“I can’t do that.” He turned to face her. “You know where the doctor is, Ma. All you do is take the subway to Bay station and walk south.”
“I don’t like going alone.” His mother’s mouth was a stubborn line. “I can ask Amy since you’re so busy. Amy said it’s a shame the way you treat your mother.”
He had an instinctive resentment toward Amy that he immediately extinguished. Divide and conquer was one of his mother’s standard devices for getting her own way, and his sister would never say that.
“Amy has work,” said Wes firmly. As the oldest, it was his job to stand up for his sisters. “You are not going to ask her.”
Surprisingly, his mother backed down. “Then how do I get there if my son is too busy for his mother?”
“I’ll call a cab to pick you up.”
She didn’t answer but went into the living room and turned on her favorite reality TV show.
Wes stood over the sink, soapy pan in his hands, until he eventually turned the water back on so he could finish the dishes. This was as good a resolution as he was going to get, so he should be happy. At least he had next week’s Dot meeting to look forward to. His car should be fixed by then, but Nadine might be open to carpooling. It was good for them to have a chance to debrief. Plus, it was environmentally friendly. He’d text her this week to check. Doing the dishes soothed him in the way that creating order always did. Blocking out the sound of the television and humming the chorus to “Get Lucky,” he finished up and thought about next Sunday, when he’d get to see Dot—and Nadine—again.
Fifteen
Nadine leaned over the steering wheel as they approached the mansion. She’d been impatient to talk to Dot today, not only because of the story but to see her. She liked Dot. Dot Voline was one of a kind.
When she’d gone home last week, the first thing she did was look up the obit Dot had mentioned of the baker with the best buns in town. The story had whetted her curiosity, and she’d clicked through several major newspapers, reading through recent obituaries to analyze the differences between their obits and those of theHerald. She was halfway through the fourth one when she realized she’d stopped reading with a professional eye and was reading for pleasure. She wanted to know about the woman who had run a community theater with people who had recently been released from prison and then about the man who had only received a pittance for recording one of Motown’s songs of the century. She hadn’t felt the same about theHerald’s obits, which always gave her the sense of reading a history textbook in preparation for a test and generally featured affluent white men over the age of seventy.
It would be interesting to talk to Dot more about obits. And life.And, hopefully, the secret she wanted them to know.
Beside her, Wes laughed with anticipation. “This is it,” he said. “This is the day she tells us.”
She hoped so, because apart from her blossoming interest in obituaries, her week had been shit, with Lisanne talking nonstop about her new investigation. At least it was less tense with Wes, although other concerns had leaked in. When he’d come out this morning looking better than usual, that tiny, minuscule crush she’d harbored when they’d first met years ago had made an unwelcome reappearance. She’d be wise to remember they were still competitors, and hot though Wes was, they weren’t compatible as people.
The gate opened as if they were expected—strange, since every visit so far had started by reintroducing themselves at the intercom—and Nadine felt Wes’s eyes on her.
“Did you do that?” he asked.
“How? I was sitting right here in the car with you.”
“I don’t know. Maybe Dot sent you the code.”
“Did you see me put in a code?”
Still bickering, they drove up to the house and parked.
“Feels different,” Wes said in a low voice.
He was right, but she refused to believe anything could stop them so close to their goal. Nadine peered ahead to the black Porsche SUV parked behind Dot’s hot-pink Bentley. “I don’t recognize that car,” she said.
Wes was watching the main door as it slowly opened. “That’s Brent.”
Nadine saw her knuckles go white on the steering wheel.
Wes reached over. “Let’s go talk to him,” he said, giving her hand a slight tug. “It might not be anything.”
They got out of the car. Brent stood on the top step, hands in his pockets and leaning back on his heels as he waited.
“Is everything okay?” called Nadine as they approached, trying to keep her voice normal.
“Let’s talk inside,” said Brent. His eyes were red, and Nadine washorrified to find her first reaction wasWow, if Dot is dead, this is really bad timing for this story.
Shameful. She was an awful fucking human being. She could never tell Wes.
The house seemed hollow, without even the cats sliding out of their hiding places. When they came into the empty salon, Nadine knew for sure, and Wes’s soft exhale said he’d come to the same conclusion.
