You’re quite the chef, Bernie,” said Mr. Parsons, wiping his mouth on a napkin. “I didn’t realize I was so hungry.”
We sat at our kitchen table, me actually under the table and closer to Mr. Parsons’s end, in case he turned out to be a messy eater. Which he did not. But you have to learn to deal with disappointment in this life, and I was just starting to wonder how that might be done, exactly, when all of a sudden, in a sneaky, quiet way, there was Mr. Parsons’s hand down under the table, holding a nice fatty glob of steak practically right in front of my mouth. I snatched it up, and pronto. So that was how you dealt with disappointment? I’d learned a valuable lesson.
“Maybe you haven’t been eating enough, Daniel,” Bernie was saying.
“The thing is I enjoy sitting down to a meal with Edna. It’s not the same by yourself.”
“There’s Iggy.”
“And I love him. But . . .”
But? What was that but? I loved Iggy, too, but with no buts about it. I wriggled myself out from under the table, kind of wanting company.
“How about a beer?” Bernie said.
Mr. Parsons checked his watch. “Isn’t it a little early?”
“Planning on operating heavy machinery this afternoon?”
Missed that one, myself, but it made Mr. Parsons laugh. Bernie got two bottles from the fridge, snapped off the caps with the opener—loved that sound! Snap off more caps, Bernie, more, more, more—and gave one to Mr. Parsons.
“Cheers,” said Mr. Parsons.
“Cheers.”
Mr. Parsons took a little sip. “Do you think she’s serious?” he said. “Special Investigator whatever her name was?”
“Newburg, Ellie Newburg,” Bernie said. “And yes is the answer.”
“Not that I blame her—can’t have people digging up saguaros out of the desert, willy-nilly.”
“True,” Bernie said. “But you had nothing to do with it.”
Mr. Parsons gazed at the beer in his hand, then drank again—this time not a sip, more like the rest of the bottle, tipping it up, his throat exposed. I’m always interested in exposed throats, not sure why, which is how come I noticed that Mr. Parsons was one of those unlucky humans who—if I’d heard right—had some sort of an apple caught in there. Poor guy. Just watching it bob around made my own throat uncomfortable.
“What’s that squeaky sound Chet’s making?” said Mr. Parsons. “Think he’s all right?”
“Chet—cool it.”
Squeaky sound? Me? I cooled it, so fast no one could have noticed anything.
Mr. Parsons put down the empty beer bottle. “As for my involvement . . . ” he said in a very low voice, almost like he was talking to himself, which humans often do, especially with just me around. Like I’m not there! Hello? Mr. Parsons shot a quick glance at Bernie, maybe to see if he was watching; which of course he was, being Bernie.
“What about it?” he said.
Mr. Parsons sighed. “Depends how broad the definition is.”
“I’m all ears,” Bernie said.
What was that? I studied his ears, not small in human terms, but nowhere close to being all of him. And of course what they were actually for was a puzzler. I was a bit lost.
“You’re a good neighbor, Bernie.”
“You said that already.”
“And that’s all I’ve got to say. Last thing I’d want to do—and Edna would never forgive me—would be to drag you into . . . anything.”
“My money’s on Edna forgiving you pretty quick,” Bernie said.
Mr. Parsons laughed. Human laughter is one of the best things they’ve got going for them, and I always enjoy the sound and the looks on their faces, usually kind of wacky—the insides of their mouths, packed with tiny teeth! And those feeble little tongues!—but in this case Mr. Parsons’s laughter turned with no warning into tears. Mr. Parsons put his head in his hands, went silent, a bit of moisture leaking through the spaces between his fingers.
“Tell me about Billy,” Bernie said.
Mr. Parsons went still. Then he slowly spread his fingers and looked at Bernie, his eyes drying fast. “He fell in with bad people.”
“When was this?” Bernie said.
Mr. Parsons lowered his hands and sat up straight. “You’re relentless, Bernie, in the nicest way. Edna pointed that out to me.”
Bernie nodded. He’s the best nodder I’ve ever seen, has many different nods signaling this or that. There’s one for yes that actually means no! As for this particular nod, I had no clue.
“In answer to your question,” Mr. Parsons went on, “Billy fell in with bad people more than once.”
“You mentioned that he’s been living far away. Was he in prison?”
“Northern State Correctional.”
“You’re from up that way originally, as I recall?”
“Yes.”
“How long was the sentence?”
“Fifteen years.”
“So it began around the time you moved here?”
“Six months earlier. We . . . we needed a change, Edna and I.”
“What was the crime?”
“Kidnapping. Billy drove the getaway car—he was always a very good driver.” Mr. Parsons got an inward look in his eyes. “I taught him how to parallel park. He got it on the very first try.” He gave his head a little shake. “That was years before, of course. At the time of the . . . the event, Billy was on his own, living down here in the Valley. He admitted to driving the car but claimed ignorance of any kidnapping. The jury didn’t believe him.”
“Did you?”
“I . . . I’ve never been sure. Edna believed him one hundred percent. We hired the best lawyer money could buy. Not a hardship—I was still working at the time. Shouldn’t even have mentioned it. She—the lawyer—wanted Billy to take a plea deal the DA offered, but Edna . . . but we, Edna and I, argued against that. Falling in with bad people can’t be the same as being a bad person yourself, can it?”
“Depends on whether you judge by results,” Bernie said.
Mr. Parsons’s voice sharpened. He didn’t even sound like himself. “Easy to say when it’s not your flesh and blood. Just imagine if it was Charlie instead of—” Mr. Parsons covered his mouth with his hand. “I’m so sorry, Bernie. Way out of line. Please forgive me. No excuse for . . .”
“Nothing to forgive,” Bernie said. “Bottom line, I’d like to help you.”
“I’m very grateful, but there’s nothing I need help with.”
“Understood. But maybe at least I could get Ellie Newburg to back off.”
“How?”
“Leave that to me.”
Mr. Parsons shook his head. “I can’t have Billy implicated in any way. He’s on parole.”
“I’ve had some success in preventing people from getting implicated,” Bernie said. “But only when I knew the whole story.”
Mr. Parsons just sat there. Silence went on and on. I heard a squirrel run across the roof. How I hated when that happened! Like they owned the place. They did not own the place. We owned the place, me and Bernie. I lost myself in thoughts of how to keep squirrels from running across the roof and was getting nowhere when Mr. Parsons finally spoke.
“Iggy loves him, followed him around constantly the whole time he was here,” Mr. Parsons said. “If that makes any difference.”
“It does,” Bernie said.
“You have to promise me, Bernie.”
Bernie said nothing.
“Not a small request, I’m aware of that,” Mr. Parsons said. “But when you’ve only got a few moves left in life, you want them to be right.”
“How do you know that’s where you are?”
Mr. Parsons smiled. His teeth were very yellow, but his smile was nice. “It’s good to be optimistic. Gives you some lift over the years. But it’s no help in the end to be a Pollyanna.”
Pollyanna? A new one on me. A perp? Sounded that way, if I was following things right. In which case: heads up, Pollyanna. Hope you look good in orange.
Meanwhile, Bernie was still saying nada.
“It’s not just about the legal consequences,” Mr. Parsons went on. “A child is your investment in the future. We have just the one. No one wants their investment wiped out.”
Bernie nodded, a short nod that means he’s come to a decision. “I promise,” he said.
Mr. Parsons nodded the same sort of nod. “It was a gift,” he said.
“The saguaro?” said Bernie.
“A thank-you gift.”
“From Billy?”
“A landscaper just drove up. No warning. All paid for, including the planting.”
“What was Billy thanking you for?” Bernie said.
“You may think we’re very foolish,” said Mr. Parsons. “A foolish old couple, long past it.”
“How much did you give him?”
Mr. Parsons stared at Bernie for a moment. Then he started laughing. What was funny? I didn’t get it. Maybe nothing was funny and tears were on the way again. But that didn’t happen this time. Mr. Parsons’s laughter wheezed to a stop. “We had to open a home equity line of credit,” he said. “We gave Billy twenty grand. But it’s in the form of a loan.”
“Written form?” said Bernie.
“More like a handshake. And a kiss for his mom—he came to the hospital, sat with her for practically the whole afternoon, just holding her hand and talking about long-ago times. Billy remembers polka-dot socks she knit him in kindergarten. Can you imagine?”
Bernie was silent.
“It meant the world to her,” Mr. Parsons said. “I took a picture of the two of them.” He held up his phone so Bernie could see. I saw, too: Mrs. Parsons sitting up in bed, dark patches under her eyes and a big smile on her old face, plus a man leaning in, one arm around her shoulder, and an even bigger smile on his face. He had long fair hair down to his shoulders, and . . . and a small tattoo on one cheek, small but strange, perhaps a snakehead. I could feel how hard Bernie was looking at the picture.
“Did Billy say what the money’s for?” he said.
“Why, to get him back on his feet, of course,” said Mr. Parsons.
“Why that specific amount?”
“Accreditation, a cheap car, living expenses—it all added up.”
“What sort of accreditation?”
“Forestry management,” said Mr. Parsons. “Billy’s always loved the outdoors. They’ve got a program down at Rincon City College. Classes start next week.”
“Sounds promising,” Bernie said. “Except for the saguaro. I take it you called him when you went in the house?”
“No answer. I left a message. But shouldn’t we be keeping an open mind? What if he bought the thing legitimately from a garden shop? He’d have had no way of knowing it was stolen.”
“We need to hear his side, no question,” Bernie said. “Any idea where he’s living?”
“Nowhere permanent at the moment. He’s looking for a place in Rincon City. Are . . . are you thinking of going down there, Bernie?”
“If we can’t reach him by phone. How about trying again?”
Mr. Parsons took out his phone, tapped at the screen. “Hello, Billy? It’s me, your fa—your dad. I’d like to talk to you, son, if you’ve got a minute or two. Nothing too . . . urgent, but, uh, at your earliest convenience.” He clicked off.
“Can I get that number?” Bernie said. Mr. Parsons read out the number and Bernie wrote it on a scrap of paper. “Does Billy know about me?” he said.
“Know about you? Just that you’re a wonderful neighbor—and that includes Chet, too.”
Another no-brainer? And the day was still young: had to be a good sign.
“Does he know what we do for a living?” Bernie said.
“I don’t think that ever came—wait a minute. Maybe it did. Was he in the house when Leda dropped off the key? I was outside when she drove up. We talked, I took the key in, and . . .” Mr. Parsons closed his eyes tight, a human thing meaning they’re trying hard to remember something. Humans try so hard at all sorts of things! You really have to feel sorry for them sometimes. “And . . . yes, Billy came out of the kitchen.” Mr. Parsons’s eyes opened. “He saw Leda’s car driving off, made some remark about how fancy it was, and that’s when I think I mentioned you were a detective.”
“In the context of Leda’s fancy car coming with her second marriage.”
Mr. Parsons smiled. “You’re amazing, Bernie. Figuring how things were from just a few random pieces.”
Message to Mr. Parsons: Tell me something I don’t know!
“Makes me certain I’m doing the right thing,” Mr. Parsons went on, “although I may not tell Edna on my visit today.”
“The right thing being?” Bernie said.
“Hiring you, of course,” Mr. Parsons said. “To sort out this whole saguaro matter in a way that . . . in the right way.”
“I’d like to do that, Daniel. But money won’t be changing hands.”
Whoa! What was that?
“I insist,” Mr. Parsons said.
Bernie? Hello? He’s insisting. Wouldn’t it actually be rude to—
“No way,” said Bernie. “We won’t hear of it and that’s that.”
We being? They both turned to me. “What’s he barking about?” Mr. Parsons said.
“Probably wants you to slip him another piece of steak,” Bernie said.
No, no, it wasn’t that at all. But, funny thing: then it was! What a life!
• • •
“Bernie and Chet!” said Mr. Singh, clapping his hands as we entered his shop, pawn brokerage at the front, tiny kitchen hidden by bright-colored hanging cloths at the back. “It’s been entirely too long since I’ve laid eyes on that beautiful timepiece.”
The beautiful timepiece being Bernie’s grandfather’s watch, our most valuable possession. It lived in two places, either at Mr. Singh’s or in the safe at—Whoa! I’d forgotten all about the safe! Eye on the ball, big guy, as Bernie always says, although nose on the ball works better for me. Maybe not for you. But forget all that, because at that very moment Mr. Singh was calling to his wife behind the brightly colored cloths.
“Dhara, would we have any curried goat at hand? Chet is here. And Bernie, of course.”
“Only by reheating,” Mrs. Singh called back. “Which is never as good, no matter what you say.”
“It’s really not necessary,” Bernie said.
What did he mean? Reheating wasn’t necessary? I was with him on that. Really, who cares? But if he meant—
“Just be patient,” said Mrs. Singh. “I am doctoring up as we speak.”
Now doctors were in the picture? In a cooking situation? I was not in the picture myself. I went closer to the brightly colored cloths and took a sniff or two. Mrs. Singh was the only human on the other side, as I’d thought. So therefore? Oh, no, not a so therefore! So therefores were Bernie’s department, me bringing other things to the table. But wouldn’t you know? Just when I was at a total loss, the cloths suddenly parted and there was Mrs. Singh—one of my very favorite people in the whole Valley!—laying a plate of curried goat at my feet.
My memories of goings-on at Mr. Singh’s pawn brokerage were a bit hazy after that. Did Mr. Singh say something about seeing a watch similar to ours but not as nice going through the roof on Antiques Roadshow, and because of that he was now prepared to come across with way more green? Did Bernie tell him that we actually no longer had the watch? Was that followed by a less than happy discussion of our current insurance policy? Maybe, maybe not. All I’m sure of is that after I’d finished licking the plate clean, Bernie said, “If you’re in touch with any of your competitors, I’d appreciate an alert.”
“Colleagues, Bernie, not competitors. We are a band of brothers in our little world, and—”
Is there a kind of laugh called a snicker? If so, that was what I heard coming from behind the brightly colored cloths.
“—and I will inform each and every one to be on the lookout.”
They shook hands. I took a last lick of the plate, a long, careful lick, and maybe a few more after that. Do things right: that’s one of my core beliefs.