The last secret_ a novel - Mary McGarry Morris [30]
“Clayborne Street,” Chloe says. “Some guy. He said he'd just keep driving around. Sooner or later he'd find it.”
“Well, that's one way of doing it.” Ken drinks his juice. “Or get a GPS.”
“What did he look like?” she asks.
Chloe looks up from the television. “Actually, kinda cute. For an old guy, that is.” She grins, anticipating her father's question.
“How old was he?” he asks.
“Umm, same as you, I guess.”
Kenny hoists the glass. “Thank you very much!”
“He had these really, like, amazing eyes. All pale and blue, like, looking into light.”
Nora lights the burner, sprays oil on the griddle. She removes a small ladle from the stone pitcher and tries to flip the fallen spoon from the bowl into the sink. It misses, lands on the counter spattering the backsplash with batter. She squeezes out the sponge and scrubs the tiles clean.
“Mom, the griddle, it's smoking!” Chloe makes the practiced climb onto the counter to unscrew the smoke detector before it goes off.
“I got it!” Ken grabs an oven mitt and moves the griddle off the burners. “No harm, no foul.”
“Mom,” Chloe says. “Your hands … they're shaking.”
“My stomach. It's a little shaky. That's all.”
“Then sit down. Here,” Ken insists over her protests until she has no choice but to sit in the chair he has pulled out. “Chloe, get your mum some crackers or juice or something.” He stands behind her, kneading her shoulders. “It's okay. It's okay,” he keeps saying, his chest like a wall against the back of her head. “We're gonna take good care of you, don't you worry.”
ora is waiting to see Oliver. Throughout the day people have been hurrying in and out of his office. Ken was the last one in. They can't sit on the CraneCopley story much longer, not with the grand jury meeting. Until a few years ago the company was still a small, local operation specializing in electronic equipment for home and commercial security. Now, with fear and paranoia such big business, their sensitive surveillance equipment protects government buildings, famous landmarks, huge shopping malls, and most airports. The double C with an eyeball in its center is a globally recognized logo. Crane is from Lyndell Crane. Copley just sounded prestigious, according to Lyndie.
He and Ken have been friends for years. Lyndie's wife, Letitia, is a Sojourn House board member. A plain, forceful woman, she wields her reputation as the no-nonsense daughter of a school janitor so effectively that her often cruel frankness is considered endearing, refreshing. A breath of fresh air, people like to say. Nora has always found her irritating, but useful. When Letitia Crane asks for contributions, donors, fearing her caustic tongue, have a hard time saying no. For the greater good to be realized many distasteful people have to be not merely endured, but stroked, Nora is learning.
She hasn't been told the details, but she does know that Lyndie Crane stands accused of rigging government contracts, as well as financial mismanagement. Oliver's door opens and Ken emerges, shaking his head. He looks drained.
“Unbelievable,” he says, gesturing for her to follow him into his office. “I mean, what was he thinking?” he says when she closes the door. “He had everything. What more did he need? I don't get it.” That he seems so personally affronted annoys her in the way imbroglios involving Ken and their friends always have. More so, now. Most of their crises seem so shallow that she long ago gave up trying to empathize. But this, as Ken is pointing out, is far different. Crane-Copley employs 350 workers locally, not to mention another 1,200 across the country. Late last night she heard him on the phone trying to talk Oliver into not “piling on Lyndie.”
“Essentially what he did was steal from his own people. That's the bottom line here,” Ken fumes, pacing back and forth. “Like that layoff last week.”
“What layoff?” So leveled by her own pain she's hardly been aware of anyone else's. War, terror bombings, plane crashes, a disastrous stock market, these occur in a dimension beyond