“I don’t know if I should be talking with you,”
Rosalie Benson’s face mirrored the reluctance I heard in her voice.
But she was talking with me, at least for the time being.
I had waylaid her outside the vintage clothing store, shortly after nine o’clock Thursday morning. After parking in the lot, I bought coffee at the nearby java joint, then staked out a spot on the bench near the store, watching the street and lot. I’d been sitting there for about ten minutes when I saw Rosalie.
She walked briskly along the sidewalk, wearing gray slacks and a floral blouse, a gray bag slung over one shoulder. She crossed the parking lot, then detoured into the coffee shop, joining a queue at the counter as she removed a wallet from her bag. A few minutes later, she stepped outside and headed for the store. In her left hand was a cup of her morning brew, a pastry bag balanced on top. A set of keys dangled from her right hand.
I stood up and intercepted her. Up close, I saw lines around her mouth and her wide blue eyes. I put her age as mid-sixties, older than Millicent. She frowned at me, wondering why I was between her and the front door of her shop. When I explained, her frown deepened.
“A private investigator? And it’s about Eric? I saw you in the store the other day,” she added. “Is that why you were here? Casing the joint? Or casing Millie?”
“I overheard you say that you’d be here early this morning,” I said. “And I heard Millicent say she’d be late. I’d like to talk with you and get some insights into Millicent and her son—and their relationship. Before I talk with Millicent. So, what can you tell me about Eric?”
Rosalie hesitated. She didn’t have much of a poker face. It reflected her internal struggle. She weighed the store keys in her hand as though weighing whether to talk with me. Talk finally won out.
I held her coffee and pastry while she unlocked the door of the vintage store. Opening it, she waved me inside, locking the door after me. Then she stuck the keys into a pocket and relieved me of her coffee and pastry. “Let’s go back to the office. I’ll try to answer your questions. Within reason. And if they get too personal, no dice.”
“I understand.”
I walked with her past the racks of clothing and the glass-fronted counter with its display of vintage jewelry. We passed the fitting room and mirror. A door led back to the office, where clothing hung on racks and shoes and other accessories lined shelves. A desk with a computer sat to one side. Rosalie sat down at her desk chair and waved me toward a chair that held a hatbox. I moved the box to a shelf and sat down.
Rosalie sipped her coffee and opened the sack, revealing a blueberry Danish. She tore off a piece and nibbled at it. “Millie and I have been friends a long time,” she said. “I’m feeling disloyal, even agreeing to talk with you.”
“Why did you?” I asked.
She wiped her hands on a napkin, leaving a blue smear from the Danish. “I worry about Millie’s well-being. Things were fine. She’d been doing well since Eric left the area. And then he shows up.”
“Has she got some health problems?”
Rosalie nodded. “High blood pressure. You wouldn’t think it to look at her. She’s tall and slim. She looks like the picture of health. But—” She paused and reached for another piece of the Danish. “She takes medication. The doctor told her to watch her stress level.”
“What is it about her son that affects her stress level?”
She frowned again. “Eric’s a problem child. Has been most of his life. I’ve known Millie for ages, back when she was married to Walt Slade. That kid was always acting out.”
“Any particular reason? The divorce, maybe?”
“I’m sure that was part of it. But Eric’s behavior problems started before Millie and Walt broke up. Millie was always inclined to blame things on that cousin of his.”
“Marshall Spencer,” I said.
Rosalie nodded. “Yes, that’s him. Marsh, they call him. His mother is Walt’s sister. Her name’s Debra Spencer and she lives in Walnut Creek. At least as far as I know. Debra’s a piece of work herself, to hear Millie tell it.”
I filed that information for further investigation. “Why blame Marsh?”
“He’s a year older than Eric,” Rosalie said. “And always in trouble, Millie says. From the time he was a kid. But I’m only getting her perspective, of course. Truth be told, there was never any love lost between Millie and her sister-in-law. Debra divorced her husband early on and she relied on Walt for help, constantly. Financial help as well as other stuff. Millie felt she was taking advantage of Walt. Sucked up all his attention, was the way she put it. Walt was fooling around on Millie, for a couple of years before she found out. When she did, Walt moved out and eventually they got a divorce. As soon as it was final, he married his girlfriend and they moved up to Sacramento. He has a consulting business. At least that’s what he calls it.”
She paused and took another bite of her Danish, washing it down with a swallow of coffee.
“So Eric’s father wasn’t around,” I said.
Rosalie shook her head. “He never was, even when he was there physically. According to Millie, Walt was just never much interested in Eric. One of those remote, detached fathers. Raising Eric was Millie’s problem, as far as he was concerned. After Millie and Walt got divorced, he pretty much washed his hands of the situation. I often wonder how the two of them ever got together, much less had a child. Byron is a far better choice for a husband. And from what I can see, he really tried to be a dad to Eric. At first. But I guess it was too late. Eric was twelve when his parents split up. That’s a tough age for kids. I went through it with both my son and daughter.”
“What do you mean when you say Byron tried to be a dad to Eric, at first? They don’t get along?” Having overheard what Slade had said about his stepfather, on Tuesday as well as Wednesday, I was sure they didn’t. But I wanted to hear Rosalie’s take on the relationship.
Rosalie was shaking her head. “Oh, no. They don’t. When Eric was a teenager they would just go at it hammer-and-tongs. Byron wanted Eric to behave, do well in school, have some manners. And Eric just wasn’t having any of it. If Byron said something, Eric would push back and do the opposite. It was an awful tug-of-war between the two of them, with Millie caught in the middle.”
“What happened the last time Eric stayed with them?” She looked startled at my question. “When I was here on Tuesday, I overheard the conversation between Millicent and Eric.”
“Eavesdropped, you mean,” she countered.
“Yes. That’s what I do. Anyway, Eric said something about staying with her and she said no, not after what happened the last time. So, what happened?”
Rosalie sighed. “It was about two years ago. Eric had been living over in Marin County, playing music over there, or so he said. Then he didn’t have a place to stay. Got kicked out of his apartment is my guess. He moved in with Millie and Byron. They went away for a long weekend, Eric had some friends over, including Marsh, of course. Things got out of hand. They trashed the den, the kitchen, the guest room. Millie had to replace some flooring and drapes, along with glassware that got broken. Byron put his foot down. He told Eric to get out and said he was no longer welcome to stay at the house. It was hard on Millie. She gave Eric money, of course. She’s always giving him money. Even when he left to move to Texas. It’s a real sore point between Millie and Byron.”
“It sounds like Millicent was hoping Eric would stay in Texas.”
“She was.” Rosalie tore off another bite of her Danish. “She was relieved when he told her he was moving to Austin. And a lot calmer this past year when he was gone. She hoped that he would find his footing and stay away. Now he’s back. Watching her on Tuesday, the same old pattern, giving him money. It was like I could see her stress level and blood pressure going through the roof.”
I steered the conversation back to the cousins. “Tell me more about Eric and Marsh.”
“They were always running around together when they were growing up. I think Millie viewed that in a favorable light at first, since they were so close in age. I guess she figured it was good for Eric to have his cousin as a friend. She changed her mind when those boys were a little older. Because Marsh, I swear, that kid’s a bad seed. He really is. As soon as Marsh was able to drive, he’d pick Eric up and they’d go off and do stuff together.”
“Sounds like what most teenaged boys do,” I said.
“It was more than that.” Rosalie shook her head. “They would get caught shoplifting. Or speeding. Get traffic tickets, things like that. Trying to get someone to buy liquor for them. And I know Marsh got caught with drugs a time or two, as a juvenile. God knows what kind of record he has as an adult. I know—” She stopped again, her face taking on a wary look, as though she felt she was saying too much. Then she took a deep breath and went on. “Millie says that Marsh liked to set fires.”
I sat back in my chair. “Did he?”
Had Slade acquired his propensity for setting fires from hanging around with his cousin? Was Marsh still lighting matches?
“I’m afraid he had a really bad influence on Eric,” Rosalie said. “There was an incident, right before he graduated from high school—” She stopped again, reluctant to go on.
“If it’s about the neighbor’s garage,” I said, “I’ve already heard about it.”
“There’s more.” Rosalie sighed. “The man whose garage got burned up, he wanted to press charges against Eric. That would have been serious, because Eric had just turned eighteen. But Millicent told me there wasn’t enough evidence to connect him with the fire. Besides, she was sure Marsh was involved, too. But Eric is the one who got blamed, because he’d had some sort of run-in with the neighbor. The police came to the house and interviewed him.”
I made note of this new information. I’d have to get a copy of the police report concerning the incident.
“By that time, Byron had had it with Eric,” Rosalie continued. “It’s a good thing he was graduating from high school. He went off to college and I think that was good for Millie, to have him out of the house. Of course, he moved in with Marsh. The two of them shared an apartment in Oakland while Eric went to school at Cal State down in Hayward.”
“Getting back to the fires,” I said. “Have you heard of any other instances where Eric might have been involved in setting fires? I mean, if Marsh was setting fires, stands to reason that Eric could have picked up the habit.”
She thought about it for a moment, frowning. “Yes, there was another fire. At a club where Eric used to play. I think it was in Oakland. I have no idea whether he was involved. Or Marsh, for that matter. But it happened right before Eric decided to move to Austin. His decision to leave was so out-of-the-blue that I’ve always wondered if that’s the reason he left. To get away from something, I mean.”
She broke off and looked up and past me, shock on her face. I turned and saw Millicent standing in the doorway. Her eyebrows were drawn together and she looked upset. Upset enough to make me think she’d overheard a good bit of my conversation with Rosalie.
“Millie! I thought you were going to be late today,” Rosalie exclaimed.
“My dental appointment got canceled,” Millicent said, staring at me. “What in the world are you doing? Talking about Eric behind my back? And to a stranger? How dare you? I thought you were my friend.”
“I am your friend.” Rosalie scrambled to her feet and went to Millicent, putting a hand on the taller woman’s arm. Millicent shook her off. “I’ve been your friend for ages, and always will be. But Millie, I’m worried about you. I saw you when Eric was here yesterday. I saw you give him money, as you have so many times before. After he left, you looked awful. But you wouldn’t tell me anything.”
“So you’re talking to this person?” Millicent gave me a withering look. Then she narrowed her eyes. “You were in the store on Tuesday, hanging around. What were you doing, spying on me? And what are you doing here now?”
I stood up and took out one of my business cards, deciding the truth was the best approach. “I’m a private investigator based in Oakland. I’m working on a case that involves your son.”
She took the card and looked at it, turning it over in her hands. When she spoke, there was resignation in her voice, and the expression on her face was tinged with fear. “What has he done now?”
“I don’t have proof that he’s done anything.” Which was true enough. My suspicions weren’t absolute facts. “I can’t talk about the details of the case. But it involves a young woman he’s traveling with.”
She frowned, her words coming slowly. “He said he had a friend with him. Is that the young woman?”
I nodded. “It is. Her family is concerned about her. And her relationship with your son. I haven’t talked with either of them yet.”
Millicent walked over and sat down heavily in the chair I’d vacated. “Do you know why Eric left New Orleans?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “It’s possible he and the young woman are on a road trip and that they will return to New Orleans.” At least I thought it possible that Laurette would go back, eventually. I wasn’t sure about Slade.
“I understand that your son has been in some trouble in the past,” I said.
Millicent didn’t say anything at first. Then tears slid from her eyes. She put her hands up to her face and cried.
Rosalie was on her feet, alarmed. She tore a tissue from the box on her desk and held it out. “Millie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to speak out of turn. But I’m so worried about you, ever since I saw Eric on Tuesday.”
Millicent took the tissue and used it to blot the tears on her face. “I had a fight with Byron. A big one.”
“What happened?” I asked, though I suspected I knew the answer.
“Eric called last night. He was asking for money. Byron overheard. He put his foot down, told me I can’t continue giving money to my—as he put it—deadbeat son. We argued about it. And Eric’s upset with me. He’s my son. I love him. And I worry about him. If he could just settle on something.”
I doubted that he would. Slade had gotten used to his mother’s financial subsidies. He wasn’t about to step away from that. It made me wonder what he’d do next. The money he’d been counting on from Marsh wasn’t enough, according to him. Though I had no idea what constituted enough.
“Getting back to my earlier comment,” I said, “I understand that Eric has been in trouble in the past.”
Millicent’s lips thinned. She blotted her face again and squared her shoulders. “He has. But I blame Marsh. His cousin has been a bad influence on him for years.”
Millicent was in deep denial when it came to her son. That much was clear.
It couldn’t all be Marsh’s fault. My theory was that Eric and Marsh fed off each other’s unhealthy energy, the way a fire tornado feeds off the heat generated by the blaze. Were they still at it? Was Slade aware of this energy? Was his move to Austin and then New Orleans an attempt to get away from his cousin?
I pressed her for more information. “What sort of trouble?”
She shook her head. “I’d rather not talk about that. It’s all in the past.”
Yet when I’d introduced myself as a private investigator, she’d asked what her son had done now. I tried another tack.
“As Eric was leaving, I overheard him say something about collecting some money that Marsh is holding for him. Do you know anything about that?”
Alarm, quickly suppressed, spasmed across Millicent’s face. “No, I don’t. That’s news to me. Look, Eric left the Bay Area a year ago. He hasn’t had any contact with Marsh. Not as far as I know,” she added. “Besides, if Marsh has money for Eric, why is Eric asking me for money?”
Because you can’t say no, I thought.
Time for a change of subject. “Has Eric always wanted to be a musician?”
Her expression softened. “Yes. He loves music. He took piano lessons when he was younger. And then he got into playing the guitar. After he graduated from high school he went to Cal State down in Hayward. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to study. His grades weren’t very good, so after a while he dropped out. He worked then, and played music. He had gigs all over the East Bay. Then he came to me and said he wanted to try his luck in Austin, because of the music scene there. He said it was much better for musicians down there.”
I had been looking at Rosalie’s face while Millicent talked. She’d heard it all before, her face said, listening to her friend make excuses for her son.
“It’s ten o’clock,” Rosalie said, getting to her feet. “Time to open the shop. I’ll walk you out.”
She placed a hand on my arm and steered me out of the office, through the shop. She unlocked the front door and turned the sign from closed to open.
Then she turned to me. “Herkimer’s. That was the name of the club in Oakland, the one that had a fire before Eric left for Austin last year. Look, Millie has been in denial about Eric his whole life. I hate for her to get hurt over things her son has done. I don’t know what it is you’re investigating but I have a feeling there’s more to it than this girl he’s traveling with. Is he in serious trouble?”
I thought about Cindy Brixton back in New Orleans, accusing Eric of murdering her brother. No proof of that as yet, but—
I nodded. “He could be.”