“Did you know him well?” Richard asked.
“Fairly,” Sybil replied. She didn’t know how well anyone could have known Julian.
“Then you know that Julian disagreed with just about everything. I fucking miss that bastard but ‘agreeable’ was not a word you’d ever use to describe him. And anyway, we were partners because I was more of the numbers guy, he was moreof the personnel guy. He reviled the scheme that Jones was pulling—”
“Scheme?”
“Well, yeah, I mean, I don’t know, I’m not religious, but it seemed to be basically a pile of bullshit. An entire grift. And Julian really had a problem with that. Which, since you knew him, I’m sure you don’t have problems imagining.”
“And Levi? Any thoughts on him?”
More papers being shuffled.
“Oh, the son. One of the sons. No thoughts on him, he was never a suspect. We confirmed—” He paused. “Yep, we confirmed that he was out of the state. Had gotten a job selling tickets at Niagara Falls.”
“Right.” Sybil hesitated. “But when you say ‘suspect,’ I thought it was ruled as an electrical fire.”
“It was. But we check out everything else just in case. And in this situation, there were some just-in-cases.” He sighed. “Look, ma’am, I know you mean well. I know that every person now fancies themselves amateur sleuths.” Sybil’s ears burned pink. “But I remember saying to Jules at the time that Aaron Jones was a bad motherfucker, and though we couldn’t shut down the church, we could rest easy that this slippery fuck was dead. And I honestly haven’t given it another thought since.”
How lucky, Sybil thought now. To be so unburdened. She knew that in Richard’s line of work, he must carry plenty of burdens. But not the way Julian did. Not even the way that Sybil did, feeling as if she had to carry everyone else on her shoulders. Even now, trying to help Betty when Betty hadn’t asked.
Based on the list and the postcards, Levi was either in San Francisco (the Golden Gate Bridge), Los Angeles (the Hollywood sign) or Arizona (the Grand Canyon). Part of Sybil hoped he was in Arizona, which might give her a reasonable excuse tocall Zeke, but part of her wanted to solve this all on her own. Show him what he had missed out on. That she was a mastermind of sorts, that she was dogged, that she would do anything at all for the people she loved.
She was googling “Levi Jones” in the state of Arizona and coming up with no real leads when she remembered the flip phone. She found it in the Bankers Box, dead again. While she waited for the charger to revive it, she typed out a text to Eloise, apologizing for how badly Christmas break had gone, and thanking her for telling Mark to apologize.
Sybil:El, I don’t need you to worry about me though or get involved with stuff between your dad and me.
Surprisingly, Eloise wrote her back immediately.
Eloise:mom, I do
Sybil:no, that’s not your job, I should have done a better job keeping you out of it
Eloise:mom, for real, I’m an adult now.
Sybil:sweetheart, I know that
Eloise:no, what I mean is that you have to let someone look out for you too. we r studying that inabnormal psych. Care has to be reciprocal.
Sybil’s eyes welled in seconds.
Before she could thank her daughter for her thoughtfulness, however, the flip phone sprang to life, vibrating and skittering across the counter.
Sybil snapped it open and gasped.
There was a new message from Levi.
56
Night Twenty-Three
Betty
Betty probably wouldn’thave run if Sybil hadn’t told her about Julian that night. Even now, five weeks later, with sharpened cheekbones and still-jet-black hair, on a thinning sheet at the hostel a few miles from the bus depot, Betty found herself right back outside the diner, with Sybil’s voice echoing on the other end of the line. Breaking the news.
Betty had thought maybe she was imagining someone following her at Grand Central the night she met Caleb, spinning something out of nothing. So she’d ignored her intuition that she had run out her clock in Manhattan. But Julian’s death? Betty didn’t have the luxury to believe in coincidences, not anymore. About a year before Levi left—was kicked out—he started tiptoeing into her room late at night. They were the only two kids left in the house; the other three were married; offspring abounded. Betty had eight nieces and nephews by the time she was sixteen, her siblings taking seriously her father’s edict that marriage was intended for procreation.
For those few years, just the two of them, they were lucky to each have their own bedroom. And if her dad caught Levi in hers, that would be the end of it. No fraternizing between genders, even siblings, was allowed in private. Her father had gotten even more fanatical about that recently, inventing new rules whenever one struck him.
