By now, the snow had almost melted away and the day was pleasant enough for late November. Of course, my powder-blue Saab would be a dead giveaway, so I borrowed one of the spare cars that Uncle Mick keeps for occasions such as this. This one was a black-cherry Honda Accord, old and unremarkable but reliable. Not as much fun as the Saab, but never mind. I left a note, of course. I also left the Saab sitting conspicuously in front of the shop. I was here at home and as far as anyone needed to know, I was intending to stay there, sulking to the death. I left a light on in my bedroom and the radio playing loudly.
You can never be too careful.
* * *
I STARTED WITH Maple Street, as it was the last street in Harrison Falls showing C Delgado living there. Maple Street was a plain but cheerful street of sixties brick bungalows, some a bit dowdy, others on the upswing with freshly painted shutters and new interlock pathways. Even the dowdy houses seemed to be well groomed, the lawns raked again now that the snow had melted. Everyone seemed to have their Thanksgiving decorations out and their leaves bagged for pickup by the side of the road. Most people had the biodegradable paper bags, but a few used burlap bags.
I love fall, but sometimes it does seem like it’s a lot of work. I imagined the more industrious neighbors hauling their biodegradable leaf bags into the safety of their garages when the snow came and then back out again for curbside pickup once it melted.
Number 153 was one of the lucky updated houses on the street; it had a new red door, wire window boxes with coconut fiber, interlock pathways and shiny white shutters. A large, expensive double stroller was parked out front. Twins? A baby and a toddler? I figured either would explain why it was the only house with the leaves still thick on the lawn.
I rang the doorbell and waited. A young woman with a perky blond ponytail answered with a smile. She was balancing a baby on her hip. Behind her, a curly-haired toddler clung to her yoga pants. Both children had wide, green eyes, the same as their mother’s. A lovely legacy for sure. Everyone’s cheeks were pink, a sign that they’d been out for a walk in the pleasant weather.
I smiled back at the three of them. The toddler hid her face shyly behind her mother’s back.
“What beautiful children,” I said. “Those eyes.”
“We like them.” She grinned. “Although you have to push them for miles before they will go to S-L-E-E-P.”
I got down to business before we went down the life-with-babies conversational path. “I am representing the legal firm of Lawson and Loblaw. We have information that could benefit a C. Delgado of this address.”
She said, “Oh.”
I kept smiling to encourage a bit more than the “oh.”
“There’s no one here by that name. We moved in last year. Our name is Bennacke.”
I tried to avoid saying “oh” again. “We did have this address, so perhaps . . .” I paused to glance at the paper in my hand . . . “C. Delgado was the person you bought it from. We are following up on an inheritance.”
“My! An inheritance,” she said with interest. She seemed like she wanted to help. “We never met the owners, but I don’t think the name was Delgado. It was a bit more ordinary.”
“Is there a way you could find out?”
“My husband takes care of all the legal papers.”
“Do you mind checking with him?”
“He’s at work. He often works weekends. He’ll be back this evening. I could ask him then.”
“I have to do that myself quite often, like today,” I said, keeping my disappointment to myself. I wrote down the number of my new cell phone, gave myself the name Clarissa Montaine, for no good reason except that I liked the sound of it, and made a note to myself to leave a greeting from Lawson and Loblaw on the burner.
No point in people knowing that Jordan Bingham was nosing around, in case someone was in touch with some lurking Delgado.
“Clarissa,” she said, “that’s such a beautiful name. I’m Audra. I’ll let you know.”
“What about the neighbors?” I said, smiling at her. “Have they been here awhile?”
“The ones on both sides bought after we did. We’ve been here two years. Across the street they’re new too. This is a great street for a bargain. Our own home was a fixer-upper,” she said, with pride. “We did most of the work ourselves.”
“Terrific,” I said, gazing around admiringly. “You did really well on this.”
She beamed. “We are planning to move on up, but I do love our little house. It will be really hard when the time comes.”
Speaking of time, I needed to get back on task. “So no one around who might know about this C. Delgado?”
“Oh. Well, there’s an older couple three doors down, in the house on the corner. Their name is Snow. They’re retired and they’re in and out all the time. I see them coming and going when we’re out on our walks. I’m pretty sure they’re the original owners. They might be able to help. And I’ll ask my husband to call you.”
“Thanks.”
I headed to the corner, hoping that I would find the couple at home. But no one answered the door. There was no garage, and the carport stood empty. Timing is everything, as they say. If I hit a wall, I’d have to come back. I wrote down 175 Maple Street/Snow and Check with the Bennackes about previous owner. Then I headed back to the neutral Honda I had used to travel there.
Next stop: 22 Lilac Lane, where C. Delgado had been in residence back in nineteen sixty-five. Lilac Lane was at the far end of Harrison Falls, but no end of Harrison Falls is far from any other end, so I tootled over. Number 22 had been something but was now nothing. Well, not exactly nothing, but a vacant lot with the remains of a crumbling old foundation and a sign that said, “FOR SALE—ZONED FOR MULTIPLE DWELLINGS.”
Not so good for my purposes. Lilac Lane had seen better days and there was no sign of the upgrading I had found on Maple Street. There were other older homes on the street, but no sign of anyone around. Never give up. That’s my motto. I tried the house on one side. A woman peered out the grimy window in the front door and refused to open up. She turned her back and walked away from the door. Maybe it was my red hair? Pretty eerie. Fine. I tried the house on the other side of the vacant lot.
No one answered. I considered that it might have been unoccupied, because the front window was boarded up and graffiti tags covered the worn paint of the clapboard siding. But I thought I detected movement on the side of the house. Stepping quickly, I zipped down the front steps and around the side. An elderly man was dozing on an ancient sofa parked by the side of the house. Over the top was a roof of sorts made from a sheet of yellowed corrugated vinyl. At the end of the enclosure stood the garbage can. The roof was good because it was now starting to drizzle. The rain pattered on the vinyl, but the man kept snoring softly in his little getaway.
“Excuse me,” I said.
He awoke with a start and stared at me—well, at my hair, actually, which was what I was counting on. He kept on scratching and staring.
I said with my fake smile, “Hello, I am trying to find a C. Delgado who used to live at number 22.”
“What? Speak up!”
I raised my voice and repeated it.
He cupped his ear and I tried a near shout.
“No need to yell. They’re gone now,” he said, still staring. “Been gone for years. The house has been torn down.”
“I can see that. But do you know where they went?” He’d said “they.” So more than one of them. That was good.
“Can’t remember. Must be more than fifty years since they left.”
“I’m from Lawson and Loblaw. The law firm,” I said importantly. “I may have good news for that family. Especially”—and here I took a chance—“Muriel.”
“Humph. Muriel? She was just a little kid then. She’d be all grown up now.”
I felt goose bumps on my a
rms when he said Muriel’s name. I tried not to show my reaction.
He said, “Funny girl. Not like other girls around here if you ask me. Bit strange.”
I hadn’t asked him about Muriel’s personality, but I was glad he’d volunteered that information. She was still strange, but also forceful and, in my opinion, dangerous.
“Strange how?” I said.
“What kind of news?” he said, a bit more awake now. “That sounds like it means money.”
“It might mean money. If it’s the right Delgados and it sounds like it is. It would help if you could give me C. Delgado’s first name.
“C. Delgado. I guess you mean Carmen.”
Carmen is not my favorite name. Maybe because of those issues that Uncle Kev had with Big Carm Spitelli, a guy with way more throwing knives than anyone needs. Or maybe because of the unhappy resolution that Uncle Mick and Uncle Lucky had with Carmen “Dead Meat” Lobocoff on the jewelry experiment. Whatever. I guess I made a face.
I hadn’t noticed her arrival, but we’d been joined by a woman. She could have been a twin to the old man, only without the white chin stubble. She was dressed in a faded and drooping (possibly blue at one time) housedress that made Vera look like a fashion model.
“Yes,” I said, “Carmen. That’s exactly right. I have some news that will be of great interest to him. Do you know where he’s moved?”
The woman spoke. “I don’t know what you’re nosing around for, but you don’t know crap about Carmen Delgado. Get your butt off our property before I call the cops.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Don’t think that we’re going to turn on our neighbors. Off with you.”
“Neighbors” was pushing it, as the house the Delgados lived in was nothing more than a field now. “But it’s not a matter of turning on them. I do have information for Carmen Delgado. Important information of benefit.”
She sneered, “If you did, you wouldn’t have said ‘he.’”
Of course. All the Carmens I knew were men, most of them quite dangerous. But Carmen is a woman’s name as well, and, although dramatic, it doesn’t seem quite the same at all. I said, “Oh! I don’t think they had that information at the office. They thought C. Delgado was a man. Well, the information would still be in her interest. Gender has nothing to do with it.”
I tried again after noting his blank face and her hostile glare. “There’s a small but nice legacy. Doesn’t matter if C. Delgado is a man or a woman in terms of inheritance.”
Why had I leapt to that conclusion? Because C. Delgado was listed first, indicating head of household. That was silly of me, with all the women heading households in the world.
He said to the angry woman, “Gotta be Carmie. She’s the only one that could be a C. Delgado. Could be money for her.” He turned to me. “Too bad. I heard that Carmie died. Years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. I meant it too. I had nothing against Carmen. Muriel was a different story.
He nodded, accepting my sentiment. “She was all right, Carmie. A real looker.”
“I’m sure she was. But I need to know how to reach her or her family. The legacy may pass to another family member now. Let’s see. Was she sister to Muriel?”
He shook his head. “Muriel? Muriel don’t have no sisters.”
“Well, then what was the relationship?”
“Carmie would be the mother. Muriel would be the daughter. But they’ve been long gone from here. Maybe fifty years. I told you that.”
“That is too bad,” I said.
“Well, nothing to me really. I liked Carmie well enough, but we weren’t what you’d call close.” He flicked a nervous glance toward the woman.
I pressed on. “Are there other relatives that you know of?”
She had been quiet for a while, standing with her thick legs in a wide stance, burly arms on her hips. Now she butted in pugnaciously. “Who did you say you were?”
“I’m from Lawson and Loblaw. We’re a legal firm from Albany.”
She raised a white eyebrow. “My fat fanny, you are. And I’m the First Lady.”
“Really,” I said, with what I hoped was outraged innocence. “I am here to ensure that Ms. Delgado gets what’s coming to her.” That was true enough in a different sense.
“I think you better get out of here and leave folks alone or you’ll get what’s coming to you. Don’t come back neither. Or I will call the cops.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“BY ALL MEANS, call them,” I said, nose in the air. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”
“We’ll see what the cops say about that.”
I had what I wanted and I raised my hands in mock surrender. I kept my spine straight as I walked to the car. I could feel her eyes on my back. As I got into the vehicle, I glanced around again at the side yard. There she was, on the phone. Police?
Mental note to self: Maybe the bright red wig didn’t mesh with the law firm gofer persona.
Oh well, I was committed to this cover now.
I wasn’t doing anything illegal, but I didn’t want to have to explain myself or my red wig to anyone I knew on the local police force. I’d met a lot of the officers since I started to see more of Tyler Dekker. Of course, that whole idea made my uncles feel faint, so I tended not to mention it. I made tracks back to Uncle Mick’s second garage, keeping an eye in the rearview mirror for anyone on my tail. I didn’t think anyone would be following me, but that was how I was raised.
* * *
BACK IN MY bedroom I pondered exactly what I had learned. Carmen Delgado was Muriel’s mother. She was a widow or divorced, I supposed. She had been described as a “looker.” Muriel hadn’t gotten her features from her mother, in that case. Carmen had gradually moved her way up a bit to a better neighborhood, perhaps with Muriel’s help? But Muriel would have been a child when they’d moved from Willows Road.
The elderly woman had been immediately suspicious of me and my inquiry. Why was that? I had fooled Audra Bennacke. In fact, my track record for fooling people was so solid it was a good thing I’d decided to go straight. I would make an excellent criminal, but you know how kids are: always rebelling against the family.
The woman on Lilac Lane had said they weren’t going to turn on their neighbors. I’d been talking about a legacy. A small but nice inheritance, not a request to “turn on” their neighbors. She didn’t seem to have bought that for a minute. Perhaps she knew enough about Carmen Delgado and her family to realize that the legacy idea couldn’t be true. Some people have no relatives and that may have been the case. Even if Carmen had had relatives and this woman had known about their existence and financial state, that didn’t rule out an inheritance. A former employer, a friend, a benefactor could easily have left her a bequest. So why the hostility to me? And who had she been phoning? Would she really have phoned the police? I doubted that. I had a strong feeling that on Lilac Lane, no one encouraged a visit from the authorities. They were probably used to knocks on the door from bail bondsmen, repo men and bounty hunters. In lean times, those guys always had work, and they often employed the same methods I’d used. At least I was polite enough not to kick in any doors or tow away cars or pry Christmas gifts from the fingers of crying children.
Never mind. I had some of what I wanted. I knew that Muriel Delgado had lived in Harrison Falls as a child and that she was the daughter of Carmen Delgado, Carmie to some people. I knew Carmie had died.
I wasn’t sure where else this would get me, but it was a start. I’d set out to learn something about Muriel Delgado, and I had already found out quite a bit. Knowing where she’d grown up and some details about her family took her down a peg from the tower of swirling black garments, a malignant black widow. Let’s face it, this woman who seemed to want to ruin my life and who also seemed to have the power to control Vera Van Alst was one scary lad
y. What was the rest of Muriel’s story? What events had she lived through that created such a menacing personality? Whatever was in her background, I intended to ferret it out and use it to get back to my rightful place.
My cell phone vibrated. Audra Bennacke, it said. Uh-oh. What was my name again? Oh right.
“Lawson and Loblaw,” I chirped as I answered it. “Clarissa Montaine speaking.”
“Clarissa?” she said.
“Yes,” I purred.
“You remember me? Audra? From Maple Street? You were asking about who we bought the house from?”
“Yes, of course. Thanks so much for getting back to me. Was it Carmen Delgado?”
“No. My husband remembered the second I asked him. The previous owner was Bob Smith. It was rented out.”
“Really. Bob Smith?”
“Yes. Almost like a joke.”
“But an answer, anyway. He may have been a second owner or a relative. I appreciate your call.”
“Oh, and the other neighbors are back now. The Snows. I saw them pull in with their shopping a few minutes ago.”
I wigged up, left through the back and climbed into the black-cherry Accord again.
On the way, I decided to check out the third and earliest address for C. Delgado.
Willows Road sounds more picturesque than it was. Prior to the closing of the shoe factory during Vera’s father’s time, Harrison Falls was a pleasant and prosperous town, but every town has its seedy side and Willows Road seemed to be part of that. It was the closest thing to a row of tenements we had. I couldn’t imagine that there had ever been any willows. The “road” was narrow with no parking and shabby houses that came right up to the edge of the street. No gardens for this area. Not even a scrap of lawn. Every unit had peeling paint and most of the front steps had rotten boards I thought were ready to collapse. More than one window was boarded up. I saw no sign of life. Number 10B looked as though it would tumble to the ground if you blew on it. A half-starved feral cat scurried past.
The Wolfe Widow (A Book Collector Mystery) Page 6