V Is for Vengeance

we’ll talk. That way, I don’t come off looking like I’m disloyal or a cheapskate.”
    “You’re not a cheapskate. Don’t be ridiculous. Who said that?”
    “Diana mentioned maybe I was reluctant to cut ties because you might not give my retainer back and I didn’t want to be out the bucks.”
    “Why don’t we leave her out of it, okay? Because here’s the issue as far as I’m concerned. I don’t think you should pay me when you’re so clearly convinced I’ve got my head up my ass. If you think I’m on the wrong track, it’s a waste of your money and my time to go on with this. It’s a vote of no confidence.”
    “I have confidence in you, just not the tack you’re taking. Problem is, you could turn out to be right and then how would it look if I, you know, terminated your employment?”
    “I can’t help how you look to other people. I can appreciate the bind you’re in and I’m letting you off the hook.”
    “Then why do I feel bad? I don’t like feeling bad.”
    “Fine. If it makes you feel bad, you don’t have to make the decision right now. Take your time. Whatever you want, I’ll be cool with it. We can’t keep going around and around like this.”
    “In that case, I gotta go back to my original proposition. How about you work off the dough I paid you up front? You can spend your time any way you want. You don’t even have to itemize where you went or what you did. Your prerogative entirely. Money runs out, we’ll talk just like this and you can tell me what you found.”
    “You don’t have to humor me.”
    “No, no. That’s not where I’m coming from. I’m fine with this,” he said. “How much time have you put in so far?”
    “I have no idea. I’d have to go back and calculate.”
    “Then figure it out and whatever time you have left, use as you see fit. We have a deal?”
    I stared at him for a moment. I didn’t like any of it, but I didn’t want Diana Alvarez and Len Priddy lording it over me.
    I said, “Sure.”
    We fumbled the conversation to a close and left the conflict with neither one of us at peace. The whole complexion of the game had changed. On the surface, it looked the same. I had the younger woman in my sights. Another half a day and I’d know where she lived and from that I could find out who she was. Sooner or later, she’d tip her hand. Inevitably, I’d reach a point where I’d be operating on my own dime. But so what? Even if I ended up with egg on my face, there are worse things than that. The little cynical voice in me piped up, saying, “Oh, yeah? Name one.”
    Aloud, I said, “Letting the bad guys win.”

    At 2:45 I parked just outside the entrance to Horton Ravine, angling the station wagon so the long drive up to Climping Academy was in plain view. I couldn’t imagine a tow truck driver opting to remove the disabled Mercedes through the rear entrance to the Ravine, but I was prepared to follow him either way. In the meantime, since I wasn’t actually in Horton Ravine, I was beyond the jurisdiction of the proto-cop. He’d been nice enough on our first encounter, but I didn’t want to push my luck. I shut down my engine and removed a map of California from the glove compartment. I opened the map fully and laid it across the steering wheel, hoping I looked like a tourist who’d pulled off the road to get her bearings. I turned on the radio, tuning in to a station that played hit songs twenty-four hours a day. I listened to two Michael Jackson cuts and then Whitney Houston’s “Where Do Broken Hearts Go.” The DJ announced she’d just knocked Billy Ocean out of the number one spot. I didn’t know if this was good news or bad.
    At 3:00 the cars began their exodus, pouring down the hill from Climping, one luxury vehicle after another. When I was in high school, I’d used public transportation. Aunt Gin had a fifteen-year-old Oldsmobile that she used to get back and forth to work. In those days, teenagers had no rights and no sense of entitlement. We knew we were second-class citizens, entirely at the mercy of adults. There were kids who had their own cars, but it wasn’t the norm. The rest of us knew better than to bitch. I pictured this crop of youngsters, not spoiled so much as unaware of how fortunate they were.
    Three thirty came and went, and just when I was getting worried, a tow truck approached from my left, passed me, and headed up the hill. In my mind’s eye, I could see the parking lot, which would be largely