by Chris Wiltz
Fonte fell into stride with me as I walked back down to the corner.
“Did anybody see anything?” I asked to be conversational.
“Naw. Whadya expect?” He jeered at me and bit into his gum like it was the side of a pig. I'd liked to have shoved his head into some ironwork and watched him bray. “Don't you know by now that people don't never see anything? You must not be as smart as I thought, Rafferty.” His lips smacked viciously.
“That's funny,” I commented, “I wouldn't have picked you as the type that went in for mental exercise. I figured you substituted mouth moving for brain work.”
He grabbed my arm in his less than viselike grip and stopped me. His shallow brown eyes glittered at me, betraying the kind of frustration that can be dangerous. “Play it safe, Rafferty, and button your mouth.” His upper lip raised into a snarl so he could show me how tough he was. Somehow the tip of pink gum showing over the edges of his teeth spoiled the effect. I wanted to laugh but he's the kind who would plant something incriminating in your room. I started to move on. His grip tightened. “I mean it, Rafferty. Nothin’ would give me more satisfaction than to see you buttoned for a long time.”
“I believe you,” I said.
We walked. Rankin came from around the corner.
“Anything?” he asked Fonte as we approached. He got a naw and a pop for an answer.
“Well, the boys aren't having any luck but they're still checking. Come clean, Neal. Why is someone showing you their fancy trigger work?” I could tell Uncle Roddy was worried about me, but was playing it tough in front of Fonte. I felt my attitude soften toward him and I wished I could come clean for him. I knew that telling him I didn't know was the same as telling him Mrs. Parry had a jealous boyfriend.
“Maybe I know something I don't know that I know,” I said. His face was as blank as a cloudless sky. “What I mean is, maybe I know something that's important to someone else but I don't know yet that it's important.”
“I got you the first time.” He sighed. “It's your life, Neal. Seems to me you're not taking real good care of it.”
“I appreciate your concern, Lieutenant, but I honestly can't figure the gunplay. Or why my office was vandalized yesterday.”
He liked this new twist in the conversation. “Anything missing?”
“An unopened bottle of bourbon. It wasn't a search. A locked cabinet wasn't even broken into, just turned over and beaten with a club.” I didn't want him to get his hopes up. “Seems that somebody don't like you.”
“Yeah, that's what Mrs. Parry said, too.”
“What are you doing in this neighborhood, anyway?” Fonte cut in.
“I dropped by to see Mrs. Parry,” I said. “She's one in a million.” Fonte gave one disdainful laugh and stabbed at the concrete with a foot the way a horse does.
“You know, Lieutenant,” he said, “this guy's about as much on the level as the Rocky Mountains.” He was sure being talkative today.
A police sergeant came up to tell Uncle Roddy that no trace of the gunman had been found. I told him I'd be checking with him and made my way over to Royal Street.
The secretary at the realtor's office wasn't too glad to see me. Her boss was out and it was absolutely out of the question that I look at the records. Didn't I know that was confidential information on the record sheets? I told her emphatically that I knew it was and eased a ten out of my wallet while claiming that I would never ask such a thing of her if it wasn't a life and death matter. She considered it as she moved the bill along the desk and slid it under the blotter If it was really that important—I assured her it was—then she guessed it would be okay. She licked a finger and started flipping folders in a file cabinet. She extracted one and opened it up, licked her finger again and found the right piece of paper.
One glance told me that the information wasn't going to be worth ten bucks. There was her name, which I knew, the address of the apartment she wanted, which I knew, the previous address, André, which I knew, and for references, André and Garber. There were a few other odds and ends like the fact that there was a shelf missing from the built-in bookcase and the toilet seat was falling off. Not exactly what I had hoped for, but it gave me an idea I hoped I could credit myself with having had in the back of my mind all along: Maybe André had an inkling of where Lucy McDermott was.
21
* * *
Lucy
André's jungle retreat was a bit more cheerful in the daylight. As I walked up the concrete path I half expected bright-colored tropical birds to flutter into the sky at the sound of my approach. The outside of the house was in worse shape than I had realized. Dark green paint that had been used as a trimmer was flaking off everything it had been painted on. Where white paint hadn't completely peeled off the body of the house, it had become a dirty gray. The shutters on the front windows were intact, but all along the sides they were either hanging by a few threads or had fallen or been taken down and leaned against the outside walls. Whatever money André had left had gone on the inside of the place. Or he was deliberately using the outside as a front, so to speak. I wondered if it really mattered.
I finished my inspection and pushed the bell. He came to the door wearing the same benign smile, only this time it was complemented by a textured shirt and ascot rather than the purple smoking jacket.
“My dear Mr. Rafferty,” he nearly cooed at me, “how surprising that you should come back so soon after I practically had to toss you out for slighting my friend.” He spoke with an inappropriate theatrical intonation, as if he had a tongue in each cheek. His eyes twinkled merrily and his smile had fractionally broadened.
“You can cut it, André,” I said, trying to be tough but without being able to keep a touch of laughter from rippling my voice. “I had a nice long talk with your friend yesterday. I had to go all the way to New York to do it but he rewarded my ambition by coming clean. He even trusted me to return the Blake books for him. Surely that must make me a good guy.”
“Perhaps,” he said as if he didn't think it was possible, “but are you aware that I have had a visit from the police?” He posed the question like he was accusing me of some dastardly deed.
“The police do not take me into their confidence. Nor do I take them into mine. Which is why they came to see you about Lucy McDermott, not about the books. Am I right?” I felt like I was trying to sell myself for slightly more than he thought I was worth.
“Quite,” he said stiffly. “You know about Lucy McDermott?” he asked with genuine surprise.
“I've known about her from the beginning, but your daughter filled me in on her connection with you. The police visited you because they, like myself, are trying to find Lucy McDermott and she listed your address on a form she filled out with the realtor she rented her French Quarter apartment from. I'd like a rundown on her from you, since you knew her for twenty years.”
“I see,” he said from far away. “So you met my daughter.”
“Of course I met her. Wherever she goes, Carter Fleming follows. Right? Only she has a lot more natural sense than he does. It was on her prompting that he decided to quit being a fool and give up the books. She is also quite talented, André and very beautiful.”
It obviously pleased him that I thought so. “Well, then, I suppose I should invite you in now, since you have convinced me that you are indeed one of the good guys. “But,” he said with an enigmatic smile, “I caution you, Rafferty, do not tell me anything it is not necessary for me to know.”
I got the message. Subtle it was, but it came clear. He knew that Lise was not his daughter, but he was better off not being certain if she knew. She seemed to know it would hurt him if he was certain. It worked both ways: She didn't know if he knew she wasn't his daughter and she didn't want to know. It may sound like a word game but it was two people's understanding of their own and each other's capacities and limitations. It was silent knowledge that an unavoidable and perhaps irreconcilable breach would be caused if the territo
ry were ever touched. To each other they would always be father and daughter. My respect for both of them went up several notches.
André led me through the house to the very back room, one that had originally been an open or perhaps screened porch and had been enclosed in glass. It was a pleasant room accented in yellow, with a full back view of the twisted, dense foliage André called his gardens. André had been fixing himself a late lunch and invited me to share it with him. I gladly accepted. We settled ourselves in wicker rocking chairs on either side of a round wicker table. I glanced over at a white desk with a typewriter and several stacks of paper on it.
“My memoirs,” he explained, following my glance.
“Is Lucy McDermott a starring character in them?”
“Not quite. Though necessarily she does have a minor part. I'm afraid I never cared much for her. Consequently, anything I may have to say about her may be rather twisted. I suppose I always blamed her for my wife's not loving me.” He shifted his gaze away from the yard to my face. “That's not fair really, you know, but it's always easier to put the blame on someone else.”
“You sound well aware of your prejudices.”
“Yes, I suppose I am.” He turned back to the view. “She was to blame in a very real way. I made a mistake when I allowed the situation to get the best of me and failed to handle it appropriately. Instead, I allowed myself to sulk childishly and, of course, lost my young wife's respect. I was not seasoned; my marriage to Jeannette was my first although I was almost forty-five years old. She was a very young, immature twenty-five. A charming girl, intelligent, but highly emotional. And so glib. Quite a match for myself in that respect. She was a great beauty, Rafferty.” He screwed up his eyes as if he were trying to bring a hovering vision of Jeannette in closer. “Vivid, sultry brunette, but with those deep, wistful, honest eyes like a child's that touched my soul so deeply it pained me at times.”
He paused and then sighed as if he had lost her. “Perhaps she married me because I seemed so experienced, so worldly. She cared for me the way one is fond of a funny old uncle. I knew when we married that she did not love me, not the way I wanted her to love me, but I felt that in time she would grow to. I hoped that, no I expected that our congeniality and special regard for each other would turn her fondness into love. Yes, I expected that.” His usual light cynicism had crept over the line into bitterness. I could see no trace of amusement in his profile. His eyes seemed set in a spell and looked far beyond the backyard wall into another time.
Suddenly the spell broke and he turned amused, twinkling eyes in my direction. “You must think me a foolish old man who would bare his soul so openly to you, a stranger, and forget why you are here. I am setting the stage for Lucy McDermott's entrance.
“You must remember that I was indeed expecting my marriage to live up to the fantasy I had built around it. Perhaps it would have.” He shrugged. “But I was never to know, for during that first year a mutual friend introduced my wife to Lucy and they formed a friendship that was actually quite enviable. They were inseparable. And constantly up to some mischief or another. Like a couple of children. The house was always full of laughter This did not exclude me,” he added parenthetically. “In those days I was given a part of the fun. And then, let me see—how did it happen? Ah, yes, Lucy was to be married to a boy who lived some distance away or was away for a long time—I can't remember the exact circumstance. A short period of time, perhaps two months, before the wedding, she was jilted. She received a letter stating that he had found another love, he was sorry, etc. You know the story. Within minutes Lucy was here, distraught. My God, the hysterics.” He paused as if the mere thought had made him weary.
“Anyway,” he went on, “I must admit that over the previous few months I had grown to like Lucy, although I must likewise admit that I was a trifle jealous of the time Jeannette spent with her. But I wasn't that jealous, so when Jeannette sprang the suggestion that Lucy move in with us, it was only with slight hesitation that I backed the invitation. Need I say that this was the turning point?
“Lucy was always a handsome woman, never a beauty like my Jeannette, but striking. There was something subtle about her attractiveness that at times gave the illusion that she was quite beautiful. I can't exactly describe the phenomenon, but it had to do with—I know this will sound ridiculous—it had to do with her loss of vitality. Usually she was an exuberant, energetic person. When that energy became drained, like when she was tired or melancholy, then she would be beautiful.”
He made a gesture of impatience. “It does sound ridiculous and it doesn't really matter. What was important about Lucy was her extremely compelling personality, her ability to make anyone like her. She could draw you into her web of confidence. You were certain that you were the only one who knew her secrets, and such exciting secrets they were. That was another of her attributes; she was able to tell the most insignificant event and make it sound as if it had never happened in quite the same, bizarre way that it had happened to her. She could entertain for hours with such stories, always managing to slip in a reminder that these things happened to her because she was a very special kind of person.”
André paused to smile a small, embarrassed smile. “I'm not above admitting that this could well have been where the rub was with Lucy and me. As you know, I like to talk, too. It's hard to put a finger on the whys and wherefores even in retrospect. But after Lucy was well established in the household, things began to change between me and Jeannette, and within Jeannette, Lucy, and myself separately. The only thing that remained intact and stronger than ever was the women's friendship. Jeannette and I became ill at ease with each other. We even had a few words on a couple of occasions, something that had never happened before. Jeannette became more emotional, at times sullen, withdrawn, but only with me, never with Lucy, for Lucy only became gayer. Once she got over her unrequited love, and she got over it rather faster than I expected, she developed quite a passion for life. Her energy was excessive. Her taste in clothes became less conservative. She began to wear tight, low-cut blacks or bright, loud colors. Her makeup was applied, more and more heavily until it got garish. I daresay her taste in people changed as well, but this I wouldn't know positively because I became consistently less welcome on any outings until I finally became the fifth wheel. I even began to feel like an outsider in my own house. Naturally, I was resentful of such a state of affairs, but I couldn't decide how to handle it, and so I sat on the sidelines and watched Lucy teach my wife how to be the chic sophisticate, how to live; in short, how to like her drinks, and other things as well, tall and strong.
“I soon became disgusted with myself for my lack of decision and action, and I was on the verge of doing something that I sensed was rash, although it isn't clear, if it ever was, exactly what that something was. But before I was able to take this course, Jeannette got pregnant. Her pregnancy was hard on her and she was forced to halt her activities after the fourth month. Lucy, of course, continued to ‘party,’ but this is not to say the friendship lessened any, only it gave Jeannette and me some time in which to repair our relationship. We were happier in those months than we had been for nearly a year before. Unfortunately, Jeannette's health worsened and she became more and more prone to deep depressions. She died giving me our daughter Lise.”
André had sunk back in the chair and was rocking it slowly back and forth as if he were in a fitful nostalgia. I felt that any comment would be trespassing on his memories and I hoped that he would not come back and realize with a shock that I had been there. It occurred to me that I was trying to shrivel into my chair and not breathe in my effort not to distract him. Finally I cleared my throat to ask a question I was more than vaguely curious about.
“Why didn't you let Lucy go then?”
He answered so fast that I felt foolish at having been silent for so long. “There I was, a man only a couple of years shy of fifty. I couldn't very well take care of an infant alone. Lucy had seemed as distraught as I over
Jeannette's death, although I don't think she felt quite the same sense of loss. Anyway, I did need someone to take care of Lise and I didn't know anyone else. Lucy begged me for the charge. I asked myself if I could, in fairness, blame her for anything. After all, Jeannette had a mind of her own. And, too, wouldn't I only be admitting my childish jealousy over her friendship with Jeannette? I tossed it around for a while and in the end I decided to let her stay, provisionally, of course. It would have been petty to do otherwise. However, it turned out to be a good decision. She was very good with Lise. Lise seemed to love her, and Lucy stopped being such an obvious siren, although she was never short of boyfriends. But Miss McDermott was no fool.” He laughed with genuine amusement. “She wanted no part of any housework. She wanted to be my daughter's ersatz mother; she wanted to manage,” he slurred the words, “the household. Really,” he leaned sideways toward me confidentially, “I think she wanted to be the mistress of the household. But after I made it quite clear there was to be only one love in my life, my daughter, we stayed off each other's prospective ground and managed to live quite happily. Is she your chief suspect, too, Rafferty?"
I shrugged and envisioned Lucy as a siren once again. “Well, we do seem to be running out of characters in this case, but, no, I won't single her out for anything until I talk to her.” I asked him if he had any idea where Lucy would have gone or where she had come from.
“Lucy never, that I can remember, talked about her past,” he said. He furrowed his brow in thought. “I don't even remember her ever talking about relatives, if she had any. She may have told Lise something.” I almost stood up and kicked myself for not asking Lise about that. And, of course, now there was no way to contact her without a few days’ wait. I silently called myself the appropriate names. “I don't know if this will help,” André added, “but another one of her passions was for Florida. She continually made trips there during the twenty-odd years I knew her. She and my wife went together several times.”
