The Secret Keeper (13 page)

“Hi, Dick! Jonathan all ready for the trip?”

“Champing at the bit,” I said. “I wonder if you could do me a favor.”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“Remember I was asking you the other day about Anna Bement? I need to speak with her and would like to take you up on your offer to arrange a meeting for me.”

“Be happy to. I can call her tonight—she has a TTY.”

A TTY, I’d known even before Mel told me, was a phone device specifically designed for use by the deaf. It had a typewriter keyboard and a small screen on which whatever the caller and sender typed would appear. Great thing, science. I always wonder what they’d come up with next.

“When do you want to meet? I know Anna reads lips very well, and she speaks, but if you think you might need an interpreter, I’ll be happy to do it.”

“I appreciate the offer, Cory, but I don’t want to impose on you or take up your time. I should be able to manage, unless she might feel more comfortable with an interpreter.”

“No, I don’t think that would be a problem for her. She interacts with hearing people every day at work.”

“Great. Then everything should be fine. As for when, any time at her convenience,” I said. 

“I’ll give you a call as soon as I reach her,” he said. “Tell Jonathan and Joshua to have a great trip, and we’ll look forward to hearing all about it when they get back.”

“And my best to Nick. Thanks, Cory.”

I felt a little guilty after talking with Cory to realize I should have been watching over Joshua, who wanted to help pack and consequently had stacked his bed with toys, books, and games he wanted to take along. Including Bunny, of course. I don’t think he totally bought my “leaving Bunny to keep me company” story, but when I promised we’d get him something new—we didn’t mention “and smaller”—at the airport to take with him, he magnanimously agreed.

Surveying the pile on his bed, he apparently thought he would have no need for clothes, and there certainly would have been no room for them had he taken everything else he wanted to. But after considerable bartering, and a few teeterings perilously close to the rim of Tantrum Canyon, the bags were packed and placed beside the front door.

As soon as we’d finally gotten Joshua to bed, I suggested what I thought was an excellent way to relieve some of Jonathan’s anxiety, and he readily agreed. We wouldn’t be seeing one another for a week, so we did our best to make up for it once the lights were out.

*

Both Jonathan and Joshua were up by six Saturday morning, and although he’d done all the packing the night before, Jonathan felt obliged to recheck everything to make sure nothing had been forgotten, which of course inspired Joshua to remember a couple more things he couldn’t get by without. Luckily, both suitcases were already so crammed there wasn’t room for anything else.

Traffic was light, and we were at the airport by seven forty-five, which gave us enough time to grab a quick breakfast at the terminal’s restaurant. Despite his excitement, Joshua managed to polish his off in record time. I knew Jonathan was always nervous before flying, but he managed to hide it from Joshua if not from me.

After picking up the tickets at the counter and checking the bags, we stopped at the gift shop and let Joshua pick out a small stuffed animal to keep him company on the trip. After a relatively limited debate, he chose a bright yellow Big Bird, and we arrived at the departure gate about ten minutes before boarding.

A DC-8 was waiting at the loading dock, its nose close enough to the terminal window Joshua could wave to someone he saw moving around in the cockpit. While he was reaching the age that he no longer routinely carried on conversations with his stuffed animals, I noticed he kept a firm hold on Big Bird.

When they announced boarding, he was like a racehorse at the starting gate, pulling at Jonathan’s hand to move him toward the passageway, but I scooped him up.

“Aren’t you going to say good-bye?” I asked, turning him to face me.

“Good-bye!” he said, turning his head to watch the crowd surging into the passageway. “We’ll be late!” he objected.

“Hug first,” I said, and he reluctantly threw his arms around my neck for a quick hug. I kissed him on the forehead. “You be a good boy, now, hear?”

He nodded vigorously then started squirming to be let down. Jonathan grabbed his hand as soon as his feet hit the floor then turned to give me a much longer hug with his free arm.

“We’ll miss you!” he said.

“Ditto,” I said. “Call me tonight if you can. Remember, though, I’ll be going to dinner with the guys.” 

“I will,” he promised. “Tell them all hello for me.”

“Let’s go!” Joshua urged, leaning at a 45-degree angle to get Jonathan moving. He reminded me of one of those circus strong men trying to pull a locomotive.

I watched them move down the passageway—Jonathan turning once for a quick wave with his free hand—and then they were lost in the crowd. I stood by the window for ten minutes, until the whine of the plane’s engines preceded its slow move backward, pushed by a stubby airport service truck. It slowly turned, the tug disengaged, and the plane headed down the taxiway toward the runway. I turned from the window and made my way back through the terminal toward the parking lot.

I was driving to the airport entrance when I saw an American DC-8—probably Jonathan and Joshua’s—lift off and pass over the road in front of me. I missed them already.

*

True to his word, Jonathan called that evening shortly before ten. I’d only gotten home a few minutes earlier after an enjoyable dinner with Tim, Phil, Jake, and Jared, though it wasn’t the same without Jonathan.

“Sorry I didn’t call earlier,” he said, “but I wasn’t sure you’d be home yet from dinner. How was it?”

“Fine, but kind of strange without you there. How’s it going?” I asked.

“Pretty good. Joshua’s a little confused, but there were enough other kids around to keep him occupied. I just got him to bed. But I wanted to tell you—guess who was a steward on our flight to Chicago?” Not waiting for an answer, which I could readily have provided, he said, “Mr. Bement’s grandson, Mel! I only met him that once, but he recognized me right away, and he made a big fuss over Joshua. Anyway, he was really busy, but I told him how sorry I was about his grandfather. And just before we landed in Chicago, he came over to talk to me for a minute. He said he really enjoyed meeting you and said how lucky we were to have each other, and Joshua. That was really nice of him.”

“That it was,” I said.

We only talked for another minute or two before Jonathan said, “I’d better go—this is going on my dad’s phone bill.”

We hung up after his promising to call collect next time.

It was the first night I’d slept alone in a very long time, and I kept waking up after rolling over to put my arm across Jonathan only to have it drop down on empty mattress.

*

Sunday passed quickly with brunch at Bob and Mario’s, and before I knew it, it was Sunday night. There was a message on the machine from Cory, and I called him back immediately. He said Anna Bement would be willing to see me any time.

He’d told me she worked as a proofreader at a publishing house I recognized as being not too far from my office. She’d suggested she and I might try meeting for lunch on Wednesday, if I felt I could manage without an interpreter. I told him I was sure I could, that Wednesday would be fine, and asked him to set it up at a time and place of her choosing. He said he’d try to reach her as soon as we hung up, and would get back to me.  

I was fixing my evening Manhattan, acutely aware of the unaccustomed silence, when Cory called, saying Anna would meet me Wednesday at twelve fifteen at a small diner near her work. I thanked him again, and we ended the conversation with the usual promises to see one another soon.

*

Jonathan called shortly before ten. He didn’t sound very happy.

“I just now left Joshua’s room. I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He was a holy terror all day. He wouldn’t mind, he yelled at my sister Ruth’s youngest kids, and he’s been a general pain in the behind. I’m sure Ruth thinks he’s a spoiled brat, and he was sure acting like one.

“I’ve never seen him like this, and I was really embarrassed. He threw a major tantrum when I told him it was time to go to bed, and when I finally got him there, he didn’t want me to read him a story. But when I got up to leave, he started crying, so I went back and laid down with him until he went to sleep.”

“Any idea of what might have set him off?” I asked. “He usually has a reason, even if it doesn’t make much sense to us.” 

“No. We went over to see Ruth after church, and the minute we got there, he started.”

I sighed. “And nothing happened to trigger it?”  

“No, I…” He paused. “Oh, Lord! Of course! Why didn’t I realize it?”

“What?” 

“In order to get to Ruth’s from my dad’s, we had to drive right past Samuel and Sheryl’s house. It was a really strange sensation for me, but I didn’t think Joshua even noticed. But of course, he had to have. He was born and raised there. It’s the place he and his parents left and never went back. But he didn’t say a word. Oh, God, I feel awful!”

I empathized with him totally. Even for a five-year-old, being kicked in the stomach with memories must have hurt like hell. No wonder he’d acted up.

“There’s nothing you can do about it now,” I said. “Just be sure to be extra-patient with him, as you always are. We knew this might happen, and it did. He’ll get over it—he doesn’t have much choice. Just keep reassuring him that his mom and dad wanted you to take care of him, and that we love him.”

He sighed. “Yeah, you’re right, of course, and I do try. But…”

“That’s all we can do—try. I just wish I were there to help you.”

“So do I. I miss you.”

“Me, too, Babe.”

*

Monday morning, as I drove to work, I had a momentary rush of adrenaline realizing that, with only five days of not having to be concerned for Jonathan and Joshua’s safety, I had to try to cram in as much as I possibly could between now and heading for the airport Friday to pick them up.

It was highly unlikely I’d have the whole case solved by then—I had no guarantee I would solve it at all. However, knowing from experience that panic is counterproductive, at best, I took a mental step backward and determined I’d do as much as I could in the time available.

As soon as I walked in the office, I went to the phone to call Richard Bement. I really expected to get an answering machine and was surprised to hear the phone being picked up at the other end.

I’d read somewhere that it was Thomas Alva Edison who was responsible for making “hello” the standard response to a phone call. Alexander Graham Bell favored “Ahoy! Ahoy!” and I was rather glad he’d lost that particular battle. At any rate, it was “Hello?” I heard when Richard Bement answered the phone.

“Mr. Bement, my name is Dick Hardesty, and I’m a friend of your nephew, Mel. He suggested I contact you.”

“About what? Just why might my nephew be suggesting you call me?”

“It’s a bit complicated,” I began truthfully, “and I was hoping we might meet in person to discuss it.”

“‘It’ being…?”

“In addition to Mel’s friend, I’m also a private investigator. Mel told me he has reason to believe that his grandfather’s—your father’s—death might not have been a suicide, and that he was thinking of taking his concerns to the police. I suggested he let me look into the matter first to see if there were any need to involve the police.”

“The police? That’s totally ridiculous. My father was ninety years old, senile, and in ill health. He chose to take his own life. Period. I have no idea what Mel thinks he is doing or why, but I won’t be a party to it.”

“I’m afraid not being a party to it really won’t be an option if I’m unable to convince Mel not to go to the police. I was frankly surprised they didn’t look more closely into the circumstances of your father’s death at the time, but I’m sure they shared your analysis of the situation.

“Still, if a member of the family were to suggest otherwise, they would have little choice but to investigate, especially considering your father’s prominence. So it really would be better all around if you could help me convince Mel there’s no basis for his concern.” 

A long pause was followed by a put-upon sigh. “Very well. I have absolutely nothing to tell you, but if you insist, I have to be in town for a business meeting and lunch, so I can meet you for a few minutes afterwards. Say two thirty at Georgio’s.”

“I’ll see you there,” I said, idly wondering what sort of “business meeting” it might be, since Mel had said Richard Bement never worked a day in his life. I suspected he just wanted to meet in neutral territory. 

Georgio’s was a fancy newly opened bar at the Montero, the doyenne of the city’s hotels. I hadn’t asked how to recognize him; I figured it would be fairly quiet at two thirty and I could manage.

Since I had plenty of time before meeting Richard, I next tried calling his son George, the one Mel had described as a “serious druggie.” There was no answer and no machine. On to Stuart. An answering machine picked up on the second ring to alert the caller that “Mr. Bement” was not in at the moment but would return my call at his earliest convenience. Since I assumed it was he who had recorded the message, I found the use of “Mr. Bement” to be more than a little affected, and the “at his convenience” downright arrogant.