The Heavens Rise by Christopher Rice

expect me not to find out the truth?”
    “I think the truth is always good. And if that’s what you’re after, you’d be jumping at the chance to give me an interview. But you’re not. Do the police know everything you just told me?”
    “They know about the phone and the card.”
    “But not what Marshall did to try to break up your friends?”
    Ben hoped it was dark enough that she couldn’t make out his flaming cheeks.
    “So you’re keeping this all to yourself because you’re afraid if your pal Anthem gets wind of it he’ll yank Marshall Ferriot off life support.”
    “Marshall’s in a coma, but he’s not on life support.”
    “Still . . .”
    “Something like that,” Ben whispered.
    “You really think Anthem’s capable of that?”
    “I didn’t think he was capable of what he did to that bartender yesterday. But he did it. And I just stood there and watched him.”
    “It’s not your job to keep that boy from blowin’ sky high if that’s what he needs to do about all this. Not if it costs you your mind.”
    “So you think I should go to the police?”
    “I think you made up a theory because it gives you something to solve, and you think solving it will keep your Anthem from going off the deep end.”
    “That’s not true.”
    “Maybe. Maybe it’s not true. And maybe Marshall had something to do with what happened to your friend. And maybe he didn’t. Either way, you’re gonna have to start living your own life at some point.”
    “Is that why you’re here? ’Cause you just wanted to give me a bunch of advice?”
    “No. I’m here because you were right about one thing.”
    “Which thing?”
    “My column was crap. What that boy did . . . it was one of the worst things I’ve ever seen in my life. And I just couldn’t go there. So as a result, my column . . . well, it was crap. Also . . .”
    “What?”
    In the long silence that ensued, Marissa Hopewell seemed to be summoning her courage. For a crazy instant, Ben thought she was going to ask him out on a date. Finally, she said, “You really went to every hardware store in Orleans Parish to find that bulb?”
    “Orleans and Jefferson Parish.”
    •   •   •
    Peyton Broyard was on the front porch, sucking nervously on a Virginia Slim, when Marissa went to leave. “God damn you,” Peyton whispered.
    “Excuse me?”
    “I’m sorry. I just . . .” She exhaled a long drag through pursed lips, angling the smoke stream in the opposite direction from where Marissa stood just outside the front door; it was an oddly polite gesture, given her angry greeting. “This whole Delongpre thing. It’s awful, but I thought I might have a shot . . . I just listed the house. My sister, she lives in St. Louis. I’m going to move there as soon as it’s sold.”
    “You were eavesdropping?”
    “Once he has the diploma, I’ll stop. Until then. My house, my surveillance rules. Okay?”
    Marissa nodded and showed the woman her palms.
    “You got kids?” Peyton asked.
    “No.”
    “Pity. If you did, you might think twice about having Ben hang out at your office every day?”
    “I think your son has some real investigative skill. He just needs to learn how to focus it.” Peyton’s laughter turned her next drag into a series of light coughs.
    “A shot at what?” Marissa asked.
    “Excuse me?”
    “Just now. You said you thought you were going to have a shot at something. With Ben. What did you mean?”
    “He’s just like his father with this damn city. The two of them, they see . . . promise in it that I just don’t see. You know he didn’t apply anywhere besides Tulane? Oh, you should’ve been here for that. The fight, I mean I thought the neighbors were going to call the cops. And now . . . Now he’s going to stay here and end up working for you, trying to take down the latest in an endless series of felons we keep electing to public office.”
    “It’s a summer internship, Ms. Broyard. I wouldn’t