Page 63 of Nobody's Fool
“There’s a kindness, right?”
“Yes,” Molly says. “Something you can trust.”
Don’t preen, I remind myself.
“Then I googled you,” Victoria continues. “I read everything I could find. I saw you taught a night class. So I thought, I don’t know, I would just come to the class and see you in person and maybe something would connect. I remember so little about…” She stops, closes her eyes, opens them, starts up again. “I wondered whether seeing you in person would shake something loose.”
“And did it?” I ask.
“No. When you spotted me, I don’t know, I just freaked out. I ran. I have a driver. My family doesn’t like me going out alone. I ran to the car and told him to take me home. I can’t imagine how you followed me.”
I don’t really see much reason to get into the GPS tracker right now.
“So,” Molly says, “how can we help you?”
Victoria turns toward me. “Can you tell me everything you remember?”
“About Fuengirola?”
“Yes.”
When I hesitate and glance toward Molly, my wife laughs and says, “It’s okay, Sami. I know I wasn’t your first.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’d want to listen to you talk about an ex.”
“That’s because I’m more mature than you,” Molly says. Then: “Do you plan on going into sexual details?”
“No.”
Molly gestures with a sweeping hand for me to go ahead.
So as best I can, I recount the story about my trip with the Lax Bros, about meeting her at the Discoteca Palmeras, about her apartment in Fuengirola, about the lazy days on the beach, about the partying, about the only person who seemed involved in her life, Buzz the Dutch drug dealer. I watch her eyes for signs of recognition, but I don’t see that. I see a woman engaged and a great listener. That takes me back. Anna had been a great listener. We had stayed up to all hours as she coaxed stories from me and admissions of flaws or inadequacies (no, not like that) and I had never been that vulnerable with a girl before. In my experience, women liked to hear their men admit to their flaws and vulnerability, but they never want you to appear weak. I don’t know if that’s a contradiction, but it is what it is.
“Tell me more about Buzz,” she says.
I try to, but I don’t really know much. I describe his looks and say that he spoke with a heavy Dutch accent.
“How old would you say he was?”
“Older than us. Thirty-five, forty maybe. Which felt old at the time.”
I stop. I wait. We are getting to it now, and I’m still wondering how to handle it.
As though reading my mind, Victoria says, “So how did we end it?”
I’m still a cop. You don’t give without getting. When you interrogate a suspect, you don’t want to show your entire case. Of course. You want to hold something back—to entice the suspect to speakor perhaps to trap them in a lie. I think Victoria Belmond is on the up-and-up, but I don’t know for sure yet.
I want her more relaxed for this part, and my still standing is starting to feel like a move that might make her defensive. I grab the chair in the corner and pull it up to the table, making sure it’s closer to Molly than Victoria. I want to give Victoria space.
I try very hard not to sound like a cop. I smile as disarmingly as I can and try to show her the face that she’d said she likes. “Can I ask you a couple of questions first?”
She blinks, but says, “Of course.”
“You are Victoria Belmond, correct?”
“Yes.”
“What do you remember?”
