Boiling Over

by Thea McAlistair

  Richard started shoving his way toward me. I held him off with one hand. Joe tugged the telegram, and I let him pull it away. He cleared his throat before reading aloud what I’d seen. Everyone paused for a moment, shocked as badly as I had been.

  Then Louise shrieked, “You little slut!”

  “What?” gasped Crista.

  “Hey, hey!” I stepped between them, or rather I nudged Fran—whose mouth hung open at her mother’s foul language—about a foot to the left. “Mrs. Gaines, that was uncalled for.”

  “I bet she’s been fucking him behind everyone’s back,” she continued. “I bet they got together to get her husband out of the way.”

  She shouldered her way out the door. Her husband tromped after her. I caught a glimpse of him, but I couldn’t read his face. Anger? Frustration? Fran bolted after them. Richard kept lunging at Joe, trying to read the telegram for himself. Judith and her father both looked somewhat lost. Behind me, Crista began to sniffle.

  I sighed, hating myself for what I was about to do. I guided Crista to the door by her elbow. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

  She nodded and let me move her outside. Once in the humid, sweet-smelling air, she slumped against the wall of the post office and pulled out her handkerchief. I scanned the area for Mr. and Mrs. Gaines—Louise wasn’t anywhere in sight, but Oscar was stomping his way back toward his house, Fran trailing behind. Where could Louise have gone within a minute?

  “She’s a terrible woman,” Crista wailed.

  “Well, she’s jealous you’re going to get all that money,” I said. I waited a beat. “You weren’t sleeping with Walter Trask, right?”

  “No,” Crista whimpered. “We didn’t even talk. I hated him for leaving Leo to die out there.”

  “Then why would Trask leave you money?”

  “I don’t know. And I wish to God he hadn’t. It’s hard enough here, and now that punttana is going to spread the rumor. She was the one having sex with him, not me.”

  “Wait, what?”

  Crista’s mouth shut tight, and she looked away. Well, if that was true, that explained why Oscar and Louise were getting a divorce. And if she was the one involved in adultery, she’d get very little, if anything, out of the proceedings. Maybe she’d been hoping once the paperwork had been signed, Trask would give up on disinterested Judith and marry her instead. At the very least, it seemed she’d been expecting he’d remember her in his will.

  Maybe she’d even killed him on the anticipation. It wouldn’t be too hard for her to take a pair of her husband’s shoes. I glanced over my shoulder at Oscar’s continuing retreat. If I can hustle Crista along, I might be able to catch up.

  “Look, why don’t you go back on home,” I said to Crista. “Forget what Louise said. No one’ll believe her anyway.”

  Crista sniffed and nodded.

  The post office door swung open, and Judith and her father walked out, giving us polite nods as they did. I caught a glimpse of Richard Trask hurling abuse at the poor postmaster before the door shut all the way. I was almost sad I hadn’t actually broken his nose. Then he would have had something to yell about.

  I peeked in Oscar’s direction, but he had booked it. No way I would be able to catch up without running, and that would look very odd. Worse, Robert Kelly was scurrying up the street. Just what I didn’t need. I did, however, sneak a look at his shoes. Heavy boots, as expected.

  “Mr. Carrow,” he said, almost cheerfully. “I’m a little concerned about your amazing ability to be at locations where there’s trouble.”

  “There’s no trouble here,” I protested.

  He tilted his head at the door to the post office, which only partly muffled Richard’s tirade. “Mrs. Gaines told me about someone disturbing the peace. Maybe in Boston that’s not such a big thing, but we take it pretty seriously here.” He noticed Crista wilting into the brickwork behind me. “Mrs. Manco.”

  She lowered her head. “Sheriff.”

  He returned his attention to me. “So, when is this lawyer for Mrs. Ferri supposed to show up?”

  Oh right. I shrugged. “Maybe he got delayed. You know how traffic in Boston is.”

  “You know what’s funny, I called up my uncle on the Boston police force last night, and they were very confused when I brought up your name, and they didn’t find any record of you or Mr. Arrighi.

  Shit. I’d have to think fast. “Are you sure you were spelling it right? Because there’s an h in Arrighi—”

  “Mr. Carrow—”

  “And the church I was christened in burned down at some point and all the records—”

  “Mr. Carrow!”

  I shut my mouth, hoping the choking feeling creeping up my throat wouldn’t kill me.

  A nasty smile passed across Kelly’s face. “You may think you’re being clever”—he leaned in and lowered his voice—“but I know you and Mrs. Ferri are up to something. Probably Mr. Arrighi too. I haven’t seen much of him though. Which makes me wonder even more. Oh, and don’t think I don’t know what happened in the library Saturday afternoon. I’m choosing to ignore it right now.” With one motion, he pushed past me and opened the door. “Richard Trask!” he bellowed before the door slammed shut behind him.

  “I should go,” Crista whispered.

  “Wait, before you do, is there anything else you want to tell me about your husband’s death?”

  She shook her head. “They went on a job. Only Mr. Trask came back. Mr. Kelly ignored it until Bella had her men bring Leo’s body back. That is all I know, and that is all I will ever know.”

  “Right.” I sighed. “Well, feel better.”

  “Grazie, Mr. Carrow.”

  She turned to go, but as she did, the post office door swung open, and Kelly dragged a flailing Richard outside. The scruffier man squirmed and yelled in Kelly’s grip. In either a burst of luck or genius, Richard struck Kelly in the stomach. The cop gasped as he let him go. Instinctively, I grabbed for Richard, but he dodged more quickly than I’d expected from a drunk and I missed. He spun and took off onto one of the side streets.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” grunted Kelly, still hunched. “Catch him!”

  I remained where I was. “If you let Bella out, I’ll give it a shot.”

  Kelly grumbled and straightened, using the wall as support. His face contorted as he forced himself to take a deep breath. “You better hope he runs fast because as soon as I catch him, I’m coming after you for aiding and abetting.”

  I should have been unnerved by his threat, but I was already at the end of my rope and landing in jail didn’t sound so bad in comparison. “Does he have good shoes?”

  “What?”

  “Are his shoes good? If they’re bad, he can’t run very far in them.”

  Kelly blinked at me. “The hell? I don’t know what his shoes look like. What are you going on about?” He looked at Crista and gestured at me. “He’s your friend.”

  She glanced at me, probably thinking the same thing I was: friend was a stretch. But she raised her chin. “Yes, sir. But this is not his town. He does not owe us anything.”

  Kelly rolled his eyes and muttered some curses and stumbled after Richard Trask. Crista released a breath.

  “You should not press him like that,” she said.

  “I’ve seen worse than the likes of him.”

  “And what did they do when you tried to stop them?”

  That seemed like an odd question, maybe a translation error, but as I watched her face, I realized I knew what she meant. What had happened the last time I tried to defy someone with power? I didn’t even need to say—she already knew, or at least she had a vague inkling since Sev and I wouldn’t have fled to the middle-of-fucking-nowhere Vermont if something terrible hadn’t happened.

  “Listen, Crista, let me worry about me, okay?” I said.

  “And will you also worry about Pearl and Mr. Arrighi?” Her brow furrowed in a way I’d noticed some women had perfected—equal pieces defi
ant, disappointed, and concerned. “You are not by yourself.”

  She may have been tiny, but she knew how to take a man down a peg or five. “I won’t do anything that will get them in trouble. I promise.”

  She stared at me for a moment, and without another word, she turned on her heel and left. Shame burned me from the inside out. She was right; I had been reckless and not just about Trask. I’d done some awful things to Sev in the last few days, things he didn’t deserve for betrayals I couldn’t prove.

  I caught sight of Mrs. Gaines returning from her tattling on Richard, and I decided my own embarrassment would have to wait. She ducked into the front door of the factory. How inappropriate would it be for me to follow her in? Well, Sev wasn’t there yet, so it wasn’t like I’d embarrass him on his first day. I hurried after her.

  Between my height and general frantic energy, I wasn’t much one for stealth, and Mrs. Gaines whipped around to face me almost as soon as I stepped in.

  “Can I help you, Mr. Carrow?” she snapped.

  I opened my mouth to speak and gagged on the smell of maple. As bad as it was on the street, it was nothing compared to inside. The sweetness was choking, seeping, unavoidable, contained by thick wooden walls and a concrete floor. How did anyone work in here without losing their mind? Well, I’d have to make this quick.

  “You had no right to shout lies about Mrs. Manco like that. Slurs either.”

  Louise’s face bloomed scarlet, and her eyes darted around. I glanced around the room. It seemed it was too early for anyone else to have arrived. Still, workers might walk in at any second, Sev included. I turned back, and Louise had raised her chin in defiance.

  “You can’t prove she’s not a little hussy.”

  “Maybe not, but you can’t prove the reverse. I’ve heard her talk about Walter Trask, and she despised him. If they gave out prizes for that kind of thing, she’d have a trophy bigger than she is.”

  Louise rolled her eyes and started for a staircase against the nearest wall. Could I, should I, follow her into the offices? If I chased her, she might call the cops on me, and she would be well within her rights. But I had to make sure the rumors were true.

  “Where are you going anyway?” I called after her. “Got another lover on the side? Did you pick him up before or after Mr. Trask got killed?”

  She froze, foot on the first step. “How dare—”

  “I hear you’re in the process of getting a divorce, Mrs. Gaines. Care to comment?”

  “Who told you that?” she hissed.

  “Not important. Though I will say it was a different person than the one who told me you’re divorcing because you were sleeping with Walter Trask.”

  Her mouth fell open and she sputtered into crying. I stood well back. Her over the top emotions reminded me too much of Emma and her crocodile tears over her husband’s murder. And this lady? She was nasty for the sake of it, insulting Sev for no reason. No amount of crying was going to make me reconsider.

  “Walter,” she sniffled. “He always told me I was beautiful. And he never blamed me for things that aren’t my fault. He knew what I do for this company. He knew I tried my best with Fran. Which is more than I can say of Oscar.”

  There was a lot of depth in there, to be sure, but I wasn’t about to dive into someone’s marital problems. That was for shrinks and spinsters. I just wanted to know who’d killed a guy.

  “I’m assuming you’ll deny killing him.”

  “Of course, I didn’t kill him!” she snapped. She scrubbed at her nose with her handkerchief. “Why would anyone kill him?”

  “Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing. Did you think it was strange how his will got parsed out, maybe?”

  She shook her head. “The business to Oscar is understandable. They’ve been working together for almost twenty years. And Richard might as well have the house, but—”

  “Crista.”

  “Yes! He loved me. Me!” Louise got fierce again. “So, she must have tempted him away. Said something, made promises, blackmailed him, I don’t know. Just she got him to stuff her in there and forget me. The little whore—”

  God, Sev was supposed to sit with this horrible woman three days a week? “Mrs. Gaines.” I straightened up to my full height. “Language like that is not called for, so I advise you leave off before I get angry. Now, I want to know the answer to one question,” I said. “Where were you Wednesday, oh, before two, say?”

  Louise’s eyes narrowed. “I was here in the factory. On the floor with the men, even, giving them their assignments for next week. And I stayed there when Walter didn’t show up. Someone had to keep an eye on things. Wait around until they come and ask any of them.”

  “And your husband?”

  A breath, a pause. “Presumably he was in his office, but I can’t be sure.”

  Well, at least she hadn’t thrown Oscar completely under the train. “Thanks, that’s all I needed to know.”

  “I’d be careful about the waves you make here, Mr. Carrow,” she called after me. “As I’m sure you’ve been told by now, Chickadee is not Boston.”

  “That might be frightening, Mrs. Gaines,” I answered, “except this petty, incestuous squabbling you’ve got going in this town is nothing compared to the hell I just came out of, so I advise either keeping your mouth shut or thinking at least a little outside the box with your threats.”

  She gaped in silence, and I scuttled away before she found her voice. Now you’ve done it. The pitchforks are going to come out any minute. I hadn’t thought I’d quite had that in me, but after weeks of an unending stream of shit being poured on me, it was only a matter of time before I lost it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I stepped back into the less heavy air of Main Street. This place, these people—they were going to drive me insane. If I wasn’t insane already, of course. Even if I ignored the nightmares and the nerves I couldn’t seem to shake, I had made a lot of stupid choices: needling cops, chasing dangerous strangers, and—worst of all—shoving Sev away.

  I glanced toward the house. If I ran back right now, I might be able to catch him before he left to take Pearl to school. I didn’t have a good plan about what to say to him though. What if I rambled, made him late to his first day at work? I didn’t doubt Mrs. Gaines would use anything as an excuse to fire him. And if she fired him, he wouldn’t be able to discover anything, and Bella might roast to death in prison and Sev and me would get found out and—

  Breathe.

  Letting one thought leap to another wasn’t helping anything. I could talk to Sev later, when I’d cooled down enough to be rational, and he wasn’t in a rush. In the meantime, I’d get his suit back from Maude, maybe fix the coffee maker. Hey, and maybe I’d even manage to cook something so Crista wouldn’t have to come by. It would probably be boiled eggs, but he’d appreciate it, surely. Oh, and I’d apologize too. For real this time.

  No one was behind the counter at the dry cleaner’s when I walked in. Maybe Maude was in the back? I rang the little service bell. Nothing. Leaving the building with the door unlocked would be very silly, wouldn’t it? I rang the bell again, anxiety starting to creep up my shoulders. There had already been one murder in town. What if it had turned into two?

  “Miss Lamar?” I called. “It’s Alex Carrow.”

  Her voice came through muffled after a long pause. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t finish the suit. Come back some other time.”

  Yeah, like that wasn’t suspicious. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine!”

  Well, she had definitely been crying, but at least she wasn’t dead. Maybe she was avoiding me after what had happened Sunday?

  “You know,” I said, “I think you and Judith make a nice couple.”

  After a few seconds of silence, Maude poked her head around the doorframe. “I heard. Judith came by a few minutes ago.”

  “Did she say something else? You don’t look very happy.”

  “Oh, no, I’m a little disappointed in s
omething, is all.”

  Maude tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and I saw the red mark on the back of her hand again. That was not a burn, chemical or otherwise. The skin was too smooth. And I knew I’d seen a similar mark before, but not… Wait, yes, I did. It’d been pointed out to me, but I’d been too preoccupied with the pulpy mess of Walter Trask’s skull: the birthmark on his hand.

  Maude must have seen the change in my expression because she covered the one hand with the other. “Judith said you were clever. He was my father.”

  I was almost too astounded to answer. This town gossiped about everything else, and I hadn’t heard that. “Who else knows?”

  “You might have noticed most people here don’t take foreigners very seriously”—she rubbed at the birthmark—“so no one thought to look; no one thought to ask. I only told Judith. I had to tell her when she agreed to marry him.” Maude took a breath to steady herself. “She said she still had a responsibility, but she wouldn’t leave me.”

  “Did Trask know?”

  Maude nodded.

  And he hadn’t left her a cent according to the telegram. Well, I’d have been disappointed too. Even if he hadn’t left her much, at least it would have been a declaration.

  “When did he find out?” I asked, hoping it had been too little time to change a will.

  “Almost as soon as I got here, so four, five years ago.”

  Bastard. “And he didn’t—”

  “No. He didn’t want anything to do with me. I was a mistake made on a business trip. What was my mother but some exotic plaything for him?” Maude lowered her voice. “She was half-Indian, you know. Ojibwe. He probably didn’t even think of her as a person.”

  “Why did you stay? Why did you even come?”

  Maude took a few moments before answering. “I was eighteen, and my mother told me about him just before she died. I decided to look for him. And I found him. And he was awful. I’d never met a more selfish man. So, I wanted to go home. But by the time I got here, I’d run out of money. I started working here to earn.” She waved at the shop. “Judith’s mother owned it. That’s how we met, though it was only because Mrs. Howe was doing so poorly. She’d come back from college to take care of her. Mrs. Howe left me the shop in the end. It was very kind of her. More than I can say of my father. But I do have to thank him for one thing. He knows how to keep a secret. Even after he’s dead, he’s still hiding me.”