Preening myself, I drove home and was fine until I made the turn into the driveway. I started to shake and Fargo gave me a concerned look. Obviously he'd forgotten all of yesterday's trauma. Well, I could do that, too, dammit! I parked in the driveway— garage tomorrow, maybe—and got out the groceries. I walked nonchalantly to the back door, unlocked it, and we went in.
Fargo made his usual tour of every room, whuffling and sniffing for any signs of invasion during our absence. Fortunately, there were none. By the time I had opened windows, put away groceries and given Fargo fresh water I was pretty much back to normal and called Cindy to tell her I was in residence. She was delighted and volunteered to pick up dinner. I was delighted to tell her it wouldn't be necessary.
Fargo and I repaired to the backyard for a check on the garden and a brief game with the hose. I popped the Bud I had taken out with me, lit cigarette number four—I think—and settled into a chair. The Baroness Peres and her trusty hound were back at the manor and all was well.
Cindy came through the door, petted Fargo, poured herself a glass of wine, unbuttoned her blouse and threw it on the floor. Taking a few steps toward the hall, she removed her bra and tossed it to the floor. A couple of steps farther and her skirt followed suit. I sat staring. Was this my neatnik Cindy?
"I'm making it easy for you to follow my trail," she explained. "And you had better not get lost." She kicked off her panties and ran for the bedroom. I was now in hot pursuit, adding my spoor to hers.
I did not get lost and we fell across the bed, laughing. We kissed, and laughed some more. We murmured endearments and muttered profanities and then everything came into that perfect focus that was just us. Out there somewhere together. Beyond place, time, thought. Just... together.
We wandered around the kitchen, ineffectually putting dinner together, pausing for quick kisses and pats, laughing as Fargo pushed between us to claim his share of the affection. I was not thrilled when a movement outside the window showed Sonny trudging up the walkway to the back door. He did not look happy himself.
So my opening words were, "May I assume a beer is in order?"
"I'd rather have a bourbon if you've got any."
I nodded toward the dining room. "It's in the cabinet. Help yourself." I heard the bottle gurgle . . . and gurgle again, and Sonny came back with a rocks glass nearly filled with liquor. He plopped in a couple of ice cubes and then plopped himself at the kitchen table.
I saw Cindy's eyebrows rise slightly, and she asked, "Will you have a little dinner with us?"
"No, thanks, I'll have something later at home. You two go ahead and eat. I just figured I'd let you know, the plot thickens."
Cindy looked at me and I gave a slight shake of the head. I wanted a leisurely intimate dinner with her, not one gulped down while Sonny talked and probably picked bites off my plate. A brief smile and nod showed me she read me and agreed. She poured us both a glass of wine and made a threesome at the table.
"What's up?" I asked.
"Well, Jack Sanhope is looking less and less like the killer."
"Oh?"
"Yep. We have the old station wagon. Jack was either too smart or too dumb to try to clean it up. Forensics says there was everything in it but mud from the Mississippi River. They made a cursory inspection . . . more detailed later." He took a gulp from his drink that would have choked me.
"What turned up?" I sipped my wine delicately, and Cindy laughed.
"No blood anywhere that they found so far. Fibers all over the place, which doesn't mean much, even if some of them belong to the dress Grace was wearing. They could easily have gotten there some other time when she had on the same dress. Some coarse cotton fibers that could be from the laundry cart, or could be from some dropcloths the handyman had brought over to use in a bathroom he's going to paint." Sonny reached in my shirt pocket for cigarettes, and actually remembered to offer me one.
"That's all kind of iffy, isn't it?" Cindy spread her fingers and tilted her hand back and forth. "Could be yes, could be no."
"Absolutely," Sonny agreed, "But there's more. Jack thinks the waitress in the cafe in Buzzard's Bay will remember him. He says there was some conversation about his not feeling well and she acted 'very motherly' toward him. Then later, when he got to the house in Boston, he called the girl who was giving the party in Sag Harbor and told her he would not be coming. The call will show on their bill, assuming he made it. He says it would have been around seven thirty or eight o'clock. We will check all this out, naturally, but I imagine it's true."
"Well," I said, "I can add a little weight to Jack's innocence, I think." I told them of running into Lillian and our luncheon together, carefully avoiding the topic of pregnancy. Then I added Harmon's information and my follow-up visit to the piano tuner. "Please remember to compliment Harmon," I reminded Sonny. "He actually did come up with some worthwhile information. We know Grace was alive and well for at least a couple of hours after Jack left. I really can't say I'm sorry," I said. Sonny glared and I raised my hands. "Don't shoot. I know you need an arrest, but I kinda like Jack. You sure it couldn't be the cook? Harmon can't stand her," I added.
"Now there's a recommendation if I ever heard one!" Sonny walked into the dining room to freshen his drink. He was putting away an unusual amount of liquor. I got up and explored the refrigerator. Locating a chunk of blue cheese, I put it on a plate with crackers and placed it convenient to Sonny's reach.
He returned to the table. "That's about as good as Captain Anders' idea. He says it's a transient thief."
"Anders always thinks it's a transient thief. He probably thinks Jack Ruby was a transient thief after Oswald's Timex."
Cindy shook her head. "I think Aunt Mae was right the other night. It was someone who knew her well and, believe it or not, respected her or cared for her in some way. Leaving her wedding ring and that locket was a definite clue. Well... I mean, that's how it looks to me." She looked down, embarrassed. "You two know more than I."
Sonny patted her hand and nodded. "You make a good point. You know, Lillian's jewelry wasn't touched, nor were a lot of valuable antiques, nor the TVs and such. Almost as if the killer had a purely personal grudge. Of course, he/she could simply have run out of time. Thought he heard a car or something."
"Maybe we shouldn't blow Anders off," I laughed. "You're running out of suspects." I lit cigarette seven and mentally gave my wrist a resounding slap.
"No-oo," Sonny said slowly. "Actually, I've now got one too many. Friday afternoon seems to have been a very popular time with the damned clinic. I think half of Ptown must have been there. And driving vehicles that could have carried that laundry cart. You're not going to be happy about this, Alex."
"What do you mean?"
"I knew I'd be tied up with Sanhopes all afternoon, so I sent Mitch to chase down Mary Sloan and Maureen Delaney and have a little chat."
"Oh, God."
"Oh, yeah." He gave a tired smile. "In a nutshell, here's what he learned. Mary had driven a phone company truck on a repair call to ... yep . .. the clinic. There she spent most of the afternoon on some intermittent problem with the fax machines, that took her forever to locate, though I guess it was simple enough once she pinpointed it. And to slow her progress even more, she was coming down with some stomach virus. Cramps, dashes to the bathroom, etc. She finally finished up at nearly six o'clock. I don't know why she didn't call in sick and have them send a relief person."
"Because," I sighed heavily, "Mary wouldn't admit there was something she couldn't finish, even if she broke her leg." I wished I hadn't said that. It triggered a shrewd look from Sonny.
"Hmmm. Anyway, Maureen was also at the clinic, for a scheduled checkup, driving there in Mary's SUV after she got off work. On her way out, she ran into Mary, who told her she was feeling like hell and would be home as soon as she could finish up, return the company truck to the office and walk the several blocks to her house. Maureen was worried and waited for Mary to finish the repairs, so
she could follow her in the SUV and drive her home after she turned in the truck."
I spread some cheese on a cracker and asked, "Did Mary have to sign the truck in at the phone company?"
"Yep. Logged in at six-ten p.m. So their stories add up. And, just as an underscore, Pete Santos was at the clinic visiting Juvenal, who's there with that pin in his ankle, clumsy oaf. Anyway, Pete saw the two women talking on the delivery ramp near Mary's truck about six. He thinks he may have noticed that laundry cart nearby, but isn't sure."
I took a sip of my wine and could almost feel it splash into my empty stomach. "Well, at least he ought to feel better, with Jack looking more and more angelic. I ran into Pete early today, and I think he's mad at me forever."
Sonny shrugged. "I wouldn't worry. He's been indulging himself in a first-class guilt trip. He's going on vacation Saturday to Portugal to see some relatives and go on to Spain and somewhere else, and he's been feeling guilty about leaving, with his family still mourning Grace's death, and feeling guilty about leaving us short-handed, with Juvenal out with a busted ankle. He got mad at me when I told him not to rearrange his plans and blew up at Jeanine when she said Jack's problems weren't Pete's problems. He'll get over it. He's just not himself right now."
"Sounds as if he needs the time off," Cindy put in, nibbling a cracker. Times were indeed desperate if Cindy was noshing.
"He does. He's been working hard. Anyway, to complete my sad tale, our two lady friends got home six twentyish. Maureen got Mary into bed with a bottle of Pepto-Bismol and a cup of tea. Then she got herself some dinner and went in the living room to watch TV. About seven thirty she went in to check on Mary and found her sound asleep. She figured sleep was good for her and quietly left the room. But Maureen was bored, it was Friday night, and what the hell? She showered and went out around eight to look up her friends at the Bitter End, returned home around eleven thirty, found Mary still asleep and went to bed herself." He tipped back in the chair. I hated when he did that.
"What was Mary doing all this time?"
"Sleeping, she says. She awoke around one, felt hungry and got up to make some toast. Maureen was asleep in her room at that time. Are you beginning to see a picture here?"
"I'm seeing that Heloise and Abelard are not sharing a bedroom. And you missed the third and fourth possibilities," Cindy added. "That only one of them is lying, and she committed the murder."
Sonny gave an irritable growl. I laughed. He growled again.
"Well, actually, I'm seeing a double exposure," I said placatingly. "One is that they are both telling the truth and are innocent. The second is that they are both lying, and conspired to kill Grace. And, neither Mary nor Maureen are in a good mood when it comes to me. I think I'm right up there with Grace." I told them of my last encounter with the twosome.
"Right!" Sonny thumped the chair back onto all four legs and stood up. "Now all I have to do is pick a number between one and five."
"Four," I corrected.
"No, five. Don't forget the transient thief." He giggled and placed a hand on each of our heads in blessing as he left. "Sorry I screwed up your dinner."
And that he had done. The potatoes were cold, the spinach was soggy, the turkey breast was dry. A refill of wine put Cindy to sleep. I was stuck with the kitchen cleanup. Fargo treed a cat, and I had to drag him barking hysterically into the house.
I opened a beer and turned on the TV The channel was set on Animal Planet and I left it there, too discouraged to check the program guide. Crocodile Hunter was on, so I watched him flop into mud holes and wrestle alligators for no apparent reason with no apparent results. I knew sort of how he felt.
Chapter 27
Fargo and I snuck off to the beach about six on Wednesday morning. I think Ptown is getting like New York. We never sleep. And the tourists are never quite out of sight. This morning a family of four was having breakfast on the tailgate of their station wagon. Three surf fishermen were packing up their gear and divvying up their catch. A pair of lovers seemingly welded together came slowly up the beach. A lone middle-aged woman was building a quite lovely sandcastle while her Boston terrier explored treasures caught along the high tide line.
Fargo went over to say hello, and the terrier emitted one loud, shrill, teeth-bared yelp. Fear? Challenge? Overactive thyroid? Fargo looked at him as if he just exited a flying saucer and walked on. The woman and I laughed, the terrier looked insulted, and the day looked to be a good one.
When we got home Cindy was having her grapefruit and cold cereal breakfast. I explored the refrigerator and found that I, too, would be having a healthy morning meal. For the moment I settled for coffee and the first cigarette. I told Cindy of our meeting with the Boston terrier, and she smiled. "I like that breed."
"They're cute," I agreed. "But I've heard they're manipulative."
"I've never seen a dog that isn't," she laughed. "What's on your schedule, my early riser?"
"Fargo's not. Manipulative. Not a lot on my sked. I've got to go to the store. The refrigerator looks neglected, and we're low on Fargo's food." Hearing his name and the word food in the same sentence, he immediately nudged Cindy's arm and looked meaningfully at her cereal bowl.
"You're very large for a Boston terrier, but apparently you are one." She set her cereal bowl on the floor, as I continued my calendar.
"I've got to write a report on the southern trip for Frost. It's going to read like a script for Saturday Night Live. He's going to just love it. The yard needs some work. You know, puttery stuff. Why?"
"I'm just glad puttery is on your agenda. I think you need it. A tiring trip with a ghastly homecoming, puttery is good." She picked up the now-empty bowl and put it and her other dishes in the dishwasher. "I, on the other hand, must go and slave for the betterment of mankind. See you tonight."
"I'll be here."
Wednesday puttered to a close and must indeed have been what I needed. I slept well and awoke early Thursday, refreshed and ready to go. So we went to the beach, Fargo and I, where a cloudy sky and choppy sea made it entirely ours. Returning home, we found that Cindy had left for work, so I munched a scone without guilt, but then felt I should do at least a few indoor chores before moving on to the outdoor ones. Funny, outdoor work equaled fun. Indoor work equaled drudgery.
Speeding through the indoor tasks, I moved outside and spread around some dehydrated, deodorized cow manure, thinking that was a good, farmer-like move in case it rained. I hoped it wouldn't. Today was Grace Sanhope's funeral at noon in Boston, and funerals were bad enough without slogging through rain to get to them. The sky continued to darken, but my mood lifted yet again when I discovered that two of my tomatoes were turning pink. And then I spotted a tiny green pepper about the size of a cherry. My day was complete.
Well, not quite complete. Fargo sprang up from his favorite spot under the tree and trotted in his business-like fashion toward the driveway. I followed him and found a young deliveryman about to park a large box on the back steps.
"Alex Peres?" He sniffed.
"That's right."
"Roses for you." He sniffed again. Maybe he had allergies and was in the wrong business. "Please sign here. Sorry to have interrupted your gardening."
I signed. He left. I took the box inside and opened it to find a dozen long-stem red roses . . . lovely! I put the flowers in a tall white vase and left them temporarily on the counter, while I poured coffee and sat down to read the card.
"Safe at last and mainly thanks to your good advice! Now you all be sure to come see us any time, you hear? Love, May and Julie."
Well, well, so the master criminals apparently weren't serving five-to-eight. I wished they had been a little more specific, but maybe a letter would follow. Maybe I wouldn't wait. I picked up the phone and called Trish.
"I just got a dozen roses from May Malik and her lover. The card says they are safe at last but not much more. Did you hear anything?"
"We did indeed. Early this morning John got a call f
rom their attorney. They followed your advice and all three went to see this Sheriff Laurence over in Haute Bayou, told him the whole story. He called up a judge he fishes with plus the county court clerk.
They went into a confab. Then the judge gave May a slap on the wrist with a four thousand dollar fine, which he said would buy Laurence new air conditioners for his headquarters. Then he gave Julie a kiss on the fingertips with a five hundred dollar fine which he said would paint their little juvenile detention quarters. The tame clerk issued a Replacement of Lost Death Certificate and they all went to dinner. I understand several cases of Kentucky's finest also changed hands."
I could not believe it. "Is that all legal? What about New Orleans?"
Trish giggled happily. "It is if a judge says it is. There was no New Orleans. So now, the Albion brothers get their garage, May gets her money, and justice triumphs once again." She giggled again. "And John just got an enormous bouquet of truly appalling pink gladioli. His office looks like he won the Derby ... or died."
"Damn! These southerners can certainly be efficient when it's called for!"
"Honey, doncha know! Sorry to run, but I've got a client waiting. I'll let you know if I hear more details. Bye."
So! There was only one thing to do in a case like this. Fargo and I saddled up and headed for an early lunch at the Rat.
I anchored Fargo to his anchor and brought him some water and pulled up at the bar for some liquid refreshment of my own. Joe whisked the bar cloth in front of me and leaned down. "Yes, ma'am, your pleasure?" His nose wiggled and he sniffed. Was it ragweed season or something?
"A Bud, please."
He brought it up from the ice chest below without even looking down, and placed it in front of me with a glass. "So, Alex, how's your garden coming?"
The Weekend Visitor Page 17
