Page 10 of A Winter of Discontent for Henry Milch
“Tomorrow I’m going to talk to one of the Three Friends employees and probably one of Roberta’s friends.”
“Careful when you talk to her friends. Try to let them do the talking. You don’t want to say anything that will get back to Roberta.”
“Okay.” That was a bit nerve-racking. “Um… can I ask you a personal question?”
“About me? No. I’m none of your business.”
“No, I mean about me. About my mother. She got married.”
I told him all about the package and my theory that she was in the Southwest somewhere despite the Chicago postmark. This was really the only clue I had about my mother’s movements other than my grandmother’s Escalade being found just over the border in Indiana a week after my mother drove off in it.
“I’ve been keeping an eye out since you told me she ran off. Your stepfather’s?—”
“Please don’t use that word.”
“David’s company, Hounsell Income Technologies, has filed for bankruptcy.”
“How does that work? I mean, you said it’s a hedge fund, which means people give you their money and you’re supposed to make money for them and if you don’ttheylose money. Isn’t that all there is to it?”
“Yes and no. Bankruptcy just means you owe more than you have, and you don’t think you’ll ever catch up.”
“So, basically, he lost all his investors’ money?”
“Possibly. Corporate bankruptcy can be a strategy. It does mean someone’s going to get screwed.”
“Do you have any idea where they are?”
“They could still be in California. Out in the desert, possibly San Diego. As nearly as I can tell he sold his boat right before he filed for bankruptcy. If that money went into his own pocket, they’ll try to claw it back in the bankruptcy, but that could take years.”
“Los Angeles is probably too expensive for them, so they might have rented someplace cheaper,” I guessed.
“Your mother doesn’t want you to know where she is. I doubt they rented an apartment. They’re on the move.”
“Like… on the run?”
“My guess would be that David screwed the wrong investor.”
Village Books openedat ten in the morning. I would have liked to have gotten there at exactly ten, but Nana Cole’s physical therapy was at ten fifteen, and then she was tired afterward and then there was lunch which I had to make—a tuna fish sandwich for Nana Cole and a bottle of formula for the baby. By the time I was ready to eat my own sandwich, it was time to clean up and argue about the radio.
“I don’t understand why I can’t listen to the radio in my own home.”
“You can. Just not when I’m in the room.”
“You do remember that you’re not paying room and board?”
“You do remember that you’re not paying me for childcare or any of the other six million things I do for you?”
Okay, I didn’t do six million things for her, but I did do a lot and she knew it. Quietly she said, “Your mother owes you for the childcare, not me.”
“Whatever. I don’t think it’s too much to ask that I not have to listen to people like Dr. Laura and your friend Rush say horrible things.”
“I happen to believe the same things they believe.”
“Then you don’t need to listen to them. You can be horrible all on your own.”
I was probably being a little dramatic. Nana Cole wasn’t exactly horrible. Yes, shebelievedhorrible things, but she also didn’t believe politics had much to do with real people. She thought her opinions were harmless. I wasn’t as sure.
Bev and Barbara showed up at two. Normally, this was when I’d take a little nappy-poo. Instead, sleepy-eyed, I drove to Masons Bay and parked in front of Village Books. The bookstore had four connected rooms on one half of the first floor of what had once been a nice home. The conservancy where I’d once worked was located on the back side of the house.
