I could see where this was going, considering I hadn’t seen any signs of a toddler around. “It must have been very hard to lose her husband and then her baby.”
“She was inconsolable. She’s mostly herself now, but it’s like someone took a piece out of her and didn’t put it back right.”
Interesting. “Do you know what Mr. Trask and Mr. Manco were doing out there in the woods?”
“Hunting, Walter said. Though I believe it came out later that Mr. Manco was a bit of a scoundrel. Walter said he disappeared, and after searching for him some, he came home. They found Mr. Manco about a week later. Shot by government agents while smuggling.” Judith nodded to herself. “And rigging the factory books to hide it as well. I believe he worked for Mrs. Ferri, who Bobby has in custody right now, as I heard.”
I ignored the part about Bella in favor of the hunting angle. Crista had mentioned a mysterious hunter showing up around that time. “I heard there had been a man renting the place I’m in now who went by the name of James or Joseph Smith. Came for the hunting. Were they out with him?”
“I don’t believe so. I do remember him though. He kept to himself. The only time I spoke with him was when he came in.” A faint smile spread across Judith’s face. “He came into the police station to complain about Ed.”
“What had Ed done?”
“Threatened to shoot him, I think. Ed doesn’t like people. He spends most of his time in the forest. Only comes into town twice a week or so to sell fur and clear business.”
“Funny thing, to laugh at someone being threatened.”
“Ed wouldn’t really have hurt him.” She hesitated. “He’s different, and different here isn’t ideal.”
I shrugged. “Maybe it’s better?”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “My father says something very similar. Have you been speaking with him?”
“No. I don’t even know who he is.”
“Did you call for me, Judy?” A man’s voice rattled down the stairs, followed by heavy footsteps and wheezing.
The person belonging to the voice appeared at the base of the stairwell, stark eyes sunk into a skull as bald as a cue ball. I vaguely recognized him as part of the crowd that had gone looking for Trask. He blustered forward to shake my hand, trying to cough discreetly into his other elbow as he moved.
“George Howe, nice to meet you. Mr. Carrow, I expect. You don’t look I-talian enough to be Mr. Arrighi.”
My eye twitched as he pumped my arm. “Yes, Alex Carrow. Pleasure. I was on my way out.”
“Ah, well, let me walk you out. I was about to head down to the post office anyway. I appreciate you coming to see Judy in her hour of need.” He nodded at his daughter, and she returned his words with a shy smile. “Bit of a shock to her. And to all of us.”
“Are you sure you’re all right to go?” asked Judith. “You know the doctor said to rest as much as you can—”
George waved a hand to silence her. “It’s not even half a mile. If I can’t walk half a mile, I might as well be in the ground already.” He turned back to me. “Well, come on now. The day is wasting away.”
He put a broad boney hand on my back and guided me out the door, a little too firmly to be friendly. I let my hand drift into the pocket where Sev’s knife was hidden and hoped George couldn’t feel my pounding heart through my clothes.
As soon as the door shut, he released me. “Got some nerve, moving in on my little girl before Trask is even in the ground,” he rumbled. His breath came short and stunted.
“Believe me, sir, I wasn’t doing anything of the sort.” I was only seeing if she’d murdered her fiancé. “I wanted to make sure she was okay after yesterday.”
To my surprise, George looked almost disappointed. He jammed his hands in his pockets. “Too bad. You’re a good-looking fellow, and I hoped she might take a liking to you.”
“Sorry, you want me to flirt with your daughter?”
“Well, better you than Walter.” He shrugged. “Everyone knows I never liked him, so might as well tell you flat-out now before it hits your ears some other way.”
“Oh. Any particular reason? He was quite rich from what I understand. Wouldn’t you want your daughter to be well supported?”
“Some things ain’t worth the money, which you’ll figure out in due time. Not sure Judy has yet though.” He cast a glance over his shoulder and hustled me down the walk. The swift motion made him even more breathless. “Walter had money, yes, but I never quite bought it was all from that factory of his. He disappeared a lot, saying he was looking at his trees. He’d be gone for days. It don’t make sense to have trees so far off. He was up to something, no doubt. He was older too. Probably has a wife somewhere and snuck off to see her.”
I nodded. The more likely reason was he had been shuttling liquor across the border, but it was also possible he’d been having an affair. Mayor Carlisle had kept a young woman on the side, and his philandering had caused the whole damn mess back in Westwick.
“What I don’t understand,” George continued, “is why. Judy is a beautiful girl. She could have any man in this damn town. Hell, she could have any man between here and Boston, and she chose that slimy little weasel.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know, sir.”
“No, of course you wouldn’t know. I just wish she would learn some sense and try to be happy for a change.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Sorry you have to see the worst of us in your first week. I hope your time with us gets better from here.” He left me on the sidewalk and started heading for Main Street.
“Actually, sir? Before you go, can you tell me where I can find Mr. Trask’s brother? I ought to give him my condolences too.”
“Heh, well, ol’ Rich is even worse than Walter, but I guess you’re right: he ought to have some sympathy.” George pointed to the northeast. “Most likely he’ll be wandering around the library.”
“The library?”
“Mr. Parrish is about the only person that won’t throw him out. Says being in the library is a public right. Too nice for his own good, that Mr. Parrish. Anyway, have a good day, Mr. Carrow.” George nodded and continued on his way, coughing.
I stood there for a moment, watching him leave. Pretty odd someone would up and announce his hatred for a man murdered only two days before. If he had meant to draw suspicion to himself, he’d failed hard. If anything, his talkativeness made me want to keep a closer eye on Judith. Fathers did all sorts of things for their children. Logan had killed six people at Emma’s insistence, after all. It wouldn’t be too shocking if George Howe would be willing to hang for his daughter’s crime.
But I didn’t actually have anything on her yet, and if George and Fran were right about Trask, there was a lot more going on than anyone had yet admitted to.
Chapter Eight
As much as I wanted to go straight for the jugular and hunt down Richard Trask next, I still needed to get Pearl something for lunch. Plus, getting my pants fixed was probably a good idea, and I might as well get Sev’s gray suit cleaned while I was at it. Trouble was, I couldn’t do any of those things on my own. No one had ever trained me in domesticity. Back in the city, it was so easy to walk down the street and find a cleaner and a tailor and a deli, but here?
I swept home, jamming the leftovers from the night before into a lunch pail that had been left out on the table. Presumably Sev had found it in his excavations of the cabinets. Thank God he was better at running a household than I was. I’d spied what looked like a dry cleaner’s on my now-frequent walks through town, so I grabbed the clothes, too, hoping to drop them off before handing off Pearl’s lunch and probably embarrassing her in the process.
The store was indeed a dry cleaner’s. It wasn’t a big place, barely big enough for me, the counter, and the woman behind it. I tripped on the small step leading up, nearly dropping my awkward burden. She snatched the clothes away from me, so they didn’t fall on the ground.
“How may I help you, sir?” she as
ked. A French accent. I froze, remembering Birdie and all the trouble she’d caused in Westwick.
Except this woman wasn’t Birdie, didn’t look a thing like her, barring the young face. Instead of bobbed red hair, this woman’s was black and set in a neat braided bun. Nor were her eyes blue, but a deep brown, set off by tasteful red lipstick. And now that I was looking, she’d also been in the group that’d gone looking for Walter Trask.
“Hi, sorry,” I said, trying to look like I hadn’t been staring at her. “Is there anything you can do about these?”
She inspected the sweat, dirt, and grass stains on Sev’s suit and tutted. “Yes, I’ve seen quite a lot of this today after all the commotion in the forest. Poor Mr. Trask. Horrible thing to happen to a man.” She ran her hands across the fabric. “This is very nice material,” she said, almost to herself. “Silk and cotton?”
“I haven’t the slightest. It’s my brother-in-law’s.”
“Oh, oh yes. Nice to meet you, Mr. Carrow.” She smiled at my confusion. “My apologies. New people, always news. My name is Maude Lamar.” She held out her hand to be shaken. “I was new myself about five years ago. Quebecoise since I know that’s the next thing people ask. Born in Montreal.”
“That’s quite a bit away.”
She shrugged. “It’s all the old French fur routes, isn’t it?” She picked up my torn wool trousers. “I’m afraid I don’t do repairs. You may want to ask Mrs. Manco.”
“Really? She’s already cooking for us.”
“She does all sorts of piecework. I don’t think she’d mind sewing some. In fact, I’m sure she’d be happy for the extra income.” Maude smiled. “It’s difficult for single women to earn a living. Even with my own business, I can’t say it’s easy.”
She waved at the shop, and as she did, something caught my eye. Almost the entire back of her left hand was a mottled red. Something about it struck me as familiar, but I didn’t know why.
“Are you all right?” I asked, gesturing at the mark.
She looked at her hand and let it drop behind the counter. “A chemical burn, very old. This is not the safest career. To have such a burn is embarrassing now. It makes it look like I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Well, I trust you since you know what kind of fabric something is just by touching it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Carrow; you’re very kind.” She took the suit and hung it on the rack behind her with maybe a dozen other items. “I don’t think I can do this overnight when there are so many others, and it’s such a nice piece I don’t want to rush. Is Monday all right for pick up?”
“Oh, yeah, that’s fine.”
She wrote out a ticket, smiling the whole time. It was almost a relief to talk to someone normally for a change. Still, something nagged at the back of my mind. Calm down; you’re being paranoid. But why wouldn’t I be, considering everything that had happened in the last few weeks? It was like I’d become a magnet for terrible things. But it wasn’t like dry cleaning could go awry, right?
I arrived at the school as they were letting out for morning recess, and as I suspected, Pearl wasn’t too happy about me handing her lunch in full view of her peers. I would have the knack of this parenting thing by Monday though. Definitely. Probably.
I started back for the house, trudging through the sticky, sweet-smelling heat. I paused in front of the syrup factory. Peculiar venue for bootlegging, but that was part of the appeal, wasn’t it? Who would think to look there? Plus, there had to be some kind of chattering over the border, maybe even imports. Bottles of booze stuck into random crates of syrup would be hard to find. Maybe no one would have noticed at all if Leo Manco hadn’t been killed.
“Ah, Mr. Carrow.”
Oh, Christ. I turned to face Robert Kelly, who was trudging his way up the street. “Yes, sheriff, what can I do for you?” I asked with a minimum of sarcasm.
“Saw you down by the school,” he answered as he stopped in front of me. “Your niece, right?”
I didn’t know where this was going, but I was fairly sure I didn’t like it. “Yeah, what about her?”
He shrugged. “Nothing. Just thinking that Mr. Arrighi is a devoted man, taking care of a child who isn’t his.”
Of course, he was going to aim for that. Because honestly? I knew how suspicious this looked. That meant I’d have to do some damage control fast. “He loved my sister,” I snapped. “And he loves Pearl like she’s his own child.”
Kelly shrugged. “I’m looking out for the girl. There are some sick people in this world, you know.”
“I can look out for her fine, thanks.”
“I’m sure you can. I’ll be keeping an eye just the same.” He waved and started walking away again. “We keep a watch on one another here in these small towns.” He didn’t turn back or say anything else, only strolled away from me like he hadn’t insinuated Sev was some kind of predator.
Fuck this town, and fuck its sheriff. Maybe we should leave and convince Bella’s little criminal friends to get her out. Lawyer or not, they could do something.
But then what? We had nowhere to go. Cops in Connecticut were still looking for us, and maybe Kelly if he decided he wanted to chase his imaginary lead. Without Bella, Sev and I would be as good as dead. And what would happen to Pearl?
As I pondered the impossibilities of making a run for it, the door of the factory opened, and I took a step back to avoid colliding with the person coming out. To my surprise, the person was Sev. He saw me and smiled weakly.
“I saw him out the window,” he murmured, tilting his head in Kelly’s direction. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah, he’s being a jerk. Don’t worry about it. Go on back in.”
Sev shrugged as he pulled the door shut. “I was on my way out anyway.”
“Oh. Didn’t go so good?” I asked.
He hesitated. “I think it depends on what you think is good. Come, we can talk at home.”
He pressed a hand against my back, and for a moment, I relished in his touch, but it turned into an insistent push. He had a very strange look on his face, one I’d never seen before, so I changed tack at the last second.
“I brought Pearl her lunch and your gray suit to the dry cleaner’s,” I said.
“Bene,” he said stiffly. “Thank you.”
Unease started creeping up my spine, so I didn’t say anything else until we were safely inside the house. The smell of maple followed us, and I realized it was Sev—the scent had permeated his hair and clothes, displacing the more comforting tobacco and roses. He ran a hand over his curls, making the cloying sweetness surrounding us worse.
“So, what happened?” I asked as I draped my torn trousers around the finial of the banister as a reminder to have Crista look at them.
He sighed and drifted into the parlor where he sank onto the couch. “Well, I went, and I asked to speak to Mr. Gaines since he is assistant director or whatever the position is.” He waved a hand to gloss over the irrelevance of the exact wording. “He was not there yet, and I was told to wait in his office.”
I sat next to him and nodded. So far, pretty normal. In fact, the story was already better than my worry the door would be slammed in his face, or worse, that he’d be chased off with racial slurs. But his expression was all discomfort, and I knew the rest of the story wasn’t going to be good.
“So I waited,” he continued, “and his wife, Louise, comes in and says she was Mr. Trask’s secretary, and while they had been told I was coming, with him gone they are not looking for any extra help and all the other things they say to make you go away. Her husband arrives as she is saying them and pulls her into a different room.” He paused. “They ended up yelling at each other, and I heard them through the wall.”
“What did they say?”
Sev shook his head. “I don’t think they are very good people.”
I blinked in shock. Sev liked everyone—me and Bella included. What could they have said to put him off? “Like murdered Walter
Trask in cold blood kind of not good?”
“Mmm, well if they did, they didn’t shout about it, unfortunately.” He closed his eyes briefly. “It was about me. Mrs. Gaines said some—” He cleared his throat. “—choice words; words I hadn’t heard since I was a boy about where I come from.”
So, I hadn’t worried for nothing. “I’m so sorry.” I pulled him closer to me. At this nondistance, the maple smell faded, and I found him again under all the heavy sweetness. Even here, he smelled like home. “I don’t know if that helps, but I am. Fuck her. You didn’t want to work for someone like that anyway.”
“That’s the thing. Mr. Gaines, Oscar, won the argument, mostly by being louder. I think he knows about whatever Bella had arranged, but maybe not the whole thing. Anyway, the fight ends, and he comes back in and says they can keep me for three days a week starting Monday. And I said yes.”
“What! After everything she said?”
Sev shrugged. “If we are going to help Bella, I need to find out what’s going on in there. I can’t do that if I stay home. Besides”—he glanced away from me—“the money Bella lent us will not last forever.”
Right, the two hundred she’d given us when we’d fled Westwick and the extra hundred given with the false papers. To me, her gift had been almost more money than I’d ever seen in one place, and since Bella also paid the rent on this house, I’d been confident it would last nearly forever. But no, Sev was right. We’d dumped a lot into food, and Crista would need to be paid for her housekeeping, eventually, and if I’d learned anything in the years living on my own, major expenses popped up at the worst time. Plus, I wasn’t earning anything at the moment. What meager royalties I would have gotten from the one novel and handful of short stories I’d published were no longer coming to me. Alex Dawson had written them—not Alex Carrow—and as far as anyone beyond Sev, Bella, and Pearl was concerned, Alex Dawson had disappeared.
I pulled Sev against me again. “Well, if she gets to be too much, tell her to shove her head up her own ass and walk on out of there.” And I will personally help her along.
Boiling Over Page 8
