“I forgot there were houses like this,” Delaney said.
“Yep. He’s rich and we’re not.”
The Glanford mansion sat like a brick castle atop a huge, gently sloping lawn. Ed started counting the windows to guess the number of rooms but quickly gave up.
“I was inside once years ago for a Christmas party,” Marlee said. “The house is even bigger than it looks from here.”
The mansion was on a winding wooded road that, Delaney knew, was always well patrolled by the police. The other houses in the neighborhood were also large (though Delaney thought Glanford’s was the biggest), and their owners came from Bessemer’s old-money dynasties of steel, shipping, banking. The dynasties were aging (some would say decaying), but people in the houses still wielded influence and power—some more gracefully than others.
All of which made Delaney uncomfortable. Though he resisted it, he could not entirely shed the feeling that he didn’t belong at any party given by someone rich enough to own such a house. And that kind of diffidence was incompatible with the instincts of a good cop.
Okay, he had shoved his feelings aside before; he would do it again.
They walked up a white-gravel driveway that ended at the entrance to a three-car garage and a sign that said FOLLOW THE WALK TO THE RIGHT AND AROUND THE CORNER. The sign was unnecessary because music and barbecue smells were in the air.
“Oh, well. It doesn’t hurt to daydream once in a while,” Delaney said. He surprised himself, letting down his guard. There was something about Marlee …
“I’m sorry I wasn’t more help a while ago,” she said.
“Nothing to be sorry for.”
“I really did look hard at all the pictures from old parties. All I saw was a bunch of memories, some better than others.”
“I know. I know.”
“I promise to listen to the tapes again later. I just couldn’t handle it this morning.”
“On an empty stomach? I can’t blame you.”
“Well, did you find anything, anything at all, in the pictures and tapes?”
“No,” Delaney said. “But a lot of detective work is going over the same ground again. Sometimes something that was there all along all of a sudden becomes clear. Sometimes.”
Sometimes, Marlee thought.
They turned the last corner of the garage and came to a backyard half the size of a football field. It was flanked by tall evergreens, and at the far end was a white picket fence with a gate that, Marlee knew, led to a long set of steps going down to the beach. Above the picket fence was a clear, unobstructed view of Lake Erie, which glimmered in the late-morning sun.
Off to the left, near one row of evergreens, was a wooden stand where the white-coated musicians sat, playing tunes that had been popular in the forties and fifties. To the right, near the other row of evergreens, was a long orange tent.
Underneath, uniformed cooks tended grills and barbecue pits covered with sizzling wieners, sausage, and chicken. Beyond the large tent was another, only slightly smaller, with long tables covered with pitchers of tomato and orange juice and trays of limes, lemons, and cherries.
“Marlee! Welcome.” The publisher had seen her and Ed and was walking toward them, smiling graciously. He wore white flannel pants and a pale blue sport shirt and looked at once casual and elegant.
“I’m happy to be here, Mr. Glanford. I’d like you to meet a friend, Ed Delaney.”
“A pleasure, Mr. Delaney. Any friend of Marlee’s is a friend of ours. Welcome!”
“Thank you, sir. I’m glad to be here.”
“Well, then. Good. Make yourselves at home here. We certainly are fortunate with the weather, don’t you think?”
“Yes, sir,” Delaney said. “Not too hot.” Got to stop saying “sir,” Delaney told himself.
“Right. Good. You’re among the early arrivals, so chow down and have fun.”
“We will, Mr. Glanford. Thanks.”
Delaney put food on his plate, leaving enough space to put a cup of black coffee in one corner so he could carry a Bloody Mary. Marlee got a smaller serving. Then they walked around the yard, which was already more crowded than when they’d arrived.
“Hi, folks,” Marlee said to Will and Karen Shafer, who nodded and waved. Will was wearing dark glasses.
“Who’s that?” Delaney said.
“The executive editor and his wife. Will Shafer’s his name. Good guy.”
“He been at the Gazette a long time?”
“Oh, yes. Longer than I have. Why?”
“Just curious. Was he at that party for what’s his name way back then?”
“Grant Siebert’s party. Yes, Will was there.”
“You’re sure?”
“Sure I’m sure. Some things you remember like they were yesterday. Will and I were talking at the bar together before Grant arrived. Will was there, absolutely.”
“Mmmm.”
The band struck up an old-fashioned arrangement of “Happy Days Are Here Again.” Ed and Marlee were out near the end of the yard, looking toward the shimmering lake.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she said.
“Yeah. Do you remember anything else about that party? Anyone there who didn’t belong, who got unusually drunk or stoned and might have said or did something, something … I don’t know. Something.”
“Well, me.” Marlee laughed. “I was stoned near the end.”
“Other than you?”
“A lot of people were drunk and stoned. Ed, what about the license-plate check?”
“Inconclusive.” Delaney was shading the truth. A check had shown that Grant Siebert had indeed rented a car at Bessemer Airport with a plate number beginning RK. But several other people had rented cars with those two letters.
And even if the car seen by Marlee’s neighbor, Mrs. Wemple, was Grant Siebert’s—so what? The location of the motel where Siebert was staying might—might—have made it logical for him to drive near Marlee’s home.
And even if it was Siebert in the car, and even if he was hanging around Marlee’s house, that wasn’t illegal. There was nothing to arrest him on—nothing even to question him on.
Delaney and Marlee walked slowly back toward the house.
“What’s behind those big bushes?” Delaney said.
“Patio and swimming pool. In the summer, Mr. Glanford and his wife sleep in the downstairs bedroom, which opens up right onto the pool area.”
“Why the hell do they have a pool when they have their own private beach?”
Marlee laughed. “Because he’s Lyle Glanford, and he inherited the only newspaper in town, and he’s rich.”
“You say they sleep in the room by the pool in the summer. What about the winter?”
“Their upstairs bedroom has a fireplace.”
“Figures. Hey, who’s that?”
“That’s my reporter friend Jenifer Hurley. I’ll introduce you. Hi, Jenifer.”
“Hi, Marlee. Oh, hi.”
“I’m Ed Delaney.”
“Jenifer Hurley. Nice to meet you.”
Marlee could tell that Ed was struck by the loveliness of Jenifer, who had on light green shorts and a yellow sleeveless top. She knows yellow is a good color for her, Marlee thought.
“Marlee, what happened to make you rush out like that last night?” Jenifer said.
“God, you wouldn’t believe,” Marlee said.
As Marlee told Jenifer about the bogus call and how she had rushed from the club to the veterinarian, Delaney took alternating sips of coffee and Bloody Mary and studied the crowd.
Delaney recognized some of the faces just from watching Bessemer television news: Chamber of Commerce people, banking people, redevelopment people, hospital trustees. The categories overlapped.
Oh, for God’s sake: there was the mayor. Delaney felt an almost instinctive shiver of nervousness, for the mayor—any mayor—had the power to make life miserable for any cop. Delaney was glad he was wearing dark glasses. There was a good chance th
e mayor would stay only a little while and wouldn’t recognize him. Not that Delaney was doing anything wrong by being at the Glanford brunch; it was just that, since he had never been good at department politics, he preferred to attract as little attention as possible from politicians.
Dozens of people were swarming over the lawn now, with more arriving by the minute. What’s a party like this cost? Delaney wondered. Five thousand bucks? Ten?
Delaney counted several city councilmen, a few school board members, a captain in the Bessemer Coast Guard unit. Lyle Glanford, Sr., received them all graciously, with a broad smile if not a warm one. Also paying homage were the Episcopal bishop of Bessemer, a Catholic auxiliary bishop, a rabbi, a heart surgeon.
“What do you think?” Jenifer demanded of Delaney.
“Huh?”
“What do you think about what happened to Marlee last night?”
“We can’t rule out a sick joke,” Delaney said. “I mean, Marlee writes a feminist column, and there are a lot of male chauvinists left in Bessemer.”
“Bullshit,” Marlee said quietly.
“Amen,” Jenifer said.
“Okay,” Delaney said. “I agree. A joke is only a remote possibility. What I think is, somebody thinks you know something, Marlee. Or more accurately, thinks your old pictures and tape recordings are dangerous for some reason. Why is beyond me. So far.”
A thought had been forming in Marlee’s head; now it crystallized with chilling clarity. “The prowler. That was after my party.”
“Yeah,” Delaney said. “That occurred to me, too. Now this thing last night.”
“Then it must be someone right in Bessemer,” Marlee said.
“Not necessarily,” Jenifer said. “Bessemer’s got an airport and plenty of good roads in and out.”
“Over there,” Marlee whispered to Delaney. “Shaking hands with the publisher. That’s Grant Siebert.”
“Glad to be here, sir,” Grant said.
“Our pleasure, Graham. Darling, this is Graham Siebert. He used to work for the newspaper.”
“How do you do, Graham?”
“Fine, thanks. Lovely place here.”
“Do you have family here, Graham?”
“No, sir. My father’s in real estate and development and such. He mostly does business quite a bit east of here, over near Syracuse.”
The patrician bearing of Lyle Glanford, Sr., and the see-through stare of his wife made Grant so uncomfortable that he didn’t feel like correcting their pronunciation of his name. Besides, he was still angry at himself for having failed the night before.
“Say, Grant. How’re you feeling this morning?” Lyle Glanford, Jr., said. “Better than I am, I hope.”
“Not bad, all things considered.”
“Care for a little hair of the dog? Bloody Mary?”
“That sounds good.”
Delaney had deliberately separated himself from Marlee and Jenifer. He was sure they had things to say that they wouldn’t say in front of him, and he wanted to be far enough away from Marlee to study people looking at her. He walked a few feet away, pretending to look out toward the lake. But behind his dark glasses, his eyes were darting this way and that Grant Siebert seemed to be looking in the direction of Marlee and Jenifer. So did the editor—Will Shafer?—for that matter.
Delaney finished his food, got another Bloody Mary, tried to pick up snippets of conversation and arrange his thoughts at the same time. Somebody, something. What?
“… should have seen Harry on the fourteenth. He put three balls in the water. Brand new Titleists, they were. Plop, plop, plop …”
“… you and me, I counted three shots he took just getting out of the sand, so don’t tell me he had a six on that hole …”
“… Arkie Grisanti, that son of a bitch, winds up with a new set of Nicklaus clubs. I coulda cried when they announced it …”
“Ed, do you want to just kind of walk around the yard some more. I hope you’re not bored.”
“Huh? Oh, no. I’m not bored. Yeah, let’s walk around some more.”
As they meandered around the great lawn, Ed Delaney was startled to find that he was holding Marlee’s hand. He liked the feeling.
“Do you have any new thoughts?” she said.
“Yeah. I don’t mean to alarm you, but I don’t think you should be alone tonight.”
Marlee stopped abruptly and stared at him.
“Think about it, Marlee. The prowler. Last night. If it is the pictures or something about one of your farewell tapes, whoever wants them will probably assume you still have them. Right?”
“Yes. It does me no good even if you have them for safekeeping, does it? All right, I’ll pack a little bag and—”
“Why don’t I just stay at your place tonight? Don’t worry, I’m not making a come-on.”
“I didn’t think that. Besides, I’m a big girl. But what about your daughter?”
“She’s got a slumber party at a friend’s house. It’s settled, then.”
“Thanks, Ed. Do you think he, whoever, might …”
“Honestly? I don’t know. Probably what’s most likely to happen is … nothing. Then your paper’s birthday party dissolves and everybody goes home.”
“And we never find the answer.” Which is maybe how it’s supposed to be, Marlee thought.
They were out near the picket fence that lined the bluff overlooking the lake. Marlee thought she saw something on the horizon, and she took off her dark glasses to be sure. Yes, purple clouds way, way out there. It might be many hours, but more rain was coming.
“Listen, I wanted to apologize for yesterday.”
“Nothing to apologize for,” Grant said.
“You’re being kind,” Lyle Glanford, Jr. said. “I should remember I can’t handle the booze the way I used to.”
“Who the hell can?”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Lyle laughed. “Anyhow, I’m gonna find that banker fella and make amends. I think I was rude to him.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“Listen, I’m really glad we played golf,” Lyle said. “There’s so much crap connected with having the last name Glanford that it’s nice to be able to relate one-on-one without the bullshit. Know what I mean?”
“I think so.”
“Here, let me get you a refill.”
“I think I’ll switch to gin and tonic.”
“You got it. Coming up.”
Grant liked Lyle, especially in contrast to the pompous Lyle senior. “You seem a little less, uh, formal than your father,” Grant said.
Lyle junior guffawed. “My old man was born with spats on, for God’s sake.”
Grant laughed. “Is there any guy who doesn’t have trouble getting along with his old man somewhere along the line?”
“Nope. Listen, I get down to New York fairly often. My old man sends me on errands. You and I’ll get together. Yes?”
“Sounds good. Sure.”
“Are you having a good time?” Karen Shafer said.
“Sure,” Will said. “You?”
“Better than you, probably. You seem distracted.”
“Oh, I am a little.”
“Do you know why? And can you tell me?”
Yes and no. Will thought. “A letdown, maybe. I had a decent time last night, and I enjoyed the golf, all things considered. Something about golf always makes me … Hell, I don’t know.” There’s a limit to what I can share with my wife, Will thought.
Then he reminded himself that he had a session with the psychiatrist scheduled for the next morning, early. The time was a change from his usual slot. The doctor was getting ready to go on vacation.
The crowd on the great lawn was starting to thin.
“Had enough?” Marlee said.
“Yep,” Ed said. “I’ve had my fill of Bloody Marys, and I don’t want to start drinking beer.”
“Learn anything?”
“I don’t know. Here comes your friend.”
Jeni
fer Hurley drew the appreciative glances of the remaining men, including those in clerical garb, as she walked over to Marlee and Delaney.
“It was nice meeting you, Ed. We’ll talk tomorrow, Marlee.” Jenifer started to go, then turned and said, “Did you ever see such a concentration of power? I think anybody who’s anybody was here today. Or at least sent someone.”
Marlee and Ed stopped at his house. His daughter was at her friend’s home already, and Ed stayed inside just long enough to retrieve Marlee’s tapes, recorder, and pictures.
At her place, they watched television for a while and flipped through the Sunday paper. Marlee said no to listening to the tapes, said no to looking at the pictures again.
“They won’t tell me anything, Ed.”
Earlier than usual, she went to bed, feeling safe with a cop (not just any cop, she acknowledged to herself) in the house, looking forward to going back to work the next day. So much had happened: seeing Grant Siebert (she had, hardly talked to him at the publisher’s brunch) and wondering how he fit into her life, if he did; meeting the priest in the park; the dirty rotten trick about Nigel. Ah, Nigel. She would see him tomorrow.
Marlee slept.
Delaney quietly shifted the sofa around so that he could sleep with his head toward the back of the house. He didn’t expect any intruders during the night—not with his and Marlee’s cars out front—but he still placed his revolver on the floor where he could reach down and grasp it in an instant.
For a few minutes he studied the pictures Marlee had given him. No, nothing. They told him nothing. Of course not; he hadn’t been there. Marlee had: there she was, looking a lot younger. And kind of pretty—not prettier, pretty.
There was something there, in the pictures and tapes, something that should have been harmless. What?
Delaney listened one more time to the tape with the dead-priest jokes. He kept the volume low, and he impatiently fast-forwarded. To hell with it; he had heard enough for tonight. If there was something there, it wasn’t coming through.
He lay down, surprised at how tired he felt. He was glad he had gone to the publisher’s place with Marlee; Ed Delaney, cop and true harp,’ getting a glimpse of how the rich and famous lived. Had it done any good to go there? Probably not. No one had come up to Marlee and asked her anything to arouse suspicion. Ah, maybe that meant whoever it was was a local and recognized him as a cop. Could that be?
Night of the Ice Storm Page 29