Murder in the Hearse Degree

by Tim Cockey

  Libby and I sat on the pagoda’s wooden steps and watched as Toby and Lily attempted to work out a tumbling routine on the grass nearby. We had Alcatraz along with us; he was keeping busy trying to pick up a slinky redhead named Polly. Polly was an Irish setter, skittish and swift. She was having none of my hound dog’s moony moves. Libby looked beat. She had mentioned on the way over that she wasn’t sleeping awfully well.

  “Look at the bags under my eyes. I’m a wreck. I must get up at least three or four times a night and check in on the children. I’ve never done that before. It’s exhausting.”

  There was something peculiar about the Irish setter. It was the way she ran. Her tail end moved faster than her front end—or nearly so—so that she practically ended up scampering sideways. Alcatraz was having a hell of a time figuring out which way the dog was actually going. I pointed it out to Libby.

  “I’ve had a few relationships like that before.”

  Libby wasn’t really watching. She planted her chin in her hands and gazed off past the romping curs.

  “Mike called last night.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, that’s the other reason I’m so ragged. It must have been three in the morning. He’d been drinking, there was no question. He was pretty belligerent. He’d heard from my lawyer. I’ve started proceedings for a legal separation and I guess it really set him off. He yelled over the phone for a while until I finally hung up on him. He called back maybe an hour later. He was in tears.”

  “Full range of emotions. I guess that’s sort of a healthy sign.”

  She sighed. “I really don’t know what’s going on with him, Hitch. Mike has so much going for him. He’s smart, he’s good-looking, he works hard, he’s good at what he does. But he’s one of those people who never seems satisfied. Do you know what I mean? He’s always grabbing for more. This whole mess he’s in now at work. I think he’s really stepped in it this time. It’s so damn ridiculous of him. Why would he risk everything like that? We could still be having a good life together, him and me and the kids. Just a normal regular life. That’s all I ever wanted. For God’s sake, I left you and went back to Mike because that’s what he represented. You know that.”

  “That’s the picture I got.”

  “So what is his damn problem? He swears he loves me, but sometimes he’s got a hell of a strange way of showing it.”

  “Like clipping you.”

  “Yes. Like clipping me.”

  Out on the grass, Lily was trying to teach her brother how to do somersaults. The concept clearly escaped the boy, who seemed content to squat down on his pudgy legs and set the crown of his head on the ground and just remain there. “Roll!” Lily implored, but her brother wouldn’t budge.

  “Maybe it’s me, Hitch,” Libby went on. “Maybe I’m a fool for thinking there’s such a thing as a perfect domestic life. Mike and I looked good from the outside. But it was never near perfect. And you know the damn thing about it? On some level I knew what I was getting into. I think down deep I knew all along that Mike was a handful. I think that’s why I freaked out originally, that’s why I broke off the engagement. But I really wanted to start a family, Hitch. And so did Mike.”

  “And this was not a card I was playing.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” Libby looked down at her hands. “Mike is scared. There was a piece in the paper about the trouble he’s in.”

  “I didn’t catch it.”

  “Mike’s being accused of looking the other way on a construction scheme. That half-built sports arena off I-50? It’s public-works stuff, I don’t understand it all. Apparently there’s been some questionable fees”—she made a pair of quotation marks in the air—“solicited from certain law firms to help grease the rails on getting the thing passed through the legislature. Some sort of extortion. Or bribery. They’re saying Mike has been working from the inside to keep the D.A.’s office from looking into it. He’s being accused of blocking the investigation.”

  “Why would he do something like that?”

  “You tell me. He swore to me on the phone last night that he’s done nothing wrong. But do you make drunken phone calls at three in the morning if your conscience is clear? He was going on about his career being ruined. It was scary, Hitch.”

  “I saw him yesterday.”

  “I know. He mentioned that early on. He wasn’t real thrilled that I’ve been in touch with you.”

  “That was the impression I got, too. He tried to warn me that you were up to your old tricks.”

  “Is that right? And what tricks are those?”

  “Using me to get him jealous.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake. As if I want to make him jealous. That’s ridiculous. Mike just doesn’t like you, Hitch. Plain and simple.”

  “Oh, I know that. He used the word ‘slumming.’ ”

  Libby looked up toward the roof of the pagoda. “God, yes, I’ve heard that one before. Mike thinks he’s so damned lofty. Mr. Big Shot. Just ignore him when he talks that way, Hitch.”

  We fell silent for a moment. Lily’s attempts to get her little brother to complete the somersault were fruitless. When she pushed him he simply fell over sideways. When she took hold of his ankles and attempted to swing his legs over his head, she ended up with a pudgy little wheelbarrow.

  “I have something to tell you,” I said to Libby. “It’s about Sophie’s pregnancy. Did Sophie ever mention a fellow named Tom?”

  Libby turned the name around in her head. “No. I don’t believe so.”

  I told Libby what I had learned about Sophie’s ruse, about Sophie getting Tom Cushman to agree to pose as her husband for her meeting with the Larues.

  “You’re kidding. Oh, Hitch, that’s horrible.”

  “You remember those pamphlets? The ARK?”

  “In Sophie’s room. Yes.”

  “And you’re sure Sophie never mentioned anything to you about someone named Tom?”

  Libby shook her head. “Never.”

  “That’s where Sophie had been going every night. You told me she was going out that last week and not telling you where she went? She was going off to the theater in town to see Tom in his play. Apparently she developed a crush on the guy.”

  “Then it could have been him, right?” Libby said. “Why couldn’t it have been this Tom guy who got Sophie pregnant? After all, that’s what you say he told Larue.”

  “He also gave him a fake name and a fake story. It doesn’t add up for me. I think Tom’s telling me the truth.”

  Libby looked off toward the horizon. “I just can’t believe Sophie went through all that. It’s so sad.”

  “I tried to get Larue to tell me how Sophie got in contact with him in the first place but he didn’t feel the need to cooperate. He seemed to lose his patience with me.”

  “What about this Tom? Does he know?”

  “Could be. I didn’t even think to ask him. I’m going to go back down to Annapolis tonight and look him up. I also want to ask him about Mike’s ring.”

  “Oh, God. The ring.”

  “I’m thinking Sophie used it to help make her case that she had gotten in trouble with a married man.”

  “I guess Sophie could have stolen Mike’s ring easily enough if she wanted it. It’s true he never wore the damn thing.”

  Alcatraz had exhausted all his efforts with the Irish setter. He joined the children. Lily’s somersault tutorial was a bust and she moved on to leap frog. Or in this case, leap dog. Alcatraz was the hurdle. Toby wasn’t much interested in grasping this concept either. He preferred to fall against the dog and push his face into Alcatraz’s fur. Lily had all the moves for exasperation down pat. I left the pagoda steps and joined them. I held Toby upside down and let Alcatraz lick his face, which seemed to please the both of them. Lily informed me that my new name was Underpants and she bounced around like a jumping bean crying out, “Underpants! Underpants!”r />
  Some minutes later Libby got up and began spreading out the sheet for the picnic lunch. I left Toby teething happily on Alcatraz’s tail and Lily and I helped her mother unpack the food. When we were set, Lily insisted on feeding her brother. With a ferociously determined expression she wielded her drumstick like a paintbrush and soon had Toby’s face liberally smeared with grease.

  “I wonder if this is how Julia got her start,” I said. “If it is, you’d better put a stop to it. Surely you don’t want your daughter following in those footsteps.”

  “You know, I don’t understand why the two of you didn’t stay together,” Libby said.

  “What’s not to understand? Marriage turned out not to be our métier.”

  Libby gave me a look. “Don’t go thinking you can squirm out of it with a little French.”

  “I’m not. It’s a fact, Libby. Marriage nearly ruined a beautiful friendship. It was a bad fit for the two of us.”

  “But you love her, Hitch. That was always so obvious.”

  “Of course I do. And she still thinks I’m a pretty sweet pickle as well. Look, I’ve known Julia since we were in diapers together. We shared side-by-side bassinets up on the bar at the Screaming Oyster. We took baths together. She’s like a very very sexy sister to me. I know her better than I know anyone. And yes, I love her to death. But none of that is a reason why we should climb into a box together and do each other irreparable damage. We’re lucky we figured it out as quickly as we did.” I ripped open a new bag of Utzes and held it out to her. “Besides, that woman is nuts. Don’t forget that. A man has to protect himself.”

  “I still think it’s sad.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I said nothing. I’ve had these conversations about Julia before. It’s nothing that words really succeed in explaining. I have a whole pocketful of metaphors for my friendship with Julia, but I’ve never found one that satisfies the situation. There was a time there when it obsessed me somewhat, trying to get a handle on the nutty thing. Big waste of energy. It was like trying to stuff a sperm whale into a popcorn bag. One day I simply decided that Julia was a nutty thing—granted, a drop-dead nutty thing of absolute maximum vivacity—and that there was simply no getting a handle on her. She wouldn’t fit into the bag.

  “I’ll bet she’s still gorgeous,” Libby said.

  “Julia? Still makes strong men weep.”

  Libby shook her head slowly. “Hitchcock, can I go on record that I think you are an absolute fool?”

  “Noted.”

  We fell into a silence and watched the kids a while longer. Alcatraz had seen all that he could take and was licking the mess off of Toby’s face. The boy got such a case of the giggles that he erupted into hiccups. This set Alcatraz barking. Made for an interesting chorus.

  Lily came over to us and I handed her a plum. She had a little pink plastic pocketbook with her—about the size of a change purse. She opened it up with much ceremony and dropped the plum into it.

  “Is that for later?” I asked.

  “ ’S for Cindy.”

  “Cindy? Is that your goldfish?”

  Lily rolled her eyes. “Noooo.”

  “Who’s Cindy?”

  Libby ran a napkin over her daughter’s face then bapped her on the fanny.

  “Scoot.”

  Lily shouldered her little purse and made her way up the steps onto the pagoda. She was talking to herself. Libby watched her for a few seconds then turned back to me.

  “Cindy was our other nanny,” she said. “The one we had before Sophie. Lily’s been bringing her name up a lot the last couple of days. I think she’s beginning to combine the two in her mind.”

  “What happened with that one anyway?” I asked. “I don’t think I know about that.”

  Libby rolled her eyes. “There’s one I’d as soon forget.”

  “How so?”

  Libby hesitated. She glanced up again at her daughter.

  “It just didn’t work out. The thing is, Mike grew up having a live-in nanny, but that’s not really the world I come from. I was happy to raise Lily without help. After Toby was born, though, my hands were full and Mike really pushed the idea of going the nanny route. I didn’t argue. I needed the help. And we had the space. But Cindy just didn’t turn out to be such a great choice. She was fine at first. No real complaints about how she dealt with the kids or anything like that. But she liked to go out a lot and she wasn’t always—”

  There was a noise behind us and Libby spun around.

  “Lily!”

  Lily had clambered up onto the railing, on her stomach, and was seesawing precariously over the ground some twenty feet below. Libby leapt up.

  “Lily! Get down from there. Right now!”

  Lily continued to seesaw. I jumped up and scrambled up the steps just as the strap from Lily’s little purse slipped from her shoulder. Instinctively she reached to catch the falling purse. I lunged for her. Libby screamed. I got hold of the girl’s right ankle just as she was tipping off and raised her up high enough into the air that she wouldn’t hit the railing as she swung back like a pendulum. I prayed that the little ankle wouldn’t snap.

  “Gotcha.”

  I brought her safely back over the railing and Libby rushed over to help me set her back down. Lily sat a moment looking at the two of us, blinking like a canary, then her face suffered a minor implosion and she began to cry. Libby dropped to the ground and took the girl into her arms. I stood by in thumb-twiddling mode, which is what heroes have to do sometimes. Goes with the territory.

  Libby sat rocking her daughter until the girl began to settle down. She looked up at me with a harried expression.

  “The gray hair. It’s coming any day. I just know it.”

  After a few minutes Lily turned off the spigots. The well was dry. The crisis was a thousand miles away. She announced that she wanted to go home.

  “Okay, honey,” Libby said. “I think we’re about ready to go anyway. Why don’t you go get your brother ready.”

  Lily gave her mother a first-rate scowl. I’m telling you, the kid really had it.

  “I want to go home.”

  Libby looked over at me. I mouthed, “Annapolis?” She nodded.

  “Go get Toby ready, honey,” Libby said. Lily crawled down the steps backward, on her hands and knees, then went over to retrieve Toby, who was once more squatting down with the top of his head resting on the ground.

  “She’s reverting,” Libby said, standing up and brushing off her pants. She ran a hand through her hair. “Every day she’s acting more and more like a baby. It’s a stress reaction.”

  “Could be worse,” I said. “She could be hitting the sauce.”

  “Much more of this and that’s what I’ll be doing,” Libby said.

  We packed up and headed out of the park. Lily decided that the place she wanted to be was up on my shoulders, and I’m such a sucker for what women want, that’s exactly where she landed.

  Sam was outside hosing down the hearse as we rounded the corner off Aliceanna Street. We stopped and I introduced him to everyone. Lily’s eyes went wide. I’m not sure she’d ever seen such a large person before. At least not up close. She asked Sam why he was black.

  Sam gave her a large grin. “Because black is beautiful,” he said to her.

  Lily turned to her mother. “I want to be black.”

  “It takes more than just wishing,” Sam said to her.

  “I want to be black,” Lily announced again.

  Sam patted her on the head. “Keep wishing.”

  Libby and the kids took off. I popped inside and found Billie in the display room, vacuuming. I stood in the doorway and watched her running the Hoover in and around our half dozen display coffins. Her head was down and her focus was fierce; she didn’t even see me.

  I crossed the lobby and entered my office. Alcatraz trotted behind me. A m
idget was seated at my desk, leaning back in my chair, his feet up on my blotter. It was Darryl Sandusky.

  “Hey, Goldilocks,” I said, “that’s my chair.”

  “I know. I’m trying it out.”

  “Why don’t you go in there and help my aunt?”

  Darryl smirked. “I like your job. Cleaning, that’s women’s work.”

  “You’re swimming in politically incorrect waters, young fellow,” I said, stepping over to the desk. Darryl was wearing scuffed black shoes. The sole of the left one had an elliptical worn spot. It was worn in gradations, like on a topographical map. Darryl had his fingers laced behind his head. I had to admit, the kid looked like he was born to kick back in a chair like that.

  “When do I get to see a dead body?” he asked.

  “I think I need a note from your mother before we start down that path,” I said.

  “That’s not what you said before.”

  “Doesn’t matter, it’s what I’m saying now. No cadavers without a note from Mommy.”

  “You’re no fun.”

  “Maybe you should try playing with someone your own age,” I said.

  “They’re no fun, either.”

  “Sorry about that, sport. Come on now, scoot.”

  Darryl brought his feet down off my desk and stood up. He clomped over to the door. “I’m just trying to learn a trade.”

  “I understand that. And I’m just trying to get in your way.”

  Darryl sneered at me. “Well, you’re doing a good job.”

  Darryl left. I got my feet up on my desk and I ran through my mail. Nothing to sing arias about. Billie had left the Sun on my desk. I checked to see what the world was up to—it seemed to be doing its usual skipping-along-with-a-club-foot routine—then I ran through the obituaries to see how the competition was doing. Seemed there were enough dead folk to keep food on everyone’s table for at least one more day. I checked my watch. Oh, gee, quitting time. Billie was still vacuuming—Parlor One—when I left. I poked my head into the room and yelled, “Good-bye!” but she was a million miles away and didn’t hear me. Alcatraz tried unsuccessfully to trip me several times in the half-block walk back to my place but I danced as deftly as Gene Kelly each time and remained upright.