by Bill Hopkins
Chapter 21
Friday Night
After cleaning up and then wolfing down Mabel's breakfast that morning, Rosswell had sat on the bench all day, estimating that he'd drunk a gallon of coffee before leaving the courthouse. In between cases, he'd grown tense when chatting with every law enforcement agent he knew resulted in zero interest. The only evidence he could produce was the photographs he'd emailed to himself.
"No body, no crime," one of them said. "PhotoShop," another said. A third said, "We're working on crimes with real evidence."
The only one he hadn't spoken to was Jim Bill Evans, whose incoming voicemail message promised to return the call if you left your name with a brief message. Why Rosswell had bothered trying to convince anyone else but the fire marshal was a puzzle his fatigued brain couldn't handle.
That afternoon, consuming a huge portion of Mrs. Bolzoni's deluxe lasagna (chicken, beef, three kinds of cheese) roused the sleep monster in Rosswell. After supper, he aimed himself for the stairs to answer the call of his bed. He hadn't slept since Wednesday night. He knew that the instant he plummeted into the bed that neither the caffeine mixed with the anxiety of the day nor the sunshine of the late afternoon would bother him. Plunging into the depths of a dreamless sleep sounded glorious.
Mrs. Bolzoni blocked the staircase. "Don't go to the bed yet. You must meet someone."
"I'm very tired." Fatal exhaustion was too weak a phrase to describe what he felt. Rosswell's muscles screamed as if he'd been beaten by back alley thugs. His eyes, sandy as a beach, felt like Captain LaFaire had welded anchors to his eyelids. "I'd have to die to feel better."
"This won't be long in taking. You stay out all night and come back after wrestling in mud. And the smell not good either. Smell like dead fish. I wash your clothes twice today. They still are dirty. You should get new."
"Ollie and I had a lot of errands to run. I had a flat tire on the truck. It was a mess getting it changed." What was a little black lie after all the felonies he'd committed? He stifled a belch, tasting the lasagna again. Gas-X made his to-do list before he hit the sack. "I can't think anymore. I have to sleep."
"As if." Her eyes opened wide, magnified by the thick lenses of her spectacles. "I thank the saints the clothes they don't stink of the booze."
"That's because I didn't drink any booze."
Although he assured himself that she hadn't invited Nathaniel to The Four Bee to meet with him, he made what he hoped was a careless gesture: double-checking to make sure his pistol was in its proper place. It was there, holstered at the small of his back under his shirt.
Rosswell said, "Whom do you want me to meet?"
"Whom? Why you talk of this whom? It's not proper to talk of a lady's whom."
"Not womb, Mrs. Bolzoni. Whom is the pronoun used when it's the object of a verb or a preposition."
"Not nice to proposition a lady about her womb."
Rosswell felt the migraine sneaking up on him again. "What is the name of the person you want me to meet?"
"We wait on porch. You see."
They parked on the porch swing in the evening breeze, listening to the tree frogs belching invitations to prospective mates. Mrs. Bolzoni's chattering caused a dark fog to envelop Rosswell. He had to pinch himself several times to stay awake.
Presently, an aqua colored Honda Civic with dark tinted windows drove up in front of The Four Bee. Rosswell guessed it to be a '98 or '99. Why those cars needed a spoiler was a mystery he'd never solved. Eyeing the sloping fin on the top of the trunk, Rosswell assigned its place in the universe as a waste of space. No Civic could ever go fast enough to require help from a spoiler to stay on the ground. And his truck sounded better than this bug fart car any day of the week and twice on Sunday. Although he doubted that Nathaniel would drive such a vehicle, he kept his gun hand free.
"Hmmph."
"What's this you say?"
"Clearing my throat, Mrs. Bolzoni."
A woman, tall and slender with strawberry blonde hair, stepped from the car.
She looked like Tina. And the woman who was thrown off the boat.
Mrs. Bolzoni popped up and ran to meet the car's driver. They hugged and air kissed.
"Alessandra, I have someone for you must to meet. The Judge Ross Carew."
"Rosswell Carew," he said, with a slight emphasis on his first name, as he also rose and joined the two women. "Glad to meet you, Alessandra."
He offered his hand but didn't bother with the clich? And your mother's told me all about you. Alessandra wouldn't want her mother telling all about her to a stranger. Alessandra was in rehabilitation. They shook hands. Her handshake was firm, her palm dry. Although he couldn't name the perfume, he detected the smell of lilacs, similar to the perfume that Tina wore. A glance inside the car assured him that she was alone.
"I've heard a lot about you," Alessandra said. "I believe my mother is quite taken with you."
Mrs. Bolzoni issued a loud shushing sound. "The judge is a good man who doesn't cook the menthol."
"What?"
"I'm a law-abiding citizen."
Except for an occasional felony here and there. And were you at River Heights Villa during the latest false alarm? Did you know about the dead woman in the cave? Maybe you're here spying for your boss man, Nathaniel Dahlbert. That's it. A spy. How else to explain your rapid rehabilitation? Mighty strange that the program for drunks took you such a short time to complete up there at the big house.
Alessandra said, "That's a good thing for a judge to follow all the rules." Her face reddened slightly.
Mrs. Bolzoni said, "She's smart girl. Got lots of colleges. I seen her in lots of plays, too. Great acting woman. And best of all, Alessandra is moving in with me. These old bones not spry no more. And the bowels, they in uproar most of the time. Last night, it was awful-"
"Momma." Alessandra said one word to quiet her mother. Rosswell knew the daughter had been subjected to gazillions of her mother's stories. Missing one from last night wouldn't upset Alessandra.
"I look forward to having you help your mother."
Alessandra's green eyes stared into Rosswell's, giving him a feeling that she knew more about him than what she was saying. Drunks can spot each other. "Judge, you'll never know I'm around. If I'm not working, I'll be reading. I bought a book at Discovered Treasures. The Complete History of Sainte Genevieve County, Missouri by Marie Vienneau."
Hearing the title of the book he was also currently reading convinced Rosswell that someone had been following him, and that Alessandra was definitely working for Nathaniel, but he decided to keep his mouth shut.
"I'm sure your mother appreciates your help. You'll be a lot of company for her."
"And keep them frogs away, Alessandra will. No need for them frogs-"
"Momma."
"You bring in your luggages."
Alessandra clicked a button on her key ring and the trunk of her car opened. "A couple of suitcases. I travel light."
Rosswell took the hint. "Let me carry them in for you."
When they both stood at the trunk, out of Mrs. Bolzoni's sight and hearing, Alessandra whispered, "I need to talk to you. It's important."
Rosswell nodded and then he and Alessandra followed Mrs. Bolzoni to Alessandra's room, right next to Rosswell's. How convenient.
But all he could think of was that Alessandra wasn't the woman he was looking for.