I grasped the textbook tightly with both hands, willing myself to stop thinking about Pete and his kisses. I focused on the page.
There is significant scientific evidence that criminal behavior has genetic as well as environmental sources.
Would this explain why several generations of the Trumbull family had been connected to a variety of crimes?
I read the required chapter, jotted down a few notes for the online quiz I’d have to take soon, snapped the book shut, and turned off the bedside lamp. O’Ryan changed his position and curled himself into a furry yellow ball beside me.
“Good night, fur ball,” I said.
His answering purr sounded like a tiny engine idling. Within seconds I was in a half-dream state, watching little metal cars race around on a circular track. Friedrich’s car was there in miniature, followed by the green Ford, with a blue roadster convertible bringing up the rear. Around and around they went. Were Friedrich’s car and the Ford chasing the roadster ? Or was it the other way around?
CHAPTER 19
The next day, I opened the front door before Pete had a chance to ring the doorbell, and stepped out into the cold but sunny morning. Pete took my hand.
“Careful. The steps are a little slippery.”
I was pretty sure-footed, but the hand-holding was nice, anyway. “Are we going to have breakfast at the restaurant we went to before?” I asked.
“Nope. Too crowded. I want you to tell me what had you so spooked last night.” He held my arm and helped me into the car, as though I were made of glass. “We’ll go someplace quiet.” He wasn’t smiling. “I worried about you all night. What’s all this about somebody stalking you?”
I’d been sleepless for awhile, too, until I found out that watching imaginary little cars on a circular track works better than counting sheep. I felt surprisingly rested.
“It’s probably no big deal,” I said as we pulled away from the curb. “And I’m sorry if I snapped at you last night. Maybe it’s all just a big coincidence. But . . .”
“But you don’t really believe that.”
I sighed. “Not really.”
“Let’s grab some takeout. Then we can park someplace quiet, and you can tell me what’s going on.”
“Sounds good to me,” I said.
He drove to the nearest fast-food place, ordered our coffee and bacon, egg, and cheese biscuits, then headed for the park at the Salem Willows. In the summertime the Willows is a hive of activity—arcades, music, bumper cars, cotton candy, seafood restaurants, all within sight of the ocean. But in the dead of winter you could hardly find a quieter place.
We parked beside a curving section of beach next to a sheltered cove, where the only sound was the cry of gulls. “Start at the beginning,” he said, “and tell me everything.”
I began with my walk out to the garage to put the food in the Buick’s trunk and how I’d noticed the green car parked across the street. “I noticed it because of the parking ban,” I said, “but I didn’t think much about it.”
Pete put his coffee cup in a cup holder and took out a pen and notebook. “Go on,” he said. “Don’t leave anything out.”
I thought for a moment as I took a few bites of my breakfast. “Aunt Ibby brought her car around to the front and picked me up, and we drove over to Federal Street, to the funeral home. It was crowded, so we went around the block a couple of times, looking for a parking space. That’s when I saw Friedrich. His window was rolled down. I’m sure he recognized me.”
Pete nodded, still taking notes. “He probably did. Then what?”
I told him about going to the Sullivans’ apartment. “I was kind of bored, so I looked out the front window, wondering if Friedrich would be out there,” I said. “He wasn’t, but that same green car was. The one I saw parked on Oliver Street.”
“You’re sure it was the same one?”
“Pete,” I said, “I know a little about cars. It was the same one. It’s a two thousand six Ford Focus. Dark green. Dented right front fender.”
He smiled. “Sorry. Sometimes I forget what a gearhead you are.”
“That’s okay. Anyway, Aunt Ibby and I left in a hurry. I wanted to try to get the plate number.”
“Good girl. Did you get it?”
“No. The darn car was gone when we got outside.”
“And you have no idea who it was?” He put the pen down and unwrapped his breakfast biscuit. “And it wasn’t on Oliver Street when you got home?”
“Never saw it again,” I said, “and I haven’t a clue who it was.”
“If you do see it again, snap a quick picture with your phone, but don’t be obvious.” He frowned. “I don’t like the idea of somebody following you.”
“Or maybe they’re watching Aunt Ibby,” I said. “That idea bothers me even more.”
“Don’t worry, babe,” he said. “We’ll figure it out.”
“There’s one more thing. But I don’t know if it’s important.”
“Tell me about it, anyway.”
I told him about the green car Aunt Ibby had seen from her living room window. “She’s not sure what kind of car it was,” I said. “Just that it was green, so probably it’s nothing.”
“Probably,” he agreed, still taking notes. “Anything else?”
“Not about that.” I sipped my coffee. “Just some school stuff.”
“Like what?”
“I got a call from Jonathan Wilson,” I said, watching his eyes, still wondering whether he’d recognized Primrose and the city councilman the last time we shared breakfast.
“Wilson? What did he want?”
“He wanted to talk to me about addressing my class. He says it’s something important to ‘the great city of Salem.’”
“Sounds like a politician. What did you tell him?”
“He’s going to come on Monday morning for half an hour,” I said. “He wants to talk about an old map.”
“No kidding? Would you mind if I audit your class on Monday? I’ve developed an interest in maps lately myself,” he said.
“You’re welcome anytime,” I said. “Sammy Trout likes maps, too. He was studying an atlas yesterday, with a map of Salem all marked up.”
He nodded and wrote in the notebook. “What about the big guy? Duke.”
“He was pretty quiet. Said he was hungover. This weekend he and Primrose are supposed to be working on a preliminary script for our documentary.”
“Duke and Primrose, huh? Odd couple.”
“I know. It’ll be interesting to see what they come up with.”
We sat for a while in companionable silence, broken only by the strident calls of the gulls. It seemed like a good time to try out my interrogating skills.
“Pete,” I said, “do you mind if I ask you something?”
“Go ahead.”
“That last time we had breakfast,” I began, “when we went to that new place, were you . . . I mean . . . did you see . . . um . . . notice—”
“Wilson and Primrose getting cozy behind us? Sure I did.”
“You didn’t say anything. Weren’t you going to tell me?”
He smiled. “I didn’t even know who Primrose was then. Weren’t you going to tell me?”
“Aunt Ibby says it’s none of my business where Primrose goes or who she meets.”
“Aunt Ibby is right.”
“Another thing about Aunt Ibby . . . ,” I said. “She’s been digging around in the Trumbull files at the library.”
“Come up with anything new?”
“Have you been thinking about the gunrunning in the eighties? That they might have been using the new tunnel, the one Bill fell into, and the trapdoor in the store basement?”
“She found the same information we did.”
“Seems so,” I said. “And one more thing . . . although I’m sure you already know about that, too.”
“What is it?”
“The jacket that the police returned to Mrs. Sullivan with Bill’s things.�
�
He frowned. “What about it? We always return personal belongings.”
“She says it wasn’t his. Said she’d never seen it before in her life.”
I could tell from his expression that he was truly surprised, and I felt a speck of satisfaction that I knew something he didn’t.
“You’re sure about that? Good work, Lee.”
“Thanks,” I said.
He looked at his watch. “Hey, we have some time before the funeral. Want to check out a car dealership on the way to St. Thomas’s?” Pete gathered up our wrappers, cups, and napkins, tossed the food bag into a trash barrel, and we headed back to the city.
“Have you been thinking about what kind of car we should be looking for?” he asked on the way.
“Well, I’m not thinking about a Ferrari or a Bugatti,” I said. “I like American cars. I think a Corvette would be fun.”
He laughed. “Everybody thinks a Corvette would be fun. Seriously, are you thinking about a new car? Or used?”
“New,” I said, picturing Nancy’s roadster. “And blue.”
Pete drove to a dealership I’d seen advertised on television. “I know the manager,” he said. “Nice guy. He’ll take good care of you.” We climbed out of the Crown Vic and Pete motioned toward shiny rows of cars displayed on the huge lot. “Why don’t you take a look around? I’ll see if he’s in his office.”
I didn’t need to look far. There it was in the showroom window. A long, swoopy Corvette Stingray convertible. Laguna Blue. No need to wait for the manager. I pushed the glass doors open and walked straight over to my dream car.
“A beauty, isn’t she?” The salesman spoke from behind me. I didn’t even turn to look at him.
“Mind if I sit in her?”
“Go right ahead,” he said, reaching past me and opening the car door. I slid onto the smooth leather seat, put one hand on the race car–style steering wheel and the other on the seven-speed manual gearshift, and fell in love. I read the price sticker, blinked a couple of times, and stayed in love, anyway.
“How about taking her out for a test-drive?”
“I want to, but I don’t have time right now,” I said.
“No problem.” He handed me a business card. “How about this afternoon?”
“I’ll be back,” I said, reluctantly getting out of the car and looking around the showroom for Pete. “My name is Lee Barrett, and I’ll definitely be back.” I stuck out my hand, and we shook on it. “And if she drives as good as she looks, you’ve got a sale.”
Pete and his manager friend arrived just in time to overhear the “you’ve got a sale” part. The manager beamed. “I’m Chuck,” he said. “Pete here said you have great taste, Ms. Barrett. You sure do. Under that hood is 450 horsepower. She goes from zero to sixty in four seconds. You got your V-8 engine. You got your seven-speed manual. You got your—”
Pete interrupted. “Thanks, Chuck. Unfortunately, Lee and I have to head out right now. Funeral. Old friend.” He took my arm and steered me toward the glass doors. “She’ll be back another time to talk about it.”
Once outside he put his arm across my shoulders. “Sorry to rush you out like that, but I wanted to give you a little time to think before you sign anything.”
“I appreciate that, Pete. I really do. But I do want to test-drive it. Who wouldn’t?” Just thinking about it made me smile. “Ride with me this afternoon, while I try it out. I double-dog dare you!”
I was surprised when he agreed right away. “Can’t let a double-dog dare scare me,” he said. “You’re on.” He looked at his watch. “Now let’s go say good-bye to old Bill, shall we?”
Neither of us mentioned the Corvette on the way to the church. I knew Pete had some doubts about my buying such a high-powered car, and I was sure he had some concern about my ability to pay for it. I’d never talked about money with him, and I was sure he had no idea just how well set financially I was. Between my parents’ estate, Johnny’s insurance, and the counsel of some shrewd financial advisers, I’m what most people would consider a wealthy woman. I’m also quite a thrifty one. Other than using some of the money for college, I’d barely touched it. I could easily afford to buy the Laguna Blue beauty, and I fully intended to have it.
Saint Thomas the Apostle Church is in Peabody, just over the Salem line. It’s a little jewel of a place, Old English, with lots of curved arches and carved wood inside. Soft organ music played as we made our way down the center aisle, and the sun shining through stained glass made pastel patterns on the wooden pews. It was a few minutes before ten o’clock, and the chapel was crowded with Bill’s friends. We were lucky to find two seats together. I searched for familiar faces and spotted my aunt a few rows behind the Sullivans.
“There’s Aunt Ibby,” I whispered to Pete. “And a lot of our neighbors are here, too.”
“Nice turnout,” he whispered back. “And at least one person I’m surprised to see here.”
I looked from side to side. “Who? Where?”
“Shhh,” he said. “Tell you later.”
The ancient ritual of the funeral mass had begun. The rhythmic words, the tinkling bells, the scent of incense filled my senses. When the service ended, and we stood to leave, Pete spoke softly.
“Look at the guy at the far end of the last row on the right.” I looked in the direction he’d indicated. No one in the last row looked familiar. “The man with the dark glasses,” he said. “Wearing a watch cap pulled down low.”
I peered more closely at the man, who held a handkerchief to his face, wiping first one eye and then the other. As I watched, he quickly removed his glasses, wiped them, then put them back on.
I realized in those few seconds that I was looking at the tearstained face of Thom Lalonde.
“It’s Thom,” I said. “But why? I’m quite sure he didn’t know Bill.”
“Why is a good question,” Pete said. “After all, if he didn’t know Bill, why is he here, crying?”
CHAPTER 20
Bill’s burial in nearby St. Mary’s Cemetery was to be a private affair for family only, so after we left the church, we went straight back to Pete’s car. I looked around for Thom but didn’t see him anywhere.
“Thom was really upset,” I said. “I don’t understand it.”
“Are you going to ask him about it when you see him on Monday?” Pete asked. “Tell him you saw him here?”
“Does that mean I’m on the case?”
“What case?” He grinned.
“I’m not sure,” I said, laughing. “It’s kind of a ‘secret tunnel, broken leg, city councilor, map book, barroom, green Ford’ federal case!”
“Something like that.” He laughed, too. “Seriously, though, Thom might just be one of those people who like to go to funerals. Like a professional mourner.”
I considered that. “Could be, I guess. After all, a funeral mass is a fairly public event. He must have known he’d be seen by people who’d recognize him, in spite of the cap and shades.”
“That’s true,” Pete said. “But don’t forget, he was in on the basement caper, along with Sammy and Duke. Thom may not be as innocent as he looks. Life is full of surprises.” He gave me a long look. “Speaking of surprises, do you mind if we stop by the station? I want to talk to the chief about the coat they found on Bill. I think the chief might want to take another look at it.”
“Do I have to come in with you? I’m not one of Chief Whaley’s favorite people, you know.”
“Oh, don’t take anything the chief says personally. He’s all business all the time. Come in with me. He might want to hear about this from you.”
I agreed reluctantly, and that was how I happened to spend part of my Saturday off in the Salem police station, face-to-face with what the comic books would call my arch nemesis. I got a curt nod acknowledging my presence, but he addressed Pete.
“So, Detective,” he said, “to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing Ms. Barrett once again? So soon.” There was no mistaking
the unfriendly glare he sent in my direction.
“She told me something about the Bill Sullivan case today. Something I guess we missed.”
“Sullivan?” Whaley said, looking at the clock on his wall. “By this time I presume he’s six feet under.”
“Well, sir,” Pete said, “Mrs. Sullivan claims the coat he was wearing when we found him wasn’t his.”
The chief’s icy blue eyes narrowed. “You know that to be a fact, Ms. Barrett?”
I could feel my temper rising. “Mrs. Sullivan says the coat isn’t Bill’s. She ought to know.”
“She told you this?”
“She told my aunt.”
“Thirdhand information, Detective Mondello,” he said, turning his stare in Pete’s direction. “But it may be worth checking. Get on it. Interview Mrs. Sullivan again and pick up that coat.”
It was my turn to be surprised when Chief Tom Whaley stuck out his hand. “Thank you, Ms. Barrett,” he said.
“You’re welcome, Chief Whaley,” I said, shaking his big paw.
We left the station and headed for Pete’s car. “Chief wants me to get right on it,” he said. “I hate to barge in on the Sullivans right after they just buried Bill. Maybe I should wait until tomorrow.”
“Maybe, but, Pete, when I was at the Sullivans’ place last night, I saw a Goodwill box in the downstairs lobby. Since the coat wasn’t Bill’s, she might have already tossed it.”
“Good observation, Lee,” he said as we returned to his car. “Did anybody ever tell you you’d make a good cop?”
I had to laugh at that idea. “Never. But at least Chief Whaley shook my hand.”
“What do you say we grab some lunch, then head over to the Sullivans’?” he said, smiling, as we turned onto Margin Street. Then his expression changed. “But what about your test-drive? Can we skip it for now?”
“Not a chance,” I said. “You’re not going to chicken out on me. We’ll do both.”
Tails, You Lose (A Witch City Mystery Book 2) Page 16