“Have a seat,” she said. “Shane’s in the basement with Detective Xavier, but I imagine he’ll be up shortly.”
“Everything in its time.” He took a glass from her open shelf, sat down, and poured himself some milk.
“Help yourself to the cakes and ham, too,” Agnes said, and put some speed on whisking the wet ingredients for the second batch of cakes as she spoke into the phone again. “Lisa Livia?”
“Who’s this Mr. Carpenter? Did he steal your dog last night, too?”
“You really have to come out here for the unabridged version,” Agnes said. “The big news is you have-”
“How’s my little Agnes!” Joey said, breezing in from the front hall.
“Joey!” Agnes cast a cautious glance at the rest of the crowd. “Xavier’s down in the basement!” And he thinks you did something horrible twenty-five years ago. What the hell’s going on?
“Where’s Shane?”
“He be in the basement with Detective Xavier,” Doyle said, sitting back with a cup of coffee, surveying the crowd with amusement now. “It be like a museum down there. Our Agnes should open it for the public. Get one of them fancy velvet ropes, put me in a uniform, let me decide who goes in and out.” He gestured to the door. “Step right this way, ladies and gents! See the historic basement!”
Joey faltered for a moment, and Agnes couldn’t tell if it was Doyle’s basement humor or the sight of Carpenter and Garth eating pancakes and ham, but then he kept on going toward the basement door.
“Pancakes?” Agnes said, trying to delay him as she mixed the wet ingredients into the dry with a lot less care than with the first batch. Speed, that was the ticket.
“Later,” Joey said, and slid a huge package wrapped in butcher paper across the counter to her. “Ribs.”
“Thank you,” Agnes said, hoping there were enough for everybody, since the thought of Carpenter and Garth in a smackdown over a rack of country ribs was not a pretty one. Carpenter had the edge over Garth on size and training, but Garth had youth and Thibault viciousness on his side. She shook her head and went back to the phone, turning her back on the rest of them. “Lisa Livia?”
“What’s going on over there?”
Agnes dropped her voice. “Breakfast. Now here’s the news: Your mama’s married. Taylor’s your stepfather.”
“What?”
“I’ll see you real soon,” Agnes said, and hung up to finish the next batch of pancakes, cut more ham, start the marinade for the ribs, and then begin today’s To Do List before moving on to write her damn column.
“You be real careful down there in that museum, Joey,” Doyle called, and Joey gave him a funny look before he climbed down the ladder.
“Excellent pancakes,” Carpenter said. “The ham is particularly fine.”
“Is there more?” Garth said, holding out the empty platter, and Agnes took it back and filled it again while she thought about just what the hell was in Joey’s museum in the basement and when she should start the next batch of pancakes.
“Joey the Gent,” Xavier said when Joey reached the basement floor. “Just the man I want to talk to.”
The last half hour in the basement, Shane had kept his mouth shut as he watched Xavier use more equipment from his tackle box. Sophisticated the old detective wasn’t, but efficient he was. Shane had a feeling Xavier and Carpenter would get along quite well. Old school and new school, same brain.
Xavier pointed to an aged stool between the bar and Venus. “Have a seat, old friend. I found something quite interesting here in Frankie Fortunato’s rec room.”
“One of Frankie’s fine wines?” Joey asked, glancing at the wine rack, but he went to the stool and sat down.
“Not wine,” Xavier said. “I found blood.”
“Yeah, that bum kid-” Joey began, but Xavier cut him off.
“Not from the Thibault kid. That you can clearly see. This was old blood that someone had tried to clean up. Only showed up with the luminol and the infrared light. It’s a blood trail. Leading from there, where the bottom of the stairs had been, around this bar, right up to that wine rack and ending at that wall behind the rack. Blood from a long time ago.”
Joey’s eyes had that dead look, and he was staring at the detective. Shane had a feeling he was witnessing two old warriors picking up their swords once more.
“I’m willing to bet,” Xavier said, “that blood is twenty-five years old. I’m willing to bet that it’s Frankie Fortunato’s blood type. And I’m willing to bet that when we knock down that wall right behind you, we find Frankie’s body.”
“How much you got to bet?” Joey asked. “You want me to put some action on this? Give you some kind of odds? You know Keyes, Xavier. Lots of secrets, lots of strange things going on all the time. Lots of skeletons in closets. Sure you want to go poking around?”
As denials went, Shane thought, it was pretty bad.
“In your closet, Joey? Sure.”
“This ain’t my house or my closet. How long is it going to take you to get that blood test done? I know about your little tackle box, Simon. CSI: Las Vegas you ain’t.”
“The blood test won’t take long at all, and I’m good enough at what I do to get a warrant to find out what’s behind that wall.”
Joey snorted. “You think so? Agnes’s got a wedding to put on here.
And Jefferson and Evie Keyes aren’t going to like you fucking around with their only son’s wedding. Maybe Jefferson calls the sheriff and they put the brakes on your little one-man show. You’re right, you’re gonna need a warrant to get behind that wall. Which means you’re gonna need the judge to sign off on it. You know, the judge who golfs with Jefferson every week. Whose wife is best friends with Evie.”
“And how are the Keyes going to know about this?” Xavier asked.
Joey gave his shark smile. “It’s a small town, Simon.”
Xavier shook his head. “I’ll find out what’s behind that wall. One way or another.” He climbed up the ladder.
“Now I want some answers,” Shane said.
“Everybody wants answers. I want breakfast,” Joey said, and went up the ladder right behind Xavier.
Like that’s gonna work, Shane thought, and followed him up.
When Agnes put the third platter of pancakes and the second plate of ham on the table, the atmosphere lightened considerably. There was something about being full enough to relax yet still hungry enough to enjoy food with plenty of it still on the table, that just mellowed the hell out of people.
And there were a lot of people at her table, she thought happily.
“So, Garth,” Carpenter said genially.
“Is here to paint the house with Doyle,” Agnes said brightly. Carpenter smiled at her gently. “I was here last night, Agnes.”
“Right,” Agnes said.
“Who sent you, Garth?” Carpenter said. His voice was soft, but there was no denying it.
“My grandpa. He found that newspaper picture on his window-shield, you know, the one with the dog in it? And he wanted me to get the necklace it had on it in the picture, except the dog don’t have no necklace on it.”
Carpenter looked at Agnes, and she said, “I have no idea where the necklace went.”
Doyle put up a hand. “That was my foolish doing. I found that piece of junk when I was clearing up around here, and I put it on Rhett as a joke.”
“A joke,” Carpenter said. “And where is this joke necklace now?”
“I pawned it,” Doyle said. “I asked Agnes if she wanted it, and she told me I could have anything I found cleaning up, so I took it to Atlanta and pawned it. Sorry.”
“You pawned it?” Agnes said. “I thought it was junk.”
“It was,” Doyle said. “I got five dollars for it. You want the five dollars? If I overstepped, I’m real sorry, lass.”
He didn’t look sorry, and when Agnes thought about it, she couldn’t exactly remember telling him he could have anything he found, either. He probably co
uld-she wasn’t interested in most of the stuff he turned up-she just couldn’t remember telling him that.
Which was just like the old reprobate.
“No, I don’t want the five bucks,” she said. “I don’t care about the necklace.”
“Why Atlanta?” Carpenter said. “Savannah’s closer.”
“I was in Atlanta,” Doyle said. “Now, would you be suspecting me of something, Mr. Carpenter?”
“I have an unfortunately suspicious soul, Mr. Doyle,” Carpenter said. “I would also like to know who arranged for Mr. Four Wheels to find the newspaper picture in his car.”
“Don’t know that,” Garth said, and shoveled in more food.
“And what is it that you do for a living, Mr. Carpenter?” Doyle asked.
“I am, among other things, a man of the cloth, Mr. Doyle,” Carpenter said, and Agnes almost dropped her spatula.
“And what denomination would that cloth be of?” Doyle asked.
“I am a Spiritual Humanist,” Carpenter said. “We believe in helping others improve their conditions. In living, for example, Mr. Doyle, a life free of deceit.”
“So, how about those pancakes?” Agnes said. “I’ve still got Shane and Xavier to feed and then there’s Lisa Livia coming over, and you wouldn’t believe how she can put them away, so I’m thinking at least another batch. And then there are ribs for lunch. Are you staying for lunch, Mr. Carpenter?”
Carpenter kept his eyes on Doyle. “Why, thank you, Miss Agnes, I would be delighted to stay for lunch.”
“Well, then I’ll get these ribs marinating and perhaps you can man the grill-”
The phone rang and Agnes answered it.
“Miss Crandall?” Reverend Miller said, pitching his voice deep for effect as usual, thereby sounding, as Lisa Livia had once said, like God making an obscene phone call.
“Good morning, Reverend Miller,” Agnes said, wondering what excuse the minister had come up with this time for barring Maria from wedded bliss with a Keyes under his watch.
“I was just wondering if Miss Fortunato is what you’d call a regular churchgoer?” Reverend Miller asked.
“Hell, yes,” Agnes said, having no idea. “Every Sunday. She wouldn’t miss. I’d love to chat about that, but I’ve got a kitchen full of people to feed, so if that was all you wanted…”
“You’re sure about that,” Reverend Miller said. “Because I feel strongly-”
“I do, too,” Agnes said. “You have a good day.” Then she hung up. Xavier came out of the basement, followed by Joey and then Shane. Xavier looked at Carpenter and said, “Who is this?”
“My business partner,” Shane said as he cleared the doorway. “And what business is that?” Xavier said. “Housework,” Carpenter said.
Shane introduced Joey to Carpenter, and Agnes grabbed Garth’s sleeve and pulled him close.
“When breakfast is done,” she whispered, “I’ll distract them and you get out of here. I’ll tell them I told you to go. It’ll be all right.”
Garth’s pale bony face looked stricken, his freckles standing out against the white. “But what about the ribs?”
“What?” Agnes said.
“And the paintin’?” Garth said. “I gotta help Mr. Doyle paint the house, right? And then have ribs. And this house needs a lotta work. You need help.” He was nodding at her, serious.
Agnes put her hand on her forehead. “Uh, Garth-”
“I’ll work for room and board.”
“Garth-”
“Don’t send me back to the swamp, Miss Agnes,” Garth said, his voice pathetic. “I hate it there. I’ll sleep in the basement, honest.”
“You can’t sleep in the basement,” Agnes said, appalled. “You got a barn or somethin’?” Garth said.
“Well, yeah,” Agnes said. “Taylor turned it into a catering hall. It even has a loft apartment with a bathroom. But-”
“It’s got a bathroom?” Garth said.
“Oh, hell,” Agnes said, and then her baser self took over and reminded her that she really did the need the house painted and God knew what else was going to turn up before the weekend. And with a Thibault on the premises, maybe the rest of the clan wouldn’t show up to shoot her. And he liked her cooking.
Well, he probably liked anybody’s cooking, but it was a real pleasure to see that boy eat.
“Yeah, sure, you can stay a couple of days,” she said, knowing she was going to hell for exploiting the bathroom-less and then thought about the rest of her day.
To Do List, she thought. Feed cast of thousands, several of whom are killers and one of whom is an underage dognapper now living illegally in my barn. Plan flamingo wedding. Remember not to screw hitman’s brains out again even though he’s really hot. Find nice normal guy without gun permit.
The back door opened and Lisa Livia came in, looking gorgeous in pink capris and a black T-shirt that said expensive in rhinestones. “So,” she said to Agnes, seemingly oblivious to the fact that conversation had just stopped and six pairs of male eyes were now riveted to her rhinestones. “What’s the plan?”
Take revenge on the sleazy bitch who’s trying to swindle me out of my dream house.
It was going to be a very busy day.
Shane escorted Xavier outside without giving Agnes a chance to invite him to breakfast, and made sure the detective actually got in the boat and cast off, puttering away down the Blood River, before he returned to the kitchen, where he found his uncle at the table with the rest of the people Agnes had collected. He thought about dragging Joey out onto the porch, and then decided to sit back and watch. He learned a lot by watching.
There was Lisa Livia, looking damn good, and there was Carpenter, surveying the kitchen population as if they were part of the mission, and Doyle, looking at Three Wheels without much enthusiasm and at Lisa Livia with a wistfulness that was almost sad, remembering lost days maybe. Three Wheels, eating ham and pancakes at the speed of light and watching Agnes with no intent to kill, although, some other kind of intent maybe-try anything and die, kid-and Rhett, asleep under the table once again, like a particularly lumpy brown rug. And Joey…
Joey met his eyes and then looked back down at his cakes and ham.
Agnes put a plate full of pancakes and ham in front of Shane. “Eat.” She poured coffee and put that in front of him, too.
He began to eat, only half-distracted by Agnes’s food this time- the ham crisp and sweet, the cakes thick and light, studded with pecans, the syrup falling in ropes to mix with the melting butter-but getting in the way was Joey, who was up to something that was probably going to get them all jailed or worse.
Doyle looked from Shane to Joey and back again and then said, “Garth, my boy, it is time we began our work day,” and removed a reluctant Three Wheels from the warmth of Agnes’s stove, Three Wheels slapping a slice of ham between two pancakes as he went. Agnes and Lisa Livia took their coffee out onto the porch, and Carpenter sat back, relieved from the distraction of the rhinestones, and watched Joey and Shane finish off their breakfasts.
Joey evaded Shane’s eyes in the ensuing silence until he couldn’t stand it anymore. “There’s really an old blood trail down there?”
“What the fuck?” Shane exploded. “You think I’d just stand there and let him bullshit you if there wasn’t? I was down there for half an hour watching him sniff around. I’m surprised he didn’t take an ax to that wall, but he’s a smart cop. He’s playing this straight and legal. You telling me you don’t know anything about that blood trail or what’s behind that wall?”
“Oh, come on, Shane,” Joey pleaded.
“Don’t fuck with me, Joey. You been lying to me since you called me. Is Frankie Fortunato behind that wall?”
Carpenter raised his eyebrows and sipped his coffee.
“Damned if I know,” Joey said. “I told you what happened that night.”
Shane glared at his uncle. “Is someone else behind that wall, then? You guys whack someone way back when and put
the body there?”
“You think we were that stupid?” Joey asked. “Put a body where somebody’s gonna find it someday?”
That Shane believed. “All right.” He pointed a finger at Joey. “You swear to me right now, on your beloved Angelina’s soul, that you don’t know what happened to Frankie Fortunato.”
Joey closed his eyes for a moment, and then nodded. “I swear on my dear wife’s soul. I don’t know what happened to Frankie Fortunato after I left him alive and well with that safe that night.”
Shane sighed. There was still a seed of doubt in the back of his mind, and he tried to take apart the way Joey had phrased it to see if his uncle had built in wiggle room with the oath. “Okay, you didn’t put anybody behind the wall.”
“Well, thank you for that,” Joey said, all injured dignity.
Shane fixed him with a stare. “What is behind that wall?”
Joey sat very still.
Carpenter grinned behind his coffee cup.
Joey shifted in his chair, clearly thinking Oh, fuck. He sighed deeply. “Frankie’s bomb shelter.”
Shane straightened. “What?”
“Frankie’s fucking bomb shelter. But you can forget about getting in, ‘cause Frankie had the only key.”
Shane pushed his plate away and tried to will some patience. “What ‘fucking bomb shelter,’ Joey?”
“Frankie put a damn fallout shelter in the backyard.” Joey jerked his thumb toward the river. “Had it brought over on a barge and lifted by crane at high tide at night into the yard; then he covered it up and built the gazebo on top. Even if Xavier knocked the wall down, he ain’t gonna find a body. He’s gonna find a fifty-foot tunnel ‘cause Frankie used a tunnel to go from the rec room to the shelter. Only people who knew about it were Brenda and me and Four Wheels.”
“A bomb shelter?” Shane was still trying to wrap his mind around this development.
“Government surplus,” Joey said. “Survive-a-nuclear-blast type of thing. Foot-thick, steel-reinforced concrete walls. Fucking indestructible. Loaded with food and all sorts of survival stuff. Frankie was a little bit paranoid.”
“You think?” Shane leaned forward in the chair. “And Frankie had the only key to the shelter?”
Agnes and the Hitman Page 14
