No Return

22

Larslived on Randall street, on the right side, near where the road dead-ended. His house was a modified ranch, longer front-to-back than side-to-side, with a lawn, lush and green, like most of the others in the neighborhood-their owners attempting to ignore the fact they lived in the middle of the desert.

Wes and Anna pulled in to the driveway on his dad’s Triumph and parked next to an old Ford F-150 pickup. He wasn’t even off the bike when Lars ran outside, a bottle of beer in his hand.

“Is that what I think it is?” He was grinning ear to ear.

“You remember it?” Wes asked.

“Hell yes, I do. We all wanted one just like it.” He circled the motorcycle. “Damn, it looks exactly like it did back then. You’ve kept it in great shape.”

“Thanks.” Wes didn’t bother correcting him.

Anna walked up beside him and slipped her hand into his.

“You remember Anna,” Wes said. “You met her yesterday at the shoot.”

Lars shook Anna’s hand. “You’re one of the few I do remember.”

Wes’s eyebrow rose. “What exactly does that mean?”

“It means keep her close or she may be riding in my truck by the end of the evening.”

“Is that the 4.6 liter or 5.4?” Anna asked, nodding back at the truck.

Both men looked surprised.

“Oh, I like her,” Lars said. “You are definitely in trouble, my friend.”

There was laughter all around as they headed across the lawn toward the front door.

“This wasn’t your parents’ house, was it?” Wes asked.

“You think I could afford this on a Navy salary, even in Ridgecrest?”

“But I thought they lived on the other side of town.”

“Moved here after you took off.”

Wes realized he hadn’t asked his friend about his parents yet. “Are they …”

“Very much alive. Believe it or not, living on a golf course in Phoenix. Retired to the desert from the desert. Would have expected nothing less from them. What about your mom?”

“Still in San Diego.”

“Glad to hear it,” Lars said. “Come on. Let me show you around.”

He led them inside and gave them the dime tour. Living room, three bedrooms, two baths, dining room, and a nice, large kitchen. All of it neatly furnished in that Spartan way men living alone liked.

“The only thing you need to remember is the bathroom,” Lars said as he pulled open the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. “Because the party’s out here.”

And a party it was. Wes had thought it was just going to be the three of them, but there were half a dozen other people lounging around the pool, talking and laughing, and all with a bottle of beer or glass of wine close at hand.

Lars made the introductions. Bob and Mary Cooper, Trent Unger, William and Nancy Quincy, and Janice Meyers. All of the men and one of the women-Janice-were naval officers like Lars. Mary was Bob’s wife, and Nancy was William’s. Not that Wes expected to remember any of it.

“Something to drink?” Janice asked.

Wes deferred to Anna.

“I’ll take a beer,” she said.

Wes smiled. “Me, too. Thanks.”

Everyone gathered around the newcomers as Janice pulled two bottles out of a cooler, popped the caps, and handed them over.

“Lars tells us you work in Hollywood,” Trent said.

“Technically Los Angeles,” Wes said. “But yeah, Hollywood, I guess.”

“Do you work with any celebrities?” Nancy asked.

“Nobody anyone would have heard of.” Wes glanced at Anna, the hint of mischief in his eyes. “But Anna’s done makeup for Jennifer Garner.”

“Are you serious? What’s she like?” Nancy said, gaping at Anna.

“Uh … nice. Really nice.”

“I knew she’d be nice.”

Before Nancy could ask another question, Wes said, “Why is no one in the pool?”

“Yeah,” Lars said. “I pay to keep that thing clean. I expect you all to use it.”

Trent whipped off his T-shirt and threw it on a nearby chair. “I was just waiting for the go-ahead.”

He took one step toward the water and jumped in cannonball-style.

Bob dropped his pants, revealing a pair of bright red swim trunks, then took off his shirt and jumped in next. William, Mary, and Janice followed. Only Nancy refrained, sipping wine and finding a lawn chair in the shade.

“You got my suit?” Wes asked Anna.

She pulled his trunks out of her purse.

“Jennifer Garner?” she whispered.

“Hey, I got you out of it.”

“You got me into it, too.”

He smiled, then headed back to the house to change.

When he reemerged from the bathroom, he found Lars in the kitchen pulling a stack of hamburger patties out of the refrigerator.

“Let me help you,” Wes said.

“Ah. Great timing.” Lars nodded toward the open fridge. “If you could grab that plate of onions, and the cheese.”

Wes retrieved the items, then shut the refrigerator door with his elbow.

He then watched his friend begin separating the patties and putting them on a plate. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

Wes hesitated a second, then said, “After I left, did you ever run into my dad?”

Lars paused what he was doing and looked over for a second. “Your dad? Yeah, I guess.” He shrugged. “It’s a small town.”

“You two ever do anything together?”

“You mean like hang out?”

“Yeah.”

“With your dad?”

“Yeah.”

“No. Why would I have done that? He didn’t even like me.”

“What are you talking about?” Wes asked. “He liked you.”

Lars smiled skeptically. “Yeah. Sure.”

Wes gave it a moment, then asked, “You remember when he disappeared?”

Lars glanced at him, then turned his attention back to the patties. “Of course. It was in the paper. I was surprised that you didn’t come back.”

“No one told me until after they found his body and it was already on the way to Whittier.”

Lars leaned back from the counter, his eyes full of sympathy. “Really? Damn, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Wes said, shaking his head. “Do you remember the last time you saw him?”

Lars looked off to the side, quiet for a moment. When he spoke, there was almost a rehearsed cadence to his words. “Not specifically. Like I said earlier, probably ran into him in town somewhere. Maybe the grocery store. Who knows?”

“I was going through his things and I found his day planner. You want to hear something weird?”

“What?” Lars asked. The patties finished, he turned on the faucet and began washing his hands.

“The night before he died, there was a note about a meeting with someone at eight-thirty.”

“Busy man.”

Now Wes paused. “The person he was supposed to meet with was you.”

“Me?” Lars said. “I don’t think so.”

“That’s what it said. So you didn’t meet with him?”

“Of course not.”

“Maybe you just-”

The doorbell rang.