Bad Blood (Maggie Ryan Book 8)

by P. M. Carlson

  No one said anything for a moment. Even Mamma was silent. Then Clint cleared his throat and said, “That’s society’s problem, isn’t it? Not ours. We love each other.”

  “Yes,” said Rina honestly, “but it’s ours too when we’re afraid of it. Those ghosts are really there. And I’m afraid sometimes, Clint.”

  “We all are, sometimes,” said Aggie. “Who really has the perfect, seamless life that Mrs. Farnham dreams of? But there is one consolation.”

  “What’s that?” asked Rina.

  “You showed me, Rina. In your hanging there in the hall. With your skill and your love, you’ve stitched little rags and scraps together into something beautiful. Much more beautiful than any seamless piece could be.”

  Rina couldn’t look at her. So few people understood her work. Her soul. She said huskily, “Thank you, Aggie.”

  After a moment Mamma said with forced jollity, “Now don’t go giving her a swelled head!”

  “Okay.” Aggie smiled, sat up straighter, and turned to her. “Back to business. Mrs. Rossi, tell me. How could Mr. Spencer find out Ginny was adopted if none of you here told him?”

  Rina, caught unawares, scrambled to get her defenses up again. “Do you know he found out?”

  “We’re playing just suppose. If he did know, Mrs. Rossi, who could have told him?”

  Mamma considered. “Marie and Delores knew. But I made them promise not to tell anyone else.”

  “Mm. Who else knows?” asked Aggie.

  Clint said, “The McCormicks, our good friends. And a lot of people on Long Island, including whoever told you.”

  “And Dr. Panolous,” added Rina. “He asked about family diseases for her medical records, so we had to tell him we didn’t know.”

  “God, it permeates everything you do, doesn’t it?” said Aggie glumly.

  “It’s part of our life. We have to deal with it,” said Rina. “Stitch it in.”

  “Yes.” Aggie smiled at her, then became businesslike again. “That’s not many people, though. Unless, as Clint says, we count Long Island. But that’s probably not necessary.”

  “Is there anything else you need from me?” asked Mamma. It was very late for her, Rina realized. “All of this worry is giving me a headache.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs. Rossi. Don’t let me keep you, please.” Aggie seemed apologetic, but made no move to go.

  “I’ll just be downstairs if you need me. Good night, Aggie. Good night,cara.” She kissed Rina and Clint, and went off slowly down the steps. Aggie stared absorbed at the fire until they heard the door close downstairs. Then she swiveled abruptly on the rug to face Rina directly.

  “Okay, now,” she said quietly. “I must ask you to be discreet about what I’m going to tell you. I didn’t feel free to speak in front of your mother because they’re her friends. But Clint was right when he said I was hunting for motives. And I’ve found a couple of things. The police may find out soon too.”

  Rina was alarmed. Clint, frowning, said, “What do you mean?”

  “Number one, the landlords. Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins. I asked them how Mr. Spencer came to rent their room, and they showed me the little ad in the paper. And they showed me his room, as I told you. And there were rent receipts in his desk. But they were for about half the advertised price. So I asked Mr. Jenkins why they were giving the room to him so cheap. Mrs. Jenkins started crying, and Mr. Jenkins hushed her and said that Spencer preferred to pay every two weeks instead of every month. Okay, a reasonable story, except that she wouldn’t cry about that. So I looked at the chits again. Very orderly, you could tell he’d been an accountant. The receipts were all dated the first of the month. I pointed that out to Mr. Jenkins.”

  “I see,” said Clint.

  “And Mrs. Jenkins was still blubbering, and she said, ‘Let’s tell her, honey, or she’ll think it’s worse.’”

  “A familiar line to you, no doubt,” observed Clint acidly. “You carry a big stick.”

  “And I don’t always speak softly, do I? Anyway, it turns out that their son did something or other shameful. I didn’t ask what. But they said Spencer had found out about whatever it was, and had come in, with his usual sympathetic air, and said how sad it must be for them to have such a secret in their family. And then he added that it would be a great boon for him that month if he could pay the rent in two installments.”

  “And the second installment never came,” predicted Clint.

  “Exactly. He didn’t say another word about it, and neither did they, but from then on he paid only half for his room.”

  “Well, then,they might have done it!” exclaimed Rina, and then was ashamed of her eagerness to shift the blame to the kindly Jenkinses.

  “Possibly,” said Aggie, displaying no such guilt. “We have only Mrs. Jenkins’s word that Spencer went out again after Mrs. Gallagher brought him back. Some friends visited the Jenkinses a little later, arriving about six-thirty. Unless the friends are lying, Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins didn’t do it between six-thirty and eight, when the body was found. And they didn’t do it unless Spencer himself took Ginny’s scissors. I don’t know why he’d do that.”

  “Maybe a kleptomaniac?” suggested Clint.

  “Possibly,” said Aggie again. “Though no one I’ve spoken to has mentioned any leanings in that direction.”

  “You said the Jenkinses were number one,” said Clint. “I take it there’s a number two?”

  “Number two is Delores Gallagher. I went back to see her because Sunday I noticed that there were quite a few photos of Mr. Spencer in her album. More than you’d expect of a casual friend. But she’d claimed there were only two. She admitted he was very nice to her, and she appreciated the companionship.”

  “Just what Mamma and Mrs. Deaver were saying,” said Rina.

  “He even proposed marriage to her,” said Aggie.

  “Really? I had no idea! They seemed—well, more distant than that.”

  “She said she was flabbergasted too. Wouldn’t say yes, wouldn’t say no. She was very worried about what her children would say. But then she sat down to take stock, and discovered that over a period of about eighteen months she had spent hundreds of dollars on restaurants, gifts, even the color television I saw in his apartment—all things she had charged and he had said he’d pay back. Finally she confronted him and asked him to start paying her back.”

  “And?”

  “And he looked very sad, and said he had thought that their relationship was above such things. Then he added that they had given each other proofs of their love that no one else in the world should know about.”

  Clint snorted. “Proofs of their love!”

  “Her euphemism,” said Aggie apologetically.

  “She told you all this?” asked Clint unbelievingly.

  “In confidence, you see. I’m afraid I, ah, thought of a way to construe those photos that made her look absolutely felonious. She told me all this so I wouldn’t publish something far worse.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Rina. “Do you mean Mr. Spencer told her that he’d tell?”

  “Exactly. Blackmail’s the word. He really knew her weak points too. He said he’d write to the school board that her daughter Berta is trying so hard to please.”

  “My God!” Rina was horrified. What was considered normal in Ginny’s generation could still dismember a reputation in her mother’s. And to threaten Berta’s livelihood! Suddenly the playful flirting she had overheard at the bridge game seemed more ominous. “But—but Mrs. Gallagher brought him in as though he was her friend,” she protested.

  “They’d come to an understanding,” Aggie explained. “Mrs. Gallagher actually stood up to him pretty well. She told him if he caused her any trouble she had the charge records to show what a freeloader he was. That was pretty shrewd, if my theory about him is right, because he could only play his confidence games if people thought he was a thoroughly above-board sort of person. So her weapon against him was pretty powerful too. It w
as a standoff. He immediately claimed he had no such thing in mind, her friendship was all that mattered to him. I think she still had hopes of getting her money back someday.”

  “God, poor woman,” said Rina.

  “You wouldn’t talk about these things in front of my mother-in-law,” said Clint thoughtfully. “That shows admirable discretion. But it would be even more admirable if you didn’t break Mrs. Gallagher’s confidence at all. Or the Jenkinses’. Why are you telling us other people’s dark secrets?”

  “Because Rina knows something about John Spencer, and she’s afraid to share it. I just wanted to show her that there’s a pattern here. A lot of people could have a motive if he’s a small-time blackmailer. And every fact we learn about Mr. Spencer could help solve this puzzle.”

  “Is that true, Rina? You know something?” asked Clint in surprise.

  “Yes.” She looked at him. “He called, Clint. Thursday, about six, before you arrived. Mamma was out buying dinner. He asked me if it was true that Ginny was adopted. I said yes, but that she preferred not to have people know, so I would appreciate it if he didn’t tell people.”

  Clint whistled. “You said that!”

  “Yes. I didn’t realize.” Rina too was appalled at the implications of his call, now that she’d heard Aggie’s report.

  “Did he say anything else?” Aggie asked.

  “Well, at the time I thought he was reassuring me. He said that he understood perfectly that we wouldn’t want people to know. And then he said he’d call back later, because he had to meet someone.”

  “Who? Where?” Aggie’s tone was suddenly urgent.

  “He didn’t say. Just hung up quickly. But there was something, noise in the background—I don’t know. It was familiar. I just had the feeling he wasn’t at home. There was music—well, it could have been his TV.”

  “But your impression was he wasn’t at home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mrs. Jenkins thought he might have gone to the mall.”

  “That’s it, Aggie! Cash registers! People in the background, and Muzak, and cash registers. A phone booth in a mall.”

  “Good. Okay, now. He called, asked about the adoption, then hurriedly hung up.”

  “Yes. It was odd, because at first he seemed to be taking his time. Very courteous.”

  “Maybe the person he was meeting had arrived.”

  “God!”

  “And so he hung up. But he was going to call back, probably to find out in dollars and cents how much his silence was worth to you.”

  “Oh, God!” Rina was shaken. “How could he threaten a young girl like Ginny?”

  “You would have paid?” Aggie asked sympathetically.

  Rina started to nod, but Clint burst out, “Hey, wait just a minute here! What does all this mean? Are you trying to blackmail us too?”

  “No, of course not!” said Aggie.

  “Because I find this whole setup fishy! Here you are, asking us to take your word that this old man, dead now, was a blackmailer. Asking about the value of his silence to us. Or are you really asking about the value of your silence?”

  “No. You’ve got my silence already.” She sounded very sad.

  “Because if that’s your game, you’d take our money and get away clean, wouldn’t you? We couldn’t even describe you to the police! You’d drive off, take off that curly wig and those sunglasses you wear even in the dark, and we’d never know you again!”

  He reached forward suddenly, rising from the sofa, grabbing for her glasses. Rina expected Aggie to dodge back away from him. But instead her forearms snapped up to shield her lowered face, and she lunged straight into startled Clint, butting the top of her skull hard into his chest. His arms stretched uselessly past her. Then her strong bony fingers were digging deep into the hollow of his throat. Gagging, he clawed at her fingers, shoved himself away from her, and fell back, gasping, into the sofa.

  Rina had not had time to move. “Clint!” she exclaimed, jumping up. “Are you all right?”

  He nodded, hands still protectively at his throat.

  “Sorry, Clint,” Aggie said politely. “I’m afraid I’ve got the reactions of a street fighter. But look here.” She knelt beside him, guiding his hand to her hair. “Pull some out if you want. You’ll find it’s real. But please don’t mess with my eyes. I want them to last every day that they can.”

  Clint dropped his hand to his lap and shook his head. “All right, all right,” he wheezed.

  Rina said uncertainly, “We’re all upset.”

  “Yeah.” Clint’s voice was stronger now.

  Aggie was sitting back on her heels, still watching them. “It’s sensible to be suspicious,” she said. “I know these glasses make me look like a walking disguise. But please believe me, Clint. I’m interested in finding the person who killed Mr. Spencer. No one else’s motive will be published. And if we find that person, your daughter will be cleared.”

  “I know,” said Clint. “Look, I’m sorry I doubted you.”

  “I’m glad you did. I’m glad you stick up for your daughter. But I guess we’ve done what we can for tonight. I’ll run off and leave you in peace for a while. You’ve been good to put up with me, both of you.”

  They said their good-byes, and Rina closed and locked the door after her. Everything seemed hopeless. Why should Ginny ever come home, when things were so terrible? Clint came down the steps to her and held her.

  “It’ll be all right, Rina.”

  “Clint, do you really think Aggie would try blackmail? She seems so understanding!”

  “I don’t know, Rina. I’d like to believe her.” He coughed.

  “Mr. Spencer really did call me, Clint. That fits with what she said.”

  “Yes. And the hair was real too. And the street fighting. God.”

  “I think I believe her.”

  “Yeah. It’ll be all right.”

  “I know. But Clint, I miss Ginny so much! I wonder what she’s been doing.”

  “‘I’m a Fawn!’ it cried out in a voice of delight. ‘And dear me, you’re a human child!’ A sudden look of alarm came into its beautiful brown eyes, and in another moment it had darted away at full speed. Alice stood looking after it, almost ready to cry with vexation at having lost her dear little fellow traveler so suddenly. ‘However, I know my name now,’ she said: ‘that’s some comfort. Alice—Alice—I won’t forget it again.’”

  Ginny’s voice had grown thick. She stopped reading and tried to collect herself.

  “Are you sad?” asked Sarah. Damn sharp little sister.

  “A little.”

  “Because the fawn ran away?”

  “Because for a long time I didn’t know my name either. Like Alice in the wood. It’s scary.”

  Sarah was puzzled. “Your name is Ginny.”

  “Yes. It’s hard to explain. A long time ago I was Alice Ryan, and that’s the name I lost. That’s why it took me so long to find you.”

  Sarah was frowning, trying to understand. Ginny laughed and hugged her. “It’s okay. I’ll explain it when you’re a little older. It’s a happy ending, really, it’s just hard to get used to. Like Alice: ‘I know my name now, that’ssome comfort.’”

  This metaphysical discussion made Will impatient. “Read Tweedledum and Tweedledee,” he demanded.

  “Okay,” said Ginny, and went on with the story.

  She and Sarah had become good friends, except for the times that Sarah was hungry and therefore irritable. The little girl was insatiably curious and quizzed Ginny on every subject that came up. She also loved the wild stories and extravagant mock threats that Ginny made up, and giggled at them in a most gratifying way. Being adopted was good for one thing, Ginny thought, it developed your imagination. Useful in dealing with children.

  Though it didn’t help much with Will. Incessantly out of sorts, the boy responded to her efforts only occasionally. During the day Ginny found herself missing Sarah’s cheerfulness. She was becoming very tired of thi
s caged and friendless existence. Ellen stopped by for Sarah each morning, sometimes with groceries and always avoiding any mention of the law. But Claudia brought Sarah back each afternoon without coming in, so except for Ellen and Nick and Maggie’s frequent calls, Ginny was isolated, trapped by the sick little boy’s obvious needs. By Tuesday night, after Maggie had called to report on her visits to Dr. Landon’s office and to John Spencer’s landlords, Ginny felt lost and depressed. She cleaned up dutifully after the children and even polished the bathroom, and she finished her social studies assignment and started her math. But all the activity did not distract her from the unpleasant truth. Mr. Spencer’s murder, a threat and a puzzle, was always with her. And though she adored Sarah and Will, she dreaded the thought of even one more day spent at their beck and call. She needed time to think about herself—about who she really was, about what this new family meant to her, about her future. And how the hell could a person think while Will was whining for attention?

  Mom had gone through all this for her when she was little. Ginny was overcome with homesickness. After she stopped snuffling she thought about doing a lude. Just one, just for a little time out from her problems. But Will was sick. She’d better not, he might need her.

  She slept uneasily. In her dreams, the people no longer flew away. They turned and waited for her, expectantly. But she still didn’t know how to reach them.

  Wednesday

  September 19, 1979

  XVIII

  Wednesday morning was overcast. The weather report had said there was a chance of rain, a break in the clear cold weather that Friday’s storm had brought. Ginny went through her depressing morning routine of damp diapers, breakfast, getting Sarah out to school, bathing Will, and tending to the animals before she became aware of an astonishing truth.

  Will was not whining.

  “Hey, Will. How do you feel?” she asked him.

  “Fine.” He looked up at her with a sunny expression.

  “Does your head hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Let me look at you.” She drew him nearer the kitchen window.