“Not bad,” he said as I pulled up in front of the dealership. “Not bad at all. And you’re one hell of a good driver.”
Reluctantly, I slid out of the driver’s seat, took off my hat and gloves, and pushed my sunglasses up onto the top of my head. “Wow! That was fun!”
Inside, I wrote a check for the deposit, arranged to come back on Monday to finish up the paperwork, and shook hands with the manager and the beaming salesman. Then Pete and I climbed back into the Crown Vic.
The sun was low in the west by then, and darkness was closing in fast. Lights began to appear in windows, and the temperature dropped. I looked at my watch. “It’s only four forty-five,” I said. “It gets dark here way too early.”
“I know,” he said. “Not much like Florida. What shall we do with the rest of our day? Dinner and another movie? Hot dogs and beer at Greene’s Tavern?”
Another visit to the cozy, old-fashioned bar sounded good to me, and the blazing fire in that big stone fireplace would be welcome, too.
“Hot dogs and beer, please,” I said. “And maybe later we can go back to the diner and have a big slice of apple pie. Hot dogs, apple pie, and Chevrolet. The perfect all-American day.”
“I like it,” he said.
When we pulled into the Greene’s Tavern parking lot, Pete didn’t make a move to leave the car. “Do you think your whole class may be here tonight?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” I said. “Why?”
“There’re a couple of things you might need to know about some of your students.”
“All right, if you think so. Who?” I didn’t want to hear anything bad about any of them.
“I guess you know we ran a check on Sammy and Duke after they were caught nosing around in the basement,” he said.
“Sure. You had to do that.”
“Sammy has a record,” he said. “He’s served time in jail more than once. Oh, he’s paid his debt to society, as they say, but I think you need to know that he might not be exactly trustworthy.”
“He’s not dangerous, is he?” Sammy had kind of a smart mouth, but I couldn’t imagine him hurting anyone.
“No violent crimes. Don’t worry about that. But he was convicted once of doping horses, fixing races. He served a short sentence, and he was suspended from racing for a year on account of it.”
“What else? You said more than once.”
“While he was suspended, he went to jail again. That conviction was for selling cocaine. Then he got back into racing. Small tracks, some overseas. Like he said, he got hurt a few years ago. No other trouble since.”
“Well, that’s something,” I said. “What about Duke?”
“First of all, Duke’s not his real first name.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. Going to tell me what it is?”
“Nope. But he has no police record that we could find. Small-time actor.”
“That’s what I thought. Anyone else I need to know about?”
“Just Primrose.”
“Primrose? What’s she done?”
“Absolutely nothing. That’s the problem. There’s nothing about her anywhere that we’ve been able to find. It’s as though she dropped here from Planet X. She has a legit New York driver’s license, but no work record, no Social Security information. We’re still looking into it.”
“What about the others? Kelly and Therese and Thom?”
“They’ve checked out okay so far. Seem to be just who and what they say they are.”
“Why all the interest in my class, anyway?” I wanted to know. “Does it have anything to do with the tunnel?”
Pete opened his door. “I’ve already told you more than I should.”
When we walked into Greene’s Tavern, Kelly was busy waiting tables and Primrose was seated at the bar, on the same stool she’d camped out on the last time we were there. Therese and Sammy sat side by side at the keno machine. I didn’t see Thom anywhere, but behind the bar, serving customers, were Joe Greene and Duke Martin.
Pete and I took our back-to-the-wall seats at the end of the bar, and Duke put a couple of coasters in front of us. “What’ll it be?” he asked. “It’s still happy hour.”
Pete ordered light beer for both of us, then pointed to the rotisserie hot dog cooker behind the bar. “We’ll have a couple of those hot dogs, too.”
“I’m surprised to see you tending bar, Duke,” I said. “You’re a man of many talents.”
“Struggling actors hold down lots of different jobs, ma’am,” he said. “I learned to bartend in a little joint in L.A. years ago. When Thom called in sick, Joe was kind of stuck, so I said, ‘Aw, shucks, I’ll do it.’” He wasn’t wearing his ten-gallon hat, but the John Wayne accent was firmly in place.
“What do you think of my new bartender?” Joe Greene asked. “Other than being so tall he keeps hitting his head on the wineglass rack, he does a pretty good job.”
Duke looked pleased. “Glad to help out. Mustard and relish on the dogs?”
Primrose picked up her drink and moved to the vacant stool next to me. “You guys must like this place.”
“Lee had a craving for hot dogs,” Pete said. “Want one?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” she said. “Duke and I have been working on our storyboard all day. I forgot to eat.”
Pete signaled to Duke and ordered another hot dog as Primrose turned and faced me. “What’s up with the sunglasses, Lee?” she said. “It’s dark outside.”
Embarrassed, I reached for the glasses on my head and yanked them off. “I forgot all about them,” I said. “I was wearing them while I was test-driving a new convertible this afternoon.”
“No kidding? I love convertibles. What kind?”
I launched into a happy description of the Corvette, probably telling her far more than she wanted to know. My automotive babbling was interrupted by Sammy.
“Hi, guys,” he said, then motioned to the bartender. “Hey, Duke, I need some more change. That Therese is the luckiest woman I’ve ever seen. I may take her to Vegas!”
I turned to look at Therese, who was tapping numbers onto the flashing video screen, her fingers flying as fast as they did on a keyboard. She lifted one hand for a nanosecond wave in our direction, then focused again on the game.
“I never thought of Therese as a gambler,” I said. “But she looks as though she’s seriously into it.”
Sammy picked up his change. “This is her first time.” He shook his head. “Never saw anything like it before.” He hurried back to join the luckiest woman he’d ever seen, and I turned my attention to my hot dog and beer.
“So, Primrose,” Pete said, “you say you and Duke have been spending your weekend doing homework?”
“Right. We worked all day over at the dorm. We’ll be working on it tomorrow, too.”
“Good for you,” I said. “How’s it coming?”
“Pretty good, I think,” she said. “I really enjoy the research part.”
“I like it, too,” I said. “Of course, it helps that I have a research librarian for an aunt.”
“Is that what Miss Russell does? You never told me that.” Primrose looked pleased. “Maybe she’ll give me a hand with a little extracurricular project I’m helping a friend with.”
“I’m sure she’ll be glad to,” I said. “What’s the project?”
“My friend is a writer. Lives in California. She’s calling her new book Hot Prez. It’s about our hottest presidents. I’m helping with the East Coast hotties. By the way, I’m going to have to skip school for a day pretty soon to check out the JFK library in Boston.”
“I’m sure we can arrange it,” I said. “Kennedy sure belongs on that list. Who else is on it?”
She paused and took a bite of her hot dog. “I haven’t seen the whole list yet. I know Reagan’s on it. And Obama. Bill Clinton, of course. Oh, yeah. Roosevelt.”
“Teddy or Franklin?” Pete asked.
“Franklin,” she said. “I did the res
earch on him at the FDR Library when I was working in New York.”
“What kind of job did you have in New York?” Pete asked. I knew where that line of questioning was going. After all, Primrose hadn’t dropped here from Planet X.
Primrose waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Oh, I was just freelancing. A little stage work. A little film work. You know. Amateur stuff.”
“Hard to make a living that way,” Pete said.
Primrose shrugged. “I did all right. I always do.”
“You’ll be interested when we go upstairs to Tabitha’s room,” I told her. “She was a big fan of President Roosevelt.”
“How do you know that?” she asked, frowning.
“She had a big framed picture of him. It’s hanging right over her bed.”
“Really? She must have thought he was a hot prez, too. When can we go up there and take a look around?”
“Maybe sometime next week,” I said. “After we’ve heard Councilor Wilson’s . . . um . . . presentation.”
“Have you met the councilor yet, Primrose?” Pete asked. “He seems like a nice guy. Real interested in Salem history, apparently.”
Another hand wave. “Yeah. We’ve met. He seems okay. I’m not much into local politics.”
But are you into local politicians?
“Hi, Lee. Hi, Pete.” Therese slid onto the stool next to Primrose. “Sammy taught me how to play keno. It’s fun.”
“Come on back and play some more.” Sammy stood behind her. “Don’t quit now. You’re on a roll.”
“Don’t want to play anymore.” Therese pointed at Primrose’s hot dog. “I’m starving. Can I have one of those, Duke?”
“Sure thing, kid,” Duke said. “Don’t let Sammy teach you any bad habits. Gambling’s really harmful for some folks.”
“Man, you should see her play! She’s a phenom, I’m telling you,” Sammy said. “She says she can see the numbers before they come up.”
“Duke’s right, Therese,” Pete said. “Gambling can get to be a real bad habit. You don’t want to throw your money away like that.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t,” Therese said. “It’s not my money. Sammy was just teaching me how to play. It’s all his.”
“Jeez, Sammy. The least you can do is buy the kid a hot dog with your winnings,” Primrose said.
“Yeah, sure.” Sammy put a few bills on the bar. “Have a glass of wine, too.”
“Thanks, Sammy,” Therese said, all smiles.
Duke, ducking his head and avoiding the wineglass rack, delivered Therese’s drink and dog, then jerked a thumb toward the tavern’s front door. “Hey, look who’s here.”
Nodding and smiling to the left and the right, wearing a velvet-collared topcoat and a gray fedora, and carrying an ebony walking stick, Rupert Pennington made his grand entrance into Greene’s Tavern.
CHAPTER 22
“Good evening. Good evening.” The director strolled the length of the bar, greeting patrons along the way.
Joe Greene called out, “The usual, Mr. P?”
“Indeed, my friend. All things remain as usual on this fine night.” He carefully placed his hat on the bar, leaned the walking stick against the wall, nodded to me, and sat next to Therese.
“A pleasure to see you, Ms. Barrett. Detective Mondello, Miss Della Monica,” he said. “How nice that several of our favorite students are also here in this most convivial atmosphere.”
I could only stammer, “Hello,” astonished that the man was apparently going to pretend that nothing had changed. That “all things remained as usual,” even though only hours ago he had been wearing a wig and a fake beard and had admitted to Pete that he’d been stalking my aunt for days.
Joe delivered Mr. Pennington’s drink—bourbon and water—and leaned across the bar. “Good to see you, Mr. P. I’ve been wanting to tell you how much my girl is liking that school. Hell, she’s been glued to a history book all day. Never liked to study that much back home.”
“Mostly due to her excellent teacher.” Pennington raised his glass toward me.
“Did Kelly work as a waitress when you lived in West Virginia, Joe?” Pete asked.
“No, but she learned waitressing right quick.”
“And what was it you did down there?” Pete wanted to know. “Some sort of coal mining, was it?”
Kelly appeared with a drink order, putting her tray on the bar. “Pa wasn’t just a regular miner,” she said. “He was a specialist. Probably still be doing it if he didn’t get the cough.”
“We’re well out of it, honey,” Joe said. “Things are much better here.”
“A specialist . . .” I began to ask a question, but Duke had loaded the tray with drinks and Kelly headed back to her tables, while Joe waited on a customer at the other end of the bar.
“Duke,” Pete said. “What’s wrong with Thom? You say he called in sick?”
“Don’t know exactly,” Duke said. “I didn’t talk to him. Joe says he sounded bad, though. Probably some kind of flu. Lots of that going around.”
“You say young Thom is ill?” Mr. Pennington said. “That’s odd. I saw him just a little while ago over by the new train station. I stopped and offered him a lift, but he declined.”
“By the train station?” Primrose asked. “Did he look like he was going somewhere or just waiting for someone?”
“Good evening, Miss McDonald,” Mr. Pennington said. “I really can’t say what his intentions might have been, but I do recall that he was carrying a satchel.”
“He wouldn’t just take off without telling us.” Therese shook her head. “Would he, Sammy?”
Sammy shrugged. “Dunno. He was in a real hurry to get to New York.”
“That’s right,” Duke said. “Maybe he finally got enough money together and headed on out.”
Joe Greene joined the conversation. “When I talked to him, he sure sounded sick. All snifflin’ and breathin’ hard.”
“He wouldn’t run off somewhere without telling me,” Kelly insisted. “He’s my best friend. He’s the nicest person I’ve met since we moved here.”
Mr. Pennington downed his drink and signaled to Duke for another. “I found out what the secret to life is,” he said. “Friends. Best friends.” He looked around expectantly, and his gaze settled on me. “Ms. Barrett?”
“Yes, sir?”
He leaned forward, looked into my eyes for what seemed like a long time, then sighed.
“Oh, Ms. Barrett. I am disappointed. Your sweet aunt would have had that one in two seconds. Jessica Tandy. Fried Green Tomatoes. 1991.”
Therese looked mystified. “What do tomatoes have to do with Thom running off and leaving us?”
“It’s a movie, honey,” Sammy told her. “Don’t worry about it. Come on back and play keno.”
“I don’t want to. Can we go home now, Primrose? I’m tired. And I’m worried about Thom.” She closed her eyes and put her fingers on her temples. “I think something’s wrong with him.”
I’d seen that gesture before. Ariel had often used that same pose when she pretended to do her TV psychic hocus-pocus. The warm feeling I’d felt when Pete and I entered the bar was disappearing fast.
“You about ready for that apple pie, Lee?” Pete asked. “I know I am.”
Bless you, Pete. I really want to get out of here.
“Absolutely,” I said, forcing a smile. “Good night, everybody. See you all at school on Monday. And, Duke, when Thom calls you back, would you text me?” Mentally crossing my fingers, I added, “I’m sure he’s okay.”
Pete and I hurried out into the cold and climbed into the Vic. He turned on the heater, and we waited there for the car to warm up. “That Pennington is a strange one,” he said. “I guess he’s just going to pretend the whole green Ford thing never happened.”
“Well, he is an old actor,” I said. “Pretending is his business. But I’m going to have to tell Aunt Ibby everything. She can decide whether to confront him about it or not.”
; We pulled out of the parking lot and headed downtown. “Are you really up for that pie?” he asked.
“Of course I am,” I said. “But I’m worried about Thom.”
“Me too,” he admitted. “Between the way Thom behaved at Bill’s funeral, then pulling this disappearing act, it makes me wonder exactly what his connection to Bill’s death might be.”
“I’m afraid I’m thinking along the same lines, and I don’t like it.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Oh, damn,” I said.
“What’s wrong?”
“My sunglasses. I left them on the bar.”
“Want to go back and get them?”
“No. It’s not important. I have more at home,” I said. “I’m sure Joe will put them away for me.”
The diner at the Tabby appeared to be as busy at night as it was during the daytime. We were happy to find two seats together at the counter.
“You’re in luck,” the waitress said, taking our order. “The apple pie is still hot. Just came out of the oven.”
“In that case, we’d better have some vanilla ice cream on top,” Pete said. “You agree?”
I did, of course. As I sipped my coffee and savored the pastry treat, I tried to put thoughts of Bill’s death and Thom’s disappearance and Mr. Pennington’s strange pursuit of my aunt out of my mind.
But anxieties don’t melt away as easily as ice cream on hot apple pie.
It was still fairly early when Pete brought me home, but he turned down my invitation to come in, as he’d drawn morning duty. He walked me to the door, where we shared a discreet good-night kiss—the 100-watt porch light discouraged anything more.
“I’ll see you Monday morning at the school,” he reminded me. “Is nine o’clock early enough for me to catch Wilson’s talk?”
“Nine is perfect,” I said. “See you then.”
O’Ryan greeted me in the front hall with purrs and mrrows, Aunt Ibby close behind him with questions. “Did you find a car you like? Where did you go after the funeral? I looked for you, but you disappeared so quickly. Did you tell Pete about that green Ford? Do you want coffee?”
“Whoa!” I laughed. “Slow down. No thanks to the coffee. I just had some at the diner. Let’s go sit somewhere, and I’ll tell you everything.” I took off my boots and jacket and followed her into the living room. “It’s been quite a day. This may take a while.”
Tails, You Lose (A Witch City Mystery Book 2) Page 18