Maggie explained, “The French pride themselves on being able to think clearly and precisely. Descartes and all that.”
Infuriating woman. Ginny had imagined a hundred possible mothers, a hundred reasons she didn’t live up to Mom’s dreams or her own. But she’d never imagined one who outsmarted agencies, and knew Shakespeare, and drove faster than Buck, and in a crisis told her to be more like Descartes. Infuriating! But she was right too. A bit of logic wouldn’t hurt now. Ginny ate her dill pickle and tried not to sound surly. “Well?”
“We have to decide what to do. And the best way to start might be to define our goal.”
“Staying out of jail! God, that’s obvious! Isn’t that clear enough for you? Precise enough?”
“Thank you, yes. I think jail can be avoided. He was killed while you were on the five-thirty bus, right? Who did you sit with?”
“A deaf old man who snored all the way to New York.”
“Not too good. Will the driver remember you?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“How about once you got to the bus station? Did you meet anyone there?”
“Three nuns and a pimp.”
“Lucky you. Usually the ratio is the other way around. Well, maybe the nuns will remember you, if we can find them. Know where they live?”
“No, but they took the bus on to Albany.”
“Okay. And of course Mrs. Elkin at the agency can tell them about your visit.”
“No!”
“Oh?”
“Look, don’t be funny. That would kill Mom.”
“You mean she’d prefer to see you arrested?”
“No, but—” It was unthinkable, that was all. Ginny tried to explain. “Look. She’d do anything to keep me from being arrested. But knowing I searched for you would hurt her too much, Maggie. You don’t know how—how fragile she is about that. I just can’t do that to her.”
“She may have to know someday.”
“Maybe. But with everything else—no. Right now it would be brutal. I can’t do it.”
“I know you want to hide it from her. That’s why we changed phones. But we’ve got to make hard decisions now. Would you really rather be arrested? Rather than hurt her?”
Damn. Was that what it came down to? Ginny poked at her French fries, thought about Mom, and said, “Yes.”
“Okay.” Maggie seemed suddenly and unaccountably cheered. “We don’t want to hurt your mother. So it turns out that we have two goals. Keep from being arrested. And keep your parents from discovering where you’ve been.”
“But you just said we couldn’t do both!”
“No, no, I was just asking in case we were eventually forced to choose. Let’s look for better ways first. Did Buck hate Spencer?”
Ginny felt as though she’d been punched. Clear thinking could hurt. Still, Mom had said he’d been in her room looking for her, then he’d bumped into Spencer on the way out, insulted him even. But Buck wouldn’t kill anyone! She said, “No, of course not. He only met him once. Besides, he was with friends.”
“Would his friends lie for him?”
Damn. Of course they would. But what outsiders could have been in her room? “Maybe someone from the telephone company?” Ginny suggested desperately. “Something like that?”
Maggie frowned. “Someone comes in to fix the telephone, goes into your room, takes the scissors, and happens to stab Spencer?”
“Well, it’s just that it must be someone from outside, because nobody I know would do that.”
“I see.”
“But the outsider would have to be able to get the scissors somehow,” Ginny admitted.
“Yes. And would have to know you well enough to leave them in Buck’s car. Pretty knowledgeable for a telephone repairman.”
“Damn.”
“The facts do narrow the field. What about you, Ginny? Does anyone hate you enough to want to frame you? Or frame Buck?”
“God, I don’t think so.” Ginny shrugged unhappily. “No one I know of. Except maybe Debbie Macklin because she used to go with Buck. But she wouldn’t stab anybody, she’s about as tough as vanilla pudding.”
“Well, think about it. Did anyone know you were leaving?”
“No.”
“Sure?”
“Look, evenI didn’t know I was leaving until I saw that phone book in the library!”
“But you’d already taken your bankbook.”
“Yeah. But I hadn’t really decided! When I took it, it was all still fantasy, you know? Like everything else. Damn it, Maggie, you still don’t seem real!”
“I know. It’ll take a long time to get used to it, Ginny. For me too.”
“Yeah. Well, I’ll have lots of time to get used to it in jail.”
“That’s right. Look on the bright side.”
Ginny thumped the table with her fist. “Well, what the hell do you suggest? So far we’ve had zero ideas!”
“We have to know a little more. Like who else was at your house Thursday afternoon. When you saw your scissors last. Where the library is. Et cetera. And you’d better tell me on the way home.” She had been glancing out the window, and now quickly shoved their little plastic trays into the open mouth of a frog-shaped trash can, adjusted her red scarf, and went out the door. Ginny followed, surprised at the sudden haste.
“Whoops! Slight detour.” Maggie spoke quietly but her hand on Ginny’s arm was powerful. Ginny was propelled into the path of a mall employee wearing the turquoise-and-white cap of the soft-drink stand further down the mall.
“Oh, sorry!” said Ginny in confusion, staring into the young man’s startled small eyes.
“It’s okay,” he said, and looked after them as Maggie, hiding her face from him as she studied the doors of parked cars, whisked Ginny into the seat of a metallic-blue Toyota sitting unattended and unlocked in the first rank of cars.
“Tell me when he’s gone,” said Maggie, head down and still hidden as she fumbled in her handbag.
“What the hell are you doing? Why are we in this car?”
“Patrol car back there. And the cops in it headed straight for the phone booths,” Maggie explained.
“Oh, Jesus!” It was true. A uniformed officer, no, two of them, were inspecting the booth she had recently left, then looking around at the various shops along the mall sidewalk.
“Is your buddy in the turquoise cap gone?”
“Yes. He’s just going into the soft-drink stand. And, oh God, Maggie, the cops are going into the hamburger place!”
“Good. Get out, look calm. I’ll stay between you and the police.” She pulled off her scarf.
They strolled in assumed placidity from the Toyota to the Camaro three ranks away. Once inside, Ginny glanced back as Maggie steered the car unhurriedly to the exit. “Uh, oh,” she said. “They’re coming out!”
“Get your head down. Now, it’ll be okay. Nobody noticed us change cars. The cops will have to question a lot of people before they even find out we got into a blue Toyota.”
“Oh. Oh, I see.”
“But you’d better stay slumped down there for a few miles even so.”
The ride back to Brooklyn was not so frantic, the object now being to blend into the background rather than to speed to their destination. Ginny, slouching below window level for most of the trip, watched the twilit sky redden in the west. The vast industrial fields of New Jersey stretched dead and barren to the horizon, the dusty storage tanks and steel skeletons of construction projects as grim as Ginny’s mood. Under Maggie’s questioning, Ginny reported what she could remember about Thursday afternoon. She described her room, her table with crafts supplies and scissors, her bed and bookcase, Kakiy’s box, the layout of the house, and all the people who had been there that day. She described the argument with Gram over Kakiy, how he had been kicked and she had yelled at Gram and Mr. Spencer.
“Do you suppose she told the police about that?” Ginny asked worriedly.
“I don’t know her, Ginn
y.”
“She probably did. Because they’d want to know why I left.”
“Yes.”
“Damn. Why can’t I keep my mouth shut?”
“Because you love Kakiy, ninny.”
Ginny shot her a grateful glance. Maggie was sitting relaxed at the wheel, the western light coming from a little behind her left shoulder, glinting warm on the black curls. Ginny felt that she’d been her friend all her life, this instantly familiar woman who could appreciate her love for a cat, and laughed at her jokes, and understood her hunger to know about her birth.
And who also, she reminded herself sternly, had signed her away to other people without a backward glance.
Except to grieve, if Nick could be believed.
Damn. She could not understand.
Maggie was pursuing the problem at hand. “Okay, now. How did you leave things with your parents just now?”
“Indefinite. I said I wanted to go home, but this might delay things.”
“How did they take it?”
“Dad was angry. Said my Philadelphia friends were certainly selfish to refuse to talk to the police. He said I should come home anyway.”
“And your mother?”
“Mom said, ‘Do what has to be done.’ Which is surprising.”
“Why?”
“Well, usually it’s the other way around. Mom wants to protect me. Dad says, ‘Use your good sense.’ He’s more philosophical about all my messing around.”
“I see.”
“I bet he’s trying to protect Mom. Damn, Maggie, she must really be worried if he’s like that! I didn’t mean for her to worry! I thought if I called she’d be okay.”
“I know. We mothers do have an unfortunate habit of worrying. You still think it would be even worse for her if she knew you found me?”
“Well—I don’t know how to explain it. She’d feel threatened, I think. I used to ask her sometimes about my first mother. She always tried to answer, but I could tell it scared her to death. As though she was supposed to be my whole world, and if I asked about you it meant she’d failed. That’s why I quit asking. Read stuff at the library instead.”
“She certainly didn’t fail!”
“She’d think so.”
“I see. So the agency is right to keep quiet?”
“Well—maybe for Mom’s sake, yes.”
Maggie asked wistfully, “She may understand someday, don’t you think?”
“Maybe.” Ginny wasn’t too sure. Mom’s love was so fierce. Solid. Possessive. Dependable. She wanted her, right now.
Maggie sighed and reverted to the present problem. “So, they don’t know if you’re coming home or not.”
“They know I won’t be there tonight.”
“Good. That’ll give us time to think.”
“And maybe something will happen,” said Ginny hopefully. “Maybe they’ll find out who did it.”
“Maybe.”
They had crossed the bridge from Staten Island and were swinging north again, around the west rim of Brooklyn. Maggie left the expressway to pull up at a twenty-four-hour drugstore. “Come on in with me.”
“Why? What are we doing?” Ginny followed her nervously.
“I need some shades. What model do you like?” She was taking reflective sunglasses from a big revolving display stand, plunking them onto her nose one by one and peering at herself in a mirrored column nearby.
“Jesus, the cops after me and you expect me to drop everything to help you shop?”
“Hey, come on. Which is more fashionable? Aviators or these black square jobs?”
“Aviators. Maggie, why now? It’s dark already! What the hell are you doing?”
“Buying sunglasses.” She paid for the glasses, dropped them into her trench coat pocket, and held the door open for Ginny.
“You’re crazy.”
“Yep.”
They headed north again. “Okay, now,” said Maggie. “How would you like to hide out at my house a few days?”
“Stay there?”
“Yes.”
“Maggie, no. I mean, things have changed so I can’t go home yet. But I just couldn’t take that. I can’t think things through when I’m with you. All these feelings keep tripping me up. I’ll go to the Y or something. I’ve got a little money.”
“Okay. If you want.”
“Besides, they may figure out I’m with you.”
“How would they find out?”
“Well, maybe ask at the agency.”
“And if they ask at the agency, what will the answer be?”
“Well—” Ginny considered. She didn’t know what the answer would be. But she knew what it wouldn’t be. She giggled suddenly. “Hey, you’re right. Elkin and Farnham won’t ever let anyone see that file again. No matter how nicely they ask, they’ll be sure they’re just secret agents from one of us. And they certainly won’t admit to outsiders that I saw it. Poor policemen won’t have a chance!”
“Right. Farnham will be convinced it’s just you or me in disguise. They could get a court order, I suppose, but judges are pretty sticky about that. And I wouldn’t be surprised if the agency fought it.”
“So we’ve got time.”
“At least a little. Yes. Anyway, the cops won’t even get as far as the agency unless your parents suggest it.”
“That’s true!” A sudden doubt assailed her. “But you know, Mom knows I went through the strongbox that has my papers in it.”
“Did you take any of the papers? Or mention them?”
“Oh, no, of course not. Only my bankbook.”
“Well, Ginny,” said Maggie, turning off the expressway with a worried frown, “if I know anything about parents, they’re more likely to think you’re after drugs.”
“God!” Ginny saw that she was right. “So they won’t even get as far as Elkin! Thank God!”
“Right. Not for quite a while.”
“And Mom probably thinks my Philadelphia friends are pushers or something!”
“Probably. Especially since they won’t cooperate with the police.”
The full horror of Mom’s situation was coming home to Ginny. “God, no wonder she’s so worried!”
“Yep.”
“But I still can’t stay with you.”
“Yeah, I know. Because of how you feel about me.” The sad blue eyes lit on Ginny an instant, then returned to the road.
Ginny made a last desperate attempt. “I just don’t see how you could still say that you—oh, never mind. I just can’t stay with you.”
“Yeah. Okay, two things, Ginny. Number one, you came to me for the truth. You deserve the truth. I could say what you want me to say, but I won’t because it would be a lie. I hope you can believe that.”
“Yeah. I guess so. But I don’t understand!”
“I know. Number two, it’s okay for you to stay at my place, because I won’t be there.”
“What?”
Maggie said patiently, “I won’t be at my house. So you can stay there if you want.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve decided to take a little trip to Maryland.”
Ginny’s insides knotted. “What do you mean? What can you do there besides make things worse?”
“I can ask around. Find out where this fellow died, what the evidence is. Talk to people there.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Not at all.”
“Jesus! That is probably the all-time dumbest idea I’ve ever heard!”
“Maybe it is. Tell me why.”
“God! Where to begin!” Ginny held up a hand and began ticking off the arguments on her fingers. “Okay, first, our famous goals. Clear and precise and French. Start with staying out of jail. The minute they find out who you are, they’ll find me. Two, Mom will know. Both goals shot at once!”
“Granted.If they find out who I am. But they won’t. Next reason?”
“Of course they will! I mean, you’re a statistician. Not a g
oddamn private eye. Why should you be asking questions? Who’d answer them?”
“I’ll be a journalist. My brother’s married to a reporter. Your Aunt Olivia. I’ll act like her. Next question?”
Aunt Olivia. She had an Aunt Olivia! Staggered by this casual reference to connections she’d never dreamed of, Ginny needed a moment to get her reeling thoughts back on track.
Murder. Police. Keeping Maggie away from Mom. Those were the priorities.
Clearly, reasoned arguments were having no effect. Ginny switched to emotional appeals. “What about Will? Nick will be gone too, remember? Don’t you want to take care of your kid?”
“Yes, I do. That’s why I’m going to Maryland.”
“Jesus.”
“And that’s why I want you to stay instead of going to a motel. You’re right, Will needs attention. Sarah too, of course.”
“Jesus, Maggie.”
“You mean you don’t know how to babysit? You can’t?”
“Of course I can. Been doing it for years. But I won’t! Because I don’t want you there messing with Mom and Dad. They’re not dumb. They’ll spot you.”
“How?”
“You look like me, damn it!”
Maggie pulled her new sunglasses from her pocket and put them on. Ginny was appalled. They worked.
“You look like the goddamn Lone Ranger,” she groused. “Jesus, Maggie, this is impossible!”
“The whole situation is already impossible. We’ll just join in.”
“No!”
“Okay,” said Maggie cheerfully, steering the Camaro along a brownstone-lined avenue. “We’ll follow your plan instead.”
“My plan?”
“Sure. What is it?”
“My plan?”
“Your plan. What were you thinking of doing?”
“I don’t know, but not that!”
Maggie turned at the stone synagogue and found a place at the curb half a block from her door. She said nothing, but glanced at Ginny a time or two as they walked back. Ginny refused to look at her. She was trying to be clear and precise, laying out her options carefully.
If she went back, and told where she’d really been, Mom would be devastated. That one was out.
Bad Blood (Maggie Ryan Book 8) Page 13