LITMIR.BIZ

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me forever!”

      Marta said, “The I.R.S. has been particularly diligent about fine-tooth-combing Tess’s income and assets.”

      I nodded again. The government was marshaling their resources, determined to find Bobby and anyone who might be helping him out. They wanted to know if Tess was sloughing off money to her fugitive son.

      “Are you under active surveillance?” I asked.

      Tess straightened her spine, clearly jolted by the idea. “After all this time? I don’t think so. Not anymore, anyway. I think they’re finally realizing that I’ve got nothing to do with Bobby. I don’t even know if he’s alive.”

      “Why do you want me to talk to Cotton?” I finally got back to the only part of the issue I was really involved with at this point.

      “If Bobby is alive…” She stopped, swallowed, drew another breath. “If Bobby’s alive, Cotton knows it. And I think he could be helping him.”

      That caught my attention. “Back up. If Cotton wouldn’t help him before…why would he now that Bobby’s on the run? That’s aiding and abetting a wanted felon.”

      “His guilt. Finally.” She practically spit the words. Her fury at her ex-husband was deep and real, maybe even more so with the passing of time. “Cotton never treated Bobby right. And I think it’s rotted his soul.”

      “Have you thought about talking to the police about any of this?” I asked cautiously.

      “It’s all supposition,” Marta interjected smoothly. The last thing she wanted was to lose a client’s money.

      “I don’t know anything for sure. It’s just a feeling I have, and frankly, if Bobby’s alive, and Cotton’s been helping him…I don’t want the police to know.”

      A knot of discomfort tightened in my lower back. Like someone twisting a screw into my spine. “You know, if by some long shot, I found out where Bobby was, I would have to go to the police myself. He is wanted for murder.”

      “I understand,” Tess said quickly. “All I’m asking is for you to go to the benefit on Saturday, have fun, get some kind of impression. Do you see?”

      For the first time I read the desperation in her eyes. True, naked desperation. A mother’s need to know. “So, what is this benefit?” I asked, already knowing.

      Tess relaxed. “It’s part of the Lake Chinook Historical Society’s annual showing of homes. Cotton had to lobby like crazy because he’s a pariah now. He’s been quietly shunned by some of the more prominent Lake Chinook and Portland snobs.” She sniffed. “They come into the gallery sometimes, but it’s mostly to get a look at me.”

      I saw how much she hated being the monkey in the zoo. Famous was one thing; infamous something else.

      “Tickets for the event are in the file, too,” Marta said.

      “I’ll go,” I said to Tess. “But I honestly don’t see what I can do.”

      “Cotton loves Tim Murphy. Just mention Murphy’s name and he’ll love you, too.”

      I never mention Murphy’s name, I thought. I try not to think about him too much. With a stab of honesty, I said, “This may be a waste of your money.”

      “It’s mine to waste,” she said.

      “Just meet with Cotton,” Marta inserted quickly. “See what you think. See if you can get to meet him again.”

      “If he’s really helping Bobby, he’s hardly likely to talk to anyone,” I pointed out.

      “I need to know if my son’s alive,” Tess insisted, her curiously flat voice taking on an edge of determination…or hysteria. “I’m at my wit’s end. Cotton won’t speak to me. And his wife’s even worse.”

      I’d forgotten that he’d remarried. “Dolly?” I guessed.

      She shook her head. “Heavens, no. She was trash. This one’s more sophisticated. A real snake in the grass. Heather.” Her mouth recoiled around the word. “Younger than my son. Cotton seems to be having a second midlife crisis. Sixty-two, going on seventeen.”

      There was something about the way she was looking at me. She thought Cotton would like me. Maybe that’s why she’d come to check me out this morning, incognito. “Is there some reason this has all cropped up right now?” I asked. “Bobby’s been missing a while.”

      Marta cleared her throat. “There’s a rumor,” she said slowly, her eyes on Tess. “One we can’t substantiate.”

      I waited.

      “Cotton’s ill,” she said. Rumor or no, she’d made up her mind. “I think he’s got a pre-nup with Heather, and if so, his estate will go to…” She shrugged her small shoulders lightly. “Bobby, I’d imagine.”

      “But if he’s cut out of the will…”

      “I think he’s back in. I just have the feeling that if Cotton’s dying, he’s making amends.”

      I looked from her to Marta and back again. So, this was where the big money supposedly was. Cotton’s fortune might be earmarked for Bobby. If Bobby was still alive, that is. And if Bobby were found and arrested, and Cotton was gone, Bobby might put his mother in charge of his finances.

      A lot of “ifs” to bank on, but then we were talking about a lot of money.

      I wondered what the terms of Cotton’s will were. Was Bobby back in? And was he Cotton’s designated heir? What about Heather, his wife? Or Owen, who might not be his own flesh and blood but was someone Cotton had taken care of for the greater part of Owen’s life? Who else would Cotton Reynolds want to leave his fortune to?

      Murphy…

      The thought came unbidden and once in my head, couldn’t be dislodged. Murphy had been very close to Bobby. They’d gone through school together: little league, Pop Warner football, high school athletics…From all accounts Murphy could “whup Bobby’s ass” in sports, but they’d remained friends. When I’d followed Murphy back to Oregon, he’d taken me around to the usual haunts. The Pisces Pub was the hangout for all the legal (and under-aged kids with good fake IDs) graduates from both Lakeshore and Lake Chinook High Schools. Murphy had barely begun to reacquaint himself with old friends when Bobby disappeared. Tess called Murphy, looking for Bobby. I’d never hung out with either Bobby or Laura all that much. If I’d had any inkling about what was to come, I would have paid closer attention, believe me. As it was, my impression of Bobby hadn’t been all that flattering, but neither was it criminal. He’d seemed like a typical red-blooded American boy who’d outgrown high school and therefore the height of his popularity. He’d married Laura, a high school sweetheart, who probably had been a beauty in her day but whose figure after three kids was well on the way to matronly. She was also quite religious. It was clear she didn’t feel comfortable having a beer with Bobby, his good buddy Murphy, and Murphy’s sometime girlfriend, me. She carried a small worn book in one hand, a prayer book I later learned, and I came out of the Pisces feeling like I didn’t quite fit in.

      Murphy was quiet afterwards. We didn’t talk much about either one of them. Bobby, Laura and the kids went back to Astoria the next day. They lived near members of his wife’s family and were apparently pretty locked in with Laura’s family’s small, local church. Murphy and Bobby’s friendship clearly wasn’t what it once was, but it was still the deepest of either of their lives.

      But when the familicide story broke, Murphy was frantic. He fell instantly back into “best friend” role, ardently decrying the outrage of the media, law enforcement officials, anyone who even entertained the idea. Like Tess, Murphy would not believe Bobby was responsible. The whole thing consumed him. I just figured Bobby did it. I also figured that Murphy might be using his absorption to not only come to grips with the depths of Bobby’s crimes, but also as a means to slowly pull away from me.

      Marta

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