Because Lyle was Lyle, he automatically jumped to the conclusion that my request was sexual in nature; never mind the fact that we were in his place of business and my mother was three desks away. His eyes darted around momentarily, and then they lit up.
“Yeah, sure, if that's what you want. Come on over here.” He led me toward a room at the end of the loft, just beside the stairway. He chatted as he went, slathering on the phony compliments. “I can't get over how great you look with that blonde hair! It's like overnight you turned into Marilyn Monroe or Britney Spears or someone.” I thanked him, confident that I looked not remotely like either one.
Lyle opened the door of the room at the back. Upon entering, I saw that it was a modest break room, containing a table, a sink, a microwave, and a refrigerator. It was spotless. I knew that my mother had cleaned it, in that near-psychic way I sometimes have.
I moved toward the table, but Lyle winked at me. “No, come here.” He had gone to the corner of the room, which held a little coat rack, and moved the rack aside. “Not too many people know about this little door, but just because they ain't very observant,” he commented. Behind the coats was a small door, like the kind that led into attics. This one, I noted as Lyle climbed through, didn't lead to stairs but to another room beyond: a room that was ten degrees colder and smelled of stale smoke.
“Blanche knows about it,” I ventured, sitting down on a cardboard box. The room contained, in fact, nothing but cardboard boxes, probably full of the detritus of the previous administration.
“So what's up?” asked Lyle, sitting across from me on a box labeled “Files Only.”
“Well, I just wanted to get your side of the story. The mayor makes it look like it was your idea to take the company car, but I have a feeling you were just following orders.” My heart was racing with the lie—and with the sudden knowledge that I was far from the others with a man I barely knew.
Lyle's expression took on a suddenly dead look, as though he was protecting himself from unwelcome emotions. “What do you mean? I drive the cars all the time. It's one of the functions of my job.”
“What about last Wednesday, when you talked to Logan at the White Hen? Was the mayor with you?” I felt lightheaded as I jumped into this abyss with nothing but a hunch to ride on.
Lyle shrugged. “Sure he was with me. Sometimes we just drive around, so he can think. Or we go get a bite to eat. We just happened to see Logan, so we stopped to talk.”
My relief felt like hot water flowing through my veins. “And warn him?”
“You could call it that,” he said with a smirk. Lyle was pretty dumb, I realized, because he was focusing on impressing me with his intimidation instead of wondering why I was asking the questions. He wouldn't be good at chess.
“And then when you drove out to Saugatuck? Was the mayor with you then?”
“Why do you—hey, what's this all about?” he asked at last. “Is this about Lanford getting killed?”
“Did I mention that he was killed, Lyle?” I asked, clenching my hands.
“No, your mom did. She told me this morning,” he said. “Why are you saying I was in Sauganash, or whatever?” He folded his arms in front of him defensively.
Lyle shouldn't have pretended not to know how to say the name of the town. Even he wasn't that dumb. Even he knew that Sauganash was in Illinois, because the mayor had attended a fundraiser there once. Plus I'd said the name of the town twenty seconds before, as well as earlier that day.
“Listen, Lyle.” I leaned closer, confidentially. “I don't want the mayor to try to shaft you by implying that this intimidation of Logan Lanford was all you. The police know that Logan had something on the mayor, and they'll probably know more about it by the end of the day. Logan's dad has the information, and for all we know, they're interviewing him as we speak. If he implicates Don Paul, is Don Paul going to implicate you?”
I couldn't tell if Lyle had followed all of that, because his mouth was hanging open and his face was expressionless.
“Let me hear your version of the events, Lyle. Then I'll be able to tell your side when it all comes out.”
He shrugged. “I won't need protection. We've got nothing to hide. Lanford got fired because he dug around where he shouldn't have. When employees get into privileged files, they prove themselves untrustworthy.” He was quoting Don Paul, that was quite obvious.
I took another leap of faith. “Then why did the mayor imply that he was fired because of an interoffice affair?”
Lyle blushed. “Well, it wasn't nobody's business why he was really fired. So the mayor put kind of a spin on it.”
“Isn't that unprofessional?” I asked. Like a reporter lying to get facts? asked a voice in my head. “So what were these files that were so top secret? Couldn't Logan just have been warned and get his pay docked, rather than be fired? Was it—”
“Didn't the mayor answer these questions?” Lyle asked, suddenly nervous.
“Like I said, I just wanted to get your version. He didn't seem to portray you in the best light, and I wanted—”
I heard a rush of air behind us as the door opened. Lyle looked up and his face stiffened. “Hey, boss.”
Even phony Don Paul could barely pull off his act of the casually friendly employer. “Lyle, there you are. With Madeline. I see. Well, Madeline, I'm sure you have to be going, and Lyle and I have work to do, so…” I turned to see him gesturing toward the door. He was speaking much faster than he had been in his office.
“Oh, yes, of course. Well, Lyle, thanks so much for clarifying some things for me,” I said, trying to keep the fear out of my voice. I hadn't wanted to be caught in the act of backstabbing, but there you have it. I reached out to shake Lyle's hand, determined to tough it out. “I'm glad I have something to go on regarding your discussion with Logan on Wednesday night. At least we now know who was in the car and why Logan seemed so disturbed. Well, I'll see you around.” There. I'd brought things into the open and given Lyle a new reason to look confused. Don Paul's eyes shot daggers at me as I walked past him out of the hidey-hole and into the break room.
I met Blanche heading in. Her face fell as she saw three intruders in her retreat. “What in the world! You mean there's another room back there?” she asked shakily. Her body was in obvious cigarette withdrawal. It would have been laughable if there hadn't been so much negative energy in the air.
I practically skipped toward my mother's desk, so glad was I to be free of the confining back room and the clutches of my main suspects. “Ready for lunch?” I said in a high-pitched voice.
My mother looked tired. “Yes. Very ready. Where are we going? Is Pamela coming?” She beckoned to Pamela, who held up a finger to mean “Just a minute” while she talked on the phone.
“Looks that way. Let me get your coat, Mom. It's a little chilly. There you go. Here, give me your arm.” I was in hyperdrive, trying to get her moving. She, by contrast, seemed unusually slow in her actions.
“Madeline, let go of me. For goodness’ sake, it's inside out! Stop fumbling with the…what's wrong with you?” She looked over my shoulder and called, “Oh, Don, I wonder if you could look at—”
I heard the mayor's door slam. “Well, what's gotten into him today?” my mother asked. She was much quicker than Lyle. She turned to me. “What did you do, Madeline Rose Mann?”
I looked at my feet. After years of practice, I knew the role of the chastised child. “Nothing,” I muttered.
My mother wound her scarf around her neck with violent energy. “Let's go, young lady. We'll talk over lunch.”
Pamela joined us with a bright, energetic smile. Not a touch of her makeup was smudged by a half day's work. “Well, ladies, are we all ready for our noontime sustenance? This will be so fun!”
We walked two blocks away to a diner called Selby's. Pamela chattered in my ear about her rotten little dog, and my mother's fingers held my arm like talons. Despite the grilling that awaited me (and I didn't mean my hamburger), I k
new in my heart that I was right.
Mayor Paul and Lyle Sylvane had been harassing Logan Lanford, and they definitely had something to hide.
twelve
I didn't get a burger after all. I got a chicken salad sandwich and a Diet Coke. And with a bit of food fortifying me, I felt more able to take on my mother.
She watched me with narrowed eyes over her untouched Caesar salad and asked, “How is it that you come to our office for a visit and manage to upset my employer so much that he won't even acknowledge me?”
The pepper shaker in Pamela's hand became still; she had been sprinkling her veggie burger, but now she was all ears. “What did I miss?” she asked eagerly, her dark ponytail slipping over her shoulder as she leaned forward.
“You heard about Logan, right, Pamela?” I asked her, ignoring my mother.
Pamela looked sadly at her plate. “Yes. Your mom told us this morning. I was going to watch the news tonight just to see if they had any leads.…I mean who would—it's just—” She shook her head at the inexpressible truth.
“Well, I have a lead or two, as a matter of fact. And I simply wanted to ask the mayor about them.”
“Like what?” asked my mother, stabbing her first forkful of greens.
“You know that car you all drive? The Caddy with the blue sticker in the window? I saw it in Saugatuck this weekend. And I have reason to believe it was at Logan Lanford's cabin.”
Pamela gasped. My mother shrugged. “So what? That's not evidence.”
“I didn't call it evidence, Mom, but it sure is worth asking the mayor about. Just because he's your boss doesn't mean he's incapable of corruption.” I shoved some sandwich into my mouth and chewed vigorously.
“You think the mayor's responsible?” asked Pamela. “I can't imagine that he'd have motive, although…” She took the bun off of her sandwich again and peeked inside, for no apparent reason.
“Well, didn't they have a falling out when Logan was fired? Lyle implied to me that the whole story about Logan having an inter-office affair was a sham designed to distract all of you from what was really going on,” I said.
Pamela looked indignant. “And what was really going on? Really, I can't believe this.” She seemed genuinely upset. How sad when the zealots learn of their hero's perfidy.
“Now, Pamela,” said my mother, but her face was starting to show some concern, despite the fact that her source was merely her daughter.
“Well, I was hoping you could help me with that,” I said. “Did Logan tell either of you anything about why he was fired? Do you remember him making any comments?” I slurped some pop, not taking my eyes off the two women across the booth from me.
“He was such a sweet boy.” My kind-hearted mother wiped at her eyes. “Even when they let him go, he didn't act bitter. He was actually smiling when he came out of Don's office, which is why I couldn't believe it when he told me what had happened. I asked what he would do now, and he said he'd bounce back, or something like that.”
“He really was sweet,” Pamela agreed. “He knew all the little hobbies of everyone in the office and made conversation with people based on what their interests were. He was very good at that, knowing what made people tick. He even went to smoke and gossip with Blanche sometimes.” Pamela smiled at the memory; I found the notion amusing as well. Blanche sitting on a box, droning on to Logan about something he already knew and repeating it five different ways. And Logan, smoking out of companionship, listening attentively. Well, that last part was harder to picture, but overall the story put an image in my mind.
“When I think of his poor wife and children,” my mother began.
Pamela apparently didn't want the luncheon to become any more depressing. “So what did the mayor say when you mentioned the car?” she asked.
“He claimed no knowledge. And of course no one signed out the car this weekend. But it was used, and it was driven to Michigan. In fact, if they keep track of mileage…,” I said, suddenly alert to a new possibility. “Do they, Mom?”
“I think Lyle does. Of course, if you're accusing Lyle, he won't be much help to you, will he?” She munched her salad morosely, apparently holding me responsible for bringing her down during her free time. “Is that all you have on the mayor—his car?” she asked.
“I have more information, but I can't share it yet. I have a source in Logan's family who told me some things. Things Logan told them. But I have to look into those some more,” I said, purposely vague.
“You've looked into the brother angle, haven't you?” Pamela asked, picking at her bun.
“The brother angle?” I asked blankly.
“Well, you know about his brother, Linus, right?” she asked.
“Yeah. He has a brother and his name is Linus.” I saw Linus in my distant memory as the guy who pointedly ignored Logan and me if we hung out at Logan's house. He would listen to his Walkman and sit on the couch, flipping through music magazines. When forced to speak with us, he would use the tone of someone much older and wiser who could barely be bothered to descend to the level of high schoolers.
“Not just that, Madeline. They hated each other. Just hated each other!” Pamela's face took on a theatrical expression, as though she were about to tell the story in a children's theater. “Like Cain and Abel,” she alleged softly.
I stared at her, surprised at the analogy. Had she chosen it pointedly, I wondered, or did she forget the outcome of the disagreement between the biblical brothers? I'd never known her to be a particularly religious person.
“Well,” I said, “thanks for the tip. Although it's not like Linus could get his hands on the mayor's car—”
“Madeline, even if the city car was in Saugatuck, it doesn't mean whoever drove it killed Logan,” my mother said impatiently. “You're narrowing your field of investigation.”
She was right. I ate some more of my sandwich and nodded my agreement. I had to be careful not to put all of my eggs in the mayor's basket, corrupt as he and Lyle seemed to be.
“Okay,” I said finally. “I'll look into some other things. In the meantime, though, it would help a lot if you two would keep your eyes and ears open. Would you do that? Because at the very least, Logan knew about some sort of corruption in the mayor's office. Whether they had him killed or not, that corruption should be exposed. After all, the man is running for re-election soon. Would you do that for me?”
Pamela nodded enthusiastically—rather more happily, I thought, than the situation warranted. My mother seemed more reluctant, as though I'd asked her to wear a wire and attempt to seduce Don Paul. Finally she agreed, and then she changed the subject.
“Madeline, your brother says that he won't wear a costume at the festival on Saturday. I don't suppose you could persuade him—”
“No, Mom. Leave him alone about the costumes; he's not in third grade. He'll look fine. Fritz always manages to make an impression.”
“That's what I'm afraid of,” she said, pursing her lips with dissatisfaction.
Thoughts of the festival had brought me to a new line of thinking. “Hey, the mayor will be at the festival, right? And your office will be closed?”
The two women looked at me suspiciously.
“I'm not going to rob the office!” I yelled defensively. “I thought maybe I could just…look around.”
“Absolutely not!” roared my mother.
“I wouldn't do anything illegal, Mother. But the mayor obviously doesn't want me in there now. I thought I could—”
She stood up and tossed her share of the bill on the table. “My half-hour is up. Madeline, I will keep my eyes open. In the meantime, pursue other angles. Do not make Mayor Paul the victim of your witch hunt.” She stalked away, with a significant look at her watch and at Pamela.
“She's great, isn't she?” I asked.
Pamela didn't smile. “I'll let you in,” she said.
“What? You mean the office? On Saturday?”
“Yes,” she said. “But I have to be with y
ou. It's not that I don't trust you, but…” She shredded the last of her uneaten bun, looking apologetic.
“That's fine. That will be great. I really appreciate this. I'm surprised, but I appreciate it.”
“What time do you want to be there? The mayor will be appearing at the festival from twelve to three and then making a short speech.” Pamela's mind was a PR calendar.
“Fritz sings at two-thirty,” I said. “I don't want to miss that; why don't we say twelve?”
She gathered up her belongings and pushed away her plate, with half of her burger and all of her fries uneaten. “That's fine. I'll meet you in front. Nice drawing, Madeline. I didn't know you were into that stuff.”
“Huh?” I said. I had been sketching on my napkin absently while we talked. I had drawn a plant like the one I'd seen at the Paley cabin, the one next to the orange flower.
“The marijuana leaf. You do drugs?” asked Pamela, smiling.
“Of course not! I didn't even know—” I stopped, thinking. It was true, I didn't know what a marijuana leaf looked like. Maybe I'm the only one in America, but I hadn't known. Or I would have recognized that Quinn Paley was growing marijuana right outside his house. And maybe in other places in that big forested property of his. Hence Killer and Rambo.
“Sorry,” she said. “It's just a funny thing to sketch on a napkin. Like you were having a craving or something. Oh, don't look like that, I'm just kidding. I'll see you Saturday.”
“Thanks.” I waved to her as she walked away, and continued plodding through my sandwich. I had done a great deal of talking and not much eating.
I thought about what I might be able to accomplish at the mayor's office. Maybe nothing, maybe a great deal. I wished that I could “channel” Logan, as the psychics do, to let me know what I was looking for.
I remembered Pamela's words about Linus Lanford. Cain and Abel, indeed.
I looked back at the marijuana leaf on my napkin. There was suddenly too much to do and not enough time to do it. I needed to talk with Detective Perez, but first, maybe, I needed some evidence.
Madeline Mann Page 11