| |
Phoebe listened to the tape twice in Keith's apartment while he drained two beers in long gulps. The first time, she was crying too hard to hear it. The second time, she got up and paced. Keith had stopped for pizza and beer. He offered her a beer, but she waved it away. Flopping on the couch, he watched her.
"It's bullshit, right?" Phoebe said. "Just one last mindfuck to entertain himself before he goes on the express train to hell."
"I'm going to research into his story."
"You're going to dig up shit on my parents, you mean?" She put her hands on her hips and glared at him.
"If there was any shit to dig up, wouldn’t you want to find out?"
"I don't know." Phoebe was troubled because Louis’ story rang true. Her dreams she had after reading the file seemed to support what Louis said. "What color truck did your uncle have?"
"The fuck should I know?" he slurred.
"You knew him. Didn't he ever take you out for ice cream after your football games?"
"Not in his work truck."
"Find out," she demanded. "Find out if it was black. Can you look at his records and see if he ever did air conditioning repair for my family?"
"I can try. Why?"
"I had a dream. I dreamed some of it."
"Dreamed or remembered?"
"I. Don't. Know." She yelled, annunciating every word.
Keith downed the third beer. "Hand me another one."
"Shouldn't you slow down?" she asked in a softer voice. She was pretty sure he had started drinking a few hours ago.
"Not tonight."
Opening it, she sat next to him on the couch, curling her leg up underneath her. "What if it's true?"
"If it's true, it goes in the thesis. I have to rewrite the lede, but it should be doable."
"I don't remember my father as a power mad adulterer. He never hit my mother. I never saw a black eye." But that dream with Conan O'Brien came back. How much had she just suppressed in her need to remember what having a family was like?
"She could have covered it with makeup." Keith took another long gulp. "I'll see what I can dig up on your father. See if anyone remembers a mistress."
"What happens after you finish your thesis?" Phoebe asked, rubbing her shoulders. She couldn't get warm. She wished he would put his arm around her.
"I'll see if I can sell it. I need to publish it for it to count."
"You're going to dredge all of this up again? I'm going to have to go on Fox News and answer questions like 'Did you know your parents' marriage was in shambles?'"
"Stay below the radar."
Phoebe snorted. "Is the District Attorney going to open the case?"
"I mailed him a copy of the tape. Maybe. It depends on the evidence. Like you said, this could all be an elaborate final 'Fuck You' to the world. Louis gets to watch everyone scramble around, while he sits back and laughs."
"You don't believe that, though, right?"
"I don't know what to believe." He drained the third beer.
"Don't lie to me." Her voice shook.
He wheeled on her. "Yes, I believe it."
Phoebe flinched back and covered her face.
"Baby," he slurred and pulled her into his arms. He smelled like beer and sweat. She struggled, but he held her tighter. "It's going to be all right."
"Is it?" she sniffed. "Can't you drop the story? Finish your thesis without it?"
"There's no story without this. I mean I suppose I could wait until he drops dead and then it would be a timely article."
"When does he go into surgery?" she whispered.
"Tomorrow." He let her go and staggered to the kitchen for his fourth beer. "You sure you don't want one?"
Phoebe shook her head. "Can you wait and see before investigating this? Like you said, if he dies, there’s the in to make your thesis timely enough to publish."
"I don't think I'll be up to research for a few days."
"Thanks."
He saluted her with his beer. "You could have grown up on Hawaii if their plan worked." Keith gave her the shaka.
"If I also didn't meet with an accident. Your uncle killed two men to get my mother. Who's to say he wouldn't have tossed me into the Pacific and let me drown?"
Keith burped. "Paranoid much?"
Phoebe stared at him. Told herself, he was drunk. "You know," she said. "I'm going to go home."
"I can't drive," he said. "Stay here with me." He slugged back more beer.
As she started to gather her things, Keith hugged her off her feet and carried her to the bed.
"Not tonight, Keith," she told him when he dropped her on the bed.
"Okay," he agreed and lay down next to her.
"I'm going to back to the dorm. I've got an early class tomorrow." She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.
"Call a cab," he said, digging into his pocket for his wallet. He handed it to her.
"Yeah." She took out a ten. “Thanks.”
Phoebe shut off the lights and waited for the cab to pick her up. She locked his door with the new set of keys that she had been over the moon to get. Now, she felt like flinging them into the snow bank. Keith seemed callous about all of this.
Then she remembered, Louis was his uncle. So damned complicated.
She had the cab drop her off at the student union building. Waving to campus police, who were doing their rounds, she hurried out of the cold. The Sentinel's office had a few stragglers filing stories. Phoebe texted Keith while the computer booted up.
I'm home. Drink water and take an aspirin.
A few minutes later, he texted back:
i lub u.
Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the three words. "He's just drunk," Phoebe said.
"Who?" Shayne asked.
"No one." Phoebe tossed the phone on her desk.
"You okay, Jones?"
She nodded. "Peachy."
"I'm out of here. Don't stay up too late."
"Yes, Dad," she teased and then her whole face froze when she realized what she said.
Luckily, Shane didn't see anything out of the ordinary with that remark.
Shaken from the sudden emotions, Phoebe opened up her email program. Maryanne and Kelly had sent letters. Larissa stopped writing emails ever since Phoebe got her phone. She just sent texts to her now.
i lub u.
He doesn't mean it. Taking a deep breath, Phoebe Googled her father. She didn't get any new information, but she wrote down three names she vaguely remembered her father talking about from the law firm. One of them was a woman. She'd give the contact information for Keith to follow up with.
Or maybe she'd call the woman, herself.
Tamara Linn.
She was a now a partner in her father's old law firm. Back then, however, they worked closely on a couple of cases. Phoebe couldn't remember why her name popped for her out of everyone in the firm. Maybe it was because she was a woman? Maybe she had heard them arguing about her? Closing her eyes, she tried to will a dream to come to her. One where she could see Louis Freeman with her mother or her father with Tamara Linn. Tamara Linn was a stripper name not an attorney’s name. After a few minutes, though, Phoebe was still awake without any more insight.
i lub u.
What if he did mean it? In vino veritas after all.
She wrote back: i lub u 2.