for you?”

 
“Someone threw a brick through our window the other night, the last baby-sitter quit—saying that my hours made working for me ‘cruel and unusual punishment’—we have bats in the attic, and we’re staying at my father’s. Celebrated Teddy’s soccer game with a pizza tonight, then decided to come out for a beer.”

 
The waitress brought everyone a round, John paid, and they all drank.

 
“Heard about the brick,” Billy said. “The town cops reported in.”

 
“Merrill backlash?” Dave asked.

 
“I think so,” John said.

 
“They ought to leave your home alone,” T.J. said. “Your kids there?”

 
John nodded, sipping his beer.

 
“Nice. Really nice. Not that I don’t agree on principle—Merrill really needs to die for what he did, but—”

 
This was a conversation John didn’t want—or need—to have. He backed off, just slightly, and T.J. turned to Dave, getting the message, and going back to whatever they’d been talking about before John’s arrival. Now Billy turned to John, and their eyes connected. They had been best friends in high school, and they had a relationship that usually transcended the careers they’d each chosen.

 
“What’s up?” Billy asked, knowing that John had something on his mind.

 
“Take a walk with me.”

 
Billy nodded. The two men put their mugs down on the scarred wood table, walked out through the crowd. The Witch’s Brew was in its glory, the day before Halloween. People drifted in from parties, dressed in costumes. A black cauldron bubbled over, misting with dry ice. The band was called “Goth,” and the music was discordant—making it hard for the generally middle-aged crowd to dance.

 
Sally Carroll spied him from the bar, said something to Peter Davis, and started over. John waved, moving faster. He’d mentioned it at the pizza place, the fact that he was stopping by the Witch’s Brew to talk to Billy later. Was she a regular here? Or had she come just to see him? He noticed her black witch’s outfit—a low-cut black dress, revealing full, pushed-up breasts, the edge of a purple lace bra showing.

 
“There’s Sal,” Billy said as they passed by.

 
“Yeah.”

 
“Why you two don’t get together is beyond me. Ever since she booted Todd out…she and Pete Davis are just passing the time together. At least comfort each other, man. She’s always been hot for you, and I think she’d really like to offer you succor and warmth. Know what I mean?”

 
“Yeah, I know what you mean. How about shutting up about it?”

 
John scowled, shouldering through the throng at the door. The smell of smoke and perfume was sickly sweet, and bursting out into the fresh air—past two couples wearing masks—felt good.

 
“I haven’t been able to say anything right to you since…” Billy began, trailing off.

 
John shot him a look, just to make sure he didn’t continue. He knew Billy was about to mention Theresa. One night after the funeral, Billy had stopped by the house and the two friends had had a few beers on the porch. As darkness fell and the beers took hold, John’s tongue was loosened, and he told Billy everything about Theresa. How she’d been having an affair. How John had suspected for a long time, had wondered about the hang-ups and her mysterious errands.

 
Billy had leaned forward, set his beer down, and looked John in the eye.

 
“All you had to do was ask me,” he’d said.

 
“What do you mean?” John had asked. “Because you’re a cop? You could have tracked her? Or showed me how to do it? Surveillance on my own wife?”

 
“No, John. Because I knew. Everyone did.”

 
“Everyone?”

 
“Theresa and Barkley.”

 
“Jesus, Billy!”

 
“They weren’t very discreet—I saw them at the Drawbridge Bar. And I saw them pulling out of the beach parking lot one night. And I saw—”

 
John had stood up. He had taken the empties into the kitchen. When Billy had followed him in, John hadn’t offered him another. He’d stood at the sink, rinsing out the bottles, not looking up. He wanted Billy’s words to disappear. He wanted Billy not to have known about Theresa, or, at least, not to have told him.
Everyone knew.
That’s what Billy had said. “I’m sorry, John,” Billy had said. After a few minutes, he had left.

 
Now, walking out behind the Witch’s Brew, John had the feeling Billy wanted to say something about that night. They’d never talked about it—just acted as if the conversation had never happened. Cars drove past on Main Street. Some turned into the parking lot. John’s heart was beating hard.

 
He thought back even further. They had all been so close: John and Theresa, Billy and Jennifer, Barkley and Felicity, Sally and Todd. John and Theresa married the summer before his third year of law school.

 
John remembered graduation from GULC—Georgetown University Law Center. He and Theresa had bought an old Volvo 122 and driven up from Washington. He felt so idealistic—wanting to go out and change the world. John couldn’t wait to pass the bar, get started at work. But first the Judge threw him a graduation party, and everyone had come, newly married themselves.