Capturing Angels Read online

  What did he do when he was alone? Could Sam be right? Was my rage so great that it covered innocent things and blinded me to what was really happening? Did I want to push John away? Was this half my fault, if not more? What he had said earlier about different people reacting to disappointments and tragedy in different ways wasn’t untrue. Did I hate him, hate everyone, for not being me? How would I even begin to come back from this?

  Maybe John was right and I did have a need to return to some semblance of socializing, not only for him but also for myself and, believing that Mary would return, for her. I called Barb and agreed to meet her and Netty for lunch. What’s more, I rose before John did in the morning and started our breakfast. He looked surprised and happy about it when he came down. He was more talkative than usual and said he’d make our dinner reservation when he was at the office.

  “I could call that maid service and get someone to help you with the house again,” he said, this time sounding more as if he was making a concerned offer and not a threat.

  “No, I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

  He nodded and finished his breakfast.

  “No one expects our lives to return to what they were when we had Mary,” he told me just before he left for work. He stood in the doorway looking back at me. “But we have to hold ourselves together and be strong for whatever the good Lord has in store for us.”

  I said nothing. He waited a moment and then went out to the garage. I heard him start the car and back out. When the garage door closed, I got up. In about an hour, Sam would be interviewing Margaret. I didn’t know exactly what he was looking for by talking with her, but I hoped that whatever it was, he would hear it.

  After I made the bed and cleaned up a little in the kitchen, I sat by the front window and looked out to see if I could catch Sam leaving Margaret’s house. I didn’t think he would just come over and ring my doorbell. I was right. I saw him drive off. I felt very nervous, hoping for a phone call from him. I tried to calm myself by doing more housework, washing clothes, vacuuming, and giving our en suite bathroom a good going over. When Sam didn’t call, it took every bit of self-control for me not to call Margaret and interrogate her about Sam’s interrogation, but I didn’t want to do or say anything that might cause a new problem. She knew I was waiting to hear something about it, however, so I was surprised when I saw her drive off for the senior center. I couldn’t help wondering if Sam had told her not to say anything to anyone, especially me.

  I really didn’t want to meet my friends for lunch. Barb Locken could be more curious than a kitten. She was one of those people who saw no subject as being off the table, no matter how intimate and private it might be. If she asked something about our sex lives and others complained about how nosy she was being, she would just make that silly little baby rattle of a giggle of hers and say, “What’s the problem? You could ask me, and I wouldn’t be embarrassed.”

  Netty Goldstein could be like Barb’s private little Greek chorus, seconding anything she said and repeating any defense she offered. But it was also true that both of them would drop anything and everything they were doing if you called on them for any help or any favor. We all made these little compromises to keep a safety net of friends, I thought. Compromise was so much a part of life. I smiled, thinking of one of my father’s favorite sayings: “A branch that won’t bend breaks.”

  I was surprised at myself when I started to dress for lunch. Not just looking presentable but looking very good was back on my mind. Surely, my friends were expecting me to look vacant, depressed, and very plain. It had been my MO ever since Mary was abducted, despite where I had gone with John or with them and their husbands. I hadn’t had my hair done since. Most of the time, I tied or pinned it up. I cut my own bangs. I knew it was too dry, and the ends were splitting, but taking a shower and washing my hair had become something to do as mindlessly as brushing my teeth, which reminded me that I had missed my semiannual dental checkup. Postcard reminders about that and other regular appointments were raining down on me.

  Barb wanted us to meet at the Ivy in Santa Monica. She was always on the lookout for Hollywood celebrities and chose restaurants where this one or that one had been seen. Driving toward the ocean, of course, brought back my assignations with Sam. I even took a street that would cause me to pass by his apartment building. He had told me that when he was with me, he was reminded of feelings and excitement that he had experienced as a teenager. I was feeling the same way. It titillated me to approach that building and look up at his patio, where we had first kissed.

  The two women were waiting at a table when I arrived. I had the sense that they had been there a good fifteen minutes before me so they could plan how they would behave, what they would say, and what they would tell me about their lives. They expected me to be unstable. I could see the anticipation and anxiety in their faces.

  Barb never looked older than a teenager herself because of her diminutive facial features and small frame. She bought her clothes often in the teenage sections of department stores. It helped that she had nearly perfect skin and thick light brown hair that she kept in the new pixie style.

  Netty, on the other hand, was like one of those girlfriends you have in order to draw a strong contrast and bring more attention to yourself. She was at least fifteen pounds overweight, never seemed to wear the right shade of lipstick for her complexion, and, despite the heaviness in her face, always cut her hair too short, which highlighted her plumpness.

  I could see the surprise on Barb’s face when she set eyes on me. “You look great,” she burst out when I approached the table.

  “Yes, you do,” Netty said.

  “Thank you.” I sat across from the two of them.

  “I know you’re doing your own hair. It’s fine, but you’ve got to try this new hairdresser I found,” Barb said. “She has the magic touch or something. I’m not talking about just me, but everyone I see who uses her.”

  “You didn’t tell me about her,” Netty said.

  “Oh, I didn’t?” Barb dug into her purse and produced a card, which she handed to me. “When you call, mention my name. She’ll be more accommodating.”

  “You never gave me that card,” Netty said.

  “That was my last one. I’ll get another one for you.”

  The waiter took our drink orders.

  “You know who I think I just saw? Charlize Theron,” Barb said, nodding toward some tables on our right.

  “No, that woman was too short,” Netty said. “Although, I will admit she looked like her.”

  Barb shook her head. “It was Charlize. So, tell us what you’ve been doing, Grace. We haven’t seen you in so long. How do you spend your nights? I know it has to be so difficult for you. We want you to know we’ve been thinking about you almost every day.”

  “We do,” Netty said.

  “I do what I have to do to get through the day,” I said, and looked at the menu. Neither spoke, but I saw them glance at each other.

  When the waiter brought our drinks, I ordered the Chinese chicken salad, and then, as if they wanted to make me feel good about everything at the table, the two of them ordered the same thing. Barb continued to talk about hair, makeup, and clothes she had recently bought. She spoke quickly, like someone who was afraid to hear the other person speak but especially afraid to have any long moments of silence. She went on to talk about new restaurants she and her husband, Bob, had found or had recommended to them. Netty parroted everything she praised.

  “Molly Middleton called to tell me about that detective interviewing her recently,” Barb went on without skipping a beat.

  The waiter brought our food.

  “Yes, she called me, too,” I said.

  “I’m glad they are still putting in the time to find Mary,” she added, and started eating.

  I did, too. It didn’t surprise me that Molly would call to tell our friends abou
t Sam’s interviewing her.

  “What’s the connection? Why interview Molly about her son and Mary?”

  “I don’t know, Barb. They run down leads. That’s what they do.”

  She nodded and then brought up another restaurant she and her husband and Netty and her husband had gone to last weekend.

  “I ate so much,” Netty said. “It was a feast.”

  “I told you not to choose the buffet. You never know when to stop,” Barb told her.

  I smiled to myself. These two were no different from how they had ever been. For a while, at least, I thought it had been smart of me to meet them for lunch. This was a good distraction.

  “I know you and John haven’t gotten out that much,” Barb continued. “I think it’s a good idea that you’re taking your father-in-law out tonight. It must be difficult for him, too. I mean, having lost his wife after so many years together.”

  “John told you we were going to take his father out tonight?” I asked, surprised. John was not one to talk with any of my girlfriends on the phone for a second more than he had to, and he certainly wouldn’t have introduced new topics of conversation.

  “Yes, he mentioned it.”

  “Why?” I said, smiling, still finding it out of character for him.

  “Why? He wants you to get out more, do more socializing. He’s naturally worried about you, as are we all,” Barb said.

  “Absolutely,” Netty echoed. “We’ve always talked about getting you out to lunch with us and maybe do some shopping afterward. We didn’t need him to suggest it.”

  Barb looked at her sharply.

  “Excuse me?” I said. “What do you mean, him to suggest it? When did you see John, Netty?”

  “Oh, I didn’t see him.”

  “Barb?”

  “I didn’t exactly see him, Grace.”

  “He called you? John called you and told you to go to lunch with me?” I asked, lowering my fork.

  Barb gave Netty another sharp look. She had obviously gone off the script. “Netty’s right. We’ve been talking about going out to lunch with you all the time, but we didn’t know when we should call, when you were ready, when—”

  “Ready? You mean, when I could put my daughter far enough out of mind to be able to sit and talk about hair and makeup and gape at movie stars?”

  “No, no, of course not,” Barb said, biting down on her lower lip.

  “When did John call you?”

  Both were silent.

  “When?” I demanded, raising my voice.

  “Last night. He said you had gotten to the point where you were going out by yourself, and he thought that you would be more apt to accept an invitation to lunch and—”

  “I see.” I stared down at my food. The little appetite I had worked up dissolved.

  “Where do you go by yourself?” Netty asked.

  I looked up at her and at the way she had emphasized “yourself.” Was I being paranoid? Were the two of them on a fishing expedition, one that John had ordered? “Where do you go by yourself, Netty?”

  “Me? Nowhere. I mean, I go to the grocery store. I get my nails done. I . . . I don’t go out at night by myself.” She looked to Barb for some help.

  “We don’t want you to be by yourself, especially these days, Grace,” Barb said. “It’s been so long since we were all together to do anything. We want you to know that’s not because of us. Don’t be angry at John. He’s only looking out for you. You have a wonderful husband. I mean, other husbands . . .” She stopped herself.

  I smiled. “Would have blamed me for everything and deserted me by now?”

  Neither spoke. I reached for my light sweater.

  “Grace, please,” Barb said. “I didn’t mean to imply something bad.”

  “I don’t blame you for anything, either of you. I know how hard it must be to say the right things, do the right things. I’d be just as flustered, probably. I want you both to know I’m okay. I’m going to get Mary back. I don’t need to be handled. I’m fine. I’m stronger.”

  I started to take out some money.

  “Oh, no, this is on us,” Barb said.

  “No, it’s not,” I said, throwing down a hundred-dollar bill. “It’s on John. Be sure to give the waiter no more than a fifteen-percent tip. That’s John’s standard tip.”

  I smiled at their shocked faces and then turned and left the restaurant. I slowed down once I was outside but continued toward the parking garage. Why was I so sensitive? What would they think? Would I have reacted like a paranoid if I hadn’t been with Sam? I almost stopped and turned back. But I didn’t. All I wanted now was to get away from them.

  And talk to Sam.

  13

  There Are Lies, and There Are Lies

  He didn’t answer when I called his cell phone. I left a message: “Call me as soon as you can.”

  Then I drove out of the parking lot. It was often overcast until one or two o’clock in Santa Monica. It added to the bleakness inside me. Following San Vicente into Brentwood, I crossed into blue sky and felt as if I had popped up in a pool or in the ocean and could breathe.

  Sam didn’t call back for nearly three hours. I was home trying everything I could to calm myself, from redoing my clothes closet to washing some windows. Eventually, I had to succumb to taking one of my tranquilizers. Then I sat in the living room and stared out the front window at the manicured properties on our street, the perfectly trimmed palm trees, the cropped hedges, the rich bougainvillea that in some places looked dabbed onto a Matisse canvas, the occasional vehicle, and the even more occasional pedestrian. At times, with no activity and barely a breeze moving the oleander, eucalyptus, maple, and oak leaves, it seemed I was staring at a photograph. Even the birds barely flitted and looked as if they had been artistically placed. I didn’t know if the deep silence was floating out of my house to the street or from the street into my house.

  Finally, Sam called. I lifted the receiver so slowly I was sure he thought no one was going to respond. My “Hello” seemed to come from a place I had never known inside me.

  “Hey,” he said. “What’s up?”

  “I’m not having a good day. Did anything come of the interview with Margaret? What are you looking for specifically now, Sam? Please, tell me something,” I begged.

  “Listen. David Joseph is doing me some big favors here. He’s been treating me as if I was part of the FBI team. I have to follow their protocol. We have to work with unsubstantiated theories. There are a few going, all of which could be dead ends. I know it’s practically impossible for you, but try to be a little more patient. Trust me.”

  “John’s leaving for Vegas tomorrow. He’ll be gone for three days.”

  “Really?”

  “I want to see you,” I said.

  He was silent a moment. “I’ve got to go someplace tomorrow, out of town.”

  “Overnight?”

  “No.”

  “Can I go with you?”

  “Grace, this isn’t smart.”

  “It is for me,” I said. “I want to see you, and it’s not just to talk about the case.”

  I could practically feel his mind working. “How can you work this out, going with me?”

  “John leaves early, before eight. What time are you going?”

  “I was planning on leaving about then,” he said. There was another pause. I sensed that he was trying to come up with another excuse.

  “John lied to me for the first time,” I said, practically in tears. “He told me two of my girlfriends called last night to invite me to lunch. Only they didn’t call. He called them to get it set up.”

  “That’s not so bad a lie. He wants you out and about for your own good.”

  “You’re defending him, defending his deception?”

  Sam laughed. “It’s not a mean decepti
on, is it, Grace? What do you want me to say?”

  “Nothing. That’s what you’re good at saying,” I said, and hung up.

  Seconds later, the phone rang.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll leave at nine. Drive over to my place to park your car.”

  “Good.”

  “I’ve got to get back to work,” he said. “You all right?”

  “No, but I’ll be better.”

  “Sure you will,” he said. “Tomorrow,” he added, and hung up.

  Having something to look forward to buoyed my spirit. I rose and directed my energies to things I had neglected cleaning for so long. John was home from work earlier than usual. He said he wanted to get his packing done for Vegas so he wouldn’t have to do it when we returned from dinner with his father, but the next thing out of his mouth was, “How did the lunch go with the girls?”

  “You mean, you didn’t get a report?” I asked. He paused on the stairway.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Why did you tell me they called to ask me to lunch when you had called them to arrange it?”

  He came down a step. “They said that?”

  “Not voluntarily. Netty has a loose tongue, and Barb had to confess to the conspiracy.”

  “There’s no conspiracy, Grace. I met Bill Locken at Rudy’s Deli, and he mentioned that Barb wanted to call you to have lunch, but she was afraid of being turned down again or upsetting you. I said I would let her know when she should try. That’s all. Instead of resenting the effort people are making to help you, you should show some appreciation.”

  “I don’t like being lied to,” I said. It was a weak comeback because he was right. Even Sam had said so. John was the reasonable one, and now that I heard him say what would be the simple truth to anyone who heard it, I felt guilty about blowing off Barb and Netty.

  “There are lies, and there are lies,” he said, fixing those dark blue eyes on me so intently I had to look away.

  I knew I shifted my eyes the way anyone who was guilty of some indiscretion might. It made me feel smaller still.