Murder in the Hearse Degree

by Tim Cockey

  “Nice shot,” I remarked.

  Mike dropped into a chair. “I want this stopped. Do you understand me?”

  Of course I understood him. He was speaking in simple clear sentences. No big words.

  “I capiche.”

  “I don’t want any of your bullshit, Sewell. This is the wrong time for you to be snooping around in my private affairs.”

  “I have to say, Mike, you turn a phrase with uncanny precision.”

  “This is no joke, Sewell.”

  I steepled my fingers. “I agree with you, Mike. It’s not a joke. If I may be precise here. A young woman you employed is dead under suspicious circumstances, whether your buddies in the local police force want to think so or not, and not a week later you’re frolicking in a hot tub with a woman who is not only not your wife but who had some rather peculiar dealings with your nanny fairly soon before her death. You’re right, Mike. Not a laugh riot by a long shot.”

  “My private life is none of your business. And where the hell do you get off snooping around on my property in the middle of the night?”

  It seemed to me that of the two indiscretions—trespassing and adultery—the better question was where did Gellman get off asking me where I got off. But it was too convoluted a question to ask.

  The sun was angling in the window in a narrow beam that landed directly on Mike Gellman’s lap. He crossed his legs and the sunlight settled on his knee.

  “Look. I’m not an angel, okay? I’m human. I make mistakes. Is that what you want to hear?”

  “Not to push a point, Mike, but I don’t need to hear it. And, I gather, neither does Libby.”

  He shifted in his chair. “What do you mean? Have you told her?”

  “About Ginny Larue? As it happens, I haven’t. Not yet anyway. But Libby has been giving me the rundown on some of your past affairs.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I have to tell you?”

  “You mean Maggie Mason? Oh for Christ’s sake, that was years ago. Ancient history. I slept with the woman exactly twice. That’s hardly ‘an affair.’ It’s a pair of one-night stands. I ate so much goddamn humble pie over Maggie Mason it’s not even funny.”

  “What about Cindy, Mike? You can’t call that one ancient history.”

  “Cindy?” A frown creased his face. “Our nanny? What the hell does Cindy have to do with anything?”

  “You were sleeping with her,” I said.

  “Oh really.” Mike crossed his arms and sat back in the chair. “How interesting. Is this someone else you spied me with in my hot tub?”

  “Libby told me.”

  “Well let me tell you something. Libby doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about. I never slept with Cindy. That’s absurd.”

  “Libby says you did.”

  “Did she see me?”

  “She sussed it out.”

  “She sussed it out wrong. I never slept with that girl. Though I wouldn’t put it past her to plant the idea in Libby’s head. That damn girl. If I ever got ahold of her . . .” He trailed off.

  “What, Mike? If you got ahold of her, what? You’d throw her from a bridge?”

  He leaned forward in his chair. “I’m telling you, Sewell, I didn’t touch Sophie. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Fine. Do you want to convince me? Libby says you were working late that night that Sophie went out. Maybe you were, maybe you weren’t. I sure as hell notice that the local police haven’t pressed you to explain yourself to them.”

  “Do you want to know where I was? I’ll tell you.” He fell back in the chair. “But if you tell Libby I swear I’ll take your head off. I was with Ginny Larue, okay? We were at the Commodore Hotel. I can have that confirmed, but obviously I’d rather not if I can avoid it. I was nowhere near that girl. Bud Talbot has a statement from me concerning my whereabouts. I came clean with the authorities on that. They’re doing me the courtesy of keeping it confidential. It’s nothing Libby needs to know.”

  “And when did ‘Bud’ get this statement from you?”

  “When I came in to identify Sophie. Naturally with a death on his hands and not just a missing persons, he wanted to get as broad a picture of things as he could, starting with the night Sophie disappeared.”

  “Was that also when you told Talbot that you thought Sophie must have killed herself?”

  Mike frowned. “What are you talking about? Who said I said anything like that?”

  “Officer Floyd recalls that it was you or Libby or both of you who told the police that Sophie was unstable. But it wasn’t Libby.”

  “He’s mistaken.”

  “But you knew she was pregnant. You didn’t have to wait for the coroner’s report. Which probably means that Talbot knew, too. You told him, right? You told him the girl was unsteady, she found out she was pregnant, she threw herself off the bridge.”

  “Now I knew she was pregnant? Where are you coming up with this, Sewell?”

  “Virginia Larue. She told me yesterday who set up the meeting between the Larues and Sophie. It was Owen Cutler. And you’re the logical link between him and Sophie. If Uncle Owen knew that Sophie was pregnant, something tells me you weren’t in the dark.”

  Mike got out of the chair and stepped over to the window. He dropped into that famous JFK pose, hands on the windowsill, weight of the world on the back of his neck.

  “This is all fucked up,” he muttered, which is probably pretty close to what Kennedy had to say at the time as well. Mike stood there a while staring at his knuckles, then turned to face me.

  “How much of this have you told Libby?”

  “She knows that Sophie went to see the Larues. She doesn’t know who set it up.”

  “Look, you’ve got to do me a favor. You’ve got to drop all of this right now. I don’t want you telling Libby a thing. I don’t want you telling the police a thing.”

  “How about the newspapers?”

  “Jesus, Sewell, you have no idea what you’re getting into. No. Not the fucking newspapers. I’m about to be indicted in this goddamn arena mess. I can’t have this other stuff coming up. Do you understand what I’m saying? I’m fighting for my life here. I’ll pay you, Sewell. I swear. I had nothing to do with Sophie’s death. I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “Or Tom Cushman?”

  “I had nothing to do with that, either.”

  “But you know who Tom Cushman is. You know that he was the person who went with Sophie to see Crawford Larue.”

  “I never met the guy. I couldn’t tell you what he looks like.”

  “But Virginia Larue knew what he looked like. And where to find him.”

  “Fine. So what?”

  “So she could tug on your sleeve and tell you, ‘There he is. Go get him.’ ”

  Mike was exasperated. “Yes. Fine. I killed him. And I killed Sophie. For Christ’s sake, anybody else? Have you got any bodies lying around this place you can’t account for? I killed them, too. I killed everybody. I’m a maniac. Someone should kill me.”

  He stepped away from the window and dropped back into the chair. He tried but failed to wipe his features off his face. “How the hell did everything get so fucked up? I can’t believe what’s happening.”

  “What I want to know is what the hell you and Owen Cutler were doing sending Sophie off to Crawford Larue. Unless my information is way off, I happen to know that it wasn’t either of you who got her pregnant.”

  “Don’t go there, Sewell. Seriously. Why can’t I get through to you?”

  I shrugged. “Titanium plate in my head. Deflects everything. I’m also B-vitamin deficient and I don’t eat enough seafood. Rotten retention. It’s not your fault, Mike. I know you’re trying.”

  Mike grimaced. “No, Sewell, you’re trying.”

  “I’ll tell you what, Mike. I’ll m
ake you a deal. I haven’t told Libby about the little hot-tub scene I witnessed the other night. I’m sure she’d be intrigued to hear all about it. You put the Sophie-Larue picture together for me and I’ll keep that scene to myself. How’s that?”

  “And I’m supposed to trust you?”

  “Trust this. If you don’t tell me I’ll pick up the phone and call her right now. You can sit there and listen to me tell her all about it. My powers of description might dazzle you.”

  Mike glared at me. “You’re going to be disappointed.”

  “Go ahead, Mike. Disappoint me.”

  He shifted in the chair. “Here’s the thing. I was actually being a nice guy. That’s what it really comes down to. It was a fluke of timing. I was having lunch at a place called Griffin’s. It was a Saturday. Libby was off with the kids on some sort of play date. I was heading up to where I’d parked my car, and I ran right into Sophie. She was sitting on a bench on the sidewalk. She was crying. She tried to pretend that she wasn’t, but the moment she opened her mouth to speak, she exploded into tears. She was a real wreck. I sat down and she blurted it out. The whole pregnancy thing. She said she had found out that she was pregnant a couple days before and had just come from seeing the guy who was responsible. Basically, the guy was giving her the cut-and-run. I tried to get from her who he was, but she clamped shut. She wasn’t going to tell me. She wasn’t even blaming him. Not really. She was putting it all on herself. I’m telling you, she was a real mess. I did what I could to calm her down. She said she was afraid we’d fire her. Eventually I got her to calm down. We went to a café and had some coffee. And that’s when I suggested she go see Larue.”

  “Stop. You knew that Larue was looking to adopt?”

  “I did. Owen had mentioned it to me. Larue doesn’t want a lot of publicity about this. He wants to handle it privately. I thought maybe this could work out for everyone so I put Sophie in contact with Owen.”

  “And what about Libby? Why was she kept in the dark about all this?”

  The sunlight had tracked down to Mike’s thigh. He brushed at something on his leg. Lint perhaps. It looked as if he were trying to brush the sunlight away.

  “That was Sophie’s call. She swore she didn’t know she was pregnant when we hired her. We’d only had her about a month. She begged me not to tell Libby. Of course it was inevitable that it would come out, but she just wanted to hold off. The truth is I had a hell of a lot on my mind already at that point. I was just as happy not to add any more troubles to my plate.”

  “You lent Sophie your wedding ring, didn’t you?”

  “That was stupid. But yes. I did. Larue wanted to see the father as well as the mother. He’s an old horse breeder. He wanted to check out the ‘stock.’ Sophie was working up some cockamamie story and she thought the ring would help. Frankly, I didn’t care, just so long as my name didn’t come up. I wasn’t going to send her up there saying that she worked for me. Maybe you can understand I didn’t want my name being bounced around Crawford Larue’s house.”

  “And you didn’t tell Virginia Larue any of this.”

  Mike leaned forward and put a hard look on me. “Let me tell you something. I’ve been living one day at a time here. I don’t know how everything’s gotten so unraveled. No. I didn’t tell Ginny a damn thing. She’s here, Libby’s there, my job is over there. I compartmentalize. That’s how I operate. I keep things separated.”

  “It looks to me like they want to all come crashing together.”

  Mike said nothing. He gazed at the edge of my desk a few more seconds, finally shook his head slowly and left. I lifted the phone receiver. The red light indicating speaker phone clicked off.

  “You catch all that?” I asked.

  Munger answered, “Yep.”

  “What do you think?”

  He paused. I glanced out the window and saw Gellman out on the sidewalk. He bent down and picked up my pen and pencil set.

  Pete answered, “Generally? I was unimpressed.”

  CHAPTER

  22

  Pete dropped into the chair where Mike Gellman had been sitting. He was showered and looked curiously refreshed. Nothing like a night on somebody’s couch, I guess. He pulled out a cigarette and I threw a chair at him. Well, in fact I didn’t. But I put as much energy into the scowl that I sent across my desk. Munger stuck the cigarette behind his ear.

  “I think your friend’s husband speaks with forked tongue,” he said.

  “Could be he’s a liar, too.”

  “All that crap about keeping the news from his wife because the girl asked him to?”

  “Exactly. I thought that was odd, too. Since when does loyalty to a nanny outrun loyalty to a wife?”

  “Could be when you’re nailing the nanny behind your wife’s back.”

  “I don’t think Mike was sleeping with Sophie,” I said.

  “You’re still sold on the midshipman?”

  “Call me crazy.”

  “Maybe you don’t really have the full story there,” Pete said. “I’ve noticed that about you. You trust people too much.”

  “You’re not suggesting that Bradley’s trying to cover for Gellman, are you? That’s a stretch, Pete.”

  “I’m just thinking out loud,” he said.

  “There’s something else going on here that we’re missing,” I said. I was unable to finish the thought. The phone rang. It was Julia.

  “Waffles?”

  I responded, “Yes, my lovely little bacon. It’s me, your very own waffles.”

  “Funny.”

  “That wasn’t a term of endearment?”

  “It was an invitation to breakfast.”

  I noted that it was almost noon.

  Julia said, “Fine. If you want lunch, put a waffle between two pieces of bread. Whatever works for you.”

  “Jules, should I remind you that you don’t cook?”

  I detected a giggle. “I have my own personal chef.”

  “I see.”

  “So can you come over?”

  “I’ve got Pete with me,” I said.

  “Well, he has certainly become your little shadow these days.”

  “He’s in between lives right now,” I said, glancing over to see Pete sneering at me.

  “Bring him along,” Julia said. “There’s something here that might interest the both of you.”

  “Well of course there is. That goes without saying.”

  “Don’t be flirting with me, Hitch. There’s a naked man running around my place.”

  “Waffles and a naked man. Is this going to be a regular breakfast, Jules, or am I in for something salacious and off-color? I just want to know if I should change.”

  “I guess you’ll have to come over and see for yourself,” she said. We were about to hang up when she asked, “Oh, Hitch. One other thing. Could you bring over your waffle iron?”

  She uses me. Isn’t that perfectly clear? The woman uses me.

  Nick Fallon was ravishing in a silk mandarin kimono with turquoise piping and an embroidered dragon on the back. He was standing in Julia’s kitchenette, stirring batter in a ceramic bowl with a wooden spoon. He greeted me cheerfully. “Hey there, mate.”

  “Nice duds,” I said, setting my waffle iron down on the counter.

  “What’s with the waffle thing?” Nick asked. “She was insistent.”

  “They’re Julia’s postcoital breakfast of choice.” I turned to my ex-wife, who was pouring out mimosas. “What happened to your waffle iron?”

  She plopped a strawberry into a glass and handed me the drink.

  “Burned out.”

  I settled into Julia’s hammock as Fallon got to work on scorching the first several batches of waffles. Pete drifted to the window and gazed out in the direction of the harbor. His body language suggested that he would not at all have minded suddenly spreading a pair of wings and drifti
ng out over the bricks. Julia positioned herself in front of me and did a yoga move that by all logic should have crippled her for life. She didn’t even spill her mimosa. Her grin went from Maryland to California.

  “You’re a happy clam,” I noted.

  She rested the heel of one of her feet just inside the opposite ear and chanted, “I am, I am, I am, I am. . . .”

  Fallon finally came through with the waffles. Golden brown. As square as a windowpane. The regulation thirty-six dimples per waffle. We ate on the floor, seated on pillows, except for Pete, who dropped into one of Julia’s butterfly chairs and ate off his lap. Julia propped up canvases behind each of us as a sort of backdrop. This is how the woman decorates a place. Each of the canvases behind Fallon and Julia was from a recent series of her paintings that she was calling inverses. Fallon’s showed a guitar seated on the edge of a fountain, strumming a human. Julia’s canvas depicted a family of forks, knives and spoons enjoying a hearty dinner, using human cutlery. I recognized myself as one of the knives.

  I told Fallon that Pete and I had gone to see The Bells of Titan the night before. He pinched his nose.

  “Stinkpot, isn’t it?”

  “Merely imbecilic,” I said. “I ran into Sugar Jenks. She really is an awfully peculiar bird, isn’t she? I didn’t know they made them that shy anymore.”

  “Was Crawford there?”

  “He was supposed to be but he had to cancel.”

  Fallon leered. “How about that shower scene?”

  As we finished our waffles Fallon set his plate down and got up off his pillow. “I’ve got something I want you to listen to.” He indicated Pete. “How much does he know?”

  “Pete’s a pretty smart banana,” I said. “Go ahead and try him out on a topic. I think geography is one of his strong suits.”

  “How much does he know about this nanny thing?”

  “Everything.”

  Nick padded off to the rear of Julia’s studio, where a wooden screen cordons off her bed and dresser.