Page 33 of Volatile Vice

“Excuse me,” I say. “I must’ve gotten lost.”

I look Belinda in the eye, hoping that I’m showing her kindness, showing her that she can talk to me.

“Are you okay, Belinda?” I ask.

She doesn’t respond.

The nanny rises and comes toward me. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

Do I trust the nanny? She’s a young woman—no more than twenty-five or twenty-six years old. I look again to Belinda, and she gives me a slight nod.

I take it at face value. I pull the note out of my pocket and show it to the nanny.

She nods, picks up her purse, pulls out a card, and hands it to me.

“Now go,” she whispers right into my ear. “Quickly, before they miss you.”

Only then do I see the camera mounted at the top of the door. By sheer luck I managed to stay out of its sight. But no doubt they heard the sounds I made.

I’ll stick with my story of getting lost. Even though McAllister told me point-blank the bathroom was off the foyer. Maybe he’ll believe I’m just that stupid.

I’ll have to trust the nanny to take care of it. Maybe there isn’t a sound system. Maybe only a camera. I don’t know.

I can’t worry about it now.

I’m in too deep.

When a child asks me for help, I have to help her.

I should’ve been around to help Mikey and Savannah. Maybe helping Belinda will help me make up for that, help me feel less guilt.

She looks fine and healthy. Not a mark on her. But not all abuse leaves marks. And the most private parts of her are covered.

I don’t dare look at the card the nanny gave me. I’ll deal with that alone. It may be a phone number, a meeting place, only a name. I don’t know.

At the moment I need to get back out to the deck and smoke a Cuban with two men I detest.

At least a delicious Cuban will make it bearable.

Grandfather and McAllister are already lit up and nursing brandies when I appear outside.

“Vinnie,” McAllister says, “sit down right here. I picked out a robust Cohiba for you. Already cut.”

“Obliged,” I say as I take a seat.

I take the lighter he offers and light the cigar, inhaling a bit of the smoke. Cubans are great, no lie about that. There’s nothing like it. This one has a Sumatra wrapper, and it tastes of smoky caramel.

“Brandy?” McAllister asks.

“No, thank you. A lot of work to do when I get back to the office.”

I’ve already had wine and a drink before lunch. But I’d like for Grandfather and McAllister to keep drinking.In vino veritasand all.

So I change my mind. “On second thought, I will have a drink.”

“That’s the ticket, Vinnie.” McAllister pours me a brandy.

I take it, nodding my thanks, and take a small sip.