want to think about what Harry I. Ball would do if one of the television cameras happened to catch an image of me wandering up to Ron and Amy’s front door. He would be pissed. So would Ross Connors.
“That’s right,” I said. “And since they’re out front, I’m going to try going in the back.”
Mohammad took the proffered bill and stuck it in his pocket. Then he leaned back in his seat. “Well, good luck to you, mister,” he said. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but it should be fun. I’ll be right here waiting whenever y’all get done.”
Lame as it may sound now, I did have a plan. I knew that Tracy had managed to sneak out of the house the night before without anyone being the wiser, and she had told me that Heather often pulled the same stunt. I took that to mean that there had to be some way for the girls to come and go without being noticed. Hoping to stumble on their secret route, I went in through the front yard two houses up the street. After leaving a very obvious trail in the snow behind me and falling once or twice, I finally clambered over the last fence and landed in Ron and Amy’s snow-clad but familiar backyard.
I was standing there reconnoitering when the back patio door slid open, and Molly Wright, Amy’s older sister, stepped out onto the snow-covered deck. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, pal,” she said, “but you’d better get your ass out of here before I call the cops.”
I was astounded at Molly Wright’s appearance. The last time I saw her, the woman had been dressed to the nines. She had definitely gone downhill since then. Out of the heady atmosphere of the public limelight and dealing with financial and marital issues, Molly had put on weight—lots of it. The tight sweats she wore made her look more like an overstuffed sausage than a fashion diva. Her hair flew in all directions like a fright wig, and her puffy white face was devoid of makeup.
“I am a cop, Molly,” I told her. “It’s me, J. P. Beaumont. Tracy called and asked me to come help out.”
She studied me narrowly for a moment or two. “Oh, that’s right,” she said. “Beaumont. I remember you. Weren’t you the designated drunk at Ron and Amy’s wedding?”
The wedding reception hadn’t been one of my finest hours. As Molly had so kindly reminded me, I had in fact tied one on at Ron and Amy’s reception. In the process I had ended up injuring three of my fingers and had come away with no recollection of how or why it had happened. That humiliating incident—of being hurt and not remembering why—had been the so-called tipping point in my beginning to sober up. It’s something I talk about in the privacy of AA meetings on occasion, but I resented the hell out of having somebody outside the program feel free to bring it up. If this was Ron and Amy’s star boarder’s typical MO, no wonder Tracy wasn’t fond of her stepauntie.
I could have said “I seem to remember you weighed about a hundred pounds less back then than you do now.” But I didn’t. My mother raised me to have better manners than that. Just because someone is rude first doesn’t mean you have to be rude back.
“Yup,” I admitted. “That was me, all right. Thank you so much for remembering. And, in case you’re interested, I’ve been pretty much sober ever since. Now is Tracy here or not?”
At first I thought Molly Wright was going to tell me to get lost, and slam the door in my face. Finally she shrugged and emitted a resigned sigh. “Tracy’s here, but Amy’s not.” She stood aside and reluctantly motioned me inside.
“Tracy’s the one I came to see,” I told her. “Where is she?” “Upstairs in the family room with her brother, watching TV”
“Good,” I said. “Don’t bother showing me. I know the way.”
----
C HAPTER 7
A S SOON AS LITTLE Jared saw me in the doorway, he launched himself off the couch and clobbered me in the testicles. “Uncle Beau!” he exclaimed as I
“That’s right,” I said. “And since they’re out front, I’m going to try going in the back.”
Mohammad took the proffered bill and stuck it in his pocket. Then he leaned back in his seat. “Well, good luck to you, mister,” he said. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but it should be fun. I’ll be right here waiting whenever y’all get done.”
Lame as it may sound now, I did have a plan. I knew that Tracy had managed to sneak out of the house the night before without anyone being the wiser, and she had told me that Heather often pulled the same stunt. I took that to mean that there had to be some way for the girls to come and go without being noticed. Hoping to stumble on their secret route, I went in through the front yard two houses up the street. After leaving a very obvious trail in the snow behind me and falling once or twice, I finally clambered over the last fence and landed in Ron and Amy’s snow-clad but familiar backyard.
I was standing there reconnoitering when the back patio door slid open, and Molly Wright, Amy’s older sister, stepped out onto the snow-covered deck. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, pal,” she said, “but you’d better get your ass out of here before I call the cops.”
I was astounded at Molly Wright’s appearance. The last time I saw her, the woman had been dressed to the nines. She had definitely gone downhill since then. Out of the heady atmosphere of the public limelight and dealing with financial and marital issues, Molly had put on weight—lots of it. The tight sweats she wore made her look more like an overstuffed sausage than a fashion diva. Her hair flew in all directions like a fright wig, and her puffy white face was devoid of makeup.
“I am a cop, Molly,” I told her. “It’s me, J. P. Beaumont. Tracy called and asked me to come help out.”
She studied me narrowly for a moment or two. “Oh, that’s right,” she said. “Beaumont. I remember you. Weren’t you the designated drunk at Ron and Amy’s wedding?”
The wedding reception hadn’t been one of my finest hours. As Molly had so kindly reminded me, I had in fact tied one on at Ron and Amy’s reception. In the process I had ended up injuring three of my fingers and had come away with no recollection of how or why it had happened. That humiliating incident—of being hurt and not remembering why—had been the so-called tipping point in my beginning to sober up. It’s something I talk about in the privacy of AA meetings on occasion, but I resented the hell out of having somebody outside the program feel free to bring it up. If this was Ron and Amy’s star boarder’s typical MO, no wonder Tracy wasn’t fond of her stepauntie.
I could have said “I seem to remember you weighed about a hundred pounds less back then than you do now.” But I didn’t. My mother raised me to have better manners than that. Just because someone is rude first doesn’t mean you have to be rude back.
“Yup,” I admitted. “That was me, all right. Thank you so much for remembering. And, in case you’re interested, I’ve been pretty much sober ever since. Now is Tracy here or not?”
At first I thought Molly Wright was going to tell me to get lost, and slam the door in my face. Finally she shrugged and emitted a resigned sigh. “Tracy’s here, but Amy’s not.” She stood aside and reluctantly motioned me inside.
“Tracy’s the one I came to see,” I told her. “Where is she?” “Upstairs in the family room with her brother, watching TV”
“Good,” I said. “Don’t bother showing me. I know the way.”
----
C HAPTER 7
A S SOON AS LITTLE Jared saw me in the doorway, he launched himself off the couch and clobbered me in the testicles. “Uncle Beau!” he exclaimed as I
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