McKenna's House, page 9
“Thank you, Mr. McKenna,” she said. “Thank you so much.”
He thought about telling her to call him “Mac,” but decided against it. Even though he was calling her by her first name, her “Mr. McKenna” kept things on a business level.
He walked to his loaner, got in and headed for the Toyota dealer.
Prudence finished putting away McKenna’s clean clothes, and stacking the clean linens in the linen closet. She then put clean towels and washcloths in the master bathroom for him.
Heading into the kitchen to look and see what she could make for dinner she realized her cell phone was still in the laundry room. She turned to get it, stopped short, deciding to leave it where it was.
She actually smiled at the thought of it vibrating all it wanted in the laundry room, and started going through the cabinets.
Chapter Twenty-Three
When McKenna entered the house he immediately smelled something cooking. It still felt odd to enter his own house and announce his arrival. In fact, he still wasn’t sure what words to use. “Daddy’s home,” was out. “Hey, I’m here!” didn’t seem right. “Hello?” just seemed too generic.
“Where is everybody?” he called, and then winced. He should have worked on something better in the car.
“Wazy’s home!” Jakey shouted, but true to every little boy’s priorities, he didn’t leave the TV.
“Hey, kiddo,” McKenna said, entering the living room.
”Where’s Prudence?”
“I’m in the kitchen,” Prudence called out.
Jakey lifted his arm and pointed to the kitchen without looking away from Tom & Jerry—which McKenna had no idea was even still on the air.
He walked into the kitchen, saw Prudence at the stove.
“I made pork chops,” she said. “Is that all right?”
“It’s fine,” he said. “Look, I bought some things for Jakey today, and I’m not sure if I should take him out to the Highlander to show him, or show you first.”
She turned and looked at him. She’d pinned up her hair, he guessed to work in the kitchen, and some tendrils had come loose, hanging down over her eyes.
“What did you do, Mac?” she asked.
“I didn’t do anything,” he said, shrugging. “Since we decided you were going to stay a little longer I thought I’d pick up some things a boy needs.”
“Like what?”
“Well, if you come outside—”
“It’s cold,” she said. “Tell me what you got, and don’t let him hear right now.”
“Okay,” he said, starting to feel he might have made a mistake. “Well, I bought him his own bed. It’s a single, but it’s inside one of those race car frames.”
“Oh Mac, you shouldn’t have spent the money. He’ll love it.”
“I hope so, and it wasn’t that expensive.”
“But you said gifts,” she said. “What else?”
“Well … when I first bought my Highlander one of the features was a DVD player, but it was for people with kids, so I didn’t get it.”
“Mac—”
“I went back to the dealer and had it installed. And I bought some movies while I was in Target, buying the bed.”
She gave him a quick hug and said, “You’re amazing.”
“Should I take him out and show it to him?”
“Why don’t we wait until after dinner?” she asked. “Then you can bundle him up and take him out to see it. You can also bring in the bed, then.”
“All right,” he said.
“But now you can go clean up for dinner, and get Jakey to do the same. It’ll be on the table in ten minutes.”
“Okay.”
“But Mac—”
“Yes?”
“No more gifts, okay? Not without talking to me first.”
He nodded. “Agreed.”
“Go wash up, then.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
He left the kitchen and called, “Okay, Jakey, let’s wash our hands before dinner.”
“Another pork chop?” Prudence asked.
“I’ve had two,” he said. “And plenty of onions and green beans.”
“You should have a few potatoes,” she said.
“It’s starch,” he said, “bad for my sugar.”
“I did some research,” she said. “You need a little bit of starch or your sugar can go too low. They’re just boiled.”
“Maybe a few,” he said, putting them on his plate. “These onions are really good.”
“They’re sweet,” she said, “but natural. You know, if you start to eat right, you might be able to get rid of that pain in your feet.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Then why don’t you do it?”
He hesitated, then said, “I try.”
“Jakey, eat your green beans,” Prudence said. “Try?”
“It’s not always easy, especially when you’re on the move,” McKenna said. “But I stay away from certain things.”
“Like what?”
“French fries, hot dogs, rice, bread, pasta … when I can.”
“You can’t eat bread?” Jakey asked.
“Only certain kinds of bread, Jakey,” he answered.
“Then how can you have a sandwich?”
“On wheat bread?”
“Wheat bread?” Jakey said. “Yuck”
“Jakey!”
“No, he’s right,” McKenna aid. “Wheat bread’s pretty yucky.”
Jakey laughed.
They finished eating and while Prudence cleaned, McKenna said, “Jakey, you want to go outside and help me?”
“With what?”
“I bought some new things,” McKenna said. “I’ve got to bring them into the house. I need help from a big, strong boy.”
“I’m a big strong boy,” Jakey announced.
“Well, then, get your coat on.”
Jakey ran for his coat but before Prudence would let him leave the house she put on his knitted cap and scarf.
McKenna took the boy’s hand in his and led him from the house to the Highlander.
“What’s that, Wazy?” Jakey asked.
“That’s a bed for you.”
“For me?”
“Uh-huh. And do you know what else?”
“What?”
“Let’s get inside.”
They got into the SUV, McKenna in front, Jakey in the back. McKenna turned the key, then said, “Look up here,” pointing.
Jakey looked up as the screen came to life. He was suddenly looking at Buzz Lightyear and Toy Story.
“Wow!”
McKenna allowed the boy to watch a good portion of the film, then told him they had to go back inside.
“But why?” Jakey asked.
“Well,” McKenna said, “for one thing, we’re draining the battery. For another, it’s getting colder.”
“Turn on the heat.”
“That would drain the battery even more.”
“Turn on the engine, Wazy.”
“That would waste gas,” McKenna said. “Come on, it’s time to put you to bed.”
Jakey pointed to the now dark screen and said, “I wanna watch more Buzz.”
“You can watch it inside … tomorrow.”
“I wanna watch it in the car!” He folded his arms defiantly.
McKenna stared at the boy’s scrunched up face and said, “Now you’re going to make me sorry I bought the DVD for the car. Do you want to do that?”
“No.”
“Then let’s go inside before Prudence gets mad at both of us.”
“Oh,” Jakey said, unfolding his arms, “All right.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
After Prudence put Jakey to bed she came out and watched TV with McKenna. He had the feeling something was on her mind, though, as she didn’t seem to be concentrating on program.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“Is there something bothering you?”
She looked at him and for a moment he thought she was going to say yes, but then she said, “No, not really. I’m, just … tired. I think I’ll go to bed and read til I fall asleep.” She stood up, started to walk away.
“Prudence—”
She turned quickly and held out her hands.
“No, please,” she said. “Mac … I know what you’re gonna say.”
“Do you?”
“Yes,” she said. “It’s time for me to tell you what … Jakey and I are running from. And you’re right, it is time.”
“But?”
“But … I can’t. Not yet. I’m not … ready,” she said, folding her hands in front of herself. “If you want us to leave—”
“Whoa, whoa,” he said, holding his own hands out. “Nobody said anything about leaving. I just need to know that you’re going to tell me … soon. Then we can move forward from there. All I want to do is help you and Jakey, Pru.” He stood up.
“I know, Mac,” she said. “I know.” She stepped close to him, kissed him gently on the cheek, and said, “Good-night, Mac.”
“’night, Prudence.”
After she left he turned off the T.V. He hadn’t exactly been paying attention to the show, either.
Could he do anything else to draw Prudence out? Maybe, but at the moment he couldn’t think of anything. But at least they’d talked about it, and he had a tacit promise from her to explain … at some point.
It was too early for bed, so he went to the office and turned on his computer. He hadn’t yet emailed Detective Lukas his notes. He decided he’d do it now, but first read them through to see if he wanted to edit anything out. In the end he sent them as is. Why lie to the Detective … again. In fact, he didn’t really know why he’d lied the first time. Maybe it was because that’s what fictional private detectives did.
He left the computer on, and went to the kitchen for … something, he didn’t know what. Not tea again. He saw the Mr. Coffee had a few cups left in it, so he poured some in a mug and microwaved it. As he was waiting he heard a humming sound. He looked around, spotted Prudence’s cell phone on the kitchen table, where’d she probably forgotten it.
He picked it up but didn’t answer it. Wasn’t his business, really. Not after their talk. Not yet, anyway. He did, however, check the number after it stopped vibrating. There was no indication that anyone had left a voice message, but he noticed the area code was 806. That was unfamiliar to him.
He put the phone back on the table, collected his coffee from the microwave and grabbed a couple of his sugarless chocolate chip cookies. Back in his office he munched on a cookie, washed it down with coffee, and googled the area code. It covered Amarillo, Lubbock, Canadian, Perryton, Shamrock, Dulhart and the Texas Panhandle. He had never been to any of those towns, and had only ever heard of Amarillo and Lubbock.
Was somebody from her family trying to call her? Had they called before? For the umpteenth time he wondered what she was running from, and if and when she’d finally tell him. He considered dialing the number back, but decided against it. He did, however, do a reverse phone directory search on one of the websites he normally utilized for such things. The phone number came back unlisted.
But he knew somebody who could get it for him. He just had to decide if he wanted to go that extra step.
Washing down the second cookie with the last of the coffee he turned off the computer. He was trying to decide whether he should go to bed or try the TV again when his cell vibrated. He checked the number, then answered it.
“Mr. McKenna? It’s Helen Simmons.”
“Hello,” he said. He hadn’t recognized the number. She was probably calling from home, at this hour.
“I’m sorry to call you so late.”
“That’s all right,” he said. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Simmons?”
“Well, first I’d like to apologize for my behavior when last we spoke.”
“That’s all right.”
“Actually, it’s not,” she said. “I suppose I’m just … not myself since Daniel died.”
He didn’t say anything. From what he’d heard from her employees, she’d been acting exactly like herself, but he let it go.
“Mrs. Simmons,” he said, “it’s late and—”
“Yes, I know,” she said. “I—I’d like to talk with you again, perhaps tomorrow?”
“About what, exactly?”
“My brother,” she said. “I haven’t been completely … forthcoming with you, I’m afraid.”
“Of course, then,” he said. “When and where? Your office?”
“No,” she said, “not at work. Can you meet me for lunch?”
“Lunch? Sure.”
“Downtown? In the Old Market? There’s place called Billy Frogg’s. At one?”
“One it is,” he said.
“I certainly appreciate this, Mr. McKenna,” she said. “I mean, after the way I treated you, I had no right to expect—”
“In my business, Mrs. Simmons,” he said, “I don’t usually see people at their best.”
“Yes, well,” she said, “I certainly was not … thank you, Mr. McKenna. I’ll see you tomorrow at one.”
“Good-night, Mrs. Simmons.”
“Good-night, sir.”
She broke the connection. He put his phone back down on the desk, tapped it thoughtfully with his index finger. What exactly, he wondered, had she not been forthcoming about? And how honest had she now decided to be?
There was no point in wondering. He’d find out the answers to his questions tomorrow.
He turned off the lights, and went to his bedroom.
His father’s bedroom.
Chapter Twenty-Five
McKenna arrived first and was sitting at a table when Helen Simmons arrived. She pretty much strutted across the floor, showing off her trim body and toned legs in an electric blue blouse, black skirt and stilettos.
The restaurant they were in had a pub atmosphere, and her high-heels made a rat-tat-tat sound on the hardwood floor. Other men in the place joined McKenna in watching her walk. He stood as she reached him, buttoning his grey sports coat.
As she approached he thought she had a glow about her, and a slightly breathless quality.
“Mrs. Simmons,” he said, pulling her chair out. Her perfume smelled freshly applied.
“Mr. McKenna,” she said. “Thank you.” She sat. He crossed to his side of the table and took his seat.
“Thank you,” he said
“For what?”
“For making me the envy of every man in the place.”
She smiled. “You’re very gallant.” She put her large black purse on the chair next to her.
“Can I ask where you just came from?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said. “I was at my gym, working out.”
“Pilates?” he asked. Initially, he’d thought maybe tennis was responsible for her condition.
“Please,” she said. “Kick boxing.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes,” she said. “It’s perfect way for me to channel my—energies.”
He’d thought she was going to say “anger.”
“If I was a little younger,” she said, “I’d be in the MMA, giving Rhonda Rousey a run for her money.”
McKenna thought—perhaps unkindly—that she would have to be a lot younger for that to happen, but it didn’t surprise him that she was that confident—or arrogant.
A waiter came over and took their drink orders—a martini for the lady, and coffee for McKenna.
“I thought detectives were hard drinkers,” she commented.
“I’m the new breed.”
“You struck me as being very … experienced.”
“That’s a very politic way of saying I’m old,” he said, “but the fact is I have diabetes, so drinking is not something I do … often.”
“Meaning you still do?”
“From time to time.”
“Well,” she said, ”I’m sorry to hear about your condition. Perhaps I should have chosen a different place to eat. This place is quite heavy on breads and starches.”
“I’m sure I can find something,” he assured her.
“Have you eaten here before? The steaks are very good.”
“Thanks for the suggestion,” he said. “That’s what I’ll have, then.”
When he gave the order to the waiter he asked to replace the potatoes with some steamed broccoli and also ordered a side salad. Helen Simmons asked for a Cobb Salad.
“Thank you for meeting me here,” Helen said, while they waited for their orders to be delivered.
“You said you had something to tell me about your brother?”
“Actually,” she said, “I wanted to apologize for the way I’ve been treating you. I’ve been allowing my feelings for Elise to cloud my judgment.”
“So then you do know something?”
“Well,” she said, playing with the collar of her blouse with her index finger. Two buttons were undone, revealing just a hint of cleavage. She was a good-looking woman, but to this point in their meetings he’d never had the feeling she was flirting with him—unless he was just dense. Could it be she had brought him here to do just that? To what end? “I really would like to know what Elise has hired you to do, concerning my brother, if not find out who killed him.”
“I haven’t said that Mrs. Clausson is my client.”
Her eyes flared, but she held on to her temper.
“Very well,” she said, “play it—how would they say in the movies? Close to the vest?”
“I’m just watching out for my client’s interests, Mrs. Simmons.”
“Please,” she said, “it’s Helen.”
He couldn’t help feel that her efforts to perhaps connect with him—perhaps even flirt? —were sounding hollow and false.
“Helen. If you hired me you’d want me to keep your confidences, wouldn’t you?”
She sat back in her chair and regarded him for a moment, then asked, “What do your friends call you?”
“Mac,” he said.
“Well, Mac, I suppose I can’t fault you for being ethical.”
“I hope not.”
She sipped her drink and didn’t seem inclined to say anything else.
“I’m sorry to press you,” he said, “but do you have information about your brother or his death?”
