Salvatore decided against visiting the RUH’s maternity department. As things stood, Jonathan Aloysius Appleby didn’t know him. If something came up that required surveillance, there was no point making it easy for Jack to think, I’ve seen that guy somewhere.
Better to follow up the widower thing. But before he went home he took a detour, to the staff parking lot.
Jack’s BMW was a red. A convertible. Nice car.
Rosetta’s feet were on the desk. A cup of tea with feet up was her reward for bringing the agency’s invoices up to date. One reward, but she planned another. She had decided to join an online dating agency.
It was time to be proactive. If she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life in her parents’ house, she was going to do something about it.
Lots of couples met online these days. Not always forever but she was coming around to thinking of “forever” as an outdated ideal in the modern world.
It was fine for old people, like her parents. And for old-fashioned couples, like Angelo and Gina. But it needn’t be the template for a modern relationship. And a modern relationship would do her nicely now, ta very much. And where better than the internet to find one?
Or even two.
With that saucy thought Rosetta smiled to herself.
And then the telephone rang.
She gave some care to her tone of voice. “Lunghi Detective Agency. Rosetta Lunghi speaking.”
“You sound about as businesslike as a massage parlor, sis. No offense.” It was Salvatore.
“Offense taken,” Rosetta said. “Did you ring for anything more than to give me a hard time?”
“Is it easy to get marital records online? It turns out that my client’s fiancé was married before, but his wife died. Before I speak to Polly I’d like to find out something about the dead wife.”
“What’s the wife’s name?”
“Beyond Mrs. Appleby I don’t know.”
“Birth date? Date of the marriage? Date of the death? Location of any of the above?”
“The only thing I do have is the full name of the husband. Jonathan Aloysius Appleby.”
“Aloysius. A slim thread. You care to spell that?”
He did. “Once I’ve driven past Jonathan Aloysius’s house, I’ll come back home. Maybe fifteen minutes?” He hung up.
Oh well, Rosetta thought. The dating Web site would wait. The important things was her decision to do it.
Mama carried a tray to the office. She was surprised to find Salvatore there as well as Rose. “Why are you here?”
“Hello to you, too, Mama.”
“You know I don’t mean,” Mama said. “But you were out, working your case.”
“And now I’m in, working my case.”
Mama put the tray down on the desk.
Rosetta said, “I can’t eat all that, Mama.”
“It’s not so much.”
“It’s enough for six people.”
“Your brother should eat, too, if he’s case working.”
“None for me, thanks,” Salvatore said.
Rosetta said, “Sally’s learned something about his client’s fiancé. We were just talking about the cost of searching for more information. There’s no easy way to get it online for free.”
“Ah, my little girl and her computer.” Mama knew how proud Rose was to be the family’s IT expert. Even more than David. “Well, computers have to eat too.”
“I’m not really hungry,” Rosetta said.
“Your father gets hungry with the clock,” Mama said. “But this will wait for your stomach. Except the hot soup—that you should have now. And I’ll go get something else for Salvatore since what I already made isn’t good enough for him.”
“Nothing for me,” Salvatore said.
“Nothing?” Mama looked at her first born. “You are not so fat you need to diet. A man should have substance. With substance you can find a nice girl to make children.”
“Mama—” Salvatore began.
“I know, I know. Shut up. Make food that nobody eats. I know my place.”
“I’m going out to lunch.”
This news transformed Salvatore’s mother. “A date you have? Who with? A young lady? She’s single?”
“A fat, ugly, married man. I’m getting too old to be choosy.”
All three heard noises from the kitchen. “Your father, he too mocks me.” Mama left the office.
Salvatore turned to his sister. “Am I getting fat?”
It wasn’t a long walk from Walcot Street to the Circus. The eighteenth century circular street was rimmed by tall, elegant buildings, but these days the Georgian homes had been converted into flats and offices, including Baum and Carteret’s.
Polly Mainwaring was already putting on her jacket as Salvatore entered. “You’re on time. Thank you. I don’t have long.”
“I do my best.”
“And you have something to report?”
“As well as questions to ask.”
“Good. I can’t tell you how upsetting all this uncertainty is.”
You can tell me, Salvatore thought, but he just followed as Polly led the way to the nearby Assembly Rooms, site of countless social gatherings in Bath’s Georgian heyday and countless dance scenes in films about Georgian Bath’s heyday. The building had a large café and tearoom.
Polly picked a table well away from other customers. She sat and put her bag on the floor. “Do you know what you want?”
Only in one sense, Salvatore thought. But he skimmed the menu rapidly and nodded.
The waitress arrived. “Something to drink?”
“We’re ready to order,” Polly said. “I’ll have smoked salmon on multigrain, no butter but with lettuce and tomato. Water with ice. Tap, not bottled.”
The waitress’s eyes were not made up and slightly swollen, making her look sleepy, as if lunchtime was her sunrise. “Sir?”
“The chef’s salad and a latte.”
When they were alone Salvatore said, “Did you know that Jack has been married before?”
To his surprise, Polly gave a quick nod. “Her name was Belinda. She died. She was older than he was.”
“You didn’t mention it yesterday.”
“It didn’t occur to me.”
“But mightn’t that explain how Jack knows the registrar? She might have registered Belinda’s death.”
“I didn’t think of that.” But Polly wrinkled her nose, and gave her head a little shake. “The registrar’s tone didn’t sound like ‘I have met you in sad circumstances before.’ It was more ‘Hi Jack, nice to see you again, my friend.’”
“Isn’t that quite a lot to conclude from a brief encounter?”
“It was also her body language, the way she looked at him while we were talking. No, I’m sure I’m right.”
Polly was the client, so Salvatore moved on. “Yesterday you told me that Jack owns his flat. I drove past it today. It’s very nice.”
“Yes.”
“As is his car—the Beemer convertible.”
“Oh, I love that car. Especially on warm days. Not that we’ve had many this year.”
“Polly, how does Jack afford it all?” Property in Bath was notoriously expensive. Beemers were expensive everywhere.
“It’s not like he owns the flat outright. He has a mortgage.”
Nevertheless. “Does he have money beyond his nursing salary?”
“His wife left him an income.”
“An income rather than capital?”
“That’s what he said. We talked about it when all the credit crunch stuff hit the news.”
“It must be quite a large income.”
“I’d never ask him a thing like that.”
“Even though you’re about to get married?”
“He said he doesn’t owe anybody anything, apart from the mortgage, and I believe him.”
I take it Jack’s body language said, Trust me, Salvatore thought.
“But you’re right,” Polly sai
d. “He must be reasonably well off. His flat is furnished very nicely.”
Salvatore leaned forward and looked serious. “Polly, if I’m to unravel Jack’s connection to the registrar, it would really help me to look at his personal papers. Things like his bank and credit card statements. His photographs.”
“Oh!”
It was clear that Polly didn’t like the sound of where this might be going.
“When people come to a detective, they have questions. But they don’t always realize what it will cost to get answers. The cost beyond the money. That can include doing things that are distasteful, things that you would never consider in normal circumstances. You wouldn’t poke into Jack’s personal effects, but isn’t that really what you’ve hired me to do?”
Polly’s lips tightened. For a moment Salvatore thought she was about to become an ex-client. But then she gathered her bag from the floor, fished in it, and put a set of keys on the table. “To Jack’s flat. Copy them and drop the originals back to me at the office this afternoon.”
Salvatore nodded solemnly.
“His shift today ends at five. He won’t be home before twenty past.”
The Old Man was dozing in front of a jigsaw puzzle when there was a knock at the door. He wasn’t sure he’d heard it at first. But then the knock was repeated.
“The door!” he called to Mama.
He had just remembered that Mama went out shopping when Rosetta called back, “It’s me, Papa,” and entered.
“Hello, my darling girl,” the Old Man said. “You come to visit? I make you some coffee. Wait, is it tea you prefer?” He readied himself to get up.
“Nothing to drink, thanks, Papa. I want to ask you a favor.”
“A favor.” He considered that. “You want money to start a computing business?”
“I need to go out—to make a visit on Salvatore’s case. Would you cover the office for an hour?”
“You want I should cover the office?”
“But if you have something else to do . . .”
“I have so much to do.” He glanced at the puzzle. “Huh! I will be down the stairs in a minute. Or two. Best I go to the bathroom first, like before a trip. Who knows how long you must be out on Salvatore’s visit.”
“An hour and a half at most, Papa. I’ll see you downstairs.”
Jonathan Aloysius Appleby’s flat was on the first floor in a well-maintained building overlooking a park. It wasn’t huge—two bedrooms, a living room and a kitchen—but it was immaculate. Even the light switches looked new. Jonathan Aloysius clearly liked his things just so.
It was in the smaller of the bedrooms that Salvatore found the cache of documents he was looking for—bank and credit card statements, employment and personal correspondence, even Jack’s will. They were in file folders in the drawers of a lush mahogany desk. Because Salvatore was on a timetable he took photographs of everything he could find rather than studying the documents one by one.
Just past four, when he was about to open the last drawer, his phone vibrated. It was Rosetta. “Hi, sis. How’d you do?”
“I managed to get fifteen minutes.” After leaving Polly at lunchtime, Salvatore had asked Rosetta to try to interview the registrar. “She was very professional.”
“Did she acknowledge knowing Jonathan Aloysius?”
“She agreed that they know each other.”
“Personally?”
“She laughed when I asked. Then made a cross with her index fingers.”
“What? Like to keep vampires away?”
“Exactly.”
“Jack is a vampire?”
“I’m sure she just meant that she would never get personal with him. Very jolly and bright, but beyond what I’ve already said she wouldn’t say anything. And she does wear a wedding ring and is in her fifties, which would reduce the odds. How are you doing there?”
“Taking lots of snaps but nothing has jumped out at me so far.”
“We can download the pictures and have a look when you get back. Will you be long?”
“I don’t want to get caught in flagrante. I don’t think I’ve got much more to do.”
“See you soon then.” Rosetta rang off.
Salvatore opened the last drawer in Appleby’s desk. It held only one folder but it was pretty thick. Opening it, he found that the top document was a death certificate.
David Lunghi returned from school at about five-fifteen—later than usual because of football practice. Being wiry and quick rather than muscular and tall meant the ground-level game suited him. He wasn’t interested in it the way a lot of his classmates were, but David enjoyed the strategic side of the game. He was a passer rather than a shooter and because of that his goal-scoring contemporaries liked playing with him. His passes made them look good.
In turn, David enjoyed the respect from schoolmates that arose from physical qualities rather than his brainpower. It was a gratifying development in his school life. He was even being noticed more by girls.
But when he dropped his school bag in the kitchen and headed for the office, it wasn’t to recount his latest footballing successes. He wanted an update on the agency’s current investigations. Because if he liked football and enjoyed physics, it was the family business that he loved.
In the office David found his grandfather, who was looking out the window. “Hi, Grandpa.”
The Old Man turned with a smile. “My David. Welcome to the hub, the heartbeat of the agency.”
“Has it been busy?”
“Only in my head. So, you are back from school.”
“Has Uncle Sal learned anything for his new case?”
“Your uncle thinks he has located important documents. He and Rose wanted to study these documents here.” The Old Man patted the monitor on the desk. “And send me back to my pasture, to my stable. But I told them, Go look at your pictures on Rosetta’s better computer. I can finish the day here, no extra charge.”
“So they’re in Auntie Rose’s room?”
“With their important pictures. You want to look?”
“I think I do.”
“So look. And when you’ve looked, come back. If the telephone should ring, you can answer.”
David enjoyed saying, “Lunghi Detective Agency, David Lunghi speaking.” With a nod and a smile, he left for Rosetta’s room. There he found his aunt and uncle peering at Rose’s screen. “Amazing,” Salvatore said.
David could see only that the screen was split between two images.
“She can’t possibly know,” Rose said. “Can she?”
“She would have said.”
“Will you warn her tonight?”
There was a pause while Salvatore thought. In the gap David said, “Hi.”
Neither of the adults looked up or answered.
Finally Salvatore said, “I shouldn’t think it’s necessary.”
Rosetta waved a hand in David’s direction. “Hi, David.”
Salvatore said, “Best to get it all together first, chapter and verse.”
Rosetta said, “I agree.” Then her telephone rang.
The adults ignored it, continuing to concentrate on the screen. After four rings David picked up the receiver and said, “Lunghi Detective Agency. David Lunghi speaking.”
“David?” It was his grandmother. “That’s David?”
“Yes, Grandma.”
“Your Aunt’s not in her room? Because she’s not in the kitchen.”
“She’s here, Grandma.”
“Good. Good. Give her to me, okay?”
David tapped Rosetta on the shoulder and then passed the telephone over. Rose took it without looking away from the screen.
Thursday was one of the three times a week that the family routinely ate together. Usually Rosetta made a curry. But when Marie arrived about six, exhausted—ex-hausted, dahling—from rehearsing Hedda Gabler at school, there was neither the smell of a curry nor anybody working at the cooker when she entered the kitchen. What was going on?
“Hey,” she called. “Hey!”
But there was no answer.
She thought for a moment. Her parents were in court and apparently not back yet. Uncle Sal was supposed to be out working today. So Auntie Rose would be in the agency office. Which must be why she wasn’t cooking. But it was a bit much—a bit much, dahling—when not only was it close to dinnertime, it was a family dinnertime. Did nobody respect tradition anymore?
But just as Marie was about to look for David, whose bag she saw lying awkwardly by the door, she heard noises from above. Her grandparents were on the move, on their way down. Them, at least, she could count on. Mama would cook. All would be well.
Marie dropped onto a chair and let her hair hang back. A tableau of fatigue. Mama and the Old Man would appreciate quality in a weary grandchild, even if nobody did.
But when the descending footsteps arrived outside the kitchen door, they didn’t stop to turn into the flat. They continued down the stairs the led to the street. Mama and the Old Man were going out.
What on earth was happening? Was she doomed—doomed, dahling—to expire here? Drained. Unreplenished. Ignored.
Gina and Angelo arrived home even later than the day before, but their spirits were high. Everyone could see it as soon as they stepped into the kitchen. “Honeys, we’re home,” Angelo said.
“And home to stay,” Gina said. “The case is over. The bad guys changed their pleas. All of them. They’re guilty, guilty, guilty.”
There was a murmur of congratulation from around the table.
“What’s this?” Angelo said, looking at an array of plastic containers. “Not Rose’s curry?”
“We did Suko tonight, Dad,” David said, referring to the Thai restaurant down the street.
“Celebrating, or just busy?” Gina asked.
“Auntie Rose and Uncle Sal made progress on a case, but they haven’t reported yet. They wanted to wait for you.”
“Which case?” Angelo asked
“The fiancé, from yesterday,” Salvatore said. “We made a breakthrough. It may even be murder.” He opened his eyes theatrically wide and looked from David to Marie and back again.
Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine 12/01/10 Page 5