by Joan Hess
“I don’t suppose you want to take this to the PD, do you? Tell Peter that you had a brainstorm and-”
“Do I look like the village idiot?”
She dropped me off at my duplex and drove away before I could come up with a persuasive argument. I went upstairs and reread the document. Charles Stewart Cobbinwood and Michelle Antoinette Galway were legally wed at the time of the adoption. I had no idea how long their marital bliss had lasted. Maybe Charles Cobbinwood’s death had refueled her fury at Salvador, who’d effectively prevented her from finishing her college degree.
Especially if she were a dance major. If there were roles for pregnant ballerinas, I was not aware of them. The dying swan did not waddle. The Sugarplum Fairy did not pause to practice Lamaze breathing techniques. Not even Nijinksy could heave a hundred and fifty pounds (or more) of perspiring flesh above his head. What’s more, she could have decided to ignore the more pedestrian name of Michelle and call herself Antoinette. And when her career was cut short, more simply Ann. Ann Galway, ergo Angie.
I went into the kitchen and looked out the window at the charred remains of the blue house. Angie had hired Rosie Neely as a companion, or as a front. She’d blown it when she called Lanya. It was hard to figure out why she’d done so, although she might have seen it as a way to get in touch with Edward. It had worked well—Edward had been on her porch after the ARSE potluck. Had he been furious that she might sabotage his relationship with Salvador? Furious enough to burn down her house? And then to slash her throat when he found out that she hadn’t died in the fire?
It was too horrible to consider. I started a kettle of water for tea and went into the living room to watch the news. Ken and Barbie had nothing new to report about Salvador’s murder, but they were salivating over the scene with the Japanese media at the PD. It was, as Jorgeson had said, a madhouse. Rental vans blocked the street. Earnest Japanese reporters stood in front of their cameras, speaking excitedly and gesturing at the door of the PD, which was blocked by uniformed officers. The mayor, safely inside his office at city hall, insisted that he was doing everything possible to cooperate with the foreign press but could not comment on the investigation. More Japanese reporters were at the curb in front of Salvador’s house. I wasn’t sure how long the yellow tape would keep them from charging the front door.
Ken and Barbie were puzzled by the yellow tape, but they were too well coiffed to admit it. The chief of police had promised to hold a news conference in the morning. KFAR would be there, front and center, to keep us viewers informed of whatever startling new developments were announced. When the weatherman came on, I returned to the kitchen and made myself a cup of tea and a sandwich.
I touched neither as I tried to think how best to pass along my information to Peter without admitting I’d disobeyed his directive. Not, of course, that he had any right to tell me where I could and couldn’t go. Had he been no more than an ordinary detective, I would have had no qualms about calling. I believe strongly in doing my civic duty, which includes informing the police of potential criminal activity. I never skip an election, be it a primary or a bond issue. I obey the speed limit in school zones. I do not litter, and I recycle newspapers and cardboard.
The tea was cold and the sandwich was beginning to curl when Caron returned. After dropping her wet towels on the kitchen floor, she went down the hall to the bathroom. Thirty minutes later she emerged in clean clothes, her hair dripping on her shoulders. Her nose was red, but she’d survived any perilous encounters with lake monsters.
“Did you have a nice time?” I asked.
She picked up the sandwich, examined it, and put it back on the plate. “Can I order a pizza?”
“I thought I’d make a stir-fry with all the lovely fresh vegetables you bought at the grocery store last night.”
“You couldn’t stir-fry your way out of a paper sack,” she said as she flopped across a chair. “Why are you just sitting there like that? Shouldn’t you be picking out napkins and candles for the wedding reception? Lining up a photographer? Rehearsing your vows? You’ve only got two months, you know.”
“In theory,” I said.
My darling daughter gaped at me. “What have you done, Mother?”
“I went to see a kid named Max. Go ahead and order a pizza if you want. I think I’ll sit on the balcony.”
“Max who?” she demanded.
I thought for a moment, then shook my head. “I don’t know. Besides, it doesn’t matter.”
“What does this have to do with your wedding?”
I took the plate and cup into the kitchen and tossed the sandwich in the trash. I could hear Caron on the phone, whispering madly, and not about Italian sausage and mushrooms. Unwilling to intrude, I went out onto the little back porch and listened to the sounds of Thurber Street. This being a Monday, there was not a live band in the beer garden. On the weekend evenings, they could be heard as far away as Bud’s Automotive Emporium.
Caron appeared in the kitchen and cleared her throat. “Inez and I are going over to Emily’s house. She got new CDs in the mail today. You aren’t going to do anything crazy if I leave you alone, are you? I’d hate to be stuck in a foster home for two years. I’d have to sleep on a bunkbed and do chores.”
“Run along,” I said. “Be home by midnight.”
She grabbed the car keys off the kitchen table and skittered down the stairs. Once she’d driven away, I went through the living room to the balcony. The information I had about Angie and Edward gnawed at me like a live culture. I came up with a screwy plan to go to the copy shop and fax the adoption page to Peter. All I needed to avoid being identified was Luanne’s purple wig (or Angle’s yellow one) and sunglasses. And the means to get to the copy shop, which was at least two miles away. If Corporal McTeer was lurking in the shadows, I could ask her for a ride, but that would defeat my need for anonymity. Luanne had mentioned a date with yet another lawyer, so she was unavailable.
It was all too much. I was staring at the dark buildings on the campus, waiting for inspiration, when what to my wondering eyes should appear? CID Detective Peter Rosen, parking at the curb.
What I said at that point need not be recorded.
Chapter Seventeen
What are you doing?” he asked me as if I were poised on the edge of the roof.
“Waiting for Romeo. He must have stopped off to fight a duel with those pushy Capulet guys.”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Let me get my purse and we’ll go out for sushi.”
He came in through the downstairs door and up the stairs. I let him in and offered beer, but he did not seem to prefer idle conversation. “Tell me what’s going on, Claire. Have you had another ‘chance encounter’ with the suspects? Are they huddled in your bedroom, waiting for me to leave so they can resume group therapy?”
I pointed at the paper on the coffee table. “Read it, Sherlock.”
As he read, his brow wrinkled. “Where did you get this?”
“I can’t tell you, but it’s legitimate. The woman who was killed in the early hours of the day was Edward’s mother—and it happened in Edward’s father’s house. Pretty amazing, isn’t it?”
“Where did you get this?” he repeated slowly.
“I think I’ll have a drink,” I said. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a beer and a sandwich?”
“How do you do it? We ran a standard background check on Michelle Galway, but nothing like this occurred to us. Sometimes you astound me—as well as exasperate me. Yes, I’d like a beer and something to eat. It’s been a difficult day. I had Japanese film crews trying to follow me into the men’s room. The captain finished off his private stash of bourbon and sent an officer out for another bottle. The mayor thinks we’re stonewalling, when in fact we have no idea what to do next. There’s no forensic evidence. The autopsies haven’t told us anything we didn’t already know.”
I made a couple of sandwiches, gathered his beer and my drink, then sat down next to h
im on the sofa. “Did you find out when Fiona left Edward’s apartment last night?”
Peter grimaced. “When I confronted Edward, he admitted that she didn’t leave until early this morning. She confirmed it, although she wasn’t pleased that we knew. She’s worried that Julius will go ballistic if he finds out.”
“So they both have alibis,” I said. “How convenient.”
“If they’re telling the truth.” He picked up a sandwich and took a few bites. “Do you think he knew that his mother was here?”
“It must have been a shock when her name came up at the potluck, his very first ARSE meeting. He told me that she disappeared two years ago.” I explained how I’d arrived at the conclusion that Angie and Michelle (aka Serengeti) were the same person. “He must have known something was screwy when he learned the name of the woman who’d volunteered to teach the fairies. He didn’t waste much time going by her house to talk to her.” I took a sandwich and nibbled on a corner of it. “He might have been delighted to discover she hadn’t died. He spoke about her with great affection and respect—but he could have been lying. He may have despised her for ruining his childhood. From what he told me, she chose to play the martyr instead of trying to make something of her life. Plenty of single mothers find a way to get vocational training or finish college with the help of loans, grants, and part-time jobs. She chose substance abuse. He may have been appalled to learn that she was in Farberville and could sabotage his relationship with Salvador. He had a lot at stake.”
“So he set her house on fire? That’s an extreme solution.”
“Perhaps,” I said, “but unless there’s a gas can in his apartment, there’s no evidence that he did.”
Peter finished the sandwich and leaned back. “Or any chance of getting a warrant. This woman who died in the fire had a history of mental illness.”
“Rosie Neely did not set the fire,” I said adamantly. “She was a very nice woman who was liked by her boss and coworker. There was no suggestion in her file that she ever had any obsession with fire. Most arsonists start playing with matches and setting fires as children. She grew up in a stable environment, got along well with her brother, and did fairly well at school until her father was injured at a job site-” I stopped and took a sip of scotch. “Or so I heard, anyway.”
“You read her file? Her confidential file?”
“I must have seen it somewhere,” I said, struggling not to blush as he stared at me. “No more than a glimpse. Nothing worth mentioning. Or maybe I heard about it from one of your officers. Would you like another sandwich, or some fruit and cheese? Caron went to the grocery store yesterday. She wanted to order a pizza this evening, if you can imagine. She needs to work on her shortterm memory, especially since she’ll be taking the SAT this fall. She’s avoided studying all summer, and will end up cramming the night before the test. It won’t do any good if she can’t remember the difference between a hypotenuse and—uh, a hippopotamus.”
Peter held up his palms. “Okay, I won’t ask, but if you get caught, you’re on your own with the prosecutor. He’d like nothing better than to embarrass you in public. When he heard we were engaged, he had me go to his office so he could lecture me about how I was imperiling my career. He had a point.”
“Would you like me to return your ring and tell Jorgeson’s wife to yank up the chrysanthemums?”
“Don’t be absurd,” he said. “I’m going home to get some sleep. Corporal McTeer’s outside, this time with orders not to allow you to leave without calling me.”
“If you really want to know about the adoption paper and Rosie’s file, I’ll tell you as long as you promise not to hassle the innocent parties who were inadvertently duped.”
“I don’t want to know anything, okay?”
He left without so much as a friendly nuzzle. I tidied up and then went downstairs to the front porch. “Corporal McTeer?” I called quietly.
“Yes, ma’am?” came a voice from the shadows.
“Have you ever planned a wedding?”
“My sister’s, although the jerk she married dumped her a year later and moved to Alabama with a slut. It was a real nice wedding, though.”
“There’s no reason to sit under a bush for the next few hours. Come upstairs and help me make a list. Is it cheating if I borrow something that’s old and blue?”
The phone rang the next morning at seven o’clock. Aware that it would take a major earthquake to get Caron out of bed, I stumbled down the hall to answer it. “This better be good,” I said by way of greeting.
“This is Anderson Peru. I’m sorry to call so early, but I’m worried sick about Lanya. About three hours ago, I heard her drive off, and she hasn’t come home. I don’t understand how she could do that. The children are home, and she always fixes breakfast for them. I’m supposed to be at work in an hour.”
“Why are you calling me?”
“I don’t know who else to call. She hasn’t spoken to anybody except you and the police since Saturday night. She’s kept the bedroom door locked, and only comes out to find something to eat after everybody has gone to bed. She’s…not herself. She wouldn’t even answer the children when they tried to persuade her to come out.”
“Lanya’s old enough to run away from home,” I said, rubbing my grainy eyes. “It’s been all of three hours, Anderson. Maybe she wanted to get away from the house for a while. It may just be a case of cabin fever.”
“It’s not like her,” he insisted. “Should I call the police?”
I carried the receiver with me as I went into the kitchen to make coffee. “The police won’t do anything without a reason to suspect some sort of crime. Adults are free to come and go as they wish, Anderson. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”
“Even if it includes driving off the side of a mountain? What am I supposed to do?”
“Put on your armor and make breakfast,” I said. “Can’t your daughter babysit the younger children while you go to work?”
“And they decide to find out which pieces of furniture float in the pond? What about your daughter? Does she babysit?”
“You couldn’t afford her. Could Lanya have gone to Benny’s?”
“I called and got his answering machine. Besides, he’s likely to be in bed with his latest conquest. He doesn’t waste any time when he’s not working in one of those Arab countries. For some idiotic reason, the women all fall for his blustery barbarian routine. I’ve watched him in action for twenty years.”
“He was telling Edward how he used to be close friends with Salvador and how the two of them chased barmaids at the Renaissance gatherings. Different techniques, I suppose.”
“Yeah, I envied them from the shackles of my marital tent. They had quite a reputation. Benny’d make up outrageous scenarios with evil wizards and warlords, and then they’d get people to enact them. The campsite was more of a battlefield than the official arena. Swords would clang half the night, replete with screams, curses, and cloaked figures crashing into tents. They had a lot of complaints from the more puritanical campers.” He took a breath. “But what am I supposed to do now? What if Lanya doesn’t come back?”
“I suggest cereal and day care. That’s the best I can do until I’ve had coffee, Anderson.”
“Could you possibly drive by Benny’s place and look for her station wagon?” he asked piteously. “That way I’ll know that she’s safe.”
I would have felt more sympathy had I not been making such a mess with the coffee grounds and water. “Why don’t you put your darlings in the car and drive by yourself? I don’t know where Benny lives and I’m not sure I’d recognize Lanya’s car.”
“I’ve got to start calling around for a babysitter. I have a conference call at nine with our sales department and a nationwide clothing chain. I’ll lose my job if I miss it. It will only take you fifteen minutes, and I’ll be eternally grateful. Please do this for me, Claire.”
There is nothing worse than a pathetic plea from a man, and
although I’d only caught a glimpse of his children, what I’d heard about them was cause for concern. “All right,” I said.
He gave me directions and I promised to report back as soon as I could. While the coffeepot gurgled, I threw on some clothes and detoured by the bathroom. Trying not to jiggle a mug of coffee, I went down to the garage and drove to Benny’s house. It was on the fringe of the historic district, bland and unpretentious. The yard was neglected, but not to the point that it would raise the ire of his neighbors. There was no sign of Lanya’s station wagon on the street. I didn’t know what Benny drove, so I had no way of telling whether or not he was home. Ringing the doorbell was not an option.
Cabin fever, I thought as I drove past Max’s house and down Thurber Street. She might be watching the sun rise by a lake, eating pancakes at an all-night café, or heading for California to learn how to stomp grapes. If I’d been a truly altruistic person, I would have driven to the Perus’ farm and offered to watch the children while Anderson had his ever so important conference call. However, I wasn’t, so I stopped to buy fresh doughnuts and then went home.
Caron was sitting at the kitchen table, glowering. “Where have you been? The phone kept ringing and ringing, so I finally got up and answered it. What kind of person calls at this Ungodly Hour? Is there no consideration in this world?”
“Was it Anderson Peru?”
“I have no idea. I picked up the receiver and pointed out that it was seven-thirty, and therefore entirely too early to be calling anyone, and hung up. What business does he have calling here, anyway?
Just because he’s a make-believe duke doesn’t give him the right to disturb people. Henry the Eighth may have beheaded some of his wives, but at least he waited until a civilized hour.”
“Have a doughnut.” I put the box on the table and went into the living room to call Anderson. When he answered, I said, “I didn’t see her station wagon, but I didn’t search the area. Benny’s blinds were closed.”
“I’m going to be late,” he wailed.