The Weekend Visitor

by Jessica Thomas

  Chapter 25

  My watch said noon. Time for all good workers to break for lunch. I didn't have to tell Fargo, he had already pointed us toward the Wharf Rat. We pushed and edged our way down the crowded sidewalk. We dodged around a large family group, only to bump into the back of a slowly moving woman ahead of us. I muttered an insincere, "Sorry," and received a good-humored, "Oh, you're forgiven, Alex," in return.

  I looked up to face Lillian Sanhope, laden with shopping bags and looking pallid and tired through her perfect makeup.

  "Well, hello," I said. "You seem a bit burdened. Let me carry something. We seem headed the same way."

  She thanked me and handed over a shopping bag and an explanation. "I hope this doesn't look uncaring—my doing a bit of shopping—but I just had to get out of that house for a few hours. I walked all the way down here, but now walking back seems beyond me. I think I'd better call Richard and have him come get me."

  "Sounds good to me, and I can well understand your need to get out in the world for a while." We were walking slowly on as we talked. "And I must tell you how distressed I was by Ms. Sanhope's death . . . and the manner of it. I didn't know her well, but I... I liked her."

  Lillian smiled. "She liked you, too. She mentioned you several times, said she liked your spirit."

  I was strangely moved and had to clear my throat as I spoke. "Look, we're almost at the Wharf Rat. Fargo and I were going to have a bite to eat. Can I buy you something cold while you wait for Richard? You really do look a bit wiped out."

  "What a nice idea! I think I'll join you for a bite if I may. Breakfast was early and small."

  "Great. Oh, I don't know where my mind has been! I should have told you right away. Jack has showed up safe and sound in your Boston house. Richard just called my brother." I began tying Fargo to his familiar anchor.

  "Boston! What on earth is he doing in Boston?" She didn't look happy.

  I told her what I knew and left her at the phone booth, calling her husband as I went in to get Fargo's sliced chicken and water.

  A few minutes later, we had a table and Lillian had ordered a Caesar salad with seared scallops and a glass of iced tea. Feeling I should perhaps forego my plebian pastrami and fries, I had duplicated her order, except for a beer.

  Lillian sipped her tea and settled back in her chair with a sigh. "This was a wonderful idea, Alex. I thank you. I've just been unbelievably stressed, I guess. I'm so glad Jack is all right. Richard and I were getting frantic that something awful had happened to him, too."

  A second reminder of my callousness. "I'm glad he's safe. At least that's one thing off your mind."

  "Yes. And Lord knows there are plenty of things on my mind lately." She looked longingly at my cigarettes and I pushed the pack toward her, but she shook her head.

  "You know," she sighed heavily, "this has been a terrible spring. The whole family has been at sixes and sevens. And now, finally, when everything was going to be just fine, all settled and friendly again . . . Grace had to go and get herself killed. And she was so excited and happy! And no one knew but me, which is so sad. She wanted to tell them herself, wanted it to be a real occasion."

  I was totally confused, but not too confused to wolf down a bite of the salad placed before me and wash it down with some beer. Then to complete the interruption of Lillian's already disjointed monologue, a wave of beer and garlic fumes enveloped the table and Harmon stood before us.

  "How do, ladies," his raspy greeting strengthened the aroma.

  "Hello, Harmon," I replied. "This is Mrs. Sanhope. Lillian, Harmon Killingsworth."

  "Yes, I know." He nodded. "Alex, I need to see you when you finish your meal. It's really important."

  "Okay. I'll catch you before I leave."

  "Don't forget." He started away, then turned back. "Miz Sanhope. My sympathies on yer loss." He gave a strange, formal little bow and left before she could answer.

  "He means well," I started to explain, when Lillian raised a hand to stop me.

  "I know. Oddly enough, he and Grace were rather good friends. He does little jobs for us once in a while. You know," her eyes glistened slightly," his comment means more to me than a lot of the fancy calls and e-mails we've been getting from the rich and famous who hardly know us."

  "I can see how it would. But to get back to what you were saying. What was Grace so excited about?"

  "Oh, she told me all about it at lunch last Friday. She told me she'd been awake half the night, thinking about things. Said she realized she'd been running not only the business, but all our lives . . . and for too long. She said she was really going to bow out and let the younger generation have the world, as she put it."

  Lillian waved to a waiter and absently ordered coffee for two when he approached. "She had spent that morning talking to her lawyer and various board members of the company, getting it all set up to turn the business over to Richard. She was late enough coming to that action," Lillian added. "But it was wonderful news, all the same. And she was going to clear up the trouble with Jack. Of course she would pay his tuition, had meant to all along. And if Jack was heart-set on environmental law, so be it. There were many years to worry about Richard's successor."

  She stirred milk into her coffee. "Finally, she said she was going to have some fun for herself. She was going to England to see Jack's mother, whom she said she had not treated very well in the past, and then onto France where some old schoolgirl friend still raised racehorses. She said she had never met a real live racehorse, and might even buy one herself. Who knew? Oh, Alex, she was so happy! She was like a girl!" The tears spilled over.

  I took her hand. "I'm sorry. So sorry. No wonder you've been so upset. Her timing was really tragic, wasn't it?"

  "Oh, it gets worse." She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. "She made me promise not to say a word to Richard or Jack. She wanted to tell them herself. She had her little speech all planned for Monday night when we would be together for dinner. Naturally, I agreed, but now they'll never hear it from her. Most of it will happen, but it won't be the same."

  She reached up and unconsciously touched the pearls at her neck. "Grace nearly always wore a gold locket Peter had given her. It held two photos, one of her as a young woman and one of Peter with their baby girl who died. She had taken those out and put them in an album. Now the locket held a picture of Francesca and Richard with Jack as a toddler. The other side was empty, waiting for a photo of Jack's baby. She said it was part of 'updating' her life."

  I sipped my coffee and lit a cigarette. "Well, Lillian, at least you knew her wishes and plans and how happy she was. Fortunately you can pass that news along to the others. At least they'll know her last day was a happy one."

  She nodded, still teary-eyed. I took a plunge. "Lillian, speaking of babies ... there was a rumor that you'd be going up to that fancy maternity hospital along with Maureen in the fall, that somehow the record would indicate that her baby was stillborn and that you had a healthy child the same night. In other words, adoption wouldn't be necessary. Would you continue with that plan, now that Grace is gone?"

  Lillian's eyes looked like saucers. "Are you crazy? Where the hell did you get that idea?" She was furious. "That would be morally and legally outrageous! I can't imagine any hospital allowing it even if we were so brazen as to suggest it! And to tell Maureen her baby died? Such cruelty! It's monstrous and completely untrue. Who made that up?"

  I was getting a little angry, too. At myself for listening to Trish and Cindy's wicked-witch fairy tales. "It doesn't matter, Lillian. Lots of crazy things come up in a murder investigation," I quibbled. "I had to ask. I apologize. Forget I ever said it. But let me ask one other question that may be touchy. Do you think Maureen will go through with this adoption as planned?"

  Lillian's light blue eyes had calmed and she smiled slightly. "You think she may try to pull a fast one? I doubt it. I believe Grace's lawyer 'counseled' her about the difficulties that would cause her. Then, too, she pretty much got
what she asked for. No, she won't scarper." She actually twinkled. "Alex, if I tell you a secret, will you keep it absolutely?"

  "If it has no bearing on this murder, yes."

  "Okay. As Jack may have told you, Richard and I haven't been able to have a baby. We have tried absolutely every avenue. I seem to be all right, but Richard has a low sperm count. God, don't ever tell that to anyone, he'd kill me. Well, we finally just gave up. You can imagine, we were heartbroken. Actually, Richard's count isn't all that low. Technically, we could produce a child. Maybe giving up was a very good thing and we both just kind of relaxed or something, for I missed a period three weeks ago. It's awfully early but I think I may be pregnant. I haven't even seen a doctor yet. Oh, and I haven't told Richard, I don't want to disappoint him if it's another failure. But I just feel that I am."

  She looked as if she could levitate and fly around the room. I could feel my own face split into a wide grin. "Hey, that's great! How marvelous for you to have some good news right about now! I'll cross my fingers for you."

  I did so, and she reached across the table and grasped my hand. "Thanks, Alex. I really appreciate that. My only regret is that I didn't tell Grace."

  "Lillian," I paused and then managed to ask, "now that you are, we hope, pregnant, will you still adopt the other baby?"

  "Sure! It's Jack's baby. It needs a loving family, like any child. Maybe it will be like raising puppies. Two won't be much more trouble than one." We both laughed, and I guessed that with enough nannies and maids, maybe that was true.

  She glanced at her watch. "Oh, my God, Richard will be parked out front in someone's yard waiting for me! He'll be seething!" She yanked some bills from her wallet and put them on the table. "I must run. Forgive me."

  I sipped my coffee and smiled as I watched Lillian hurry out. These Sanhope women indeed had charm. Which was more than I could say for the dusty figure now seating itself at my table.

  "Hi, again, Harmon. What's up?"

  "Sonny's been so busy I can't reach him," Harmon explained. "But I seen somethin' really important last Friday afternoon. I seen th' killer leavin' the Sanhope place."

  "Really?" One didn't get too excited with statements like this from Harmon.

  "Yup. I'd been out to the beach, seein' what the morning rain stirred up." I understood this. Harmon combed the local beaches and sold any interesting flotsam—driftwood, lobster markers, even firewood.

  "I was comin' down Bradford when I saw this little blue car parked at the foot of Sanhope's driveway. A feller was walking down the drive, carrying a case."

  "What kind of case?" I asked.

  "Hard to say. It was smaller than a suitcase, but kinda fat. And bigger than them apache cases. It were black leather."

  I bent over my coffee cup to hide my smile. "Uh-huh. What did this man look like?"

  "He was maybe thirty-five or forty, kind of average, you know. Oh, he wore glasses and a kinda light blue suit. I noticed it were the same as the car, like he was color-coronated."

  "Right. What made you think the car was his?"

  Harmon tipped up his beer bottle and leaned back expansively. "Well, now, Alex, you know I ain't a stranger to crime. So I just casually pulled over and stopped and got out like I was checking something under th' hood."

  Given the condition of his truck, no one would be suspicious of that move, I thought. Harmon continued, "The man got in the car and drove away. Here's his plate number." He handed me a smudged scrap of paper with a Massachusetts license number carefully printed.

  "Good for you! Harmon, they should give you a badge! This really could be important, and I'll make sure it gets through to Sonny!" I turned. "Waiter! Bring this man a nice, cold beer."

  "Thanks, Alex. Y'see I figure it was this way. This feller in the blue suit was a drug dealer, of course, and he'd been there making a sale. Probably with the cook, never did like that woman. Now, accidentally, Miz Sanhope walks out and sees what's going on and they kill her. And just to make the police look bad, the cook hides the body in your garage."

  "Gotcha." I nodded. It made about as much sense as anything else. And just by the law of probabilities, one of these days Harmon was going to spot a real drug dealer. "I'll get right on this and let you know what happens."

  On the way to pick up the car downtown, Fargo and I stopped by the police station. Sonny was out, but Nacho ran the plate number for me. It came back as a blue Saturn registered to a William Whitmire in Eastham. Thanking her, I left and on a whim, decided to go say hello to Mr. Whitmire.

  Traffic was moving, but not very fast, and I had ample time to wonder whom I was on my way to see. The "case" Whitmire had been carrying sounded like one of those old satchels doctors used to carry on house calls ... I'd seen old Doc Marsten's many times as he made his way around Ptown's ill and injured, surely the last doctor standing who made such visits.

  But maybe you could get a doctor to come out if you had lots of the ready . . . although bringing one all the way from Eastham seemed a little inefficient if the patient were badly injured. Why would you need to call a doctor from far away with a clinic nearby and EMTs available for emergencies? Well, I supposed, if you wanted the treatment kept secret, it could be very handy.

  Suppose Grace did not die right away and someone found her? Or maybe it was even a terrible accident. Could Whitmire be a friend who was a brain surgeon? Or even someone on their payroll who would keep his visit quiet? Of course, one always got back to the damned laundry cart. But first things first. We had arrived.

  The small house was set back from the road, with generous flower beds that raised my envy level with every step. We reached the door and I rang a bell. A man about my age answered.

  "Mr. Whitmire?"

  "No." He smiled. "Just a moment." He turned and called, "Billy! A visitor."

  A slightly older man appeared and identified himself as Bill Whitmire. I showed him my ID and asked to come in.

  We went into a pleasant living room, sat down, and both men looked at Fargo quizzically. He sat beside me as he always did in a strange place, looking benignly bored. Oddly, most people thought he looked protective and ready to charge. Personally, I think he was just wondering where he was and when he could leave.

  "As you probably know, Grace Sanhope was murdered last Friday in Provincetown. We are just checking out some details." Okay, so I made it sound like I was working for the cops. "Since you were there around five p.m. that day, we'd like to know why, and if you saw anything unusual."

  "Good God!" Whitmire looked shocked. "I heard something on TV, but I never made the connection. Yes, I was there . . . got there about three thirty and finished up, I'd guess, shortly after five."

  "Finished what?" I asked.

  "Oh. Tuning the piano."

  Tuning the piano. Of all the jobs in the world, piano tuner may be the one I would have thought of last. Whitmire's companion, who had been introduced merely as Walter, took pity on me. "How about something to drink? Maybe a beer, or if you're on duty ..." He let it trail.

  "A beer would be really welcome."

  Whitmire continued his account. "Part-time piano tuner. I'm music director at the middle school and do piano tuning in the summer. It keeps me as busy as I want to be. Anyway, I didn't see anything strange at Sanhopes. The maid let me in and kind of fussed around the room most of the time I was there. Making sure I didn't steal anything, I guess."

  "How come you parked on the street?" I nodded my thanks to Walter and accepted a beer and glass from the tray.

  "Oh, yeah. I started up the drive in the car, but a big old station wagon was at the top, starting down, so I just backed out and parked. Walked up."

  "Did you see who was in the wagon?" The beer tasted marvelously cold.

  "Some young man. He waved thanks. I really didn't get a look at him."

  "Hah," said Walter.

  "Well," Billy then admitted, grinning, "he was dark with curly hair and had on a blue polo shirt."

  I made a no
te of the shirt, grinning myself. "Did you see Mrs. Sanhope?"

  "I think so. In the house, I mean, not the car. You see, when I finish tuning an instrument, I always play a piece or so to make sure it sounds as good being played as with individual notes being struck. I'd just finished a couple of short Chopin etudes when there was applause. I turned around and there was this elderly lady, clapping. She said it sounded great and that she would enjoy the piano again herself although her fingers weren't so limber anymore. She said that her grandsons both played better than she and would be pleased it was back in tune. Then she handed me a check and I thanked her and left."

  "Did you by any chance notice if the wagon had returned when you left?"

  "No, I don't think it had. There was a three- or four-car garage, I recall. Doors open. But the only car I saw was a little tan one, an old Civic I think." That was the cook's, I knew.

  Then he asked if I knew Jeanne Peres, adding that he took care of her piano. I said she was my mother, and conversation turned away from murders. By the time I left, they had made friends with Fargo. And it turned out they knew Lainey and Cassie well, so we agreed to make a date with them to go to the Poly-Cotton Club next weekend. At least the drive had been worth it.

  Chapter 26

  Or I guessed it had been worth it. Traffic had gotten heavier and slower. I knew there was not a damn thing I could do to speed it up, so I tried to think of pleasant things.

  Lillian Sanhope's news was good, assuming she was correct about being pregnant. I smiled. Perhaps at a later date she would give me permission to mention her condition to Trish and Cindy. It would be fun to ask them if they ever heard of a woman "giving birth" in December and then again in April.

  I hoped Lillian was being truthful about Grace's last day. I wished she had lived long enough to buy her racehorse. I'd have bet on it to win, hands down.

  Pleasant thoughts completed, I wondered if I should go to the cottage or the house. I had to go home sometime. Today was as good as any, but that brought up the matter of dinner. Sighing, I turned off Route 6 and went over to Bradford and my favorite little store. I picked up half a roasted turkey breast and two sweet potatoes for the micro and some frozen spinach. I knew you were supposed to have yellow veggies and also dark green ones . . . together? Well, I was on the safe side. I grabbed a melon for dessert, knowing there was ice cream in the freezer. Oh, yes, milk. Gosh, I was getting to be quite the little homemaker!