said something catty or off-color. He had been there for her after the miscarriages, and he had a rapport with her I sometimes envied. She was still amazed that in all of those years growing up I hadn’t realized he was gay, since she’d known the first time she met him. He was, Melissa said, her best friend. Brian’s partner was an architect named Barry. They’d been together for several years and lived in a hip loft apartment in the heart of the city. Barry was hard to get to know, I thought. I found him stiff and standoffish, but he hit it off with Melissa right away. I didn’t see Barry much.
Melissa once told me she always suspected Cody was conflicted in his feelings toward his old friend since Brian had become so successful—and more flamboyant in his personal life. I shrugged it off and attributed Cody’s attitude to the cynicism so many cops held toward businessmen. Cody had grown up reciting the Honoré de Balzac line (even though he didn’t know it was Honoré de Balzac), “Behind every great fortune there is a crime.” I think he believed it.And he probably attributed it to both John Moreland
and
Brian.
Brian looked at me with anger. “Why did you just
let
them in?”
“I thought maybe Garrett wanted to talk,” I said. “I hoped he’d offer to sign away custody. But he never even mentioned it until I brought it up.”
“You can’t prove they took the remote, though,” Cody said.
“I know I had it when the game started,” I said. “I went to the kitchen while they were here, and that’s when I assume they took it.”
“Why would they want a remote control they can’t use?” Cody asked.
“A trophy,” Brian said. “It’s symbolic. It’s like they are taking control away from you. Is anything else missing?”
Melissa and I looked around the living room. It was possible something else was gone, but I couldn’t be sure. I still had the lingering feeling from our meeting earlier in the day that our house was unfamiliar to me.
Melissa’s eyes paused on the mantel, and I saw the blood drain from her face. She quickly got up and went to the fireplace.
“The photo of Angelina and me in the hospital,” she said.
“Garrett was looking at that earlier today,” I said. “I saw him.”
“Maybe he wanted a photo of his daughter,” Brian said.
“His birth daughter,” I corrected. Melissa was sensitive to terms.
“Or maybe,” Cody said, “he wanted a photo of Melissa.”
The thought made me clench my fists.
Larry the plumber cleared his throat while he came down the stairs. He was shaking his head and smiling. “All fixed,”he said. “Happens all the time when you’ve got toddlers.”
Melissa and I exchanged puzzled looks.
“I should start a museum collection of the things I’ve found in toilets,” Larry said, standing on the landing and finishing up his invoice on a clipboard. “Barbie dolls, socks, shoes. One kid tried to flush a whole apple because he didn’t want his mom to know he didn’t eat it. Problem is, the only people interested in what we find in toilets is other plumbers.”
“We don’t have a toddler,” Melissa said.
“You don’t?” Larry said, looking up. “That’s strange.”
Then he saw Harry and he laughed. “Next to toddlers, it’s the Labradors who drop things in toilets.”
“What was it?” I asked.
“Your remote control,” Larry said. “It was wedged down in there and it’s ruined, I’m afraid. Unless you want me to clean it off and try to get it working again.”
“That’s okay,” I said.
“It’s still a mess up there,” Larry said, handing me the bill. I tried not to gasp when I saw the amount—nearly $400.
“You pay dearly for twenty-four/seven emergency calls,” Larry said, trying to sound breezy, “especially on game night after I’ve had a few cold Coors and gone to bed early.”
As Larry left the house and climbed into his panel van in the driveway, Brian said, “The symbolism continues. He took
Melissa once told me she always suspected Cody was conflicted in his feelings toward his old friend since Brian had become so successful—and more flamboyant in his personal life. I shrugged it off and attributed Cody’s attitude to the cynicism so many cops held toward businessmen. Cody had grown up reciting the Honoré de Balzac line (even though he didn’t know it was Honoré de Balzac), “Behind every great fortune there is a crime.” I think he believed it.And he probably attributed it to both John Moreland
and
Brian.
Brian looked at me with anger. “Why did you just
let
them in?”
“I thought maybe Garrett wanted to talk,” I said. “I hoped he’d offer to sign away custody. But he never even mentioned it until I brought it up.”
“You can’t prove they took the remote, though,” Cody said.
“I know I had it when the game started,” I said. “I went to the kitchen while they were here, and that’s when I assume they took it.”
“Why would they want a remote control they can’t use?” Cody asked.
“A trophy,” Brian said. “It’s symbolic. It’s like they are taking control away from you. Is anything else missing?”
Melissa and I looked around the living room. It was possible something else was gone, but I couldn’t be sure. I still had the lingering feeling from our meeting earlier in the day that our house was unfamiliar to me.
Melissa’s eyes paused on the mantel, and I saw the blood drain from her face. She quickly got up and went to the fireplace.
“The photo of Angelina and me in the hospital,” she said.
“Garrett was looking at that earlier today,” I said. “I saw him.”
“Maybe he wanted a photo of his daughter,” Brian said.
“His birth daughter,” I corrected. Melissa was sensitive to terms.
“Or maybe,” Cody said, “he wanted a photo of Melissa.”
The thought made me clench my fists.
Larry the plumber cleared his throat while he came down the stairs. He was shaking his head and smiling. “All fixed,”he said. “Happens all the time when you’ve got toddlers.”
Melissa and I exchanged puzzled looks.
“I should start a museum collection of the things I’ve found in toilets,” Larry said, standing on the landing and finishing up his invoice on a clipboard. “Barbie dolls, socks, shoes. One kid tried to flush a whole apple because he didn’t want his mom to know he didn’t eat it. Problem is, the only people interested in what we find in toilets is other plumbers.”
“We don’t have a toddler,” Melissa said.
“You don’t?” Larry said, looking up. “That’s strange.”
Then he saw Harry and he laughed. “Next to toddlers, it’s the Labradors who drop things in toilets.”
“What was it?” I asked.
“Your remote control,” Larry said. “It was wedged down in there and it’s ruined, I’m afraid. Unless you want me to clean it off and try to get it working again.”
“That’s okay,” I said.
“It’s still a mess up there,” Larry said, handing me the bill. I tried not to gasp when I saw the amount—nearly $400.
“You pay dearly for twenty-four/seven emergency calls,” Larry said, trying to sound breezy, “especially on game night after I’ve had a few cold Coors and gone to bed early.”
As Larry left the house and climbed into his panel van in the driveway, Brian said, “The symbolism continues. He took
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