Pastime s-18

by Robert B. Parker

  "I think," she said, "that I shall remain young and beautiful forever."

  We reached the Common and Pearl was now in low tension, leaning against the leash, her nose apparently pressed against the grass, sniffing.

  "Well," I said, "you've got a hell of a start on it."

  "Actually," she said, "I don't suppose either of us will retire. I'll practice therapy, and teach, and write some. You'll chase around rescuing maidens and slaying dragons, annoying all the right people.

  "Someday I may not be the toughest kid on the block," I said.

  She shook her head. "Someday you may not be the strongest," she said. "I suspect you'll always be the toughest."

  "Good point," I said.

  CHAPTER 22

  PAUL and I were working out in the Harbor Health Club. Paul was doing pelvic tilt sit-ups. I could do some. But Paul seemed able to do fifty thousand of them and had the annoying habit of pausing to talk during various phases of the sit-up without any visible strain. He was doing it now.

  "Maybe," he said, "we were out in Lenox asking the wrong questions of the wrong people."

  I was doing concentration curls, with relatively light weight, and many reps. Paul had been slowly weaning me from the heavy weights. It's the amount of work, not the amount of weight.

  "Almost by definition," I said, trying to sound easy as I curled the dumbbells. "Since what we did produced nothing."

  "Well, I mean I know I'm a dancer and you're a detective, but…"

  "Go ahead," I said. "If you've got a good idea, my ego can stand it-unless it's brilliant."

  "It's not brilliant," Paul said. He curled down and up and down again, and began curling up on an angle to involve the lateral obliques. "But if I had more than a million dollars in cash, and I were running away from the kind of people you've described, maybe I wouldn't stay in a hotel."

  I finished the thirtieth curl and began to do hammer curls.

  "Because you wouldn't be making a temporary departure," I said.

  "That's right," Paul said. "You'd know you could never come back."

  "So maybe you'd buy a place, or rent a place."

  "Yes. I don't know what property costs, but if I had a million dollars.. ."

  "More than a million," I said. "Yeah. You'd stay in a hotel if you were on your way somewhere. But if you were going to make it a permanent hideout, you'd want something more."

  "Could you buy a place without proving your identity?" Paul said.

  I put down the barbells. They were bright chrome. Everything was upscale at the Harbor Health Club except Henry Cimoli, who owned it. Henry hadn't changed much since he'd fought Willie.Pep, except that the scar tissue had, with time, thickened around his eyes, so that now he always looked as if he were squinting into the sun.

  "You'd have to give a name, but if you were paying cash, I don't think you'd have to prove it."

  "So maybe we should go out there and talk to real estate people," Paul said. "Yes," I said. "We should."

  I finished my set of thirty hammers and went back to straight curls, concentrating on keeping my elbow still, using only the bicep.

  "It's an excellent idea," I said.

  Paul had gone into a hamstring stretch where he sat on the floor with his legs out straight and pressed his forehead against his kneecap.

  "You'd have thought of it anyway," he said.

  "Of course," I said. "Because I'm a professional detective, and you're just a performer."

  "Certainly," Paul said.

  We finished our workout, stretched, took some steam, showered, picked up

  Pearl from the club office where she had been keeping company with Henry, and strolled out into the fresh-washed fall morning feeling loose and strong with all our pores breathing.

  In the car I said, "Is there a picture of your mother?"

  "Should be, at the house."

  "Okay, let's go out there and break in again and get it."

  "No need to break and enter," Paul said. "While we were there last time I got a key. She always was losing hers, so she kept a spare one under the porch overhang. I took it when we left."

  We went out Storrow Drive toward Route 2. A little past Mass General

  Hospital I spotted the tail. It was a maroon Chevy, and it was a very amateurish tail job. He kept fighting to stay right behind me, making himself noticeable as he cut in and cut off drivers to stay near my rear bumper. There was even horn blowing.

  I said to Paul, "We are being followed by one of the worst followers in

  Boston."

  Paul turned and looked out the back window.

  "Maroon Chevy," I said.

  "Right behind us?"

  "Yeah. Probably someone from Gerry," I said. "Joe would have someone better. If Vinnie Morris did it you wouldn't notice."

  "Would you?"

  "Yeah."

  "What are we going to do?"

  "We'll lose them," I said.

  We continued out Storrow and onto Soldiers Field Road, past Harvard Stadium and across the Eliot Bridge by Mt. Auburn Hospital. In the athletic field near the stadium a number of Harvard women were playing field hockey. Their bare legs flashed under the short plaid skirts and their ankles were bulky with thick socks. The river as we crossed it was the color of strong tea, and a little choppy. A loon with his neck arched floated near the boat club. Behind us the maroon Chevy stayed close to our exhaust pipe. I could see two people in it. The guy driving was wearing sunglasses. Near the

  Cambridge-Belmont line, where Fresh Pond Parkway meets Alewife Brook

  Parkway there is a traffic circle. I went slowly around it with the Chevy behind me.

  "Where we going?" Paul said.

  "Ever see a dog circle a raccoon or some other animal it's got out in the open?"

  "No."

  I went all the way around the circle and started around again.

  "They keep circling faster and faster until they get behind it," I said.

  I held the car in a tight turn and put more pressure on the accelerator.

  The Chevy tried to stay tight, but he didn't know what was going on and I did. Also I cornered better than he did. He lost some ground. I pushed the car harder, it bucked a little against the sharpness of the turn but I held it in.

  "I get it," Paul said.

  "Quicker than the guy in the Chevy," I said. He was still chasing us around the circle. On the third loop I was behind him and as he started around again, I peeled off right and floored it out the Alewife Brook Parkway, past the shopping center, ran the light at Rindge Avenue by passing three cars on the inside, and headed up Rindge back into Cambridge. By the time

  I got to Mass Avenue he had lost us. I turned left and headed out toward

  Lexington through Arlington.

  "Wily," Paul said.

  "Float like a butterfly," I said. "Sting like a bee."

  "Pearl's looking a little queasy," Paul said.

  "Being a canine crime stopper," I said, "is not always pretty."

  CHAPTER 23

  WE started in Stockbridge, because Paul and I agreed that Stockbridge was where we'd buy a place if we were on the run. And it was easy. We left Pearl in the car with the windows part open diagonally across from the Red Lion

  Inn, walked across the street to the biggest real estate office on the main street in Stockbridge, and showed the picture of Patty Giacomin to a thick woman in a pair of green slacks and a pink turtleneck.

  "Oh, I know her," the woman said. "That's Mrs. Richards. I just sold them a house."

  The house she had sold them was about half a mile from town on Overlook

  Hill. They had purchased the house for cash under the name Mr. and Mrs.

  Beaumont Richards.

  "Beaumont Richards," I said as we drove up the hill. "Who'd ever guess it was him?"

  Paul was silent. His face seemed to have lost color, and he swallowed with difficulty. Pearl had her head forward between us, and Paul was absently scratching her ear.

&
nbsp; I parked on the gravel at the edge of the roadway in front of the address we'd been given. It was a recently built Cape, with the unlandscaped raw look that newly built houses have. This one looked even rawer because it was isolated, set into the woods, away from any neighbors. The roadway that we parked on continued into the woods. As if, come spring, an optimistic builder would put up some more houses for spec. Running up behind the house were some wheel ruts which appeared to do service as a driveway. The ruts had probably been created by the builders' heavy equipment and would be smoothed out and re-sodded in spring. To the left the hill sloped down toward the town, and you could see the Red Lion Inn, which dominated the minimalist center. Behind the house the woods ran, as best I could tell, all the way to the Hudson River.

  "How to do this?" I said.

  "I think I should go in," Paul said.

  "Yeah, except Beaumont is bound to be very nervous about callers," I said.

  "I'm his paramour's son," Paul said. "That's got to count for something."

  "He's scared," I said. "That counts for everything in most people, if they're scared enough."

  "I have to do this," Paul said. "I can't have you bring me in to see her.

  I am a grown man. She has to see me that way. She has to accept that… that I matter."

  He swallowed. He had the look of bottled tension that he'd had when I first met him.

  I nodded. "I'll be here," I said.

  Paul made an attempt at a smile, gave me a little thumbs-up gesture, and got out of the car. Pearl immediately came into the front seat and sat where Paul had sat.

  I watched him walk up the curving flagstone pathway toward number 12. It had a colonial blue door. The siding was clapboard stained a maple tone.

  There were diamond panes in the windows. There was no lawn yet, but someone had put in a couple of evergreen shrubs on each side of the front door and a quiet breeze gently tossed the tips of their branches. I wished I could do this for him. It cost him so much and would cost me so little. But it would cost him much more if I did it for him. He stopped on the front steps and, after a moment, rang the doorbell.

  The door opened and I could see Paul speak, and pause, and then go in. The door closed behind him. I waited. Pearl stiffened and shifted in the seat as a squirrel darted across the gravel road and into the yellowing woods that had yielded only slightly to the house. I rubbed her neck and watched the front door.

  "Life is often very hard on kids, Pearl," I said.

  Pearl's attention remained fixed on the squirrel.

  There was no sound. And no movement beyond that which the breeze caused to stir in the forest. Beaumont had chosen a bad place to hide. It seemed remote but its remoteness increased his danger.He'd have been better off in a city among a million people. Out here you could fire off cannon and no one would hear.

  Pearl's head shifted and her body stiffened. The front door opened and

  Patty Giacomin came down the front walk with a welcoming look on her face.

  She still looked good, very trim and neat, with her blonde hair and dark eyes. She was dressed in some kind of Lord Taylor farmgirl outfit, long skirt over big boots, an ivory-colored, oversized, cableknit sweater, and her hair caught back with a colorful headband.

  I rolled the window down on the passenger side halfway so I could speak to her. Pearl, who was standing on all fours now in the front seat, thrust her head through the opening, her tail wagging.

  "Well, hello, you beautiful thing," Patty said and put a hand out for Pearl to sniff. "And you, my friend," she said to me. "How can you sit out in the car like a stranger? Come in, meet Rich, see my new house. It's been too long."

  I nodded and smiled. "Nice to see you, Patty," I said and got out of the driver's side. Pearl turned toward me and looked disappointed when I closed the door on her. I went around the car and Patty Giacomin gave me her cheek to kiss.

  "Come on in," she said again. "And bring this lovely dog. I couldn't bear it if she had to sit out here all alone, while we're all up in the house visiting."

  I opened the passenger door and Pearl jumped out and dashed around in front of the house withher nose to the ground until she found a spot where she could squat. Which she did. I stuck her leash in my hip pocket.

  Patty took my hand as if we used to be lovers, and led me to the front door. Pearl joined us there, and when Patty opened it, pushed in ahead of us. Paul was in the living room with a guy that looked like a People magazine cover boy. The living room was what I expected it would be. Knotty pine paneling, big fieldstone fireplace. Beams, wooden furniture with colonial print upholstery, a braided rug on the floor.

  "Rich," Patty said, "I'd like you to meet someone," and gestured me toward him like I was the ambassador from Peru. Rich put out his hand and I took it. He didn't seem very pleased.

  "Coffee?" Patty said. "A drink? Paul, do you drink now?"

  Paul said, "Yes, I do, but not right now, thanks."

  I shook my head. Rich was leaning against the wall near the fireplace with his arms folded. He was probably my height, which made him 6' 1", sort of willowy without being thin. He had thick dark hair which he wore brushed straight back, and longish so that it curled over his ears. He had a mustache that was just as black, and a tuft of black hair showed at the vee of his shirt, which he wore with the top three buttons open. It was a lavender dress shirt. His jeans were stone washed and designer labeled, and his lizard skin cowboy boots were ivory colored and would have been a nice match to Patty's sweater. Except for the mustache his dark face was cleanshaven, with the shadow of a dark beard lurking. His nose was strong and straight. His eyes were dark and moved a lot. If you had told him he was the cat's ass he'd have given you no argument.

  "Paul says he was worried about his mom," Patty said and dazzled me with her even smile. "And I want to thank you for looking out for him."

  "I wasn't looking out for him," I said. "He does that himself. I was helping him look for you."

  She smiled again just as if I'd told her that her hair was looking lovely.

  "As you can see, I'm fine. Rich and I just wanted to"-she waved her arms a little-"elope."

  Paul said, "Did you get married?"

  Patty smiled even more beguilingly.

  "Well, not exactly, if you mean all that foolishness with organ music and somebody saying a bunch of words. But we love each other and wanted to get away and be alone."

  I was quiet. My size made Rich uncomfortable. I don't know how I knew that, but I knew it. There was something about how he looked at me and shifted a little on the wall. But it wasn't a total setback for him; he still managed to look contemptuous.

  "And you didn't think you needed to tell me?" Paul said. "Where you were, or even that you were going?"

  "Shame on you, young man," Patty said. "Using that tone with your mother." I could see Paul lower his head a little and shakeit as if a swarm of gnats were bothering him. I shut up.

  "It's the tone that this calls for," Paul said. His voice was tight, but it was clear. "I am your son, your only child, I should know where you are.

  Not every minute, but if you are making any moves of substance you should tell me. Do you realize what we've been doing to try and find you?"

  "Paul, honey, Rich and I needed to get away, not tell anyone, Rich was very clear about that. Weren't you, darling?"

  I've never heard anyone call anyone darling without sounding like a fool, except Myrna Loy. Patty wasn't close.

  "Your mother and I wanted a kind of a honeymoon," Rich said. He had a great voice. He sounded like William B. Williams. "You're a big boy, we figured she could go off for a bit without you."

  "So you went away for a bit and bought a house?" Paul said. He wasn't going to flinch.

  Rich shrugged. Patty looked a little confused. "Paulie," she said. "Paulie, did you come all the way here to argue with your mother? Do you care if I'm happy?"

  Paul shook his head again and plowed ahead.

  "For cash?" Paul said. "U
nder another name?"

  "Jeez," Rich said. "You got some nosy kid here, Patty."

  Patty's eyes were bigger than was possible. "No," she said. "No, no."

  "Does my mother know what you're running away from?" Paul said. There was a rasp in his 209

  voice now. I was perfectly still, near him, and a little behind. I looked at

  Rich Beaumont. But I said nothing. This was Paul's, not mine.

  "Hey, kid, you got some kind of bad mouth," Beaumont said. "For crissake lighten up. We went off and didn't tell you. So let's not make a big fuck ing deal about it."

  "Richard!" Patty said and put the back of her hand against her mouth.

  "Do you know?" Paul said.

  "Paulie, you stop this. I was glad to see you, but now you're spoiling everything."

  "Ma," Paul said. He was leaning forward a little as he talked.

  "Listen to me," he said. "Do you know who you're with? Do you know why he doesn't want anyone to know where he is? Do you know why he bought the house under another name? And where he got the money?"

  They both spoke at once. Rich said, "Hey-"

  And Patty said, "Damn you, Paul, I don't want to know! I'm happy, don't you understand that? I'm happy."

  Everyone was quiet then for a moment until Paul said, "Yes, but you're not safe."

  The silence rolled in as if from a far place and settled in the room.

  Everyone stood still, not knowing what to say. Except me. I knew what I should say, which was nothing. And I kept saying it.

  Finally Patty looked at Rich, and he said, "Kid, you got no business coming in here and talking like that. And you wouldn't get away with it if you didn't have this Yahoo with you."

  "That may be," Paul said, "but here he is."

  The Yahoo smiled charmingly and said nothing. He was musing over the prospect of stung Rich up the chimney flue if the opportunity appeared.

  From the sofa where she had settled, Pearl yawned largely. Her jaws opened so wide when she yawned that it ended with a squeak which may have been her jaw hinge. I was never quite sure.

  "Paul," Patty said. "Please. Don't do this. I've found someone. Rich cares about me. You don't know what being alone is like."