furniture. Four minutes.
“No,” Sally interjected. “Don’t tell me, I don’t want to hear about it. I want to imagine her the way she was. Trying to grow up. Trying to get ahead in the world.” Sally’s bloated eyes sought mine. “But you know what? The world didn’t want her. When she was down, that’s what she’d say. ‘The world’s against me, Mom,’ she’d say. And then she’d start over on some new project. Some new job. Some new boyfriend.” Sally exhaled again in disgust. “And for what? For nothing.”
“Oh, Sally.”
Sally put her hand on her hip. “I don’t need meals, Goldy. What I need is for you to find out what happened to my baby.”
“ What?”
“I read the paper. I know you help Tom sometimes.”
“Well, I . . . the police are—”
“You really think they’re going to help the welfare people? The way Bishop Sutherland did, for example? Please. That law firm was a nest of vermin. Vermin, all of them. Dusty knew it. Something was going on, I’m sure of it. I know my ...I knew my daughter. The past month, she’d been acting really secretive. Something was going on, and that’s what got her killed.”
“Did you tell the detectives this?”
Sally’s laugh was shrill. “No, Goldy, I didn’t tell the detectives this, because then the next thing you know, they’ll start spreading rumors about Dusty, and who she was going out with, and what she was up to, and then oops! All of a sudden some dark facts will come out. They tried to say my son Edgar was a violent drunk. Goldy”—her eyes implored me—“he was a kid. And I don’t want to be hearing that my daughter did this or that, she was involved with so-and-so. And by the way, wasn’t she expelled from Elk Park Prep, and oh yeah, didn’t she use her wiles to try to break up the marriage of one of her teachers? And on and on, until in the minds of the public, she deserved to die.”
I sighed, unable to think of anything to say. She was right. I’d seen it again and again. A low-income person without power is blamed for a crime and goes to jail on scanty evidence. A wealthy person who’s guilty as hell impugns the job the police are doing, impugns the victim, impugns whoever’s around, and gets away with rape . . . or murder.
“You want to help us?” Sally asked, her voice both defiant and pleading. “Then help. I’m not saying you’re a bad cook. We think you’re a great cook. But if you really want to help me? Find out what was—what is going on in that scumbag law firm. Then you’ll be able to tell us who killed my baby girl.”
I looked her in the eye and licked my lips.
“Please,” she begged me. “Please find out what happened to my baby.”
I nodded. I thought, What the hell am I doing? But I said, “Okay, Sally.”
As I walked carefully back across the street, I again saw Dusty’s lifeless body. I remembered her eager expression as she learned to cook. I recalled how disappointed she’d been when one of her own cakes had fallen. I remembered how her face had lit up when I found her the vintage Calvin Klein suit.
I thought of the birthday cake I’d made her.
And then I remembered a joke Marla had told me when I’d started working at Hanrahan & Jule.
Q: Who’s the only kind, courteous person at a law-association breakfast?
A: The caterer.
Well, I thought as I entered our house. Not anymore.
Our kitchen clock said it was just eleven, aka back-to-reality time. Or at least, that’s what I tried to tell myself. I stared at the phone. What did I need to do? Oh yes, call Nora Ellis to see if she still wanted to throw a birthday party for hubbie Donald the next day.
She wasn’t there, so I left a message. Even if the sky falls in, never assume a client will cancel a party, André, my mentor had told me. Feeling numb, I moved mechanically over to my computer to check the prep schedule for my three upcoming events: the party, the christening, and the ribbon cutting for the new Mountain
“No,” Sally interjected. “Don’t tell me, I don’t want to hear about it. I want to imagine her the way she was. Trying to grow up. Trying to get ahead in the world.” Sally’s bloated eyes sought mine. “But you know what? The world didn’t want her. When she was down, that’s what she’d say. ‘The world’s against me, Mom,’ she’d say. And then she’d start over on some new project. Some new job. Some new boyfriend.” Sally exhaled again in disgust. “And for what? For nothing.”
“Oh, Sally.”
Sally put her hand on her hip. “I don’t need meals, Goldy. What I need is for you to find out what happened to my baby.”
“ What?”
“I read the paper. I know you help Tom sometimes.”
“Well, I . . . the police are—”
“You really think they’re going to help the welfare people? The way Bishop Sutherland did, for example? Please. That law firm was a nest of vermin. Vermin, all of them. Dusty knew it. Something was going on, I’m sure of it. I know my ...I knew my daughter. The past month, she’d been acting really secretive. Something was going on, and that’s what got her killed.”
“Did you tell the detectives this?”
Sally’s laugh was shrill. “No, Goldy, I didn’t tell the detectives this, because then the next thing you know, they’ll start spreading rumors about Dusty, and who she was going out with, and what she was up to, and then oops! All of a sudden some dark facts will come out. They tried to say my son Edgar was a violent drunk. Goldy”—her eyes implored me—“he was a kid. And I don’t want to be hearing that my daughter did this or that, she was involved with so-and-so. And by the way, wasn’t she expelled from Elk Park Prep, and oh yeah, didn’t she use her wiles to try to break up the marriage of one of her teachers? And on and on, until in the minds of the public, she deserved to die.”
I sighed, unable to think of anything to say. She was right. I’d seen it again and again. A low-income person without power is blamed for a crime and goes to jail on scanty evidence. A wealthy person who’s guilty as hell impugns the job the police are doing, impugns the victim, impugns whoever’s around, and gets away with rape . . . or murder.
“You want to help us?” Sally asked, her voice both defiant and pleading. “Then help. I’m not saying you’re a bad cook. We think you’re a great cook. But if you really want to help me? Find out what was—what is going on in that scumbag law firm. Then you’ll be able to tell us who killed my baby girl.”
I looked her in the eye and licked my lips.
“Please,” she begged me. “Please find out what happened to my baby.”
I nodded. I thought, What the hell am I doing? But I said, “Okay, Sally.”
As I walked carefully back across the street, I again saw Dusty’s lifeless body. I remembered her eager expression as she learned to cook. I recalled how disappointed she’d been when one of her own cakes had fallen. I remembered how her face had lit up when I found her the vintage Calvin Klein suit.
I thought of the birthday cake I’d made her.
And then I remembered a joke Marla had told me when I’d started working at Hanrahan & Jule.
Q: Who’s the only kind, courteous person at a law-association breakfast?
A: The caterer.
Well, I thought as I entered our house. Not anymore.
Our kitchen clock said it was just eleven, aka back-to-reality time. Or at least, that’s what I tried to tell myself. I stared at the phone. What did I need to do? Oh yes, call Nora Ellis to see if she still wanted to throw a birthday party for hubbie Donald the next day.
She wasn’t there, so I left a message. Even if the sky falls in, never assume a client will cancel a party, André, my mentor had told me. Feeling numb, I moved mechanically over to my computer to check the prep schedule for my three upcoming events: the party, the christening, and the ribbon cutting for the new Mountain
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