by Jan Burke
“Irene, look, I’ve been thinking about it, and I can let you in on a few things under certain conditions. And, well, I’ve got an idea that might work out for both of us. If you’re willing to try it.”
“Go on, I’m listening.”
“You can help me in two ways. I figure the intended target of the bombing may have been O’Connor himself, or his son. Any other possibilities became a lot less likely this afternoon when those shots blasted through your window.
“I think you can help me learn more about O’Connor and his son. In exchange, I’ll tell you whatever I can, on the condition that you do not try to pursue this on your own — that you keep working with me and let the police deal with these people.” He paused. “I mean that, Irene. Whoever they are, they’re dangerous and they mean business. I don’t want your blood on my hands.”
“What are the ‘two ways’?” I asked.
“Promise me you won’t try to play Nancy Drew.”
“Frank, I’m the curious sort. Too many years of reporting to say I won’t snoop into things. But I promise to tell you whatever I learn, and that I won’t intentionally place myself in personal danger.”
He sat there thinking for a while, unconsciously reaching up and touching the scratch marks. “I might as well face it; even this morning I knew you’d start digging around on your own, no matter what I said. You’re about as hardheaded as they come. Maybe if you’ll work with me, we can keep that stubbornness from getting you killed.”
“I’ll be careful. Tell me how I can be of help.”
“I need for you to try to get your job back at the paper. You’ll have to eat humble pie, kiss Wrigley’s behind and tell him that O’Connor told you all about the mayor’s problems and every other story he was working on. Offer to take up where O’Connor left off.”
I nodded. I had been thinking about doing it anyway. It was the only way I could learn more than I already knew about the things O’Connor was working on. Working with Wrigley would be hell on earth, but if I knew him at all, he had already started to worry about what he was going to do with the mayor’s story. I was also pretty sure I could manage getting my job back without too much groveling. Wrigley had already made overtures, which until now I had turned down.
One of the workers made his way back to say they were finished, and I went inside to pay them. I thanked them and closed and bolted the front door after they left.
“Okay,” I said to Frank as I came out back again, “I’m with you as far as the paper goes.”
“Great. I’m afraid the next item involves telling you something that’s not going to make you happy.”
I waited. What could make this day any worse?
“Williams came by a little while ago,” he said. “He told me that Kenny had not checked into the Vista del Mar. He asked the lady across the street from you about the Corvette, she said she saw Kenny pull up and park; shortly after that a tall redhead that she’s seen over here before pulled up behind him; said she thought the woman was your sister.”
“Barbara?!”
“I couldn’t remember if your sister was a redhead from back when you used to talk to me about her. So you think it’s her?”
I nodded.
“Your neighbor said the woman acted like she was going to come to your front door but that the man stopped her, and then they got into her car and drove off.”
I was stunned. Kenny had gone middle-aged-crazy at forty, bought the Corvette and started hopping from bed to bed like crab lice. When Barbara was finally forced to confront him about it, he gave her the “It’s all your fault” baloney and worse. He said things to her that boys in a high school locker room would blush to hear.
“Jesus, Frank. I’ve heard of gluttons for punishment, but this is like volunteering for the Spanish Inquisition. How can my own sister have such low self-esteem? I’m calling her. I’m calling her right now.”
“Hold it, Irene. Barbara’s not a child. Your older sister, as I recall. She can see anybody she wants to.”
“It won’t work. God, he is such a user! She’ll mother him.”
He didn’t say anything.
“You’re right,” I said, calming down a little. “You’re right. I’ve got to stay out of it.”
“Well, actually, what I had in mind was a little different. I need you to be sympathetic to her. We’ve got to find out what, if anything, would make someone want to kill Kenny.”
“You’d better arrest me.”
“You know what I mean. From what I can tell at this point, all three of you may be targets. Kenny must be pretty sure he’s a target, or he wouldn’t have left his car here. He may not have wanted to leave it in an unfamiliar neighborhood, or maybe he was trying to draw attention to you, I don’t know. Anyway, I’m going to have it towed in, so you should have some satisfaction.”
I must admit it cheered me to imagine Kenny’s face when he found his most prized possession missing.
“Meanwhile,” Frank went on, “for obvious reasons, I don’t think you should stay here. At least not until we get a better handle on things. They probably won’t come around here again until they’re sure cops aren’t going to keep dropping by, but you need to watch your back. Anybody you can stay with?”
I thought about it. It wasn’t a problem of being willing to leave — I wasn’t really feeling comfortable in the house, and even the nuisance of living away from it for a few days didn’t seem like much compared to being on edge in my own home. Barbara’s house was out of the question. There was a limit to what I could stand in the way of watching her sacrifice herself to Kenny.
“Let me try Lydia Ames. We’ve been friends since grade school.”
I called Lydia, and angel that she is, when I explained what had happened, she urged me to bring Cody along.
I lured Cody out of hiding with a piece of chicken, then felt very mean as I stuffed him into the cat carrier. He yowled his protests while I packed a few things. Frank went around latching my remaining windows. I gave Lydia’s number to Frank, and he gave me his work and home numbers.
“I’ll follow you over there,” he said. “I just want to make sure you’re not tailed.”
I didn’t object. I stuffed the cat carrier and my other belongings into the front seat of my Karmann Ghia.
“I can’t believe you still have this car,” Frank said.
I smiled at that and climbed into my faded-blue, ’71 ragtop. The odometer had flipped more times than a circus acrobat, and the defroster didn’t work right, but the old car was still reliable transportation.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER we were on the other side of town, in front of Lydia’s place. Frank got out of his car and helped me carry Cody up to the door. I looked at his tired face and realized that he probably still had to go in and write up reports tonight.
I took his hand. “Thanks, Frank. Thanks for — well, thanks for lots of things.”
“Goodnight, Irene. I’ve been thinking about getting back in touch with you again, just sorry it had to be under these circumstances.”
We shook hands awkwardly, then he walked back to his car. He stood waiting for me to get safely inside. I rang the bell, then waved good-bye to him as Lydia let me in.
5
LYDIA WAS SOLICITOUS in the extreme. I was all for it at that point. After letting Cody out of his carrier to slink around exploring his new environs, she asked me if I was hungry. It dawned on me that I hadn’t eaten all day, and that I was quite hungry indeed. She sat me down at her kitchen counter and mixed a nice stiff Myers’s and OJ for me, then set about warming up some homemade lasagna, making garlic bread and tossing a salad. I offered to help.
“Oh, no, you just relax, kiddo. You’ve had a terrible day. You leave everything to me.”
The room was soon redolent with the aroma of honest-to-God Italian cooking. She still went by her ex-husband’s last name, but Lydia’s maiden name had been Pastorini. Mr. Ames had not left her because of her cooking.
I downed the d
rink a little faster than was probably advisable, and soon was feeling a slight buzz, my empty stomach transporting the good news straight to my brain.
Lydia paused in her salad-making dervish and looked up at me. “You know, Irene, this is the first time in a long time that you’ve let me do anything for you. I mean, I’ve done things for you, but you never turn to me when you need somebody. It makes me feel good that you called.”
I thought about this. It was probably true. O’Connor had long been my refuge.
“Well, Lydia, then I just didn’t know what I was missing. You’re the first friend who came to mind.”
She seemed immensely pleased by this. She cheerfully put a place setting before me and served the salad. It was a great mixture of vegetables — cucumbers, carrots, radishes, sprouts, romaine lettuce, tomatoes, green peppers and more. Once again I was reminded that Lydia never did anything halfway. She poured a couple of glasses of a wonderful dry red wine and then pulled up a chair next to me and sat down.
“Glad to see you settle for a minute.”
She laughed. “Oh, I’m turning into my mother. You hardly get Cody out of his cat carrier and I’m telling you, ‘Mangia!’”
“No complaints here.”
We clinked wineglasses in an unspoken toast to one another and drank a few sips in silence.
A few minutes later I was eating as if I still thought I’d grow taller. I paused just long enough between mouthfuls to ask Lydia how her own day had been.
“Well, I didn’t think it was so great until I talked to you about yours.” She stopped smiling for a moment, and I knew she was thinking about O’Connor. “Of course, you know how it began.”
I nodded.
“That creep Wrigley had no sympathy for anyone. We were all upset. His only concern was getting it into the headlines. Then he began to moan and groan about what was going to happen to ‘his story’ — can you believe it? He was running around yelling, ‘What about my mayor’s race story?’ I loved old man Wrigley, but some days I wish to God that some outsider had bought the paper when he died. His son is such a loser.”
“So Wrigley’s worried about O’Connor’s stories?”
“Yeah. He’s going nuts about it.”
“Great!” I said. “Look, Lydia — I’ve got another favor to ask of you. I need you to drop a lot of hints to Wrigley about how I knew all about what O’Connor was working on. Then tell him I’m thinking about going to work for the Sacramento Bee. It’s all bullshit, but he won’t figure that out. If he gets nosy, I’ve got a friend at the Bee who’ll make it sound good. Anyway, don’t let him know I’m staying at your place, just tell him you might be seeing me tomorrow night. Make it sound like I’m dying to get back to reporting, but that I didn’t think I’d be welcomed at the Express, after our little, er, misunderstanding.”
At this Lydia hooted. “Misunderstanding!” She refilled our glasses, then asked, “You’re not seriously thinking of coming back to the Express, are you? I’d love it, but I figured you’d never come back. Not after the way he treated you.”
“Lydia, for a good enough reason, I’ll chew a little crow now and again.”
She studied me. “This is about O’Connor, isn’t it? You’re going to look through his papers and try to figure out who killed him.”
“Guilty,” I said. “But nobody can know.”
“It seems to me somebody already knows, Irene. That somebody who blasted out your window this afternoon.”
“Maybe. But my only chance of not living with the sensation that somebody is following me everywhere I go, or to be ducking under a table every time a car slows down in front of my house, is to find these people and figure out what, if anything, O’Connor had on them.”
We drank in silence for a while.
“You’re right,” she sighed. “But it still scares me.”
“It scares me, too. Are you really okay with my staying here? I mean, I’m obviously some sort of target.”
“Get real. As I said, I’m glad you turned to me, Besides, no one knows you’re here, and no one is going to learn it from me.”
Cody had relaxed and was walking around in the kitchen sniffing in the air. Lydia gave him a little lasagna and he devoured it in nothing flat. I helped her clean up, over protests, and then went back to her guest room to unpack my bag. In the meantime she had actually drawn a hot bubble bath for me.
“Lydia, I can’t stay here if you’re going to play Jeeves the whole time.”
“Don’t expect this treatment every day. But I think you’ll find this will help you sleep better.”
It was too tempting to pass up, so I wished her goodnight. I undressed and studied myself in the mirror before stepping into the tub. Not bad, I decided, and then felt embarrassed at my lack of modesty. The bath was great. Lydia had even put some magazines next to the tub. I picked up a Cosmo for the first time since Lydia and I had bought them in college to take the sex quizzes.
Eventually, fully pruned and getting cold, I made myself get out of the tub. I dried off, put on my pajamas, and crawled under the clean sheets. Lydia used a better fabric softener than I did. Cody climbed up next to me, and fell asleep purring. I felt good, like maybe things would come together from here.
ALL NIGHT I DREAMED of breaking glass and O’Connor picking up packages.
6
I WOKE UP STARTLED by my surroundings, then remembered where I was and why. I was tired even after eight hours of sleep. The morning sun was shining in through the bedroom window, and I heard the sound of Lydia’s car starting up and pulling out of the drive. I had that weird feeling I get sometimes when I sleep at other people’s houses: The bed was oriented differently from my own at home, so I had the sensation of having slept with my head at the foot of the bed.
Cody stretched and yawned and I followed suit, and we both got out of bed. I wasn’t exactly shocked that Lydia had breakfast all laid out for me — cereal, fresh fruit, and a note saying to make myself at home and that she’d see me after work. An envelope marked “spare key” was under the note.
I ate and then called my office.
“Good morning, Malloy and Marlowe,” came the sugar-coated greeting.
“Can you say that three times fast, Clarissa?”
“Oh — hello, Irene. Where are you? Kevin said if you called in, to tell you that you could have a few days off if you’d like.”
“What?”
“Kevin told me about what happened to your friend — he showed me the article in the paper. Kevin said that he had really loved the guy who got killed and that you were almost like the guy’s daughter or something, so he didn’t expect you in for a few days. I’m really sorry it happened, Irene.”
All morning I had wondered what I’d tell Kevin, who seldom takes no for an answer; but I had failed to keep in mind just how much Kevin and O’Connor had meant to each other. The two of them had been friends for many years.
Clarissa was babbling on. “Hey — somebody called for you. A man. Asked if you were in this morning, but wouldn’t leave a name. Said he’d call back later to see if you had come in.”
The hairs on my neck stood on end.
“Did you recognize the voice?”
“Nope, not one of our regular clients, that much I know. You got a new boyfriend or something?”
“Huh? Oh, no. No, I don’t know who it could have been. Look, Clarissa, if he calls back and won’t leave his name, don’t tell him I called, okay? Just tell him you don’t know when I’ll be in, all right?”
That was fine with Clarissa, who was quite used to telling callers something other than the truth when they asked about the whereabouts of Malloy & Marlowe employees.
I dreaded the next call. I knew I’d have to talk to my sister, but I was worried about flying off the handle with her, betraying my knowledge of Kenny’s being at her house yesterday before she was ready to tell me herself. I took a lot of deep breaths, took long strides around the den while swinging my arms up over my head to
throw off some of the tension.
Cody, perched on the back of Lydia’s couch, looked at me as if I were a lunatic.
I made the call.
“Hello?” she answered.
“Hello, Barbara. It’s Irene.”
“Oh, Irene. Do you know where Kenny’s car is?”
“Your father-in-law, my best friend, is dead — no, make that murdered — and the first thing you ask me about is Kenny’s fucking car?!?”
There was silence on the other end of the line. I’d blown it already.
“Barbara, I’m sorry. I’m a mess. A real mess.” Deep breath.
Still no response. I waited.
“No need to be foul-mouthed, Irene. Mama would be so ashamed to hear you talk like that.”
“I’m sorry.” Damn that bitch for trying to invoke our dead mother to stop me from swearing. Frank was asking too much. But I couldn’t think of anyone else besides Kenny who could tell me what might be behind all of this. And Barbara was the only way I could find Kenny.
“Kenny’s car was towed by the police after my window was shot out,” I said. “We don’t know if they shot my window out because of the car or not, but since Kenny hadn’t been truth — since Kenny wasn’t where the police thought he’d be, they thought it’d be better to keep the car out from in front of other people’s houses; the last two houses it was parked in front of didn’t fare too well.”
“So that’s what happened to your window?”
“That’s what happened to my window. And my armchair. And nearly to me and someone who happened to be in my living room.”
“Not Granddad’s armchair?”
“The very one,” I said, clenching my teeth at her priorities. “Barbara, if you know where Kenny is, you’d better call the police and ask for Detective Frank Harriman in Homicide. I’m not kidding around about this.”
Silence.
I decided to try another approach.
“Barbara, Kenny’s life is in danger. And, for that matter, until he talks to the police, so is mine.” I refrained from mentioning how much of our grandparents’ furniture might also be at risk.