Copyright Â© 2008 by Jessica Thomas

Bel a Books, Inc.

P.O. Box 10543

Tal ahassee, FL 32302

Al rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

without permission in writing from the publisher.

Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

First Edition

Editor: Cindy Cresap

Cover designer: LA Cal aghan

ISBN-10: 1-59493-127-5

ISBN-13: 978-1-59493-127-7

For The Woofer who has moved on to the Land of Filets and Fireplugs, after fifteen years of being my companion, my clown, my protector, my

confessor.

And for Sweet Tater, my new canine adventure who is ever at my side because she thinks I saved her life . . . when it was really the other way around.

Other Books by Jessica Thomas

Caught in the Net: Golden Crown Literary Award Winnerâ€”Mystery/Action/Adventure/Thril er

Turning the Tables: Golden Crown Literary Award Finalistâ€”Mystery/Action/Adventure/Thril er

The Weekend Visitor: Lambda Literary Foundation Award Finalistâ€”Lesbian Mystery

Murder Came Second

Chapter 1

So Cindy had left us.

It had been less than an hour, and already the house seemed empty and rather chil y. Strange. Unless I had an early appointment, Cindy left us every

morning about this timeâ€”Monday through Fridayâ€”and I simply poured another cup of coffee and mental y planned my day. Certainly, I did not usual y feel

bereft and at loose ends, as I did now.

The weather wasnâ€™t helping. Whoever wrote the Chamber of Commerce blurbs would probably have cal ed the slow, endless light rain a romantic mist. I

cal ed it a miserable al -day drizzle.

I donâ€™t know what Wel s cal ed it. She had disappeared. Probably I would find al twelve pounds of her when I made the bed. If I made the bed. She was

now a sleek and lovely black and white cat, but I smiled as I remembered the first time I saw her, as a scrawny, bedraggled, but feisty, little stray. She

bopped Fargo on the nose when he asked her to play and then she leaped for the protection of Cindyâ€™s armsâ€”leaving Fargo with wounded nose and

pride.

I donâ€™t know what Fargo cal ed the rain, either, but he sighed heavily and flopped into his bed, ninety pounds of dismal dog who knew he would not be

going to the beach this day. Fargo was my partner, my pal, my clown, my confessor, my protector against al things bad . . . a black Labrador with a heart

of gold, not steel, but we didnâ€™t worry much about that.

As a puppy, not much larger than Wel s is now, he had quickly learned that when loud noises occurred or large cats hissed or strange people seemed

to menace . . . the best place for him to protect me was cradled in my arms, and there he leapt, barking shril y, and there he remained until the situation

was resolved to his satisfaction. A fifteen-pound puppy I could handle. A ninety-pound dog usual y put me flat on my back in a state of considerable

embarrassment, not to mention at considerable disadvantage for any physical encounter.

But we didnâ€™t discuss it much. After al , he never mentioned the time I forgot to set the car brake, and it rol ed slowly across old lady Fratosâ€™s flowerbed,

onward across Commercial Street and onto the beach, with Fargo in the driverâ€™s seat looking keenly competent. He didnâ€™t rat on me the time I

accidental y put laundry soap in the dishwasher, either. So we each had an unflattering secret or two . . . what love affair doesnâ€™t?

My lover Cindy was a different matter. This morning she came into the kitchen, did a little dance step and a brief chorus of â€œSinginâ€™ in the Rain,â€ and

then asked, â€œWhatâ€™s wrong with you two? A mere cloud and drop of rain got you down? Do something constructive. Organize your office, my love. See

what al is buried under the cushion in your doggie bed, my other love. And smile.â€

I looked over at Fargo and said, â€œKil .â€ But he was too depressed to move. â€œWhat are you so happy about?â€ I asked. â€œHave you figured out how to get

around the security system in the bank?â€ Cindy was head of Fishermenâ€™s Bankâ€™s Personal Investments and Financial Planning Department. She loved her

job, but usual y not this much.

â€œIn fact,â€ I reminded her, â€œYou should be teary-eyed. You are leaving us, arenâ€™t you?â€

â€œYes, but only til Tuesday, darling. Just think, you and Fargo can live on pizza and Chinese take-away. You donâ€™t have to make the bed, and if you get

lonely, you can go cry on Joeâ€™s shoulder at the Wharf Rat Bar.â€

â€œSounds ghastly,â€ I muttered untruthful y. Actual y, at that point, it didnâ€™t sound al that bad for a day or so.

â€œSeriously, Alex, Iâ€™l be at work til noon-ish today, then drive down to Providence and back to work Tuesday morning early. Iâ€™l be home after work

Tuesday, darling, and Iâ€™l cal you tonight.â€

Cindyâ€™s brother and his wifeâ€”mainly his wife, of courseâ€”had just had a new baby. Cindy was going down to take care of their two older children while

Pete and Karol got used to their new daughter, named Hil aryâ€”either for her paternal grandmother or a U.S. Senator. It sounded like a trip to hel to me,

but Cindy was al excited, so I tried to be, too.

â€œSo youâ€™l have three ful days to admire Hil aryâ€”with any luck sheâ€™l look more like the senator than like Grandmaâ€”and play with Ken and Barbie, uh, I

mean Butch and Abby. Have fun. My regards to your family.â€ I carried Cindyâ€™s bag out to her car while she struggled into her raincoat and said fond

farewel s to her other darling and to Wel s. She came out and we kissed good-bye. She got in the car, turned to me and caroled the ancient Al Jolson

song about April showers bringing May flowers.

â€œItâ€™s September tenth.â€

â€œSo it is.â€ She put the car in gear and pul ed away as she bel owed out that never-to-be-forgotten Broadway bit about the sun coming out tomorrow.

I loved her to pieces.

But not enough to turn my office into some pristine executive suite. I knew where everything wasâ€”that was what counted. Actual y, I was bone-tired.

Weâ€™d had a bunch of actors living next door for most of the summer, and their antics, added to the murder of two of their number over Labor Day, had left

me physical y and emotional y a bit drained.

I was glad I had no cases active at the moment. I real y wasnâ€™t sure I had the energy. Cases? Oh, Iâ€™m a private investigator. I handle mostly insurance

fraud. While the majority of tourists spend money on vacation, there are some who try to make a tidy sum by claiming injuries that never real y happened.

At least not in the way they present it.

They think up clever accidents, cases of unlikely food poisoning, or get â€œclippedâ€ by cars racing along Commercial Street at three miles an hour. I try to

separate the barely possible from the purely frivolous. At other times, I investigate job applicants for local businessesâ€”or current employees who seem to

have invented tasty recipes for cooking the books. I look for runaways and occasional y for unfaithful spouses. Although I enjoy neither of the last two

activities, they help when itâ€™s time to pay the bil s. You get the picture.

Actual y, it is pictures that I enjoy the most. My second career is that of nature photography, and Iâ€™m getting better at it. Fishermenâ€™s Bank now has

several of my photos on display in their conference room. Four of the best gal eries in the area now handle my printsâ€”signed and numbered, Iâ€™l have you

know. And Fargo and I have a great time on the beach and in the pine or beech woods taking them. Maybe someday Iâ€™l be good enough to switch which

career comes first.

I lazily poured a second cup of coffee, tossed Fargo a biscuit and Wel s a couple of crunchies. I let my thoughts wander to such deep matters as why

the Red Sox can never seem to make it two years in a row. Could there real y be a curse? And I wondered how unlikely people such as Andre Agassi

manage to make such beautiful farewel speeches with just the right amount of tremor in their voices. Maybe having al that money helps.

At that moment, the doorbel rang, startling al of us. Fargo ran toward the front door with his muted announcement bark, and I fol owed quickly. Wel s

peeked around the dining room door. It was early for guests, and I anticipated no bil col ectors. But I had the feeling that al three of us were so bored,

weâ€™d welcome almost anyone not stark naked and carrying a bloody axe.

As I looked through the glass-paneled door, I saw that the lady standing on our tiny front porch was ful y clothed and carried no axe. She did not look in

the least threatening. In fact, she looked rather sweet, and I placed my hand lightly on Fargoâ€™s shoulder to quiet him.

My visitor appeared to be around sixty, and was wearing a raincoat, hat and a tentative smile.

I returned the smile as I opened the door. â€œGood morning. What may I do for you?â€ She looked vaguely familiar to me, but I could not quite make the

connection. Maybe a friend of Aunt Maeâ€™s.

â€œGood morning, Alex. You may not remember me, but Iâ€™m Marie Catlett, your . . .â€

â€œ . . . my fourth-grade teacher. Of course, Mrs. Catlett, please come in. Let me take your coat.â€

â€œThank you. Alex. Do you have a few minutes to talk to me? I think I am in bad need of your help.â€

Nothing like a cheery reunion. â€œCertainly I have time. How about some coffee and something to nibble on?â€

I settled us at our table-for-two in the corner of the dining room, overlooking my bed of rain-drooped asters, cosmos and chrysanthemums. With

croissants and coffee served Cindy styleâ€”thatâ€™s elegantlyâ€”I sat down. â€œNow, letâ€™s see if I can be of help.â€

It was not to be a short explanation, and several times I tried to push her along a bit. On the other hand, I figured whatever crisis there was, it was bound

to be over by the time she got to explaining it.

â€œYou remember my son, Reed?â€

She looked over her rimless glasses at me, waiting for a reply, and for an instant, I felt I was nine years old again. I almost stood up to answer.

â€œSure. Heâ€™s now an architect here in town, quite successful, too, I believe.â€ I knew. With al the new buildings and renovations up and down the Cape,

the talented Reed Catlett had made a bundle and then some.

Mrs. Catlett sipped her coffee and continued. â€œHe has three wonderful children. Starting with the oldestâ€”Rob is nineteen and on his way to col ege.

Zoe is just seventeen, extremely bright and a real beauty. Zoe is also a handful.â€ She smiled. â€œNot a bad girl of course, just . . . adventurous. And then there

is Marvin, age fourteen, our scholar with a military bent.â€

Where the hel were we going with this? It began to resemble a TV script. â€œIt sounds like a lovely family,â€ I cooed.

â€œIt is. And natural y, you recal the tragic death of Reedâ€™s wife, Frances, some years back?â€

â€œUh, yes, surely.â€ A plane crash. A bus, maybe a train. Something violent, but not criminal.

â€œWel .â€ Mrs. Catlett rested in this saga long enough to take a bite of croissant, and I took the opportunity to top off my cup. â€œThey were al just

devastated, especial y the children, as you would surmise. Reed had his work. His work has always been a passion for him. And at the time, in his grief,

he simply threw himself into it. I was around whenever possible. And natural y, we leaned heavily on Mrs. Hengel, the housekeeper/nanny for the kids.â€

Natural y. I had a feeling that by the time this tale was told, I would be old enough to need a nanny.

â€œ . . . evangelical pastor with a little church off Shank Painter Road. So good with runaways, you know.â€

I was total y lost. Where had I been? Where had she gone?

â€œYou mean Larry Bartles?â€ I asked. Surely I wasnâ€™t going to have to tangle with him again.

â€œYes. Wel , it seems that an old school friend of Mrs. Bartles came to visit and somehow got introduced to Reed at some charity event. It must have

been love at first sight, for the next thing you know, Reed and Merrilou were married . . . about six months ago, now.â€

â€œHow wonderful for them.â€ I gushed.

â€œPossibly. Sheâ€™s very attractive.â€ Mrs. Catlett paused, seeming to expect an answer, so I gave her one.

â€œUmmm,â€ I said with deep meaning.

â€œAnd very southern . . .â€ Another pause.

â€œAha.â€ I nodded as if that explained everything. Apparently my answers were correct, and she continued.

â€œBut it seems the trouble with the children started with the new marriage. I suppose itâ€™s only natural the children felt some resentment against Merrilou.

And I must admit, she doesnâ€™t seem a particularly maternal type who would know to accept that and slowly change it to affection, or at least tolerance.â€

â€œYou mean there were quarrels, or unpleasantness?â€ I asked earnestly, as if I real y cared.

â€œOn the contrary. Everyone has been operatical y correct.â€ She mimed a bow and a curtsy from her chair.

â€œBut shortly after the wedding, Rob decided that he is going al the way to the University of Tennessee for his forensic geological studies instead of the

University of Massachusetts. Itâ€™s so far away, heâ€™l almost never get home,â€ she added sadly. â€œIt was then that Marvin shared his absolutely stunning plans

to join the Marines at age eighteen and to attend some Marine-oriented boysâ€™ summer camp every year until then.â€ She sighed and raised her hands as if

in supplication.

â€œAnd itâ€™s when Zoe announced she is a lesbian.â€

Chapter 2

â€œI see.â€ I pursed my mouth sagely. Now I knew why she was here rather than asking the advice of several ex-students I could think of who were married

and had large, possibly even happy, families.

â€œMrs. Catlett, did this announcement of Zoeâ€™s result in the end of the world for the Catlett family?â€

â€œOh, no. Perhaps it registered a weak three on the Richter scale. Reed reminded Zoe that being gay had some built-in problems, at least in some

areas of the country, and with some people in any area, but if that was her decision, wel , it was her life. Rob just said he thought it was â€˜coolâ€™ and laughed

and said he wished heâ€™d thought of it first. Now that caused Reed to raise his eyebrows, but Rob is always kidding around. Marvin came to attention,

barked â€˜Semper Fiâ€™ in his squeaky voice and said if anybody gave her grief, just to let him know.â€

I reached for a cigarette. What the hel ? I was wel out of fourth grade. And this was only the second of the five I al ow myself each day. I chastise myself

firmly for al the others.

â€œMrs. Catlettâ€”â€ I began.

â€œPlease,â€ she interrupted, â€œcal me Marie. Mrs. Catlett makes me feel we should be back struggling with long division. And we did struggle, didnâ€™t we?

And if I might ask one more favor, could I please have one of your cigarettes?â€

â€œCertainly.â€ I pushed the pack and lighter across the table, more firmly convinced than ever that the whole world had quit smoking cigarettes until they

were within reach of mine.

â€œMarie, youâ€™ve covered everyone but sweet Merrilou. Tel me, what was her reaction?â€

â€œOh, a real y wonderful scene. Loud screams, fol owed by desperate cal s upon God and Jesus, fal ing to her knees in front of Zoe, grasping her hands,

begging her not to go to hel , demanding to know who had led her down this sinful path and a rather embarrassing emphasis on learning exactly how far

they had gone physical y. Oh, and she demanded that Reverend Bartles be summoned at once for prayer and counseling.â€ Marie was fighting off a smile.

I had no desire to smile. â€œIs Larry Bartles now in the middle of this, tel ing Zoe he can â€˜cureâ€™ her of her sin and help her lead a â€˜normalâ€™ life?â€

Marie looked surprised. â€œNot at al . When Merrilou cal ed him, she sounded so hysterical and incoherent, he did come right over. He and his wife. And

when he arrived and figured out what Merrilou was hiccupping about, he asked Zoe if she actual y knew what she was getting into. Zoe said she did. He

asked if she had been coerced in any way, or led on by some older person. Zoe said no, and Bartles just said this was a situation for the family to work

through. If Zoeâ€”or any of themâ€”needed professional counseling, he could recommend several good people in the area. If any of the family wantedâ€”and

he accented wantedâ€”to speak with him, he would try to be of service. He would pray for Jesus to help them through their troubles.â€

Marie puffed on her cigarette and tapped the ashes. â€œThen he took his wife Emilyâ€™s arm and led her out, although I could tel she wanted to stay,

probably in hopes of learning who the other young woman is.â€

I could hardly believe what Iâ€™d heard. A year ago, Bartles would have been cal ing for the whole town to hold a prayer meeting on Zoeâ€™s behalf. Maybe

some of our heated conversations had led Larry to think a little deeper.

I sighed. â€œThatâ€™s a relief.â€

â€œPerhaps,â€ Marie admitted. â€œBut we may yet need the offices of the good reverend. It pains me to say this, and I hope you wil keep it in confidence, but

Reedâ€™s is not a happy household. He doesnâ€™t seem to see it. But I think itâ€™s obvious to anyone else who spends time there.â€

â€œWhat do you mean?â€ If Zoeâ€™s announcement and a new wife werenâ€™t enough problems for the Catletts, what was?

And why ask me about it? I obviously had no children, had never been married to a man. My brother Sonny and I had lost our father when I was just

twelve and Sonny fourteen . . . and in a horribly bizarre fashion. Provincetown was scheduled to be brushed by a Category 3 hurricane, and if we were truly

only â€œbrushed,â€ I never want to be hit head-on by one. Our father stayed at work and did everything he could to board up and batten down the supermarket

where he was manager, arriving home late and slightly drunk.

He was in a foul mood and had obviously stopped for a few belts somewhere along the way. By the time he got home, the power had failed, and the

dark, chil y house and cold supper did nothing to improve his humor, and he retired to the living room with the battery radio and a bottle of Scotch. The

other three of us huddled in the kitchen through a long, sleepless and terrifying night, wanting to hide from the rain beating against the house like machine

gun bul ets, shivering at drafts moaning through cracks we hadnâ€™t known the house even had, cringing from unidentifiable thuds and crashes outdoors and

final y ready to scream back at a shrieking wind that never shut up.

The next morning Dad awoke cold, tired and hungover, with rain stil coming down and the power stil out. The sight of our neighborâ€™s tree partial y

blocking our driveway was the final blow for him. Despite warning after warning on the radio to be careful of live wires, he grabbed the chainsaw from the

utility room and flung himself out of the house to clear a path for his car, so he could go to work. Thirty seconds later, we were a family of three.

I think in one way none of us ever forgave him his stupidity. In another, I think we were al quietly relieved that he, his borderline alcoholism, his rotten

moods and bitter sarcasm were gone. Mom had to go back to work. Career plans changed for Sonny and me. It was not easy. Only in the last eight or so

years had our finances become real y stable. But we were happier.

Anyway, I hardly felt this idyl ic family history qualified me to help turn Marie Catlettâ€™s extended family into an ongoing Leave It to Beaver episode. I

wondered what she expected of me.

â€œReed loved his first wife and his children deeply, but he didnâ€™t show affection easily,â€ Marie explained. â€œFrances, his wife then, was the nurturer.

Occasional y she would book them al on an interesting, unusual vacation and simply tel Reed he was going, too. He would argue that he had important

work to do, but usual y he would final y agree, and everyone would more often than not have a great time. Then heâ€™d go back into his shel . Frances was

the one who comforted them al , from a skinned knee to a difficult client.â€

Another of my cigarettes snaked its casual way to Marieâ€™s fingers, and she went on. And on.

â€œWhen Frances died, Reed was absolutely lost. He simply disappeared into his office and was practical y mute. I came up and stayed for a while, but

obviously something permanent had to be done. Mrs. Hengel, a middle-aged widow, motherly and kind, had served as babysitter since Rob was born. I

convinced her to rent out her house and move into Reedâ€™s third floor, to act as housekeeper and surrogate mother. Of course, she wasnâ€™t Frances, but she

loved the kids and they were very fond of her. They seemed to be coming through their grief in fairly good shape.â€

She tapped her fingers on the table in obvious irritation.

â€œThen Merrilou arrived, announced that she could manage the house quite wel with the day help and that the children didnâ€™t need a nanny, now that they

were older and had a new Mother, thatâ€™s with a capital M. So for the second time, the kids lost a caregiver.â€

I gave a short laugh. â€œI thought one mother was standard issue. You might be lucky enough to get a stepmother you learn to care for, but you donâ€™t get a

new mother. I doubt anyone would ever replace mine.â€

â€œQuite right,â€ Marie nodded sharply, as she used to do if I had answered a tricky geography question correctly. â€œAnyway, let me final y make my point

here. Zoe wrote me a few weeks back, asking to come and live with Barbara and me. Barb is my dear friend, another retired teacher. We share a home

down in Madison, Connecticut.â€

â€œI see.â€ I wasnâ€™t sure if I did or not.

Marie grinned. â€œSome discoveries come a bit late in life.â€

Now I saw and returned her grin. â€œSo is Zoe going home with you? Do you think that wil work?â€

â€œThat was the plan.â€ Now, strangely, I thought I saw tears in Marieâ€™s eyes. â€œWe had discussed things that could and could not be done and agreed to

give it a try until the end of the year. At that time, weâ€™d reevaluate and see if al three of us wanted to continue the arrangement.â€

â€œSounds sensible.â€

â€œItâ€™s immaterial.â€ Marie dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. â€œAt breakfast this morning, the maid came into the dining room with the news that Zoeâ€™s bed

had not been slept in. She had gone out to meet some friends after dinner last night, and no one in the house has seen or spoken with her since.â€

â€œDid you cal the police right away?â€

â€œNo, we did not.â€ Suddenly Marie sounded very weary. â€œThis has happened beforeâ€”Zoe staying away overnightâ€”not often, but two or three times.

Reed thought she may have gone to a friendâ€™s house, lost track of the time, maybe had some alcohol, and decided it was better not to come home until

today.â€

â€œWel , Marie, thatâ€™s worrisome, but it happens al the time with kids. Have you cal ed her friends?â€

â€œNo. Merrilou said it would be too humiliating, and frankly, weâ€™re not sure whom to cal .â€

â€œHumiliating. Who cares?â€ I asked angrily. â€œThe kid could be somewhere sick or hurt. She could have started home last night and, for some reason,

never made it. Did you cal the clinic? She could be in there with no ID.â€

â€œYes, I insisted on cal ing them. Sheâ€™s not there. Nor had anyone of her description been in their outpatient care. Anyway, it doesnâ€™t matter. At about that

point the phone rang. Merrilou answered it. She said later the voice sounded like a teenage male, and he said, â€˜We have your daughter, and it wil cost

you one mil ion dol ars to get her back.â€™â€

â€œMy God.â€ I slammed my cup into the saucer and stood up to go to the kitchen phone. â€œIâ€™m so sorry! No wonder you need someone to talk to, Marie. But

we canâ€™t afford to waste time. The early moments are very important in a kidnapping. Iâ€™l cal Sonny and see if they know anything more. Have they got a

tap on the phone yet? Or do you know? Surely theyâ€™ve got the police there by now.â€

Sonny, by the way, is my older brother and a detective lieutenant in the Provincetown Police Department. He is very good at what he does.

Marie stood up as I did. â€œAlex, the police know nothing. As I told you, they have not been consulted.â€

â€œYou mean you stil havenâ€™t cal ed them? What does it take to convince your family Zoe is in trouble? Do they think if they ignore this, the kidnappers wil

get bored and send Zoe home in a cab eating an ice cream cone? She must real y feel hopeless and abandoned. Kidnapped by a set of criminals and

blessed with a family of lunatics. Iâ€™m cal ing my brother.â€

â€œDonâ€™t cal the police!â€ Marie made a strong negative movement with her hands. â€œReed and Merrilou definitely donâ€™t want them in it. Zoe and Reed have

been arguing over some decisions about col ege, and Merrilou has convinced Reed it is a joke of some sort, or a trick on Zoeâ€™s part to get money out of

Reed to spend on the col ege she wants, and perhaps run away with this so-cal ed girlfriend. We donâ€™t even know who she is.â€

â€œWhy would Merrilou think itâ€™s a joke or a hoax?â€

â€œAs I said, she thought the voice sounded young, maybe a teenage boy. Second, she thinks she heard a girl or woman, laughing in the background.â€

â€œThat hardly constitutes a hoax. The laughter could have been on a TV in another room, or someone laughing nervously or drinking or on drugs. A dozen

reasons. And the man who cal ed could simply have had a young sounding voice or be a young man. So what? What did Merrilou say? Did she ask to

speak to Zoe to see if someone real y has her and she is al right?â€

Marie grunted.

â€œNo. Merrilou said, â€˜Iâ€™m looking al over my dining room and I donâ€™t see any mil ion dol ars lying around to give to the sorry likes of you. If youâ€™ve got her, I

guess you get to keep her.â€™ And then she hung up.â€

Chapter 3

I stared at Marie Catlett for a ful minute. Iâ€™m sure my mouth was open. I had never heard anything so stupid and so cold-blooded in my life. Playing

finders-keepers with kidnappers could be a dangerous game.

â€œLetâ€™s get over there.â€ I went for my jacket. â€œMaybeâ€”hopeful yâ€”the kidnappers cal ed again, and somebody went suddenly sane and talked to them

and to Zoe, or maybe even cal ed the cops.â€

Fargo wanted to go with me and I hated to leave him home alone for God knows how long, so I let him come along. If Marie found this strange, she kept

her mouth shut about it.

In the car, she kept clearing her throat as if she wanted to say something. Final y, I asked her if the dog was bothering her.

He was sulking in the backseat with his head stuck between the two front seats, and she turned to pat his head. â€œHeavens, no. Heâ€™s a lovely boy. No,

Iâ€™m just trying to get up the courage to tel you that after my pleas, and those added by Rob and Marvin, Reed final y agreed we should do something about

this situation, and that â€˜somethingâ€™ is to retain you to contact some of Zoeâ€™s friends and casual y ask if any of them know her whereabouts. Perhaps I

should have told you sooner. I didnâ€™t have the nerve.â€

I guess it was a good thing we were already turning into Reedâ€™s driveway at that moment. Otherwise, I would simply have circled the block and gone

home and turned the TV on to cartoons or old western movies. Why not? I seemed to be in the middle of a combination of the two.

We parked under the carport and went in through the kitchen to avoid the rain, which had picked up some, making me wonder fleetingly if Zoe was in a

warm, dry spot or someplace deliberately uncomfortable. I thought it sad that Zoe seemed to be not between a rock and a hard place, but a rock and the

vacuum that should have been her family.

We entered the house and Fargo tracked daintily across the pristine white and gold kitchen tiles, leaving a rather artistic trail until we reached the

dining room, where his paw prints didnâ€™t show on what was probably a very expensive oriental rug. In that room, we found the entire family gathered

silently around the table with coffee cups and crumbled pastries spread carelessly here and there. A real breakfast sat untouched on the sideboard,

looking cold and soggy with the warmer lights turned off under the servers.

â€œAnything new turn up?â€ Marie asked quickly.

I thought I could guess that answer from the universal gloomy expressions. Merrilou answered, and I had forgotten about the accent. â€œNo. Not a single

threateninâ€™ cawl. But this musâ€™ be yoah deah friend, Alex.â€ She rose and offered her hand, cool and firm, as she continued her tungsten magnolia

welcome, which I wonâ€™t even try to duplicate. She introduced me to the family and then poured coffee for me and set a plate of pastries within easy reach. I

introduced Fargo, and the two boys got up to pet him. Merrilou smiled at him, and Reed looked underwhelmed.

â€œIf youâ€™d like a hot breakfast. It would be no trouble at al . . .â€ She looked at me questioningly.

â€œNo, thanks, this is fine.â€ I sipped the first-rate coffee and wondered who was going to be the first to get the conversation going. It was, of course,

Marie.

She announced, â€œEveryone, Alex thinks weâ€™re al wrong not to inform the police. Immediately. Time is of the essence.â€ Marvin and Rob nodded. Reed

and Merrilou shook their heads.

Merrilou answered gently. â€œMarie, Alex, I am convinced it real y is some kind of misplaced joke, and bringing in the police would just make fools of them

and of us and of Zoe. This has happened before. Without tel ing us, Zoe has spent the night with a girlfriend. Lordy, what a new meaninâ€™ that has taken on.â€

Reed final y was heard from. â€œPlease, Merri, donâ€™t get into that again. Weâ€™re al upset about it, but the immediate problem is Zoeâ€™s safety. Now, Iâ€™m

inclined to agree itâ€™s some kind of prank. I think Zoe wil come waltzing in here with al kinds of excuses and expect us al to laugh with her and compliment

her cleverness, and sheâ€™l think I wil be convinced to let her go to that damned acting school andâ€”â€

The strident buzz of the phone on the buffet froze us al . Merrilou was the first to jump up.

â€œNO!â€ I managed to shout. â€œReed, you get it. Demand to speak with Zoe, talk as long as you can. We may hear identifiable background noise. Tel them

you donâ€™t have a mil ion, or even near it. Ask them for a couple of days to try to get some money pul ed together. Tel them youâ€™re trying hard.â€

Reed was pushing Merrilou ungraciously aside, grabbing for the phone. I turned to Rob. â€œTape recorder? Speaker phone?â€

Marvin was already up and running into the living room. Rob motioned me back toward the kitchen, moving at a trot on the slippery tiles.

â€œTape recorderâ€™s in the living room, speakerâ€™s in the kitchen.â€

He punched a couple of buttons and Reedâ€™s voice came through, with that sort of echo effect speakers lend to any voice.

â€œ . . . yes, Iâ€™m Reed Catlett. Who are you?â€

â€œRight now, Iâ€™m Zoeâ€™s watchdog. Arf, arf.â€ I heard a girlish titter in the background. â€œAnd if you want me to keep on being a friendly puppy, youâ€™l keep that

frigginâ€™ comedian who answered the first time, off the phone. And youâ€™l tel me youâ€™ve got that mil ion al counted out, and Iâ€™l tel you how you are to get it to

me. That is if you want Zoe back. Scarlett Oâ€™Hara didnâ€™t sound like she much cared one way or the other.â€

The voice did sound young, but not childish. The cal er could be most any reasonably adult age. I peered back into the dining room. Reed was pale,

and his hand that held the phone was shaking, but he hung tough.

â€œI donâ€™t do business with dogs or in vacuums. We wonâ€™t even discuss money til I know my Zoe is okay. Put her on the line.â€ His voice was flat and

businesslike.

â€œMy, my, arenâ€™t we the bossy one. That wonâ€™t last long.â€ The kidnapper turned away from the phone and said something I couldnâ€™t hear. There was what

seemed a long silence.

Then a young girlâ€™s voice cried out, â€œOh, Daddy! Daddy, come and take me home! They say theyâ€™l kil me if you donâ€™t pay them. Are you there? I feel

awful about this. Iâ€™m so sorry things didnâ€™t work out.â€

Before Reed could say anything comforting to his daughter, there was some sort of scuffle as she was pul ed away. The young man returned.

â€œSatisfied, Daddy? Now hereâ€™s what we do. You put a mil ion dol ars in fifty- and twenty-dol ar bil s in a couple of the smal est school backpacks you can fit

them in. Unmarked bil s, by the way. Weâ€™re too smart for that trick. Then you bringâ€”â€

â€œNot so fast, sonny.â€ Reed was getting mad, which was fine as long as he remembered who had Zoe.

â€œMy first clue to your ignorance of what youâ€™re trying to do is that you are not of the business world. Bil Gates may have a mil ion in cash in his house on

a Friday morning, but I sincerely doubt it. I tel you right now, Iâ€™ve got about three hundred in the house. And I have a little money in the local bank. If I get that

and borrow what cash I can today from my friends around here, Iâ€™d probably have fifteen thousand. Or a little more. Wil that do it for you?â€

Our kidnapper sounded shaky. â€œNever you mind what world Iâ€™m in. And fifteen grand ainâ€™t even a down payment on one of Zoeâ€™s ears, which youâ€™l get if

you keep this shit up. Iâ€™l cal you Monday at this time. Have the money . . . al the money!â€ The connection broke.

We found ourselves back in the dining room, al talking at once. â€œHow did I do?â€ Reed asked me.

â€œYou did just fine,â€ I said sincerely. â€œOne smal thing, you let him know you picked up on his ignorance of the business world. Thatâ€™s a clue to who he is

and it made him nervous, and you donâ€™t want him any more nervous than he is. Believe me, heâ€™s as scared as you are. You want him to think heâ€™s in

complete controlâ€”right up to the last minute when the cops snap the cuffs on him. Donâ€™t give him any information. Just try to get what you can out of him.

Like is Zoe warm, reasonably fed, healthy? Do they want new bil s? The longer you can keep him talking, the more likely you are to learn something.â€

I wasnâ€™t giving Reed some information, myself. Iâ€™d heard something in Zoeâ€™s plea that I wanted to pursue. But not now. Not with this group.

â€œYeah, sorry about that business world slip. It was just so obvious.â€

â€œNo great harm. Just be aware when next you speak to him.â€

Merrilouâ€™s soft voice came from across the table. â€œAlex, honey, you did hear how young he sounded and how flip, didnâ€™t you? And that sil y giggle. I stil

think itâ€™s a prank. If Reed had said fifty thousand instead of fifteen, Iâ€™l bet you anything that young man would have taken it.â€ She leaned against Reedâ€™s

back and put her head on his shoulder, her arms around his chest, hands rubbing gently. Reed looked embarrassed and moved away from her.

I answered before she could take him off to bed. â€œI doubt it. Our watchdog is stil thinking of dining on filet mignon. By Monday, weâ€™l try two hundred

thousand, which wil buy a lot of T-bones. Depending on how we phrase it, that may work.â€ Merrilouâ€™s eyes widened, but she made no comment.

â€œMonday seems so far away,â€ Marie was teary eyed again. â€œPoor Zoe sounds just terrified. My God, what do you suppose theyâ€™ve done to her?â€

â€œProbably nothing serious. Sheâ€™s their asset, their only asset until they get the money. Thatâ€™l be the time to walk very softly.â€

â€œWhat do you mean, â€˜nothing seriousâ€™â€? Marvin asked. With his round face and unreliable voice, he seemed quite mild. Until you looked at his eyes.

Maybe he real y would be a Marine.

â€œKidnappers like to humiliate their captives.â€ I took out a cigarette, glad I had remembered to say captive instead of victim. â€œIt makes it easier for the

kidnappers to keep them under control if theyâ€™re embarrassed and uncomfortable. So they probably took most of her clothes. They may make her eat

food right from the can with her fingers. They probably have warned her not to speak unless they tel her to, or maybe wonâ€™t let her use the bathroom alone

. . .â€

â€œAnd you cal that â€˜nothing seriousâ€™? I cal that enough to kil the bastards.â€ Marvin looked ready to kil , and I thought Reed might burst into tears. Rob

was bent over, petting Fargo, to cover his own emotion, I assumed. Poor Marie was sobbing outright. Even Merrilou looked distressed.

â€œLook,â€ I explained, â€œitâ€™s just that if they belittle her, they feel bigger. It makes the captive feel powerless. Itâ€™s not nice, but it isnâ€™t real y harmful. Sheâ€™l

handle it.â€ I took a sip of my now-cold coffee, tried not to wince and hoped to God I was right about a seventeen-year-old I had never met.

â€œNow, Reed, whatâ€™s the real story on the money?â€

â€œFirst, I was lying about the bank. Most of my easily convertible assets are at Fishermenâ€™s Bank. I just didnâ€™t think that punk needed to know that.â€ I

nodded in approval. And he went on.

â€œThe problem wil be getting it into cash over a weekend. In four or five days, I could have close to a mil ion. Iâ€™m not sure to the exact thousand.â€

â€œYeah.â€ I thought it must be nice to have a mil ion, even if it did vary a thousand here, a thousand there. â€œAnyway, Reed, natural y we would try very hard

to settle for a lot less.â€

â€œWhy? What difference does it make how much is in the knapsacks, when theyâ€™l only have them for a minute or two?â€

â€œUh, wel , Reed, youâ€™ve elected to go with one lonely private investigator instead an entire police force plus the FBI. Thereâ€™s only one of me and my only

concern wil be getting Zoe home in one piece. They may wel get clean away with the money. Iâ€™l be in touch. Câ€™mon, Fargo.â€

Chapter 4

Rob walked us to the car, so I had the opportunity to ask him about Zoeâ€™s friends. He seemed rather at a loss. â€œShe has a mil ion casual friends, but not

many close ones. For al her fun-loving side, she is kind of a private person,â€ he final y said. â€œBut if it is just some scheme theyâ€™ve cooked up, I mean if she

isnâ€™t real y kidnapped, if anybody wil know where she is, itâ€™l be Dana Portman or Harry Maddock.â€

â€œAnd just who are they?â€ I opened the car door and Fargo jumped across into the passengerâ€™s seat, taking no chances of being put in the back. I sat in

the driverâ€™s seat and pul ed a notebook from the compartment. â€œShoot.â€

He leaned against the open car door. â€œDana is a great girl. Smart, nice and super rich. Her old man imports antiques of al kinds from al over the world.

Sel s â€™em to dealers or museums and then has replicas made in a couple of factories he owns. Talk about a mil ion. He probably keeps that in the cookie

jar to tip the paper boy.â€

I looked up from my notes. â€œIâ€™m surprised heâ€™s not in jail.â€

â€œNo, no.â€ Rob laughed. â€œHe doesnâ€™t pass the copies off as the real thing. Theyâ€™re al clearly marked Portman Reproductions and the date, and the ones

Iâ€™ve seen have a little booklet with the history of the original. Very classy stuff. Theyâ€™re very wel done and cost a bundle even though theyâ€™re reproductions.â€

â€œI see.â€ I also felt a little foolish. â€œAnd Dana is the recipient of al this money?â€

â€œSomeday, I guess. Sheâ€™l deserve it. Next year sheâ€™s off to Yale to study art history, although she already knows as much as most dealers. Sheâ€™s wants

to be a museum curator for a few years and then her dad wants her to go into the family business. She travels a lot with her dad, but Iâ€™m not sure sheâ€™s al

that sold on joining him in the business. I think she wants her independence.â€

â€œWhereâ€™s her mom in al this?â€ I lit a cigarette, and Rob looked at me longingly until I passed him the pack and lighter.

â€œLiving on Spainâ€™s sun coast withâ€”according to Danaâ€”a gorgeous guy about half her age. They may be married, not sure. Dana stays in touch with

her, secretly, I think. I donâ€™t believe her old man knows about it.â€

â€œAnd is Dana Zoeâ€™s lover?â€

Rob dropped the cigarette and tapped it into the gravel, as Merrilou walked out onto the large porch and began a careful survey of the potted plants.

â€œSorry to waste it. Itâ€™s easier than listening to her lecture on the subject later. Anyway, yes, I assume Dana is the girl. Theyâ€™re always together, make a

great pair, actual y. Dana is so wel -grounded and Zoe is always so ready to sail away in a beautiful pea-green boat.â€ I could hear the affection in his voice

and was glad. At least Zoe had one white knight.

â€œIs Zoe interested in antiques, too?â€

â€œNot professional y. She loves pretty things and is fairly knowledgeable as a layman, but she plansâ€”oh, God, how she plansâ€”to be an actress.â€ He

struck a pose and grinned.

â€œHow exciting. And is an international y famous producer going to spot her in the supermarket, strike his forehead with a salami and sign her for the

leading lady in his next play?â€

â€œAh, thereâ€™s the rub. Zoe wants to go to some acting school in New York next year. Dad thinks sheâ€™s too young to be cut loose in a big city and says he

wants her to live at home and go to the two-year col ege up the Cape or go to Boston Col ege so she can be home weekends first. Then heâ€™l send her to

whatever acting school she wants.â€

â€œSounds reasonable to me.â€ I shrugged.

â€œBut not to Zoe. She says by then sheâ€™l be too old for the good parts and have to settle for the maiden aunt-type roles.â€

â€œAt twenty-one?â€

Rob laughed. â€œZoe does have her own schedule, and being a star by nineteen is on her calendar.â€

â€œOkay, I can see that. What about the Maddock boy? Wasnâ€™t he the kid who won al the state hockey prizes the last couple of years?â€

I looked around at the porch. The flowerpots were al running over with water. Merrilou would have the plants floating shortly. Automatical y, I lowered my

voice. â€œIf Dana and Zoe are gay, where does Harry fit in? Is he carrying a torch for one of them? Is he gay, too?â€

â€œNeither, Iâ€™d say. I think Harry is hockey. Itâ€™s his life. Heâ€™s a good friend to both girls, but I donâ€™t think thereâ€™s any romanceâ€”real or imagined. His problem

is getting a sports scholarship, not a bedmate. And they arenâ€™t easy to get in hockey . . . scholarships. I mean . . . itâ€™s not as popular as footbal or

basketbal . I guess bedmates come pretty easily to any star athlete.â€ He grinned and bent over, picked up the battered cigarette. Held out his hand for my

lighter and relit it.

â€œThe hel with it.â€ He shrugged.

â€œYeah, wel with his reputation, youâ€™d think any col ege with a hockey team would want him. I donâ€™t know about starting a harem. Where would I find him

and Dana?â€ I asked. â€œI mean, not at home. Iâ€™d like to talk to them without parents for the moment. And do you have a photo of either or al of them?â€

Rob thought for a moment. â€œMy best guess on where to find them? Mickeyâ€™s Pizza, anytime of the day or night. Al the kids practical y live there.â€

Obviously, Rob did not consider himself any longer in that age group.

â€œPhotos, Iâ€™l check later with Nana. Grandmothers always have those things donâ€™t they? Look, Iâ€™d better get going now or Merrilou wil be pouring water

into your gas tank.â€

Rob reached in and took my notebook and pen. â€œHereâ€™s my cel phone number. Cal any time if I can help. And could I have your e-mail address so I can

send you any photos I turn up?â€

He wrote the address on a note page as I recited it, and raised his voice as he tore out the page and handed back my book. â€œYes, he certainly is a fine

dog. Youâ€™d never know heâ€™s real y so vicious, especial y around women.â€ He winked and walked away, cigarette dangling crookedly from his mouth. I liked

his style.

Backing careful y out of the narrow, old-fashioned driveway, I started slowly back into town. The rain had become a mist, but it stil was not an outdoor

day. A few minutes later, I pul ed over to give Mickeyâ€™s a closer look. Mickeyâ€™s Pizza had a few smal tables jammed inside the building and a more

numerous col ection outside on the widened sidewalk. Only one or two were in use by the brave. It was not a time for Mickeyâ€™s.

Anyway, I wanted to get some information and possibilities straight in my head before I started interviewing potential suspectsâ€”if that wasnâ€™t too strong

a word. Cohorts might be a better one. Shortly Iâ€™d find out if al three kids had disappeared and if any of their families had received cal s from â€œkidnappers.

â€

Just down the street from Mickey,â€™s I spotted a public phone that actual y had a tattered directory dangling beside it, and parked nearby. I just wanted

the addresses. I had no intention of phoning. It was too easy to lie or stal on a telephone. Face to face was a little harder. Both phones were listed, and

because Daniel Portmanâ€™s home was nearer, thatâ€™s where I started.

I drove slowly through the open wrought iron gates, but stopped short of the house to speak with an older woman in a bright yel ow raincoat who was

snipping dew-covered roses and handing them to a sweatered maid who stuck them gingerly into a large vase.

I got out of the car as they stopped their activities to give me curious, but not unfriendly looks.

â€œHel o, Iâ€™m Alex Peres. Iâ€™m a private investigator,â€ I announced, showing my license. â€œNothing serious, as far as I know.â€

I had added the last words to assuage their obvious anxiety at my apparently alarming introduction. â€œZoe Catlett didnâ€™t come home last night. Her family

is assuming she spent the night with a friend, but theyâ€™d like to make sure she didnâ€™t fal il or something. Knowing Dana is a friend of Zoeâ€™s, I just thought

Iâ€™d check if she were here visiting Dana, or had been here last night.â€

â€œIâ€™m Danaâ€™s grandmother, Mrs. Arlen. I was already in bed when I heard Danaâ€™s car pul around to the garage last night, and I know she came in. I heard

her on the stairs. I think she was alone.â€

She turned to the maid. â€œGreta, what about breakfast?â€

The maid answered, â€œMiss Dana cal ed down for breakfast in her room this morning, said she didnâ€™t feel wel . I took it up. No one else was with her, and

she didnâ€™t say anything about serving a guest in another room. And nobody strange was in the dining room before you came down, maâ€™am.â€

Mrs. Arlen and I looked at each other and smiled at the maidâ€™s last sentence. Mrs. Arlen pretty wel ended the interview, but nicely.

â€œDana is apparently here, and I guess there are no strangers in the house. I do hope Zoe is al right, sheâ€™s such a lively, fun-loving girl.â€

â€œI imagine itâ€™s just one of those parent/teenager mix-ups that happen sometimes,â€ I said. She was so pleasant I felt I should reassure her. We murmured

a few more cordial words and parted. I would love to have talked with Dana, but felt the timing was bad. I was sure Grandma would have come along, and

if I had asked to speak to Dana alone, al kinds of red flags would have flown.

I went down the hil , back toward town and up another smal hil , stopping in front of a modest ranch house.

I rang the bel , but nobody answered. I walked around to the backyard with the thought someone might be doing yard work, but that smal hope was

dashed, so I retreated in good order, under the watchful eyes of a next-door neighbor.

â€œHel o,â€ I cal ed across the fence. â€œI was looking for Harry Maddock. Any idea where I might find him?â€

â€œWhy would you be looking for Harry?â€ Her expression grew even more distrustful.

â€œIâ€™m a private investigator, and a friend of Harryâ€™s has gone missing, andâ€”â€

I was talking to her back. She vanished into her house with the slam of a door. Did she think I figured Harry for a kidnapper? Probably she just disliked

PIs. I wondered what tale the first Maddock to return home would be treated to.

I waved merrily toward a window where the curtain was jiggling and pushed Fargo over into the passengerâ€™s seat. He looked at me with such sad, big

brown eyes that I said, â€œOkay, weâ€™l go to the beach.â€ What the hel was a little mist?

The Provincetown beaches had al kinds of weather from time to time, and I loved most of it, from cloudless hot days with the ocean sighing softly onto

the beach, to days of hammer-like surf and horizontal sleet that burned if it hit your skin. Today a fog bank hovered firmly over us with no signs of burning

off, and the ocean moved slowly in on oily rol ers. And our only companion was the reassuring deep-throated boom from the Truro lighthouse.

The last words Zoe had uttered before being pul ed away from the phone had made me curious. I thought about them as I watched Fargo tear down the

beach in a sand-scattering run.

She had said that she felt awful about it. Very few kidnap victims apologize for being kidnapped . . . at least not until theyâ€™ve been happily and safely

returned to their loved ones.

Then she started to say she was sorry about something that didnâ€™t work out. Again, an unusual remark. Most kidnappees understandably, simply feel

extremely sorry for themselves and are more likely to scream, â€œGet me the hel out of here!â€ than to apologize for being there. Of course, some of them go

through real agonies of guilt, but again, that is usual y when they are safely home and trying to reconcile the sad fact that every cent of the familyâ€™s assets

went as ransom for their rescue, and has not been recovered.

â€œIâ€™m so sorry it didnâ€™t work . . .â€ had been her last words before she had to relinquish the phone. Funny phrasing. Was she simply going to say she was

sorry it had occurred and inconvenienced everyone? Not hardly. Sorry it happened on a weekend and Dad couldnâ€™t get the money? I doubted it. Sorry it al

worked out wrong? Had Zoe in the beginning thought she had control over the plans, and now discovered she did not? A real possibility, especial y if it

had started as a more-or-less innocent prank, as Merrilou figured. Or knew? Now there was a thought.

I coasted into my driveway and cut the ignition before I real y realized where I was. As I separated ignition key from the back door key and others,

Fargo ran around the yard checking for invaders, leaving his spoor on various shrubs and rol ing in the wet grass as a good excuse for a rubdown.

He got it, along with a biscuit, once we were inside. I checked the phone message machine in the little front entry hal we never used. One strident

male, sel ing vinyl siding. One Cindy Hart, saying she was â€œoutta hereâ€ and loved us and would cal tonight. And couldnâ€™t we even wait til she left town to

start carousing? I missed her already. Suddenly the house felt dank and chil and deserted and so did I.

A little cheer seemed in order. I went back into the kitchen and popped a beer, returned to the living room and lit the fire in the fireplace. Already life

was better. I sat down on the couch, accompanied by the now dry Fargo, and stared at the fire. Itâ€™s like the ocean to me. If itâ€™s there, I have to watch it.

I thought about the kidnapping. My flip notion that Merrilou had something to do with itâ€”or at least some knowledge of itâ€”became more and more a

possibility in my mind. Maybe she had known what time the first phone cal would come and had placed herself near the phone so she could logical y be

the one to answer it. And we had only her word for what had been said on the other end of the line. Keeping the police out of it seemed pretty much her

idea, too. Reed may have been a success in business and able to hold his own when talking to the kidnappers, but he obviously didnâ€™t want a

confrontation with his wife. Iâ€™l bet the family would have convinced him to involve the cops in a hurry if she hadnâ€™t been there, insisting that a cal to the

police would be embarrassing to Zoeâ€™s friends, would cause Reed publicity his business image didnâ€™t need and would humiliate the entire family,

especial y if it had anything to do with Zoeâ€™s lesbianism. Somehow, I had the idea that Reed Catlett was not the sturdiest tree in the forest when it came to

emotional stability. If Merrilou used sex as a weapon, he had already lost that battle. I wondered how long it would take him to find comfort elsewhere.

Logical y, I had no idea why Merrilou would want Zoe kidnapped. Surely, there must be simpler ways of getting her out of the house if Merrilou couldnâ€™t

stand living with such a sinner. Hel , Zoe was considering living with her grandmother, anyway. Although Merrilou might not know that. And, obviously, there

was that mil ion dol ars if it ever got that far. Merrilou and some number of other people could be richer. But, to me, that seemed a dangerous route. The

kidnappers might wel decide they had done al the work, taken al the risksâ€”and deserved al the money. Merrilou could hardly sue them for breach of

contract. On the other hand, if they were caught, certainly they wouldnâ€™t hesitate a heartbeat to rat on her as their employer in hopes of a softer deal from

the prosecutor.

My bottom line thought was that Merrilou was better off leaving things as they were and hoping Reed succumbed to an early death. Preferably natural.

Another question mark in my mental Merrilou file was her relationship with the Reverend Lawrence Bartles and his too-good-for-words wife, Emily.

Bartles had a little storefront evangelical church over off Shank Painter Road. The property included the â€œchurchâ€ plus the rambling house they lived in and

a fair-sized barn. He and his wife specialized in helping runaway or homeless teenagers.

The girls stayed in the house with the Bartles. The boys lived dormitory style in the barn. The Bartles fed them and tried to reconcile the runaways with

their families, tried to help the others get at least a high school education equivalent and a permanent job and to getâ€”or keepâ€”them off drugs and

booze. I had initial y had some serious doubts as to whether Larry and/or Emily had more than a religious interest in these kids, but apparently, al was on

the up and up.

Larry was a little easier going than his wife. His theory was to take care of the kidsâ€™ physical and emotional health first, that their souls would fol ow

along later. Emily was rather more Middle Ages in approach. She would have demanded chastity, poverty and obedience before you got your first bowl of

oatmeal.

Larry and I had been involved in a murder case last year. The beginning of our acquaintance had been stormy at best, and while we both stil knew we

were on opposite sides of many fences, we eventual y realized we rather liked each other. I trusted him, to a degree. And he decided I did not have cloven

hooves. I barely knew Emily and saw no reason to change that.

My mother, who contributed to their ever-needy larder, said Emily was â€œabout what you would expect.â€ My Aunt Mae said she was â€œsometimes difficult,

but rather sweet, in her way.â€ Of course, Aunt Mae would have considered Genghis Kahn rather sweet, in his way. I wondered idly if Emilyâ€™s sweetness

included starving young kidnapped gays into lifelong repentance. And I imagined even a smal part of a mil ion dol ar ransom would look awful y big to

Emily.

Thoughts of starving reminded me that it was nearly dinnertime, and I had had little breakfast and no lunch. The rain was with us again, and I decided to

let the food come to me in my nice dry house. I cal ed the Chinese restaurant and ordered too much of too many things as usual. No harm. There was

always tomorrowâ€™s lunch.

Just as Fargo and I were polishing off an egg rol we didnâ€™t need, and Wel s was playing mighty hunter with a shrimp, the phone rang. I said, â€œHel o,â€ and

a voice, obviously disguised came over the line.

â€œHal o, is thees the Peres House of Il Ree-pute for bee-oo-tiful womans?â€

â€œYes, it is.â€ I was grinning now. â€œAnd I can tel just from your voice that we wil hire you in an instant. Can you start work tonight? Of course, you realize

that as the owner I have to check you out, as it were.â€

â€œAh, no.â€ I think I had her rattled now. â€œI cannot start until Tuesday, but, bebe, it vil be worth zee wait!â€ What the hel kind of accent was this supposed to

be?

â€œSorry, honey, if you canâ€™t get here tonight, Iâ€™l just have to hire this other gorgeous girl whoâ€™s waiting outside.â€

â€œWel , if youâ€™ve got the same weather we have, your other girl just drowned.â€ Now the voice was wonderful y familiar.

â€œWe do have a downpour working.â€ I laughed. â€œBut maybe drowning is better than having you stomp her to death with your stiletto heels. Hel o, darling. I

take it you arrived safely.â€

We settled down and chatted for half an hour, tel ing each other about our dayâ€™s events.

Mine, I assure you, were more interesting.

Chapter 5

Saturdays seem to have a different feel to them, even though I donâ€™t work a standard Monday-to-Friday schedule. Fargo, Wel s and I slept late, warm

and cozy against the sudden autumn chil . I decided to have coffee before dressing and went for the heavier robe and slippers.

Fargo had just come in with the weather report: the grass was stil wet up to his ankles, but the rain had stopped. I poured my first cup of special Blue

Mountain coffee on that good news . . . and the phone rang.

It was Rob Catlett with photo information. I had to credit him. He got things done promptly. â€œAnything new going on?â€ I asked.

â€œNope,â€ he replied. â€œNo phone cal s, and the five of us hung around al evening. It was like we were al watching each other. Nana doesnâ€™t trust Merrilou.

Merrilou doesnâ€™t trust her. Dad doesnâ€™t trust me or Marvin. I donâ€™t trust Merrilou or Dad. And Marvin doesnâ€™t trust anybody. Aside from that, we are one

close-knit family, warmly united by our troubles.â€ He laughed, but he didnâ€™t mean it.

â€œWhy donâ€™t you trust your father?â€ I sipped the coffee and lit the first of the five al owed cigarettes. Should I exceed that number, and I probably would,

the way things are going, Iâ€™d give my wrist a good slap.

â€œIâ€™m not sure. He seems to be . . . different than he used to be. He was always sort of remote, even before Mom died. But you had the feeling that in

there somewhere, he loved you. After he married Merrilou, he stil real y didnâ€™t change, until this damn kidnap. For example, even before Zoe said she was

a lesbian, Merrilou had been talking about this girlsâ€™ school somewhere down south, run by the evangelicals. About how they teach premarital chastity,

how you should always obey your parents and how later youâ€™re supposed to obey your husband that your parents picked, and have a lot of babies that you

nurse. Sounds more like raising a cow than a girl. Anyway, Dad just laughed and said Zoe would have the girls into mutiny and the faculty into cardiac

arrest within a week. Hold on a minute.â€ I heard him say something in a low voice, and then the sound of a door closing.

â€œJust Marvin,â€ Rob explained. â€œAnyway, Merrilou started in on this school again last night, and Dad said heâ€™d think about it, maybe theyâ€™d go down and

take a look at it. Nana said it would be a big mistake for Zoe. Dad snapped that it was his decision, and his alone. He never snaps at Nana. Marvin

slammed out of the roomâ€”yel ing shit! I was glaring at Dad, and Merrilou was licking cream off her whiskers. Itâ€™s turning into the weekend from hel around

here.â€

Suddenly he sounded very young. I tried to sound reassuring. â€œRob, you have to remember, everybody is scared, and nobody has any controlâ€”or even

real understandingâ€”over whatâ€™s happening. That never brings out the best in anyone. Try to stay cool and keep your brother cool, and look after your

grandmother. Sheâ€™s a threat to Merrilou, and Merrilou knows it. The kidnappers arenâ€™t supposed to cal again until Monday anyway, so at least we have

today and Sunday. Now, the pictures you said you located, can you e-mail them to me?â€

â€œYes, thereâ€™s a scanner in the library. Dadâ€™s at his office so I can use the scanner and get them to you right away. And thanks, I feel a little saner. You

mean I donâ€™t have to strangle Merrilou and shoot Dad until Monday?â€ His laugh was shaky, but I figured it was a little more genuine.

â€œAt the earliest.â€ I smiled, as if he could see it, and said good-bye.

I took a drag on my cigarette and sent up a short puff of thanks that my name was not Catlett. The kitchen got suddenly brighter as the sun broke

through outside. Maybe weâ€™d have a nice warm day after al . Iâ€™d try Mickeyâ€™s for lunch, and on the way Iâ€™d stop in the bank, which would be open til noon.

With any luck, Choate El is, their high honcho, would be there, and I could talk to him about ransoms.

I exited the shower to hear the little bel that tinged when I had e-mail on the computer in my so-cal ed office.

A few minutes later, I was gazing at two photos, somewhat blurry, but definitely clear enough to use for ID purposes.

One was of a grinning teenage girl with short, dark wavy hair, and a devil-may-care flash to her brown eyesâ€”Zoe without a doubt. The boy with her in

the picture was barely tal er than she was, maybe five-nine, blond short hair and a nose that had been broken. He had a sweet smile as he looked down at

a puppy he held. The other picture was more formal y posed, a pretty young woman with reddish brown hair, careful y ragged in its cut, and warm, light

hazel eyes. She wore a simple dress and leaned invitingly against a garden gate. In a few years, she would be beautiful. At thirty-five, she would be

stunning. At seventy, she would not have faded. No wonder Zoe was in love with Dana.

These kids were going to need more help than I could provide. They might have tried to pul an imprudentâ€”and impudentâ€”stunt and they might need

to pay for it in some way, but they were by no means professional criminals. Certainly, they should not be placed in danger or serious discomfort. Nor

should they serve as the means for Merrilou or anyone else to wreck a familyâ€”or familiesâ€”just to ensure someoneâ€™s financial future.

At some point very soon, Iâ€™d have to catch up with Sonny. Maybe some of the Catletts didnâ€™t want police help, but I did. And I didnâ€™t want to find myself

guilty of not reporting a crime I was aware of. After the phone cal I had heard, I could hardly claim to assume she was â€œvoluntarily missing.â€ Maybe her

familyâ€”or some of itâ€”could tel themselves it was a prank, but unless I wanted to lose my license, I had better be on the side of the angels.

And once in a great while, cops could be angels. Maybe it was easier in a smal town, where things were a little more informal. I recal ed a few years

back when they handled a rather complex â€œkidnapping.â€ A drunk and abusive husband beat up and threatened to kil his wife and baby, because, sick of

his abuse and frightened for her child, she had sued for divorce. One night while he was passed out, she worked up her courage, took the kid and ran for

her life. She made the mistake of cal ing her sister in Indiana to say she was coming to her, and let the conversation record on the answering machine.

She took her own car, but stole some Michigan plates off a red Ford downtown as a clumsy attempt at disguise. Then she headed for Gary, Indiana, in her

dark blue Honda.

Later, the husband woke up and wanted action before he left for Indiana to bring his son home â€œone way or another.â€ He took the tape to headquarters

just as an irate tourist from Michigan was there, complaining the license plates from his car had been hooked. It should have been cut and dried. Both

husband and wife were suing for custody of the child, and neither should have taken him out of state. She should have been easily picked up and returned

to Ptown with the child . . . if her husband didnâ€™t find and kil her first.

The cops got busy in a hurry and were unbelievably efficient. To satisfy the irate husband, Nacho got hold of the Michigan State Patrol and reported the

missing plates . . . for a cream Dodge, with two wrong digits. Mitch tracked down the sister and told her to head off the mother and child to some different

spot, preferably one the husband didnâ€™t know about, until things cooled down. Sonny interviewed the husband and was so snotty, the stil half-loaded man

final y took a punch at him, al owing Sonny to arrest him for assaulting an officer and putting him in a cel for two days until he could come up with the bail

money. And the wife conveniently disappeared.

A few months later, the husband robbed a convenience store and pistol-whipped the clerk, thereby earning himself a twenty-five year prison term.

Shortly after that, Nacho handled the sale of the trailer and household goods for the runaway mom and shipped her the money from the trailer plus a few

smal items she wanted, to an address in Marietta, Ohio. No one ever knew how Nacho had the information, or who actual y signed the husbandâ€™s name to

the trailerâ€™s bil of sale. But then, nobody was around to complain, either.

I had a feeling that kind of expertise might wel be needed in the Catlett caper.

Luck was with me. Choate El is was in his office and able to see me at Fishermenâ€™s Bank. I felt free to talk with him about the situation. Iâ€™d known him

al my life. He was a good friend of my Aunt Mae and my mother. Heâ€™d like to have been more than a friend to my mother, I thought, but his rather prissy

ways and short, pudgy height were against him. Anyway, Mom had managed to get herself romantical y entangled with one of the actors who had been

here last summer. She was currently in New York â€œvisitingâ€ him as the cast rehearsed the Broadway opening of the modernized, musical version of Hamlet

that had resulted in two murders and a literal stampede in its single performance at our amphitheater over Labor Day. I real y donâ€™t want to get into details.

Itâ€™s too bizarre.

â€œHel o, Choate. Thanks for fitting me into your schedule.â€

â€œA pleasure, my dear, always a pleasure. Sit down, sit down. May I offer you coffee?â€

â€œThank you, no. I donâ€™t want to take up your time, but as you may know, Iâ€™m working on Zoe Catlettâ€™s kidnapping. I just wanted to fil in a few blanks, if

youâ€™d be so kind.â€

â€œKidnapping. Has that actual y been established? Weâ€™ve been pul ing a few things together, but I had the idea it was some sort of convoluted teenage

scheme to hit Reed up for some money.â€

â€œI am not sure if it started that way. Itâ€™s possible. But I donâ€™t think itâ€™s a joke, however poorly planned, at this point. I happened to be in their home when

the kidnapper made his second cal . Reed spoke briefly to Zoe, and there was no doubt in my mind she was scared to death and wanting her father to

come and get her. I hope the parents have cal ed the police by now. This stal ing is getting dangerous. The kidnappers are asking for a mil ion by Monday

and getting a little nasty about it. Is that possible for you to achieve?â€

â€œIt would have been a lot easier if Iâ€™d known we real y needed it,â€ he said sourly. â€œI was laboring under the idea that we mightâ€”mightâ€”need one to two

hundred thousand, which is no big problem. A mil ion wil have me scrambling to liquidate some of Reedâ€™s assets and get extra cash in here. No, Monday

is a no. Tuesday soonest, and thatâ€™s with luck. What the hel is Reed doing trying to handle this himself? Does he think he can bargain them down to a

dol ar ninety-eight?â€

â€œI know I have no authority to say this, Choate, but my thought is you would do wel to start scrambling, even though itâ€™s a weekend. And even though you

may not need quite al of it.â€

He looked at me keenly. â€œYou think it is real, that Zoe is in danger? That lovely young girl.â€

â€œYes, I do. Enough that I plan to go against family wishes and report it to the police myself later today . . . if they havenâ€™t.â€

â€œIs it legal for you to do that? You can trump the familyâ€™s wishes? Iâ€™m glad to hear it. Frankly, Iâ€™d feel better about it if the police were involved. A mil ion is

a lot of cash for me to get in here. And Iâ€™ve requested available marked bil s from a smal cache the . . . a certain agency keeps on hand. It wonâ€™t be much,

but it might help.â€ He looked uneasy.

â€œI know marked bil s are virtual y impossible for most of us to spot. Would the kidnappers know how to do it?â€

â€œProbably not. Weâ€™ve come a long way from putting an ink dot somewhere on the bil , you know. It takes special equipment to spot the mark. They might

or might not have access to it or even know what it is. I wouldnâ€™t worry about that, especial y if theyâ€™re amateurs.â€

He cleared his throat and pul ed out a slim cigar and an ashtray from his desk drawer. â€œIâ€™l tel you frankly, Alex, I worry more that this is some sort of trick

to pul off a bank robbery while Iâ€™ve got an extra mil ion in tens and twenties sitting here, on a busy weekday with a dozen hostages lined up at the tel ersâ€™

windows.â€ He blew out a cloud of expensive, aromatic smoke.

I figured that was my passport to cigarette numberâ€”good griefâ€”was it four already? â€œFrankly, I never thought of a bank robbery. Itâ€™s hard to believe,

Choate, that a fairly naÃ¯ve young girl like Zoe and a couple of school pals would be involved with something like that. I canâ€™t imagine they would have even

the vaguest idea of how to pul it off.â€

â€œI doubt that they would. There would have to be adults, probably even professionals involved. Zoe would be unwitting or unwil ing bait. Thatâ€™s why Iâ€™m

glad youâ€™re going to Sonny. No offense, my dear, but I think we need more than a charming young lady and an aging, worried banker to handle this.â€

One part of me wanted to pour his coffee over his head, but part of me knew he could be right. â€œMake me a bargain, Choate. Iâ€™l forgive you the sexist

remark if youâ€™l promise to get extra security and stay wel into the background yourself. Donâ€™t get hurt in this, Choate. We need you around here.â€

He laughed and stood, extending his hand. â€œVery wel , I wil . And like it or not, youâ€™re a dear sweet girl.â€

I shook my head, patted his hand and gave him a dirty look.

Chapter 6

My mind was churning as I walked to the car. Opening the door, I tousled Fargoâ€™s head. â€œThe plot thickens, Dr. Watson. How would you feel about pizza

for lunch?â€ The increased tempo of his tail wag gave me my answer. I decided to leave the car in the bank lot, figuring Saturday was slow and no one

would mind. I put Fargo on the lead and we walked the couple of blocks to Mickeyâ€™s Pizza.

You could hear it and smel it before you saw it. Conversations were carried on at a mild shout to compete successful y with numerous iPods and cel

phones ringing with tidbits of songs the owners thought reflected their personalities or looks in some way. Horns blew to summon friends out to the curb or

to urge another car to move on. But the aromaâ€”ah, now that made up for any minor faults I may have been finding with the ambiance.

The menu was beautiful y simple on its blackboard behind the counter. Pizza by the pie or the slice, calzone, meatbal or sausage grinder, smal or

large salad. Dessert was Italian ice or cannoli.

When my turn came at the counter, I ordered half a smal pie with sausage and mushrooms, smal salad andâ€”remembering they sold no alcoholic

drinksâ€”a Diet Coke for me plus a cup of water for my friend tied to a table outside. Getting a firm grip on my tray of goodies, I eased my way through the

crowd to the table Fargo had reserved for us and sat down beside him. I broke him off a crust of pizzaâ€”leaving a piece of sausage and picking off the

mushroomsâ€”and opened my Diet Coke for a sip.

I looked around, hoping to spot one or more of the kids. I real y didnâ€™t expect to see Zoe, but who knew? I gazed until the scene began to blur and then

stopped looking for a few minutes while I enjoyed some pizza and salad.

And then I saw him.

Harry was walking down the edge of the sidewalk, turning his head back and forth to check both cars and pedestrians. He, too, was looking for

someone. When he reached my table, I cal ed his name softly.

â€œHarry? Harry Maddock?â€

He looked at me, his face a question mark.

â€œYes. Iâ€™m Harry Maddock. Do I know you?â€ He was obviously on guard and untrusting of anyone who looked old enough to vote. Along with jeans and T shirt, Harry also wore an unmistakable air of guilt.

â€œMy name is Alex Peres. Iâ€™m a friend of Rob Catlett and also of Mrs. Marie Catlett. Iâ€™m a private investigator, and I am very quietly looking for Zoe. Marie

and Rob fear she might be in some danger, and Iâ€™d like to be able to reassure them. Would you sit down and talk to me for a minute or two?â€

He more or less col apsed into a chair, as if he had removed a suit of armor that was al that had held him erect. â€œThank God somebodyâ€™s doing

something. I think Iâ€™m going nuts.â€

â€œYes, Iâ€™m trying to do something, but I need al the help I can get. I noticed you were looking around as you walked. Were you expecting someone?â€

â€œDana. Dana Portman. She real y got roughed up in the confusion last night. I hope sheâ€™s okay. Sheâ€™s supposed to meet me here.â€

I wondered what he meant by roughed up. But I thought weâ€™d better start at the beginning. â€œHarry, can you tel me from the get-go how this al came

about? Is Zoe kidnapped or not?â€

He looked at me for a long minute, then apparently decided he had to trust someone. He leaned over and stroked Fargo, probably to let his voice

steady. â€œOkay, sure. Zoe and I wil be seniors in high school when it opens next week. Dana is a year older and wil be going to Yale in a couple of weeks.

We didnâ€™t want the three of us to be separated for a year. We wanted to stay together like we are now. We tossed around various things we could do

â€”like moving to New York, getting an apartment, Dana going to Columbia, Zoe and me finishing high school there. Then Zoe could either get a good role

in a TV serial or on stage or go to acting school. I could either get on a pro hockey teamâ€”Iâ€™m pretty goodâ€”or get a hockey scholarship at a col ege in the

New York area. With the money we could borrow from Reed Catlett, we could afford to do that until we started making money on our own. Then we would

pay him back, of course. Excuse me a minute.â€

He stood and walked into the restaurant, leaving me to marvel at how teenagers could simplify the complex and complicate the simple. Harry returned

with pizza and soda and resumed his â€œexplanation.â€

â€œDana thought we were being sil y. She said we should leave things as they are. Sheâ€™d be home from Yale plenty of weekends, or we could come down

there to visit. I could try for scholarships or student loans either at Yale or at other col eges in Connecticut or Rhode Island for the next year, while Zoe

made sure her grades were good enough to get into Yale next year as a drama major. But Zoe wanted us al to be togetherâ€”in one town, if not one

school. And she was afraid Reed would never come up with a cent for such an unusualâ€”what he would cal harebrainedâ€”scheme. Of course, Dana might

not need any of it. She has her own money from her grandmother, but itâ€™s pretty wel tied up til sheâ€™s twenty-five. And, obviously, sheâ€™s committed to Yale. I

think she was kind of relieved that she is.â€

I took the last bite of pizza, splitting it with Fargo. â€œDana seems to have some common sense. And Zoe might be going to Fairfield, Connecticut, to live

with her grandmother. Thatâ€™s quite near New Haven. Did you know that?â€

Harry nodded and swal owed. â€œYes. But we werenâ€™t certain. And we needed to get things nailed down. Time was flying. And we stil didnâ€™t know what I

could do.â€

He took some soda and went on. â€œWe al agreed that Reed or Mr. Portman wouldnâ€™t agree to any of this. We were about to give up when Zoe said, kind

of dreamily, â€˜I have it. You can kidnap me. My father wil pay the ransom, and away we go.â€™ We al laughed, and started just some crazy talk about

kidnapping her, my wearing a mask and carrying a hockey stick and demanding money, Dana blindfolding Reed and taking him somewhere to give us

the money. You know, just nonsense.â€

I nodded and held the cup down so Fargo could drink part of his water. â€œI understand. But then it began to seem plausible, no longer just a joke. Where

were you going to keep her?â€

â€œWe thought of Danaâ€™s house. Itâ€™s real big with lots of unused rooms. But she says her grandmotherâ€”who lives there, too, since Danaâ€™s father travels

so muchâ€”sometimes roams around the house, looking into the rooms, remembering years ago when she was a girl and they used them for weekend

parties and dances and al .â€

He paused for a bite and a sip. â€œSo we decided on the apartment over our garage. Itâ€™s not rented for the winter.â€

I had to laugh. â€œOh, God, Harry, your house or Danaâ€™s? I, or the police, would have found her in twenty minutes.â€

â€œWel , you wonâ€™t find her in twenty minutes now.â€ He looked frightened and angry. â€œWeâ€™ve looked al over town and canâ€™t find a trace. Sheâ€™s just . . .

gone.â€ The tears rol ed unbidden. He buried his face in his napkin, shoulders shaking.

Suddenly a hand appeared on his shoulder, and behind him stood what should have been a lovely girl. â€œHarry, whatâ€™s wrong? Have they . . . found . . .

something?â€ She looked up. â€œWho are you?â€

â€œIâ€™m Alex Peres, a private investigator. Iâ€™m looking for Zoe Catlett, and Harryâ€™s been giving me some background. And youâ€™re . . .â€

She extended her hand. Her voice was perfectly modulated, her hair was professional y styled, her clothes informal y fashionable. And she was a mess.

Dark, dark glasses partial y concealed a whopper of a black eye. She had a nasty scrape on one forearm and another on her right leg. Her left ankle was

in a soft cast, and she carried the type of cane that hospitals give to you on loan from the emergency room. I had seen her picture just this morning. I

preferred that version.

â€œIâ€™m Dana Portman, and this is . . . ?â€ She stroked Fargoâ€™s wil ing head.

â€œHeâ€™s my partner, Fargo, the brains of the outfit.â€

â€œThey so often are, arenâ€™t they?â€ She smiled. Then sobered. â€œHave you any news of Zoe? Is she al right?â€

â€œAs of yesterday afternoon, her father spoke with her briefly. She was okay, just scared. As of this morning, no contact.â€

â€œThis is turning into a nightmare.â€ She took a wal et from her purse and pul ed out a bil . â€œHarry, would you get me some coffee, please? My damn leg is

kil ing me. And for you and Alex, too, of course.â€

â€œThanks, black, please. Dana, what happened to you? You look as if you barely survived a train wreck.â€

â€œIt al goes back to where this kidnapping stopped being funny.â€ She pointed to a table near the sidewalk. â€œThe three of us were sitting there, talking and

laughing about how we could stage a kidnapping with enough realism to pry the money out of Reed. I never real y took it seriously. And I didnâ€™t real y

believe Harry and Zoe did, either. It was just childish play. Reed is so tight we al roared at the thought of his face when one of us told him the ransom was

a mil ion dol ars. And Merrilou is so hungry for Reedâ€™s money and social status we just loved thinking of her not only watching him fork out a mil ion, but

doing it to save his lesbian daughter. She would be mortified beyond belief, and we loved the thought of it. No, we were not being nice, but I thought we

were just playing. We talked of how it would make a great sitcom, and thatâ€™s al it was to me.â€

Harry returned with the coffees in time to hear Danaâ€™s last remarks. â€œIt was funny, but Zoe and I did need the money. You were al set financial y, Dana,

but I stil thought you were going along with us.â€

She shrugged. â€œI was. I would love to have had Zoe stay with me, if that had worked. It would have been wonderful to be alone and play house together

for at least a few days. Or Iâ€™d have taken food to her at your place, made phone cal s, that sort of thing. But, to be honest, I thought Reed, or more likely

Merrilou, would see through it fairly quickly. I thought Zoe would go home trying to make a joke of it or crying that she had been desperate for money to

help Harry or some damn thing. She could always get around Reed. At least until she said she was gay. I doubt Merrilou has given him a minuteâ€™s peace

over that. Of al the scenarios I visualized, it never occurred to me sheâ€™d real y be kidnapped.â€

I sipped my coffee and found it surprisingly welcome. The breeze coming off the water was turning chil y and the hot coffee felt good going down. â€œHow

in the world did you get from a sitcom to a real kidnapping? Who arranged it? Who are â€˜theyâ€™? Where did they take her? Did they do it to get the money

for you? You hired them?â€

They looked confused and guilty. Harry simply stared at his coffee. Dana sighed heavily and began to talk rather fast, as if she just wanted to get it over

with.

â€œThese two guys had the table next to us. I guess they had been listening to us. God knows we hadnâ€™t been especial y quiet about it. One of them

leaned over and said, â€˜You kids are gonna fuck it up. The cops wil find her in no time, and theyâ€™l know she was part of it, al tucked up comfy in her friendâ€™s

apartment. Somebody wil recognize your voice on the phone. And even if you get away with al that, youâ€™l screw up the money exchange because you

donâ€™t know what youâ€™re doing. You guys need help. You need it ba-ad.â€™â€

I was more confused than ever. Kidnappers for hire in the middle of Ptown? Just volunteering like someone saying, â€œYou say your yard needs mowing? I

can do that for twenty bucks.â€ And the three teenagers just went along with it? Iâ€™d had a Diet Coke and half a cup of coffee, but I had that three-martini

feeling.

â€œWho were these men? Had you seen them before? What did they look like? Did you hire them to carry out this idiot plan? Were they serious?â€

I probably would have asked another dozen questions, but Dana raised her hand like a traffic cop.

â€œStop. I canâ€™t keep up with you. No, weâ€™d never seen them before. They looked familiar, but I couldnâ€™t place them. I just assumed maybe Iâ€™d seen them

around here. They were in their early-, maybe mid-twenties, just dressed like most people. Jeans, I think, T-shirts. One had on a Windbreaker. He had

brown hair, average build, fairly good looking. The other one was shorter and skinny and had blondish hair.â€ She paused and sipped her coffee.

Harry took up her tale. â€œAt first I thought they were just older guys, having a little fun jazzing us. Then I thought they were hitting on the two girls. But they

were tel ing us how theyâ€™d handle Reed and a lot of serious stuff. About then I realized something real y funny . . . weird. The blonde never spoke. He

smiled and laughed. Heâ€™d shake his head for â€˜noâ€™ or â€˜yes.â€™ The other guy said it would take them three days to set it up, but the blonde shook his head and

raised two fingers, so the other guy said, â€˜Okay, two days.â€™ So we agreed to meet them, and they left. I think we were al a little scared. It was becoming

real now.â€

Dana shook her head. â€œI didnâ€™t believe them. I thought in two days, theyâ€™d just leave us sitting here. That weâ€™d never see them again and theyâ€™d have a

good laugh at the naÃ¯ve kids.â€ She laughed rather sadly. â€œZoe was a nervous wreck. She believed every word of it. She even wondered what clothes to

take. I reminded her you didnâ€™t pack a bag to be kidnapped. She said, wel , at least sheâ€™d cram some clean undies and makeup in her handbag . . . and

her diary. She might induce someone to write a play about it, in which she would star, of course. And sheâ€™d have to remember how to act, how she felt, et

cetera. She thought the whole thing was a lark. I wonder how she feels tonight?â€ She dabbed her eyes with a tissue, and I patted her hand. Big help.

I turned to Harry. Maybe I could at least keep them crying only one at a time. â€œSo you met them Thursday night?â€

â€œYes.â€ He polished off his cannoli and wiped his mouth. â€œI could eat those things al day.â€

Even if bombs were fal ing around us, I silently completed for him. So could I. I asked, â€œThey had a plan?â€

â€œOh, yeah. They knew a closed-down house with no immediate neighbors who might notice a little activity when the guys had to leave her and go to

work. Sheâ€™d have to make do with a sleeping bag, but the place was clean enough and the water was stil on.â€

â€œWhat kind of work do they do?â€

â€œHandyman stuff,â€ he guessed. â€œThey hadnâ€™t real y said. But they assured her sheâ€™d only be there a night or two. They real y knew how to pressure Reed,

so heâ€™d come across with the mil ion in a hurry. And out of the mil ion, theyâ€™d only keep five thousand apiece. And they laughed that they wouldnâ€™t even

charge her room and board. They made it al sound so simple. They sounded like real y nice guys who would enjoy a bit of adventure and a big chunk of

money.â€ He drained his coffee and looked wistful y at my cigarettes on the table.

I nodded for him to take one, continuing to prove my theory that while mil ions stil smoked cigarettes, only I purchased them. These guys sounded too

good to be true. If they were so â€œnice,â€ why were they wil ing to put an entire family through a nightmare experience? Why were they wil ing to help steal a

mil ion dol ars for someone else, and someone they didnâ€™t even know? Better yet, why were they wil ing to work so cheaply? Why was the blonde mute?

Was he foreign, with a heavy accent? Obviously, he understood English. Did he lisp or stutter? Somehow I doubted it, and though I couldnâ€™t figure what it

was, Iâ€™d bet it was something that made him easily identifiable. I didnâ€™t trust them an inch.

Dana echoed my thoughts. â€œI didnâ€™t trust them,â€ she said. â€œI thought ten thousand was too cheap. They did the work, took the risks, and Zoe got al the

money except a pittance. Something smel ed about the whole thing. But Zoe was al for it, and so were you, Harry, so, I just tagged along. Stupid me. I

should have stopped it somehow. And now everything, including me, is a mess.â€ No tears this time, just good old-fashioned anger.

I final y got around to it. â€œYeah, Dana, did you run into a sawmil ?â€

â€œYou know it. We al met here Thursday night at nine. They said they had a van up the street, which they would get and drive slowly past Mickeyâ€™s. They

would stop for just an instant. The side door would be ajar. Zoe should open it enough to jump in and they would drive off, and in two days we would al be

rich.â€

Dana shook her head as if she could not believe her own naivetÃ©. â€œThey reassured us that Zoe would be in a safe and reasonably livable place. Zoe

was on a real high. I donâ€™t mean drugs, just excitement. I was excited, too, but I was also a bit scared. I wanted to know where this place was. The men

had been a little vague, and I wanted to see that it was as livable as they claimed. So, I said Iâ€™d go with them, see Zoe settled in, and one of them could

drive me back here to pick up my car. They agreed and left to get their van.â€

Harry was obviously on the masculine defensive. â€œNatural y, I felt I was the one who should go with Zoe and had said I would fol ow them in my car. They

said a parade might cause attention on the back roads, so I agreed to stay and wait for Dana.â€ He snickered bitterly. â€œIt wasnâ€™t much of a wait.â€

The more they told me, the more my heart sank. â€œWhat happened?â€ I asked.

Dana answered. â€œThis whitish van came creeping up the street, the blonde driving. Zoe and I stood on the curb. It stopped, the door slid open a bit, and

Zoe hopped in. The van started to move away, fast. I jumped inside, off balance. Zoe grabbed for me, but someone pushed me back and I fel out. And

here I am.â€

â€œI ran out and picked Dana up.â€ Harry doused his cigarette in the remains of Fargoâ€™s water and got a dirty look from both of us. â€œI got her back to the

table. A couple of people asked what happened, and I had sense enough to say she stepped off the curb wrong and sprained her ankle. Then I drove her

to the clinic. We told them the same story. They patched her up and I drove her home, walked back and drove my car home.â€

He sighed. â€œAnd Zoe is just . . . gone.â€

Chapter 7

â€œWeâ€™ve driven al over the place with no results.â€ Dana sighed. â€œIâ€™m a pretty good artist. I could draw a sketch of you that would be recognizable. I drew a

sketch of the two guys and asked around, but nobody bit. We donâ€™t know what else to do.â€

â€œDo you know anything about private investigators?â€ I asked.

â€œJust TV stuff,â€ Harry answered for them.

Dana smiled. â€œDo you carry a piece and have al sorts of disguises and can wrestle a three-hundred-pound brute with one hand?â€

â€œOccasional y, no and no. But I do have to fol ow a bunch of rules they never tel you about on TV. One of them is that I am technical y an officer of the

court. If I know of a crime, I am bound to report it.â€ I lit a cigarette to Danaâ€™s moue of disapproval, and paused.

She looked politely bored, not real y interested in Class PI-101. Harry glanced up at me sharply.

â€œYou mean youâ€™ve been to the cops?â€ He managed to look both frightened and relieved.

â€œNo. Nobody was a hundred percent sure there had been a crime . . . that Zoe was being held against her wil . Merrilou is certain itâ€™s some kind of joke

and has managed to convince Reed of it. We stil canâ€™t prove kidnapping. She was not dragged kicking and screaming into the van. Sheâ€™s just not home

and not happy about it. Perhaps il egal detention, or is she stil acting? As part of your original plot?â€

I took a drag on my cigarette. â€œBut one look at you, Dana, proves assault, reckless endangerment and/or attempted murder. Depending on how bad a

hangover the DA has when he hears about it. It gives the police plenty of reason to locate and arrest your two buddies. You could have been permanently

injured or even kil ed if you had hit your head on the curb.â€ I nodded toward the edge of the sidewalk. She paled at that. I donâ€™t think it had occurred to her.

But her reaction fooled me.

â€œI wonâ€™t prosecute or sue or whatever it is you do.â€ Danaâ€™s voice grew hard. â€œI canâ€™t afford publicity around this mess. It could screw me up badly enough

to be unacceptable for col ege. That kind of media hype wouldnâ€™t do Harry any good either. And it would be terrible for my father. We have to count on you

to find her, Alex. Please do this for us. If money is a problem, Iâ€™l match whatever Reed is paying you.â€

She reached out and touched my hand. Her voice grew soft and appealing again. â€œMaybe the two guys are doing just what they said they would. And

Zoe is going right along with them. Iâ€™l bet thatâ€™s it. Never mind arresting the two guys. Iâ€™m not badly hurt. And Iâ€™m sure Zoe is fine. Iâ€™ve been worried sick. I

love her dearly, but we have to be sensible about this. Itâ€™l al work out in a few days. When they cal again, Reed can just tel them he now knows al about

it, give them some smal â€˜reward,â€™ ask where Zoe is and go get her. No harm, no foul.â€

I couldnâ€™t believe what I was hearing. If there was one chance in a mil ion Cindy was kidnapped, Iâ€™d have the National Guard out looking for her and her

captors under every bush east of the Continental Divide. And the phone cal I had heard didnâ€™t sound particularly jovial, or ready to be written off as a

blown gag for a â€œsmal reward.â€

â€œThatâ€™s fine for you, Dana. In a week, you wonâ€™t be limping or showing any scars. And, of course, it gets Harry off the hook, too. But are you that sure

Zoe is okay? Arenâ€™t you being just a teeny weeny bit selfish, lover?â€ She had the good taste to lower her head. But I wasnâ€™t finished.

â€œThink about this: nobody now knows where these two men took her. You donâ€™t know where they came from. What if they get the money from Reed, kil

Zoe and disappear? You have no idea where they might go. Then how would you feel? What kind of publicity do you think that would get, once I tel what I

know? Would you stil be saying, â€˜No harm, no foul?â€™â€

â€œSheâ€™s right,â€ Harry said slowly. â€œThe police have to know. Maybe theyâ€™l keep it quiet until sheâ€™s found, at least. They sometimes think thatâ€™s better for

some reason. And maybe once weâ€™re al sure sheâ€™s safe, Reed wil drop any charges.â€ He looked at me hopeful y.

I wasnâ€™t ready to let them off the hook yet. They had pul ed a stupid, childish trick, and quite possibly, it had backfired disastrously. At best, they had

caused a lot of worry and trouble.

So I answered, â€œSure, he might, unless he wants to pursue a little matter of conspiracy to extort. And I forgot to mention attempting to bribe me. Iâ€™m

leaving now. Do either of you need a ride? No? Wel , Iâ€™m sure weâ€™l talk again soon. Thank you for the coffee.â€

I picked up Fargoâ€™s lead and we left. I felt a great desire for some quiet time. Maybe it was warm enough to sit in my backyard with a cold Bud and

someone with the good sense not to babble . . . like Fargo or Wel s.

The ride home was slow. There were stil plenty of tourists on our narrow streets. My mind, however, was not in an unhurried mode. By the time I

reached the house I had worked myself into an uneasy feeling of pity mixed with anger and seasoned with despair for most of the principals in the case.

Reed was simply being pul ed apart: his sexy new wife on one side, his sensible family on the other. He was trying to placate everyone, including the

kidnappers, and that never worked.

Even Merrilou had a point. From al I had heard, Zoe was quite capable of making Merrilouâ€™s little â€œmotherâ€ act look as sil y and feigned as it wasâ€”and

would prefer to do so as publicly as possible. And Zoe did have a history of staying out long past any reasonable curfew. Where and with whom?

Certainly I knew that many teenagers made those â€œnothing wil ever separate usâ€ pacts of friendship or love. My last year in high school I had been

through it. My girlfriend, Pol y, got a summer job at a resort in Maine. We agonized over the impending separation. We wrote pages of letters about

everything from the catâ€™s new kittens to turgid declarations of our undying love and faithfulness. They worked about as wel as most declarations of that

sort. By August, I had met and fal en for a different girl. Pol y, to my total surprise, had gotten pregnant by a wealthy older guy, married him and now lives on

a giant ranch in Arizona, along with several kids. Happy? I hope so. At least Iâ€™m sure her al ergies are.

The Dana/Zoe/Harry triumvirate would likely work out about the same way, assuming no tragedies occurred and none of them actual y went to jail,

which I real y did doubt.

Tweedledee and Tweedledum were the only ones for which I could feel no sympathy. For one thing, they werenâ€™t kids, and if they were straight, I

doubted Zoe stood a chance of not being raped. And more than once. For another, they werenâ€™t in this plot with a one-for-al -and-al -for-one attitude. They

were simply after a fee, if indeed, they planned to turn the other nine hundred and ninety thousand over to a cute teenage girl who had simply sat in an

empty house for two or three days to earn it. There was something frightening here, something in this sil y plan held a whiff of evil. But I couldnâ€™t trace the

odor to its putrid source.

Yet.

Final y, I was home, greeted with indignant meows from Wel s. She and Fargo sniffed and circled as if they had never met, and then in some

canine/feline agreement, walked to the back door and virtual y said, â€œTreat.â€ I let us al in, took care of treats and water bowls and popped a cold beer.

Treats al around and wel deserved.

We al trailed back out and found places in the sun. I sipped the beer and lit a cigarette, and tried to remember how many it was. Maybe three. Maybe

six. It was hopeless to try to count when I tossed them around to others like Mardi Gras doubloons from a float. I was tired, but it was no day to take an

afternoon nap. I needed help rather quickly, and so, I feared, did Zoe.

I reached in my pocket and, miraculously, my fingers closed on my cel phone. Usual y I left it in the car, or the bedroom, or the kitchen, or the clothes

hamper or just about any place I was notâ€”including, once, the washer. It was time to talk to my brother, but first, Iâ€™d check with the Catletts.

I looked in my pocket notebook for their number and dialed. Reed picked up on the first ring. â€œHel o, Reed, itâ€™s Alex Peres. Sorry to startle you, I just

wondered if we had anything new.â€

â€œNot much. Overnight I got a cel phone in my mailbox with a note that said al future cal s would come in on it, for some reason. But it hasnâ€™t rung yet,

and I wish to God it would. I want this wrapped up.â€

â€œItâ€™s surely one of those prepaid phones, so we canâ€™t trace the cal . Theyâ€™re getting cagey.â€

â€œYes, this is going on too long, Alex.â€ He sounded worried, but stronger. Maybe he was getting his act together. â€œI think you are right. Iâ€™m going to cal the

police and the hel with whether itâ€™s a joke or not. The worst it can do is make a bunch of us look like fools, and thatâ€™s not fatal.â€

â€œYouâ€™re making me very happy, Reed, but first let me tel you what Iâ€™ve picked up.â€ I told him most of my afternoon, leaving out the kidsâ€™ names and the

part about Dana getting shoved out of the van. I didnâ€™t think he needed to know the two men had made very sure only they knew where Zoe was, and had

used considerable violence to make it so.

â€œAnd so, Reed, just one other smal thing. It is possible the kidnappers are watching you, and it wil be obvious if you go to the police or if they come to

your home. At this point, they might as wel think they are dealing only with you. Weâ€™l get the phone company to put a tracer on your landline just in case.

For other matters, Iâ€™l be around. Doubtless the â€™nappers already know Iâ€™m involved. Okay?â€

â€œYeah,â€ he said reluctantly. â€œI guess that makes sense.â€

â€œEverybody knows Sonny is my brother. If he and I are seen together it probably wonâ€™t ring any bel s. So Iâ€™l bring him up to date and let him decide who

sees whom and how.â€

I took the last sip of the now-tepid beer, made a face and continued. â€œIâ€™l talk to Sonny, and he or I wil get back to you tonight. If you hear from Zoe or the

Tweedles, let me know. Hereâ€™s my cel number.â€

After we hung up, I careful y put the little phone back in my pocket and went inside to cal Sonny. First, I would try my motherâ€™s house, where he

technical y lived. It was about al he could afford with an ex-wife and two kids draining off a good portion of his salary. Fortunately his other ex-wife had

remarried, which helped. Now if we could just find a suitable husband for the first one.

If Sonny wasnâ€™t at Momâ€™s, Iâ€™d try Trishâ€™s apartment. She was Sonnyâ€™s current affair, a nice young woman, bright, as independent as Sonny and

apparently blessedly uninterested in marriage. She was a lawyer, assistant to John Frost, and seemingly headed for a successful career in criminal law. If

Sonny wasnâ€™t there, Iâ€™d cal the station and let them chase him down. Theyâ€™d know where he was.

He was at Momâ€™s, surprisingly, until he told me why. â€œGot a card from Mom in New York. The opening of the show is tonight, and sheâ€™l be home Monday.

Iâ€™m just, uh, doing a little housecleaning. Not that it real y needs much. Just a little vacuuming and dusting, you know.â€ His voice got oily like it always did

when he was lying or wanted something.

â€œYeah, Iâ€™m sure. I have something that may take you away from your domestic chores. Youâ€™d better get ready to shel out some bucks to The Super

Scrubbers, or just borrow a fire hose and a backhoe from the town. Can you come over soon? Park in Carlaâ€™s driveway and wear dark glasses or

something so you donâ€™t look like you. Come over the back wal .â€

â€œAre you serious?â€

â€œNever more so.â€

â€œGive me twenty minutes to grab a shower. Iâ€™l be there.â€ I could feel his entire demeanor change from naughty little boy to competent young

professional. Iâ€™d have been wil ing to wager he stood straighter and his shoulders were squared. No good-bye, I just heard the dial tone.

It required a double take for me to recognize him. He came sauntering across my backyard with a slightly effeminate sway, and sporting black

sunglasses. He was wearing sandals, white duck calf-length trousers and a wide-stripe Cote dâ€™Azur black and green polo shirt topped by a white Greek

fishermanâ€™s cap. I wondered if he and Trish were planning a European trip.

We went inside, and he removed the cap and glasses. I asked him about the clothes and he laughed. â€œNo trip this year. But Trish and I met a couple

down at Brewster that we enjoy. They are a little more formal down there. I donâ€™t think Iâ€™d wear these clothes in Provincetown unless I felt like defending my

virtue. Now whatâ€™s the deep secrecy al about?â€

Iâ€™d made a pot of coffee and poured us both a mug. Then I sat and told him. When I finished, he sighed. â€œI wish Reed had cal ed me right away. Now

that theyâ€™re on the prepaid cel s, it pretty wel eliminates any trace. Dammit. Parents just wil try it alone. Usual y the cops can save the kid, even if they lose

the money. And even then, we often recover a sizeable amount and catch the doers. Itâ€™s so strange. The parents wouldnâ€™t set a broken leg, or try to fix the

microwave or the furnace. Theyâ€™d cal a pro. But when itâ€™s their kidâ€”surely more important than the microwaveâ€”they get al secretive and think they can

handle it better themselves.â€

â€œIt is not sensible or smart, Sonny, but when it comes to kids, most people panic easily. Some tough guy on a phone says heâ€™l kil your kid if you cal the

cops. What do you do?â€

I lit a cigarette and pushed them and the lighter across the table. I figured I might as wel save his asking. â€œYou think of the rather dul -looking cop with a

wilted shirt col ar who gave you a parking ticket last week, and you donâ€™t rate him very high against a bunch of professional criminals threatening your

child. You think if you come up with the money, itâ€™s a simple cash transaction.â€

â€œI guess.â€ Sonny sighed, then straightened. â€œOkay, weâ€™l tap their house phone just in case. Weâ€™l set up a tape for incoming cel cal s. Mitch or I wil see if

thereâ€™s anything they forgot to tel you.â€

I laughed. â€œYouâ€™d better talk to Miss Scarlett. Sheâ€™l chew up Mitch and spit out the seeds.â€

â€œHeâ€™s getting better. And tougher. Weâ€™l see.â€ He sipped his coffee, smiled approval and reasoned, â€œI can understand Harry Maddock getting himself

involved in this Grade C drama. Kidâ€™s kind of shy, except with a hockey stick. And his family is anything but rich, but what the hel is with the Portman girl?

Dan Portmanâ€™s got more money than God.â€

I shifted in my chair. It was turning into a long day. â€œShe wasnâ€™t going to use any of the ransom money. It appears that sheâ€™s loaded in her own right.

Although there are evidently some restrictions on how much she can tap at a time. She was just being supportive. According to her.â€

â€œWhatâ€™s her family setup?â€

â€œThere is none that I could see. Daddy Dan travels a great deal. Mums is off on the Costa del Sol with a very handsome, very young man. I donâ€™t know

why they split up and thought I better not ask. Dana rattles around in that big house with her grandmother and the servants most of the time. Occasional y

Dan takes her with him on a European buying trip.â€

Sonny shrugged. â€œAw, poor baby. Nothing to do but sit around and count the bearer bonds. Weâ€™ve got plenty of local kids in worse situations. But how

about Zoe, is she nuts?â€

â€œI have no idea. To my knowledge, I have never seen her. But if I had her stepmother, I might advertise for kidnappers to come and get me, too.â€ He was

beginning to irritate me.

â€œKids today, they donâ€™t know how lucky they are.â€ He leaned back, the chair resting on the back legs, which always aggravated me. â€œWe didnâ€™t do things

like that growing up.â€

â€œPut the damn chair down. And since I am approximately only fifteen years older than they are, I donâ€™t consider myself from another planet. Neither

should you. Who was it at age sixteen who had the bright idea of building a rocket ship and blew the roof off our garage?â€

He crossed his arms and stuck out his chin. â€œNo comparison. That was a scientific experiment that needed more research, not some idiotic, childish,

criminal plot.â€ He smiled smugly.

â€œAnd, Mr. Einstein, just where did you get the gunpowder for the rocket?â€

The phone rang, sparing him from admitting he had stolen it from our neighbor who liked to make his own bul ets for his antique rifles.

I picked up the phone and found I was speaking to Rob Catlett. â€œRob, my brother, Lieutenant Peres, is here. Do you mind if I put the phone on speaker?

â€

â€œNot at al . I just wanted to update you. Iâ€™ve got a feeling Dad is trying to handle this himself. I think heâ€™s out now, meeting the kidnappers, and Iâ€™m pretty

sure heâ€™s got two hundred thousand with him. Or nearly, anyway.â€

â€œWhere did he get the money?â€

â€œRight after lunch, Mr. El is from the bank came over with two big guys carrying two big briefcases and another carrying a shotgun. They went into Dadâ€™s

office and locked the door. You canâ€™t hear much from there, but I could tel Mr. El is was arguing about something. Then he came out, saying heâ€™d have the

rest in a day or so, and that this hundred and eighty grand wasnâ€™t lunch money, so Dad should cal the cops. He said he was worried about Zoe. Dad said

Zoe was his daughter and heâ€™d take care of her. So El is and the goril as left looking grim.â€

He took a deep, shuddering breath and picked up his tale again. â€œThen Dad and Merrilou got into it. She kept wanting him to cal Misterâ€”I mean

Reverend Bartles and his wife, so that they could al pray for wisdom. Then Nana said we didnâ€™t need prayer, we needed somebody to knock some sense

into Dad and to shut Merrilouâ€™s mouth. Merrilou kind of lightly smacked Nana. I grabbed Marvin before he could clock Merrilou. Dad banged the silver

coffeepot down on the table so hard he broke off the handle and made a gouge in the table. He screamed we should al go to our rooms and if he heard a

word out of anybody, heâ€™d lock in whoever said it. Alex, can somebody help us? Thereâ€™s going to be a murder over here.â€

I looked at Sonny and he spoke up, calm and reassuring. â€œThis is Lieutenant Peres, Rob. Sounds like everybody is very much on edge at your place.

You canâ€™t real y blame them. Itâ€™s a nerve-wracking spot to be in. Iâ€™l be over in a few minutes, and weâ€™l see what we can do to get some positive action

going. Right now, just stay quiet and try to keep your brother and grandmother quiet. Maybe I can get your dad to accept some assistance.â€

â€œNot now, you canâ€™t.â€ Rob giggled nervously.

â€œWhy not?â€ I asked.

â€œA minute or so after the blow up, the cel phone rang. Dad grabbed it and ran into his office and slammed the door and locked it. And, by the way, he

yanked the recording tape off of it.â€

Sonny muttered, â€œShit,â€ but Rob just continued his report.

â€œI went out and tried to listen under the window, but it was closed. However, a few minutes later he went out to his car, carrying the briefcases like they

were heavy.â€

â€œWhat kind of car?â€

â€œLincoln Town Car,â€ Rob said. â€œMaroon, oh-seven model. Oh, I meant to tel you, the handle of his gun was sticking out of his jacket.â€

â€œHeâ€™s got a gun?â€ Sonny rol ed his eyes at me and made that twirling motion to his temple with his forefinger. I agreed. The man had flipped. â€œWhat kind

of gun does he have?â€

â€œIâ€”I real y donâ€™t know. Itâ€™s a big old pistol his father had during World War Two. But I think maybe itâ€™s German. Granddad captured it or something.â€

â€œOh, God, probably a Luger that would take out a tank. Where is he now?â€

â€œI donâ€™t know. He just drove away.â€

Sonny slumped and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he straightened and spoke, sounding composed and in control. â€œOkay, Rob, youâ€™ve done a

good job getting al this data together. Iâ€™l be along in a little while, after Iâ€™ve made a phone cal . Keep cool. Everythingâ€™s going to be okay. â€™Bye.â€

â€œDear God,â€ I said.

â€œApparently is not in His Heaven, and very little is right with the world. Is there more coffee?â€

Chapter 8

Whenever a mechanic, a doctor or a cop tel s me everything is going to be just fine, I begin to sweat. There were a dozen scenarios that could be

playing out right now, and only one of them was good. Of course, with the tape disconnected, we now had no way of knowing where or when Reed was to

meet the Tweedles, although, given his speedy departure, one would imagine it was eminent. Was Zoe with them? Would they accept the lesser ransom

and free the girl? If not, would Reed try to shoot the Tweedles and rescue Zoe? If Zoe was not with them, would Reed try to force them to tel him her

whereabouts with his trusty pistol? Did the Tweedles have guns and would everyone shoot everyone else?

I final y realized Sonny was gesturing for the phone and handed it to him. He punched my speed dial for the police station. â€œNacho, itâ€™s Sonny. Patch me

through to Mitch wherever he is.â€ Mitch was Sonnyâ€™s right-hand man, a young detective sergeant with a natural instinct for the job. There was a

considerable pause, and Sonnyâ€™s mouth grew tighter by the second.

Final y he spoke. â€œMitch, weâ€™ve got a freaking mess with a two-day-old unreported kidnapping here. Now listen.â€ He gave a surprisingly brief but cogent

report, ending with the news of Reedâ€™s disappearance. â€œSo we have no idea where he is. Iâ€™d say he left the house close to thirty minutes ago now. I hope

he is stil in town and meeting a white or light tan van, but he could be meeting a boat, or he could be headed for Boston. But concentrate on

Provincetown. Tel Nacho to get his plate number, I forgot to ask the kid. Have her alert the state police and the locals down as far as the canal bridges.

Tel everyone to exercise caution, Catlett is armed. I donâ€™t know about the other two. Stay in touch.â€

He stood and drained his coffee cup. â€œWant to come?â€

â€œNo. I want to eat my dinner and watch something sil y on TV. Also if Harry or Dana should hear anything, they might try to reach me here. They donâ€™t

have my cel number.â€

â€œGood idea. Okay. Talk to you later.â€

Although it was early for dinner, I was hungry and tired and had just lined up the ingredients for one of my famous gril ed cheese and tomato

sandwiches, when the phone rang. â€œIs Sonny there?â€ It was Mitch.

â€œNo, he left about five minutes ago.â€

â€œDamn.â€

â€œAnything I can do?â€

â€œNo. Thanks. Oh, God, Alex, if only we had known about this an hour earlier, we had four cars just inadvertently in position to bring them al in, neat as a

pin. Maybe not the girl, but everybody else. Now weâ€™re going to look like idiots. Why didnâ€™t somebody clue us in?â€ He sounded petulant.

â€œBecause nobody knew. What happened?â€ I put the phone on my shoulder and started constructing my sandwich.

â€œWel , uh, you know how sometimes two or three of our cars take a break around four up by the amphitheater, if things are quiet. Just coffee or a Coke,

maybe a snack, you know.â€

â€œNo I donâ€™t know, Mitch. Why donâ€™t you tel me?â€

â€œItâ€™s a time-honored custom,â€ he said magisterial y, â€œhas been for years. We just catch up with whatâ€™s been going on, you know. And we are entitled to a

short break. Wel , we are. And we only take ten minutes or so, just a brief period to loosen up, and a little caffeine intake to keep us alert. We donâ€™t real y

waste any time, you know?â€ He was having a hard time sel ing himself on whatever he was talking about.

â€œThis time-honored custom seems to have upset you, Mitch. But it is not me you have to explain it to.â€

â€œIâ€™m not explaining it to anybody. Iâ€™m just tel ing you it may look a little strange on the surface. Four cars just happened to be there at once.â€

â€œAnd the bank was robbed at the other end of town?â€ I had the sandwich put together and got out the skil et.

â€œWorse. In one car, Nichols was just leaving to go back into town, even though everything on the radio was routine. As he pul ed out of the parking lot, an

off-white van pul ed up with two young men in it. They looked a little startled to see al the cop cars, I guess, but they parked anyway. One guy got out and

stretched, looked at the scenery for a minute. They swapped drivers, got back in and left.â€

â€œAnd nobody stopped them? Wel , no, why would they?â€

â€œRight. They did nothing wrong. They didnâ€™t run or try to hide or anything suspicious. Maybe looking for a spot to have a little sex, and this sure wasnâ€™t it,

so they moved on.â€

I was using both hands to butter the skil et and almost lost the phone, as he continued. â€œNichols and Brandeis left. Pino was stil there, and Mendes was

there in an unmarked. A couple of minutes later a maroon Lincoln pul s up with a man in it.â€

â€œUmmm.â€ I was licking some tomato juice off my finger.

â€œHe jumps out of the car and shakes his fist at them and yel s, â€˜You lousy cops. You tel that Peres creep if heâ€™s gotten my daughter kil ed, Iâ€™l kil him.â€™ He

jumps back in and takes off.â€

â€œDidnâ€™t it occur to Pino or Mendes to go after him or to cal dispatch and have them warn Sonny?â€

â€œFrankly, I couldnâ€™t blame them in a way, Alex. For one thing, they were startled themselves. And then, this guy was raving about his daughter. They

thought maybe Sonny and she . . . wel , Iâ€™m not sure what they thought. But they wanted to tel him in private. You know half the retirees in town listen to the

police scanner instead of TV for their entertainment.â€

â€œYes. I can understand. I real y can. But, God, what a mess.â€

â€œIâ€™m almost to the Catlettsâ€™s now. I gotta talk to Sonny.â€

I hoped Sonny was alive to hear it. I turned the heat down under my sandwich, flipped it . . . perfection. And poured myself another mug of hot coffee.

The back door flew open with a crash that announced the arrival of Reed Catlett, pointing a pistol with a barrel the size of the Lincoln Tunnel. I donâ€™t

know why I did it. Maybe I was just tired and had had enough of the Catletts that day, or maybe I was just pissed to smel my beautiful sandwich burning.

Anyway, I did it.

I threw my coffee, stil surrounded by the mug, into Reedâ€™s face and then hit him on the head with the hot skil et. He went down without a murmur.

The door crashed again to admit Officer Mendes, Ptownâ€™s baby-faced rookie on the force, and perhaps the only person associated with the police to

do anything wel that night. He had cruised my house as a precaution, noticed the Lincoln parked up the street and come a-running.

He cuffed Reed as he lay on my kitchen floor, now conscious, sort of, while Wel s and Fargo took tentative bites of the stil -hot sandwich from his hair,

careful y spitting out the tomato.

Just to be on the safe side, we cal ed the EMTs, but Reed was ful y awake and talking by the time they got there.

Yes, he had been supposed to meet the kidnappers in the parking lot. Yes, heâ€™d had the money with him. It was now in the trunk of his car. He hadnâ€™t

real y meant to shoot me. He just hoped Iâ€™d discovered where Zoe was. He thought his nose was broken. By the amount of blood leaking onto his shirt and

then spattering onto my kitchen floor, I agreed with him.

The EMTs got the blood slowed down. They put some kind of goop on the top of his head, where there was a sizeable lump and probably a mild burn.

Mendes pronounced him under arrest for carrying an unlicensed firearm and for trespassing and aggravated assault. And they al left.

Fargo figured it was now safe to bark and began to do so, sounding like a kil er dog if I ever heard one.

â€œFargo, shut up. The cameras are not rol ing.â€

I looked around at the kitchen at the shattered mug and spil ed coffee. The rather sickening remains of my sandwich was now tracked al over the floor,

with both animals licking at it here and there. There was a smal puddle of blood with a white towel casual y tossed over it, and grease and tomatoes al

around.

A drink. I wanted a strong drink, and I wanted food I hadnâ€™t scraped off of tile. I did not want to mop a floor and sweep up shards of a mug and scrub a

charred skil et. I walked out, leaving the two animals stunned. I didnâ€™t care.

The Wharf Rat Bar had never looked cozier. Some of our tourists had departed vacationland, and mostly locals lined the bar and occupied a few of the

tables. The Ratâ€™s determined sea-going look of anchors and shel s and oars and lobster pots that so pleased our visitors was back to its old tatty, dusty

self for the natives . . . complete with a shipâ€™s telegraph, frozen in time at Dead slow astern. If the Wharf Rat had an heraldic shield, that would be on it.

I selected a table in the emptiest corner and ordered a drink I usual y have sense enough to avoidâ€”a very dry gin martini, straight up, with two olives.

When Joe, the bartender, got the order, he grinned and cal ed over, â€œHaving a fun day, Alex?â€

â€œShut up, Joe, or make it a double.â€

â€œOooh, wel pahdonn moi.â€

Someone slid into the chair opposite me, and I turned back, loaded for bear. Seeing who it was, I adjusted my attitude and managed a smile. â€œMarcia.

How nice. Itâ€™s been a while. How are you?â€

â€œI am fine, my dear Alex, and wil not keep you from your recovery.â€ She smiled, and I felt better already.

Marcia Robbie was somewhere in her forties, probably closer to getting out than coming in. Her curly black hair had two dramatic white wings that

somehow made her look younger, and very dramatic. She spoke perfect English with just enough of a different cadence to tel you it was not her first

language. She was original y from Canada and owned a top-of-the-line antique shop not far from me. She had a sort of vague reputation for having a

number of male lovers, but nobody could prove it, and I personal y rewrote the script to read: there were a lot of men who would like to be her lover and

therefore, in the way of men since condos were caves, insinuated that they real y were.

â€œIs it true that Zoe Catlett either ran away from home or is kidnapped?â€ she asked.

â€œNow where would you get that idea?â€ My martini arrived. I sipped it. Joe had done me proud.

â€œAh, Alex, you know I am the original operator of the jungle drum network. Is it true?â€

â€œPlease donâ€™t spread this around, Marcia, no matter what you may have heard. Unfortunately, it could be true.â€

â€œI thought she looked . . . strange.â€ Marcia actual y offered me a cigarette!

I took it, my faith in humanity restored, and asked, â€œWhat do you mean? Have you seen her?â€

She sipped the drink she had brought to my table. â€œThursday night, something after nine, I was walking Napoleon.â€ Napoleon was her marvelous

French bul terrier, who looked frighteningly ferocious and couldnâ€™t even spel bite. â€œAs we walked, a light-colored van went by, a rather noisy machine. I

thought it was Zoe in the back, looking out nervously. I believe she ducked as they passed us by. If it were she, she did not want me to see her.â€

â€œI donâ€™t suppose you noted the plates?â€ I had little hope.

â€œDamn. How sil y of me. I shal keep my day job. I wil never be a detective. No, I never even thought of it. I am so sorry, and they were right in front of me.

â€

â€œDonâ€™t feel bad. Most people donâ€™t get the numbers. Theyâ€™re too busy watching whatever is happening.â€ I waved at Joe and made a circling motion with

my hand. He nodded, and shortly our refil s arrived.

Marcia looked thoughtful. â€œShe certainly was not gagged. I would have seen it. Iâ€™m sure she did not yel , or I would have heard her. No, I am almost

positive she ducked down on the seat.â€

â€œThat would have made sense at that point,â€ I said. â€œThat early in the game it was al stil some sil y idea of hitting Reed up for a big handout to al ow

Zoe to go to New York and enrol in drama school. Do you know Reed and his new wife?â€

Marcia sipped her drink and smiled. â€œIâ€™ve known Reed for years. Perhaps a little protective of his wal et, but I understand he can be generous when the

occasion cal s. He asked me out a couple of times, but I declined. He was very polite, but somehow, I was a little afraid of him. He brought the new wife by

the shop not long ago. She has no finesse, no class, no hope.â€

I roared. â€œMaybe we could tattoo that on her forehead. It certainly fits.â€

Marcia smiled, but her eyes were serious. â€œWatch her, Alex. She is out of her depth with Reed and his friends. She knows it. That makes her

dangerous.â€

â€œShe certainly has been obstructive around Zoeâ€™s little caper, which Iâ€™m afraid has now turned into the ful monty . . . probably no longer a joke with her,

either. Incidental y, have you noticed any empty houses or shops out your way?â€

She thought for a moment, then shook her head. â€œNo, the houses al have locals in them, or are B and Bs stil open. I think al the shops are open, too. Iâ€™l

have a look around.â€

â€œDonâ€™t try to get in it, if you find one closed. Donâ€™t even pay attention to it. You could find yourself in there with Zoe. Just cal Sonny pronto.â€

â€œNapoleon would protect me.â€ She stood up. â€œLike Fargo looks after you. Oh, Alex, one thing I did notice. The van had a little dent and a smal smear of

blue paint on the side doorâ€”on the passengerâ€™s side. Does that help?â€

â€œVery much. There are dozens of vans around, but I doubt many of them are marked with blue paint. Oh, Marcia, you may be our lifesaverâ€”literal y.â€ I

was already reaching for my cel phone, and when I hung up, Marcia was gone.

I had another drink while I waited for my steak, with duchess potatoes and a plain lettuce salad. No tomatoes if you please. There were enough of them

waiting for me at home.

Dinner was delicious. Joeâ€™s wife Bil ie Jo was a super cook. And in my indulgent mood, I ordered a glass of claret to go with it . . . a sturdy little wine,

able to stand up to the beef yet not eclipse its . . . oh, wel , you know.

My after dinner coffee was accompanied by a brandy, sent along by Peter and the Wolf, who were at the bar, They owned a B&B that cateredâ€”in most

any way you could imagineâ€”to older gay men. They were also good friends, and ordinarily I would have waved them over. But I was wil ing to bet they had

heard something or other about Zoe, and I was in no mood to play Inquisition. I just blew a thank-you kiss.

As I walked home, I realized I was slightly drunk. Maybe a little more than slightly. At any rate, I was glad I didnâ€™t have the car. I sang patches from

â€œSinginâ€™ in the Rain,â€ although a light fog was al I could muster, and that may have been in my head. I let the two irate pets out, checked their water,

provided goodies and let them in. Looking around the wrecked kitchen, I gave a fast chorus of â€œMaÃ±ana,â€ retired to my boudoir and got rid of most of my

clothes before I fel into bed.

Chapter 9

From far away, I heard my name. â€œAlex. Alex. Are you al right?â€ Someone shook my shoulder and my head fel off. I groaned. The voice moved closer.

â€œYou smel like a bottle of gin. And what the hel happened to the kitchen? Did we have an earthquake here?â€

â€œYes, thatâ€™s it.â€ An earthquake was al I could think of to make me feel this way. â€œIs it Tuesday already? Have I been unconscious under the rubble? I think

I may be badly injured.â€

Cindy plopped down on the side of the bed, and my stomach gave a gravity-defying lurch. â€œOh, God! Iâ€™m dying.â€

â€œBefore you go, tel me what happened.â€

â€œTel me why youâ€™re home three days early,â€ I said cleverly. Maybe by the time she did that, I could remember what happened to the kitchen. â€œIs

everything okay in . . . wherever?â€

â€œOh, yes. Just fine.â€ She reached across me and took a cigarette from the table. She does this about once a month, and it consistently amazes and,

frankly, pisses me off. How do you smoke one cigarette a month?

â€œSo, what happened?â€ I thought of a cigarette, but graciously declined, although none had been offered.

â€œSo, I wasnâ€™t needed on the voyage. Ergo, I came home.â€

â€œWhat the hel are you trying to say? And stop cal ing me Ergo.â€

â€œThere was a cast of thousands. First, you have the core family. My brother Pete, wife Karol, two older kids and now kid number three, Hil ary, whoâ€™s

adorable, by the way. Then there was me, in the guest room, al ready to look after Butch and Abby, so the new parents could look after Hil ary and stil get

some kind of rest.â€

â€œA solid plan.â€ I was beginning to regain consciousness. I wondered if there was coffee.

â€œQuite solid.â€ Cindy rol ed her eyes dramatical y. â€œUntil . . . until, first, my mother arrived. She knew my brother needed to get back to work, so she came

along to help with Hil ary, and there went the other bed in the guest room. No more private, quiet moments. And here came a lot of advice on how to raise

children.â€

â€œDaunting.â€

â€œOh, I didnâ€™t give up. I am sturdy. I know my duty. I smiled, and Karol smiled and Pete smiled. And Pete and I drank rather a lot that night. Then Karolâ€™s

mother decided sheâ€™d better add her assistance now instead of next week as scheduled, and flew in unannounced from Ohio.â€

â€œOn the wings of a pure white dove, no doubt.â€ Iâ€™d have been out of there in a nanosecond.

â€œSomething like that, yes. And there went my bed in the guest room. I was now on the foldout couch in the living room, more aptly named Grand Central

Station. I was bloody but unbowed. But when Karolâ€™s sister arrived from Pennsylvaniaâ€”or was it Transylvania?â€”I knew we would be sharing that

miserable couch. I do not share miserable couches in living rooms with vampire bats. I â€˜sleptâ€™ in an easy chair for a few hours, quietly left at dawn and

made good time. However, I am tired. And not prepared for this.â€ She swept her arm around broadly, narrowly missing my nose.

â€œDid you also by any chance make coffee?â€

â€œNo. That mess in the kitchenâ€”a chair turned over, God knows what al over the floor, Wel s and Fargo actual y huddled together in his bed. Your stuff

tossed al over the bedroom. I was afraid you real y might be dead. It must have been one hel uva party.â€ She apparently couldnâ€™t decide whether to look

hurt or angry.

I reached for her hand. â€œIt was. But not the kind youâ€™re thinking of. If you wil make a pot of coffeeâ€”I believe the coffeemaker survivedâ€”I wil shower and

meet you in the dining room. I promise to tel al .â€

She looked unconvinced. â€œI suppose Cassie figures prominently in this and wil swear to everything you say.â€

Cassie is my best pal and runs a chartered aircraft business. Right now I wished she and I were far up in the blue, headed most anywhere. On oxygen.

â€œNo, my love, Cassie plays no role in this. My witnesses include such paragons of virtue as my fourth-grade teacher, an architect, his evangelical wife

and the entire Provincetown police force. Now go, before I put me out of my misery.â€

Coffee helped. So did toast. Fargo and even Wel s forgave me. I told Cindy about the whole convoluted mess, including that in the kitchen. Her entire

attitude changed when I told her of Reed and his jumbo pistol.

â€œMy God, he could have kil ed you.â€

â€œI think the safety was on. Anyway, I donâ€™t think actual murder was on his mind. I think he is just total y distraught and frustrated that everything went

wrong. Imagine thinking youâ€™re going to meet some people to whom you wil give money in exchange for the safe return of your beloved daughter, and al

you see is two-thirds of the Ptown police force laughing it up over coffee and doughnuts. Itâ€™s not a smile maker.â€

â€œWel ,â€ she said indignantly, â€œHe didnâ€™t have to take it out on you.â€

I laughed. â€œMy headache is better. His wil be with him awhile. And his nose has definitely lost its virginity. I traded fatigue, stress and hunger for a

whopping hangover. Iâ€™m stil ahead of poor Reed.â€

â€œYes,â€ she poured us more coffee. â€œThatâ€™s a terrible thing . . . a kidnapping. I canâ€™t even imagine the fear and anger they must feel.â€

â€œIt must be ghastly,â€ I agreed, â€œand add to that a bunch of very different people trying to deal with it. A man whoâ€™s never been a hands-on father. A new

stepmother of dubious character. A grandmother who blatantly much preferred her first daughter-in-law to this one. Two teenage boys trying to be adult,

but frightened, motherless and antagonistic toward the new wife. It must be a barrel of fun around there even when nothing serious is wrong.â€

â€œGod. Who did it?â€

â€œI donâ€™t know.â€ I poured another cup of coffee. I was slowly returning to life. â€œThe two young men actual y did it, of course, and that could be al there is to

it. But I cannot imagine myself overhearing some kids fantasizing about how to get some money, and publicly offering my services to commit a capital

crime for a mere five thousand dol ars.â€

â€œYou mean someone else may have hired them first . . . to kidnap Zoe for a lionâ€™s share of the money or for a reason we donâ€™t know.â€

â€œRight.â€

â€œThereâ€™s Reed,â€ Cindy said thoughtful y.

â€œWhy Reed?â€ I was surprised at her choice. â€œHow would he profit? Other than possibly getting rid of a sometimes troublesome daughter? And placating

his wife.â€

â€œOh, one very good way. Suppose heâ€™s been over bil ing clients, saying heâ€™s built their structures to certain top-notch specifications, when actual y heâ€™s

been using very inferior materials and shoddy workmen. Maybe everything is literal y about to fal in on him. This is a fine way to liquidate al his assets in

a hurry and even get some hefty loans without rousing suspicion. Everyone is busy raising money for the poor panic-stricken father.â€

She gave a wicked grin. â€œReedâ€™s next communication might have been a postcard from Brazil if the cops had picked another place for their picnic last

night.â€ Suddenly she sobered. â€œMy God, Choate may have the bank in this up to his neck without even knowing it.â€

â€œItâ€™s difficult to believe,â€ I said. â€œReedâ€™s had a good reputation for years around here.â€

â€œHeâ€™s got a new wife who sounds high maintenance. And heâ€™s facing col ege with three kids.â€

â€œYeah. Thereâ€™s that. I guess youâ€™l want to cal Choate and give him a heads-up. And cal Sonny. He may not have thought of this. I need to talk to him,

too, when you finish. Please,â€ I added.

Cindy moved immediately for the kitchen phone, and I could hear her voice, fast and urgent, as she spoke with her boss.

I lit the first cigarette of the day and let my thoughts move on to my favorite vil ain. The attractive, sexy, bitchy, rapacious, social climbing Merrilou. Gee,

was there something I disliked about her? Wel , yes. Upset or not, you donâ€™t go around slapping old ladies. And you donâ€™t threaten young girls with going

to hel because theyâ€™re gay.

The way Merrilou handled the first cal was suspicious. But her reluctance to involve the police was not unusual with the families of kidnap victims.

However, I didnâ€™t think Merrilouâ€™s disinclination stemmed from fear for Zoeâ€™s safety. If it were not indicative of her involvement with the plot itself, it was

simply that she wanted no scandal to make her entry into Cape Cod society more difficult than it already was. If they had cal ed the police and the

â€œkidnappingâ€ had proved to be just another way to say, â€œHey, Dad, al I needed was a loan,â€ the media would have had a field day.

Actual y, I had to admit, nothing Merrilou had done was particularly dubious. Cold, self-serving, unforgivable if anything happened to Zoe, but not

criminal. I was probably letting my dislike run away with me.

On the other hand, what about her friend Emily? Emily Bartles came into daily contact with unemployed, broke young men whose morals might be of

dubious strength. Five thousand dol ars would look like a fortune to most of them. The Bartles drove a beat-up, noisy, off-white van with numerous dents

and scratches, as wel as remnants of past colors, which might prove interesting. Obviously, Emily had access to it.

If you figured that Reed had somehow added twenty thousand to the hundred and eighty thousand Choate El is had brought, that made two hundred

thousand. Ten to the two young perps left one ninety. If Merrilou gave Emily, say, fifty thousand, that left a hundred and forty for her. And everybody had a

loverly nest egg.

In some of my contacts with Larry Bartles in the past, he had let slip that his marriage was not the happiest. Maybe Emily was building up some

getaway funds.

Why did Merrilou feel she needed money? She had a wealthy, obviously doting husband. Or was he as dumb as he seemed? I wondered if there had

been a prenuptial agreement Merrilou disliked. I wondered how Reedâ€™s wil read. I wondered how much Rob knew. I would find out.

Of the family, I figured Rob and Martin were non-starters for being the kidnappers. So that left Grandma, and somehow I couldnâ€™t see her having

anything to do with Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Sheâ€™d be more likely to brush up their manners and their long division than to stage a kidnapping, even

if she could use the money. And I imagined she was not buying day-old bread. So that took care of my current cast of characters.

Cindy came in with the walk-around phone. â€œHereâ€™s Sonny.â€ She went back in the kitchen and I heard sounds of a beginning clean-up operation. Bless

her neat little heart.

â€œHi, Sonny.â€

â€œHi. I hear you had quite an encounter with Reed last night. Are you okay?â€

â€œThe kitchen and Reed are the casualties. Iâ€™m fine. Howâ€™s Reed?â€

â€œTape on his nose, bear grease on the balding spot/cum lump on his head. Very subdued and apologetic. If you can believe him, and Iâ€™m not at al sure I

do. But seriously, Alex, the prosecutor wants to know what you plan to do about this.â€

â€œNothing. I realize the gun might have somehow gone off, but he wasnâ€™t here to hurt me. Heâ€™s a little crazed, I guess, but I think he needs tranquilizers

more than jail time. Get him for the unregistered pistol and forget the rest. Doesnâ€™t he have any men friends to help him through this?â€

â€œChoate, John Frost. Thatâ€™s about it.â€

John Frost was a lawyer here in townâ€”bright, sardonic and certainly a loyal friend. â€œAre they spending time with him?â€

Sonny cleared his throat. â€œMerrilou doesnâ€™t like them.â€

â€œScrew Merrilou.â€

â€œNo, thanks. Fortunately, she does not like me, either. But me, she canâ€™t throw out. Look, weâ€™ve got al the tapes set up again, but have had no cal s.

Weâ€™re watching for the van with the blue paint. I got your message from Marcia last night. At least that narrows it down. Weâ€™re already checking empty

buildings al over town. Any other ideas?â€

â€œNot real y.â€ But I couldnâ€™t resist. I told him my thoughts about Merrilou and Emily.

He said, â€œHmm,â€ which meant he didnâ€™t think I was nuts, but he wasnâ€™t excited, either. â€œThose are possibilities. Weâ€™l nose around, check the colors on

that derelict van.â€

â€œLook, Sonny, I gotta go help Cindy rebuild the kitchen. Keep in touch, okay?â€

â€œYou got it.â€

Actual y, Cindy had the kitchen about done, to my great relief. It was too late to take the dog to the beach . . . too many people stil around. So I put on

his lead and took him with me to get the Sunday papers. It was a legitimate excuse for an exit. If you didnâ€™t get there fairly early, they ran out of the New

York Times

.

Chapter 10

I figured that jeans and an old sweatshirt real y wouldnâ€™t do, so I changed into light wool tan slacks, a pale green blouse and dark green blazer. Cindy

wasnâ€™t thril ed that Iâ€™d accepted Danaâ€™s last-minute invitation to lunch, but it real y was businessâ€”I assumedâ€”and could be important. Surely, Cindy didnâ€™t

think I was interested in the girl. In thirty years, I might be chasing eighteen-year-olds, but not yet.

Dana met me at the door, and I was glad I had changed clothes. She was in a blue dress that complemented her coloring, and I thought had been

chosen to make her look older. From the beginning, she was the gracious hostess. From the beginning, I was amused.

We went immediately to the large dining room, where places were set at the head of the table and the first seat on the right. Cozy. But it also meant we

wouldnâ€™t have to speak loudly down the table length. At the tinkle of a bel , the maid served a luscious fruit cup of mango, pineapple and avocado with

sesame seed dressing. It was fol owed by a thick slice of cold roast beef with Stilton cheese, beet salad with al the trimmings plus warm French bread. In

her most adult voice Dana said, â€œWe have most anything you want to drink, but I find a good dry beer goes best. At least thatâ€™s what Iâ€™m having.â€ She

glanced at me quickly, judging whether I would make some reference to her age. I didnâ€™t give her the satisfaction of making what I am sure would have

been a clever retort.

â€œBeer suits me fine,â€ I agreed. Dana nodded to the maid who disappeared quickly and returned shortly with chil ed glasses and two bottles of Leeâ€™s

Manchester Beer, which Iâ€™d never heard of. I assumed it was English. The maid poured my glass and got it just right with a head that would have

measured exactly a half-inch with a ruler.

After she poured Danaâ€™s, I lifted mine and said, â€œTo Zoe.â€

â€œTo Zoe,â€ she replied, and I noticed her hand shook a little.

If I ever get rich, Manchester Beer wil be in my larder. Somehow the beer, the beef, the beets with enormous black olives, capers and celery on Boston

lettuce, and the warm crusty bread came together perfectly.

I complimented Dana on her menu and she demurred sweetly. â€œIt was mostly the cookâ€™s ideaâ€”except for the beer. And Dad swears she and Nana

drink a lot of that.â€ She laughed. â€œBy the way, Nana sends her regrets that she isnâ€™t here to join us. Sheâ€™s in Boston for the day.â€

I just smiled. It sounded pretty handy to me. I wondered if Grandma even knew I was here or remembered who I was in the first place.

Dana looked a lot better than she had a couple of nights ago. The dress sleeves concealed the scrapes, an Ace bandage had replaced the soft cast

on her ankle, and lightly tinted glasses pretty wel covered the black eye.

â€œI invited you to luncheon mainly to apologize for my behavior Friday. I was taking pain pil s, and I think they must have made me a little crazy. Not that

itâ€™s any excuse. I real y behaved badly, and I real y do love Zoe dearly, although it certainly didnâ€™t sound it.â€

She looked at me closely. â€œDo you think we are too young to real y be in love? I adore being with her. We talk seriously about al kinds of things, and we

also laugh a lot and, of course, other things.â€ She blushed slightly, the first genuine gesture I had noticed, and it was inadvertent.

â€œI think you are just the right age to be deeply in lust. That always comes first, you know. If you are lucky, love arrives a little later. Even if it doesnâ€™t,

youâ€™ve had a hel uva good ride. Some people fal in love at sixteen, and itâ€™s life-long. Others are thirty. I know one lady who fel real y in love for the first time

in her fifties. Who knows?â€

â€œOh, dear, I hope I donâ€™t have to wait that long.â€

â€œI think thatâ€™s probably a bit unusual. I wouldnâ€™t worry about it.â€

She turned serious again. â€œWhat I worry about is Zoe. I mean, as wel as this kidnapping thing going wrong. I think she is maybe too intense. About us.

Insisting I should rearrange my life and cause an uproar with my dad over changing schools, just so I can be in New York al the time with her. Anyway, she

wil probably be living in Fairfield in Connecticutâ€”a half hour from Yale. And this whole kidnapping thing, I know, I went along with it, but it need never have

happened. Itâ€™s not even halfway sensible, even if nothing terrible happens. But anytime I brought up objections to anything she wanted, like what made her

think she could just walk onto a stage and be an instant star, sheâ€™d cry and say I didnâ€™t love her.â€

I finished my beer, and a new one miraculously appeared and was poured into a fresh glass. â€œSlow down, Dana. Youâ€™re beginning to babble. I have the

picture. Iâ€™ve thought from the beginning Zoe sounded pretty spoiled. But so are youâ€”in a different way. Face it, kids with your kind of money and Zoeâ€™s are

used to getting most of what they want. Now the two of you want some important different things, so itâ€™s causing problems.â€ I paused for a moment to sip

this beer of the gods.

I wiped my lips and continued. â€œI met some quite successful actors last summer, and I can tel you, Zoe has a long, tough way to go before she even

gets a role with twelve lines. And you can add in the fact that Zoe seems a bit immature to boot. The time to have thought up the kidnap plotâ€”as it

original y stoodâ€”was when she was thirteen, not seventeen.â€

â€œI never thought of that. Youâ€™re right. And Harry fits right in. He thinks al the world spins around a hockey puck. His grades are iffy. Unless he gets into a

school with big-time sports, heâ€™l never get a scholarship. Heâ€™l be lucky to pay his way into some col ege. But with Zoe picking up the tab, he could live in

New York and maybe get on some second-rate hockey team. He is good at that. But that worries me, too.â€

Dessert arrived: Italian ice, some marvelously delicate cookies that melted on your tongue and good strong coffee.

Dana clarified her last statement. â€œZoe sort of looks upon Harry as her mission in life. I think they both know if he doesnâ€™t play hockey, heâ€™l pump gas. A

large part of this is for him. God, I hope heâ€™s not the one who got us al involved with those two creeps.â€

Startled, I almost spil ed my coffee. â€œWhy the hel would you say that?â€

â€œA lot of not-so-nice people hang around athletes. Harry has been approached to throw games, although he says he never has. And I believe him. But

he would know where to find the type of people who would know how to set up this kidnap thing. You know, make it for real, take Zoe God knows where,

toss me casual y out of a car, hold out for a bigger cut . . . or just disappear with al of it. Minus a nice amount for Harry, maybe.â€

â€œHe seemed genuinely upset the other day,â€ I answered rather weakly.

â€œYes. He would be. Itâ€™s out of his hands now and heâ€™s afraid of what heâ€™s gone and done.â€ She dabbed her eyes with her napkin. â€œOr maybe Iâ€™m just

being bitchy again.â€ She tried to smile. â€œWhat can I blame it on this time? The beer?â€

â€œMaybe weâ€™d better just take a closer look at Harry. This beer is too good to blame anything on, except maybe greed.â€

We chatted about beers in general for a few minutes, graduated briefly to the weather and the tourist exodus. Then I thanked her for lunch, she thanked

me for listening, and we parted with a cool, brief hug.

As I got to the end of the driveway from Danaâ€™s castle, I pul ed over and took my cel phone from the glove compartment. Okay, it wasnâ€™t on my person,

but at least it was with me, not home in last nightâ€™s dirty shirt. Fortunately, Rob picked up and agreed to meet me at Mickeyâ€™s in a few minutes.

I got there first and managed to secure one of the few indoor tables. It was clouding over and the breeze felt like rain was due any minute. When Rob

came in a few minutes after I did, I noticed a few scattered raindrops on his jacket. I was pretty good at predicting weather. Why couldnâ€™t I apply that to

kidnappings? The only thing I seemed to do was add suspects, when the whole idea of an investigation was to eliminate al but the one who was guilty.

We ordered coffeeâ€”a little rough and ready after the smooth cup I had just consumed. I casual y mentioned the idea of Harry Maddockâ€™s being

involved criminal y in Zoeâ€™s kidnapping, and was answered by a deep, genuine laugh.

â€œHarry? Involved in this kidnapping as some sort of mastermind? Alex, you may have noticed the Catlett family does not own a dog. Harry is Zoeâ€™s. He

adores her and is content with the occasional pat on the head. She takes care of him. You might cal him her mission. Trying to get him onto some hockey

club is just one part of it. If he doesnâ€™t go through life carrying a hockey stick, believe me, heâ€™l be carrying a waiterâ€™s tray. Harry is not the brightest light on

the tree.â€

The vote was beginning to seem unanimous.

â€œOkay,â€ I shrugged. â€œMoving right along. Rob, do you, by any chance, know anything about a prenuptial agreement or your fatherâ€™s wil ? Anything that

youâ€™d be wil ing to share?â€

He thought a moment. â€œAs long as you leave Grandma out of this, yes.â€

â€œUnless sheâ€™s criminal y involved somehow in the kidnapping, I canâ€™t imagine why she would be of any interest. That said, anything about her stays

private, I promise you.â€

â€œOkay. Her first. Thereâ€™s a trust fund in case she ever needs it. She can draw on it with the approval of the executor, John Frost. Whatever she doesnâ€™t

use reverts equal y to me, Zoe and Marvin on her death.â€

â€œNothing unusual there. What about Merrilou?â€

His mouth tightened. â€œAl the whipped cream. She gets the house here in Ptown, which sheâ€™l have us evicted from in an hour. Al the furnishings except

a few specified things Mom wanted us kids to have. Insurance policies, stocks, bonds go to sweet M. We get money for education, including post grad if

our grades are good. We get the little house of Momâ€™s down in the Poconosâ€”though I wonder how weâ€™re supposed to pay for its upkeep. And we each

get a trust fund we canâ€™t touch til each of us reaches thirtyâ€”and it ainâ€™t no giant, anyway.â€

â€œOh,â€ he added, â€œthere are some bequests to people who have worked for Dad, and quite a bit to charity.â€

â€œSo Merrilou makes out quite wel .â€ I badly wanted a cigarette. The rain was stil just a sprinkle, so I suggested we move out under the awning. We took

another cup of coffee along and I began to get that over-caffeinated feeling. I zipped up my jacket. It was definitely fal .

Rob gave a grimace. â€œShe makes out too damn wel . But she better stay married to Dad. The prenuptial ainâ€™t so hot. John Frost must have been on the

bal that day.â€

â€œOh? She comes up short?â€ I could understand his father possibly informing him about the wil . Or maybe tel ing Grandma, who decided to share the

information with Rob. But the pre nup? Did Rob real y have the details of that, too? And if so, how did he get them?

â€œShe comes up financial y amputated. Under certain circumstances. If she gets the divorce because of his proven infidelity and/or physical abuse, she

gets a hundred thousand a year, plus a one-time payment of two hundred thousand. If either of them gets a divorce on general incompatibility, she gets

seventy-five thou a year. Andâ€”I love this oneâ€”if he divorces her for infidelity, she gets ten thousand dol ars for moving expenses. Period. Not even

attorneyâ€™s fees. Moving expenses. Iâ€™m sure you know which one weâ€™re cheering for.â€

â€œI believe I can figure that one out. But tel me, Sherlock, how come you know al these details? I canâ€™t see Reed sharing this with the family at-large over

Sunday breakfast.â€

â€œOh, no.â€ He stared distasteful y at the bottom of his coffee cup and set it down. â€œNo, Marvin and I check his papers now and thenâ€”like when he

married this money-grabber. We wanted to make sure at least Grandma was stil okay. Sheâ€™s the one we have to take care of.â€

â€œAnd how did you do that?â€ I doubted they were tacked to the refrigerator door with a Disneyland magnet.

â€œOh, Marvin and I figured out the safe combination years ago. We fiddled with birthdays and holidays and anniversaries, et cetera. Itâ€™s Momâ€™s birthday,

backward. And his computer password is the three kidsâ€™ birthdays by month. Two figures per kid. Oh!â€ He looked embarrassed. â€œI guess you know them,

too, now, if you just look up the dates.â€

â€œIâ€™ve already forgotten everything you said. But, Rob, that final clause in the prenuptial agreement sounds awful y tough, and itâ€™s a little unusual to have

that sort of clause at al , at least not worded so blatantly. Usual y it just says something like if he divorces her with cause, or something along those lines. Is

there some reason to think that might occur?â€

â€œI donâ€™t know. Al I know is she was married before, to some Episcopalian minister down south in some rich parish. I have no idea what happened to

him. Marvin heard her talking to Emily Bartles about it. She also said that the women in the parish had been out to get her. Thatâ€™s al I know. I have to run,

Alex. Itâ€™s my turn to be home in case the phone rings.â€

â€œOh, donâ€™t let me make you late for that.â€ I stood. â€œBut donâ€™t be surprised if the Tweedles go silent a few days. They are probably confused, mad, a little

scared . . . and theyâ€™re going to let you suffer, too. Silence is hard to bear, but hopeful y theyâ€™l cal tomorrow as they said. Thanks for al your help. Hang in,

weâ€™l get â€™em yet.â€

He took my hand for a moment. â€œIâ€™m glad youâ€™re around, Alex.â€ And then he sprinted to his car.

The house was spotless. So was Cindy, curled up in front of the TV watching the Ravens flying al over the Bengals.

â€œGo, Baltimore,â€ I cheered as I kissed the top of her head hel o.

â€œHow was your lunch?â€

â€œDelicious roast beef and other goodies. And Dana wil make someone a gracious hostess someday. For dessert, I had coffee at Mickeyâ€™s with Rob

Catlett, gentleman to the core. Maybe there is something to this kid stuff.â€

â€œGee, thatâ€™s too bad,â€ she sighed. â€œI had thought we might enjoy some old-time stuff on a rainy afternoon.â€

â€œOld-time can be good, too.â€

And it was.

Chapter 11

Early Monday morning was devoted to a run for Fargo on the beach, which improved his attitudeâ€”and mineâ€”no end, although several seagul s were

slightly put out of humor. That interlude was fol owed by a swift cup of coffee with Cindy before she went to work. After she left, I noticed that tucked under

her saucer lay a list of errands I was to perform. Normalcy for a weekday and a very welcome change from the recent past.

There was stil no change in the Zoe situation. Sonny said that a lul this long was normal after a mix-up. They left you to wonder if they had just kil ed the

victim and said the hel with it and gone home to plot something new. He said it was to soften you up, and I could wel imagine that it would. The police, of

course, were stil active. The rest of us were almost taking it for granted. Zoe Catlett was missing. Old man Alton was sick again with bronchitis. Oh, yeah.

I had stopped by the police station and told Sonny what I had learned yesterday from Rob about Merrilou as Reedâ€™s heir. His eyebrows went up, and he

looked thoughtful. I knew what he was thinking. Trish was John Frostâ€™s junior associate. Trish was Sonnyâ€™s girlfriend. What could, or would, Trish find out

about Merrilouâ€™s first marriage? And would she share it with Sonny? Who would probably share it with me. We would soon know.

I sat in the car a few minutes, checking my errand list: al done, in something like record time. I had felt a mild undercurrent of excitement throughout the

day, which had probably inspired me to move faster. Cassie was meeting Momâ€™s commercial flight at Logan airport in Boston and would fly her the last

leg homeward bound. I would pick her up at Provincetown airport around three.

My watch said twelve. I had been neglecting what some people cal ed â€œmy other officeâ€ of late, so I headed toward the elegant Wharf Rat Bar for my

lunch. A cloudy, chil y September Monday noontime found few tourists as patrons. Weekends would stil be crowded, but weekdays had pretty wel

reverted to the usual local clientele. Even Joe was taking a day off, the bar delegated to his wife, Bil ie Jo.

She was a capable bartender and a better cook. The thing you had to watch about Bil ie was her syntax, which had her own unique formula. â€œHel o,

Alex. I hear your mamaâ€™s cominâ€™ home today. Had enough of that actor guy and the big city? Like he was always polite and friendly, however.â€

â€œYep. Cassieâ€™s bringing her in around three. Whatâ€™s to eat?â€

â€œThe usual, and only one special today. You tel her hel o for me. I been busy enough making stuffed clams without Joe.â€ It sounded as if parts of Joe

were usual y included in the dish. I immediately changed thoughts before I lost my appetite for stuffed clams.

â€œAh, Iâ€™l have a couple with a few fries and some coleslaw, please.â€ Bil ieâ€™s stuffed clams were lots of clam, little stuffing, and delicious. I thought of the

perfect drink to accompany them. â€œSay, Bil ie, you donâ€™t happen to have any Leeâ€™s Manchester Beer, do you?â€

She laughed scornful y. â€œYou crazy, Alex? Even if we had it in stock, have you ever seen anybody in here ready to pay twelve dol ars one bottle for beer,

which we donâ€™t.â€

â€œJust asking. Twelve dol ars? Wow.â€

â€œYeah. Ainâ€™t no beer going to bring that price around here. The minute my back is turned, cal me if anybody comes in.â€ She went toward the kitchen.

I sipped my Bud and contemplated one of lifeâ€™s little mysteries. Just how good could a beer be, to be worth twelve dol ars a bottle? I remembered once

being in a restaurant in Boston where filet mignon was fifty-five dol ars a la carte. How much better could it be than one for twenty-five dol ars? Didnâ€™t taste

and price have to level off at some point? Or was there a steak out there somewhere for a hundred dol ars? Probably in Tokyo.

A warm breath about equal parts onion and beer told me that Harmon had joined me at the bar. Harmon Kil ingsly held the uncontested title of

Provincetownâ€™s Character-in-Chief.

He made some kind of living by beachcombing, helping out on the occasional fishing boat and doing various handyman jobs around town. He was a

friend to most of mankind and al animals, but he hated drug dealers. It was his bounden duty in life to put a stop to their evil activities. And he was certain

that Provincetown was rife with them.

According to Harmon, they came by boat from elusive mother ships at sea. They came by private plane if he did not personal y know the pilot. They

came disguised as housewives from Ohio on tour buses. They came in any car that was not registered in Provincetownâ€”and a few that were.

He drove my brother to distraction with his â€œreportsâ€ of drug exchanges he had witnessedâ€”one of which had actual y included a live al igator and a

naked lady. As Sonny said, Harmon had reported twenty of Ptownâ€™s last three drug sales. And if he couldnâ€™t find Sonny to tel about them, I would do.

â€œHiya, Harmon. How about a beer? As soon as Bil ie gets back. Sheâ€™s just getting me some lunch.â€ And I was beginning to sound like her.

â€œThanks, Iâ€™d appreciate that. Say, Alex, I know youâ€™re working with Sonny on that Catlett case. I got some information that might help. You know I try to

stay on the alert. I ainâ€™t no stranger to certain activities in this town.â€ Bil ie returned with my platter, and I ordered two more beers.

Harmon lowered his voice to impart the important information, and I attacked the clams. Harmonâ€™s scorecard didnâ€™t warrant letting my lunch get cold. Of

course, one day he would be right, and none of us would be paying the slightest attention.

â€œYou see, Alex, a couple of weeks ago, there was this drug payoff out on Macmil an Wharf. There was this man in a car with out-of-state plates and two

women drivinâ€™ a van. I figure they was using the women as a moose, because there ainâ€™t many women dealers.â€

â€œA moose? The women were disguised as moose?â€ That certainly would avoid any undue attention.

â€œYeah, you know a scam, a trick, something that looks like what it ainâ€™t.â€

Now I knewâ€”a ruse. I rapidly readdressed my clams. â€œGotcha, go on, Harmon.â€

He sipped his beer. â€œThey pretended they had had this little fender bender, and the guy, he was handing them some money, like you do if you donâ€™t want

the cops and the insurance folks involved. Natural y, he was paying them for drugs they had give him earlier. And probably for that girl Zoe they had sold

him,â€ he whispered, â€œto put into white slavery.â€

â€œI see.â€ I lied. I didnâ€™t see drugs, nor did I see Zoeâ€™s kidnappers sailing off to auction her in a Moroccan bazaar. Harmon had never been right yet, and

he didnâ€™t look like he was starting today.

Then he added a comment that straightened me up. â€œYou see, the van was kinda white, and the car was blue, so I thought maybe thereâ€™d be some blue

on the vanâ€™s passenger side, just to look like they real y did col ide, although I didnâ€™t get around to look.â€

â€œTerrific, Harmon. Did you happen to get the plate numbers? Do you remember the day?â€

â€œNo plate numbers.â€ He shook his head. â€œSome folks behind me was blowing their horn to bits, and by the time I could pul off and walk back, they was

gone. I think the man was Hispaniel, and the ladies was just about the same color as the van. The ladies was tal er than him. But I remember the dayâ€”last

Thursday.â€

The dayâ€”or nightâ€”Zoe disappeared. â€œThatâ€™s great, Harmon. Iâ€™l get this to Sonny as soon as I can. Itâ€™s a real big help. You keep this up, youâ€™re going to

make police chief yet.â€

He laughed, but squared his shoulders and swaggered a bit as he returned to his friends at the large front table.

I reached for my cel phone, but I guess it was in the car.

It wasnâ€™t, and I remembered now. It was on the kitchen table. No harm, I had to go by the house anyway to freshen up. I didnâ€™t want to meet Mom reeking

of clams and beer and tasteful y attired in a sweatshirt with a smal smear of ketchup.

I cal ed Nacho and gave her Harmonâ€™s latest observation. She said sheâ€™d check around for any reported accidents that day. Particularly involving a van

and a blue vehicle.

I was early getting to the airport, and just as wel . I had just gotten out of the car when I saw the sleek little twin-engine Beechcraft enter the traffic pattern

and begin its approach. The wind was northwest that day, not too usual and a definite crosswind. But Super Pilot had the plane in a slight slip, gunned it

just a tad as she straightened it out over the end of the runway. And greased it in with last-minute flaps. Oh, Santa, I have been so good. Canâ€™t I have one

of those for Christmas? Please! Please! Please!

I walked out on the tarmac as Mom came down the few steps of the plane, and we had a big, tight hug that felt just great.

Cassie was right behind her with a wide grin. â€œI do believe you two must have met before.â€

â€œThank you, Cassie, for a lovely flight.â€

â€œMy pleasure, Jeanne. If al my passengers were as nice as you, Iâ€™d have fewer wrinkles.â€

â€œIf I may interrupt this love song,â€ I said. â€œWould you like a ride home, Buck Rogers?â€

â€œThanks.â€ Cassie shook her head. â€œIâ€™ve got a four oâ€™clock to Bridgeport, might as wel stay here. See you tomorrow maybe. Let me help you with the

luggage.â€

It was a good suggestion. Together we wrestled it to the car, while Mom and Fargo enjoyed a noisy reunion, which somehow ended with Mom in the

backseat with Fargo and me alone in the front, lacking only my chauffeurâ€™s cap. Fargo sat at attention beside Mom. Al we needed was for Her Majesty

Mom to wave her white-gloved hand tick-tock at people along the way.

We got to her house and she changed into jeans and a sweater and loafers, which made her look more like Mom than the silky maroon and yel ow

dress and maroon T-strap heels sheâ€™d been wearing. The new hairdo, however, was stil there, careful y casual and I swear boasting a few new auburn

hairs.

We dragged some chairs from the backyard over to a warm and sunny sheltered nook, where the house made a smal el . I moved a little round table

between us, and Mom set our iced tea glasses on it. We just held hands and looked at each other for a moment.

â€œEverything went fine,â€ I said. â€œI can tel just by looking at you.â€

â€œYes, it did, darling. It was a wonderful time. New York is a different place when youâ€™re with someone who real y knows it. Thereâ€™s a place for everything .

. . the best jazz, the best cheesecake, the best fish and chips, the best bookstore, the best shoe store . . .â€

â€œWhen you got off the plane, I could tel you had visited the shoe store.â€ I grinned.

â€œMore than once, alas. By the way, Noel sends his best.â€

â€œAnd I send mine whenever you talk with him.â€ Noel was one of the actors who had been here for the real y unusual production of Hamlet a few weeks

back. During the preceding weeks of rehearsal, he and Mom met and fel in . . . something. Love, lust, friendship, al of the above? Mom never quite said,

and nobody quite dared ask. She went into New York to spend a couple of weeks and be with him for the Broadway opening of the show. And thatâ€™s real y

al I know . . .

Except. â€œMom thatâ€™s a beautiful opal ring. Does it mean what I think it does?â€

â€œI doubt it. I admired it, and Noel bought it. However, we are not getting married, now or possibly ever. I am not moving to New York. Obviously he is not

moving to Provincetown.â€ She sipped her tea. â€œI donâ€™t know whether we are in love or confusion, but whatever it is, itâ€™s very nice.â€

â€œThen go for it. Whichever it is, you deserve it. Is he coming up soon?â€

â€œNo, his contract runs through Marchâ€”if the play does, which I no longer find so hard to believe.â€

â€œThe New York Times had nice things to say. Thatâ€™s the only paper I saw,â€ I qualified, â€œbut I guess itâ€™s the one that counts.â€

â€œThe production has stirred up a lot of interest, thanks to the Provincetown production, not to mention the audience participation. Iâ€™l probably go down a

time or two to see Noel. Then we may travel a bit or go to his place in New Hampshire. We donâ€™t know right now.â€ She shrugged.

â€œBut youâ€™re happy,â€ I said. â€œBoth of you.â€

â€œVery much so. I miss him already. But I missed you and Sonny before the plane even took off when I left. I love being with Noel, and Iâ€™m glad Iâ€™m home.â€

She fluttered her hands in the air. â€œPerhaps I real y am certifiable. You and Sonny may have to put me away.â€

â€œI think weâ€™l have more fun watching you do it your way.â€

â€œWhatever that might be.â€ She smiled. â€œYou know, darling, this entire . . . situation . . . with Noel is something I never dreamed of. I feel more alive than I

have since you and Sonny were little, and everyday was brand-newâ€”for you, and consequently me. Al I know is: we are both enjoying it tremendously, as

of today.â€

I couldnâ€™t resist asking. â€œAnd tomorrow?â€

She extended her hands, palms up. â€œTomorrow? You know as much as I do. Iâ€™m reminded of an old saying my grandmother used to say a lot.

Something like, if you burn your candle at both ends, it wonâ€™t last through the night. But, ah, my dear, it wil cast such a beautiful light. She used to be quite

a scamp in her day, I think. So I shal enjoy the lovely light. If it goes out before dawn, I shal mourn the dark, but remember the light . . . and smile.â€

Then she patted my hand matter-of-factly and asked what had been going on with Sonny and me. I started to give her a rundown about our latest

excitement and our efforts to bring it to a desirable close, but I could tel she was getting tired, so I cut it short. It would wait.

I hugged her again and left her to settle back into her Provincetown life where room service consisted of making yourself a sandwich and cup of coffee

and taking it into the living room to watch TV.

Chapter 12

Walking into the house, I was stil grinning until I saw Sonny and Cindy at the table with solemn faces and Cindy actual y drinking a highbal along with

Sonny. I wasnâ€™t sure from this distance, but I thought her eyes looked red, and there was a rumpled tissue in her hand.

In something under ten seconds, I ran down a list of what could be wrong with someone I loved. Not Cindy or Sonny, they were right here and each

looked okay. Mom was fine five minutes ago. Fargo was leaning against my leg, and Cindy was casual y holding Wel s. Aunt Mae? Cassie? Oh my God,

a crash on takeoff? Then more logical y, Zoe? Probably Zoe.

Cindy put Wel s on the floor and got up to hug me. Sonny spoke first.

â€œGot a lousy one, Sis. I didnâ€™t want you somehow to hear it at the Wharf Rat or somebody on the phone or maybe the TV news.â€ He only cal ed me Sis

when he was very upset or excited.

â€œZoeâ€™s dead?â€ I asked reluctantly.

â€œNot that we know of. Stil silence on that front.â€

â€œThen Aunt Mae . . . Cassie?â€

â€œItâ€™s Charlotte Cohane, Alex. It looks as if she committed suicide.â€ His voice was flat, as if he were reading off an address.

â€œOh, Sonny.â€ I suddenly felt weary and irritable. And I had had enough drama in the past month to last me a lifetime.

â€œSomebody has got to be mistaken or playing nasty tricks. Charlie Cohane wouldnâ€™t commit suicide. If the world were coming to an end at midnight,

sheâ€™d stil be dancing.â€

â€œIâ€™m sorry, Alex, but itâ€™s no mistake. It happened at the Tel man Art Gal ery where she worksâ€”worked, and the people who found her obviously

recognized her. Also, Charlie had ID in her wal et. Anyway, Jeanine was the uniform that answered the first cal and she knows her personal y.â€

â€œHow did she presumably do that?â€ I stil couldnâ€™t admit it was true. I was grasping for anything that made it an untruth.

Sonny obviously didnâ€™t want to answer me. Final y he said, â€œAl the indications are she shot herself . . . in the head. Iâ€™m sorry, Alex.â€

â€œEl en. Does El en Hal know?â€ She and Charlotte had been together for years. They had a stable, easygoing rapport. They had no financial problems.

El en was one of the townâ€™s more successful real estate agents. I imagined Charlie did wel at Tel manâ€™s. She had been with them for years as office

manager and sometime salesperson, and she loved her job. Suicide made no sense. I could only think of one thing that might make her pul a trigger.

â€œSonny, was she terminal y il or something like that?â€

â€œI have no idea. We arenâ€™t nearly that far along. Captain Anders and Jeanine are at El enâ€™s now with the news. Believe it or not, Anders is actual y good

at that sort of thing, and Jeanine could comfort a bear with a sore paw.â€

Sonny handed me a dark highbal . I didnâ€™t complain. â€œIâ€™m glad Anders is good at something. Five wil get you ten that by nightfal he says she was

murdered by a transient thief.â€

â€œAlex,â€ Cindy chided gently. â€œThatâ€™s terrible. Youâ€™re just upset. Why would he say that?â€

â€œBecause,â€ Sonny laughed shortly, â€œhe says that every crime committed in Ptown is done by a transient thief, or transient kil er, or transient rapist, or

transient whatever. Iâ€™m sure he plans to run for selectman next year when he retires, and he doesnâ€™t want to accuse any local resident of criminal activity. If

youâ€™re in jail, then you canâ€™t vote.â€

â€œYouâ€™re awful, both of you.â€

â€œI guess we are,â€ I said. â€œAnd I guess Iâ€™d better finish this and get over to El enâ€™s.â€ I lifted my drink. â€œShe shouldnâ€™t be alone. Has anyone cal ed Charlieâ€™s

mother?â€ They each looked blank, and I said Iâ€™d wait until I saw El en, then cal on Mrs. Cohane if she hadnâ€™t already been notified.

I was glad I had put on good clothes to meet my mother. I wouldnâ€™t waste time changing. A brief encounter with a toothbrush and a comb would suffice.

â€œIâ€™l go with you. I like El en. Maybe there is something I can do for her,â€ Cindy offered, and I nodded my agreement and thanks.

â€œUh,â€ Sonny shifted uneasily in his chair. â€œCindy, maybe you could run along over to El enâ€™s and let Alex come a little later. There are a couple of things I

need to ask her . . . just background stuff that would only bore you.â€

Cindy looked at him keenly. â€œOf course. Iâ€™l just freshen up a bit.â€ She went toward the bedroom.

Sonny dropped the subject of the Cohane death to ask, â€œDid Mom get home okay? Did she have a good time? Her cards al sounded like she was

enjoying every minute of the big city.â€

â€œHappy as a lark, complete with a new hairdo and a wardrobe you wonâ€™t find at Marshal â€™s. Not to mention an opal ring in white gold surrounded by

seed pearls. Itâ€™s too bad this disaster de jour wil put a damper on her happy return. She knew Charlie as a kid, and sheâ€™s a close friend of Mrs. Cohane.â€

â€œAre Mom and Noel getting married?â€

â€œNo. Theyâ€™re enjoying the honeymoon too much.â€

â€œGood for them.â€ Sonny laughed, as Cindy came back into the room, looking rather put out.

â€œThanks for this, Cindy. I owe you one,â€ Sonny cal ed as she started out the door without a good-bye.

â€œYouâ€™re welcome, Iâ€™m sure. I just hope my afternoon turns out to be as pleasant as yours seems to be.â€ The back door closed firmly.

â€œThanks a bunch, Big Bro. Cindy pissed off is about al I need to finish my day.â€

â€œSorry about that.â€ He leaned back on two legs of the chairâ€”a habit of his that makes me absolutely livid.

I got up and walked around to him and pushed the front of the chair down. â€œIf you only need two legs, then you can bloody wel stand up. Now what is so

secret you have to chase Cindy out of her own house? You find one of her brothers standing beside Charlie holding a smoking pistol because Tel manâ€™s

started using a different shipping company?â€

â€œNot quite. Now come on. Weâ€™ve got a situation we donâ€™t want spread around. Alex, I need some help.â€

â€œYou sure pick a diplomatic way to get it,â€ I snapped.

â€œWhat we donâ€™t want al over town yet is that money is missing from the safe in the same room where Charlie worked . . . where she was found

col apsed over her desk. A fair amount of money is missing. Twenty to twenty-eight thousand dol ars. They wonâ€™t be sure til they check the books.â€

â€œWhy donâ€™t they check them now?â€ I sat back down and sipped my drink.

â€œAh, itâ€™s a little confused. You see, Jan and Betsy Tel man are in Philadelphia, meeting with some woman whose art they want to peddle. Theyâ€™l be back

in the morning.â€

He reached for my cigarettes and lit one. â€œAnd, ah, actual y it was Emily Bartles who found the body.â€

â€œEmily Bartles? What the hel was she doing in a top-shelf art gal ery? Shopping for refrigerator magnets?â€

â€œShe works there part-time. Does a little office work, fil s in as a salesperson, especial y if one or both Tel mans have to be away. So did Charlie . . .

work when needed as a salesperson, I mean? Bartles said she was a great help with people who were undecided and better than any of them

â€”sometimes even the Tel mansâ€”at moving the real y expensive stuff.â€

I grabbed the cigarette pack back and shook one out. It may have been my sixth for the day. Naughty. â€œI wouldnâ€™t be surprised if Ms. Bartles was good

at moving expensive stuff . . . out the back door and onto a truck. So Charlie was their best salesperson. Now thereâ€™s a good reason for offing yourself. By

the way, do you know whose pistol it is?â€

â€œYes, itâ€™s Charlieâ€™s. Properly registered with us. Nacho remembers her getting it three or so years ago. Thatâ€™s when the gal ery started handling more

expensive art, so they began to have considerable cash there, and of course, there were trips to the bank.â€

Nacho â€œranâ€ the headquarters of the Provincetown Police Department. She had a memory that made tacks look dul . She could coax anything from any

computer. She never forgot a face, and she was always munching on some snack or other. Hence, the nickname. And she was so nice and helpful, it was

impossible to hate her, even though she had beautiful teeth and wore a size eight dress despite al the fattening snacks.

Sonny pul ed a smal notebook and pen from his pocket. I guess he was serious that I might know something helpful about this. Certainly I had struck

out on the kidnapping.

â€œAlex, have you any reason to think Charlie was having an affair with Dana Portman?â€

â€œI doubt it. Dana isâ€”or shortly wil beâ€”eighteen. Charlie is early thirties. Thatâ€™s not an impossible stretch, but improbable. Anyway, I doubt Charlie was

cheating with anyone. To my knowledge, she and El en were rock solid. Why would you pair up Charlie and Dana anyway? Do they even know each

other?â€

â€œAccording to Emily, they knew each other â€˜quite wel .â€™ Bartles said fairly often Dana would come around and go into the office, and Charlie would close

the door. Thereâ€™s a couch in there. And Charlie left a note that didnâ€™t exactly sound as if she and El en were even tissue paper solid.â€

He reached in his pocket and pul ed out a folded paper. He slid it across the table to me as he added, â€œThis is a copy of what was on her computer.â€

I unfolded it and read:

My darling El enâ€”

By the time you read this, it wil al be over, both my troubles and

the agony and shame I have brought onto us.

Deeply as I cared for you, I let young, sexy appeal, desire and

wealth run me astray.

I have stolen from friends so I could keep up with my free-wheeling lover, and they are bound to find out soon.

I cannot live with such dishonor and disgrace. I must end it so that you can start life anew. Try to forgive me. I do this for love.

Charlotte

I looked at Sonny, uncertain whether to laugh or cry. â€œAre you teasing me? That note sounds like something out of a Victorian novel, except for the parts

that sound barely literate. The whole note is crazy. It sounds like a combination romantic novel and a note left by the trash col ector. Ifâ€”and thatâ€™s a big if

â€”any of this nonsense is true and Charlie felt she must kil herself over it, the note would have been more like â€˜El en, Iâ€™ve real y fucked up al the way

around. I canâ€™t face you or myself. Iâ€™m sorry. Love you, Charlie.â€™ First and foremost, she would never sign it Charlotte. She used that only on legal stuff.â€ I

shook my head, perhaps to clear it, perhaps to deny al I was hearing.

Then I asked, â€œBut if she were cheating, why did you pick Dana? And how would Bartles know they were acquainted if she was only there part-time?â€

Sonny giggled. He giggled when he was embarrassed. â€œOh, they knew each other, al right. Dana was there pretty often, I guess.â€

I got up and freshened my drink. I didnâ€™t offer one to Sonny. He didnâ€™t need it. â€œI suppose, Sonny, your next revelation wil be that Merrilou tended the

flower beds at the gal ery and Harry Maddock mowed the lawn.

â€œCould be.â€ He poured some of my drink into his glass. â€œThe way things are going, I wouldnâ€™t be surprised if they were al in on the kidnapping and kil ed

Charlie because she stole the ransom.â€

I had a sane thought and tapped my finger on the paper. â€œWas there a printout with a signature? Or was everything just typed?â€

Sonny looked chastened. â€œJust typed. Actual y, it wasnâ€™t even printed out at al , it was left on the screen. I didnâ€™t like that either. And thereâ€™s something

else I donâ€™t like. Arlene Glover, our forensics guru, found something when she checked the keyboard for fingerprints.â€

â€œWhatâ€™s that?â€ I reached for my glass, decided that my getting drunk wouldnâ€™t bring Charlie back, and put some coffee on to brew. â€œArleneâ€™s pretty

sharp. She was on the bal with that bunch of lunatic thespians last summer. You want a drink or coffee?â€ He opted for coffee, so I got out a couple of

mugs. â€œWhat did she find?â€

â€œMost of the keys were just blurred smudges, like whoever used the computer lastâ€”to write this note, we presumeâ€”may have worn gloves. But most of

the letters that were not used in the noteâ€”like q, k, j, x, z, plus the majority of numerals and control keys had partial or complete fingerprints on them.

Weâ€™re betting they turn out to be Charlieâ€™s.â€

I poured our coffee. â€œSo Charlie didnâ€™t type the note. Someone else wrote this poetic beauty. I knew it. They didnâ€™t leave prints on the keyboard, and

they couldnâ€™t print it out and sign it because they couldnâ€™t duplicate her signature.â€

â€œAlways a red flag.â€ Sonny sipped his coffee. â€œGood stuff. Thanks.â€

I took a sip of my own. I knew I needed to know more details, but God, how it hurt to ask.

â€œSonny, how was it done physical y . . . you know, how was she found and al ?â€

Sonny sighed. â€œThat part seems kosher for doing it herself. She was in her office, armchair pushed back from the desk with both her arms thrown out to

the side and then fal ing limp and dangling. The pistol was dropped in about the right spot. The wound looked about right. But I did question the angle a

bit. I asked the medical examiner to look closely at it.â€

â€œWhat do you mean?â€ I lit the next uncounted cigarette and didnâ€™t even scowl when Sonny helped himself.

He didnâ€™t answer me directly. â€œLook, suppose you were going to shoot yourself in the head, how would you do it?â€

I made a pistol out of my fist, with pointed forefinger and cocked thumb, lifted the forefinger to that little indentation in front of your ear, dipped my thumb

and said, â€œBang.â€

Sonny was staring at me strangely. â€œYou used your right hand just now. Why? You are left-handed.â€

I shook my head. â€œNot real y. Iâ€™m a mixed dominant . . . like Charlie. We both eat and write with our left hands, and I sometimes use a paintbrush or

scraper with my left hand. But I play golf, throw a bal , use a screwdriver and shoot with my right hand. So did she. We played golf together, occasional y

went to the firing range and a couple of times we shot skeet. Right-handed al the way. Both of us. Iâ€™ve always been like that. Ask Mom.â€

â€œShit.â€ Sonny set his mug down hard. â€œCharlie used her left hand to kil herself, or somebody used it for her. And thereâ€™s something else I asked several

people to do. It ainâ€™t scientific, but itâ€™s indicative.â€

â€œWhatâ€™s that?â€

â€œYou and four or five others â€˜shotâ€™ yourselves the same way. Forefinger aimed toward your temple. Charlie was shot in the forehead, which of course is

possible, but not very easy. And she used her forefinger to pul the trigger, which is quite awkward. Using the thumb to pul the trigger is less of a strain on

the wrist and digit. Especial y, I would think, if sheâ€™s using the wrong hand for some reason. I want to see some statistics on this.â€

â€œI donâ€™t think you have to, Sonny. I think you know. Charlie was murdered.â€

Chapter 13

The sun looked as if someone had turned its rheostat up to extra bright that day. The sky was a delicate, depthless, early autumn blue. The puffy little

clouds sprinted and dipped sassily along, moved by some high-altitude breeze that reached down from time to time to give the trees a gentle stir. It

seemed as if some cal ous, cruel hand had added another crime against Charlotte Cohane, burying her on a day when she would have so loved to be

alive.

Thus far, the only good thing I had managed to glean from the day was that Episcopal funerals are brief and dignified. I love the Prayer Book, basical y

unchanged since Cranmerâ€™s sixteenth century writing of it. It seems hard to think of it as a product of Henry the Eighthâ€™s raucous reign, but its beauty and

hope and promise have an assurance I personal y would find difficult to write today. Iâ€™m glad he got it done before television and rap.

We went the whole nine yards: to the church, to the cemetery, final y to El enâ€™s house. I was exhausted and could only imagine what Aunt Mae must be

feeling. She was white as a sheet and very shaky. After a stay just long enough to be polite, I simply told her and Mom they were leaving. I would drive

them home in Momâ€™s car. Cindy would fol ow in hers to take me home. They didnâ€™t argue.

Once home, I headed directly for the shower, and shortly discovered I had company. Strangely, given the strenuous day we had put inâ€”and whyâ€”we

began to play. We splashed, we gently pul ed hair, we snapped washcloths, we ducked each other, we aimed the water stream at various parts of various

anatomies. And of course, we made love. Awkward. Slippy-slidey. Laughing. Bury us tomorrow. Today we are lovers. We are blessed. And by God, we

are alive.

Funeral, sadness and fatigue notwithstanding, I think I was more relaxed that evening than I had been in weeks. I know I was more hungry. Mom had

made fried chicken and potato salad to take to El enâ€™s. Aunt Mae had made a peach and almond pie. It was old-fashioned, but it was the way things were

stil done in Provincetown, and I thought it very kind. Fortunately, they had made extra for us. Fortunately, they had made large extras, for Sonny arrived,

looking strained and tired and handsome in his dark gray suit with white shirt and regimental tie. He had been at the church, but went back to work after

that.

Not liking coincidence anymore than I did, Sonny apparently felt we were getting too many of the same people involved, albeit peripheral y, in one too

many crimes.

Sonny had drawn a blank with John Frost and Trish regarding Reed and Merrilouâ€™s prenuptial agreement. They both said they were sorry, but claimed

client privilege.

Sonny was certain Emily Bartles would probably know the details and would be at El enâ€™s after the funeral. She would almost have to attend, their

having worked together at Tel manâ€™s Gal ery. So Sonny cal ed on the Rev. Lawrence Bartles, hoping to find him alone. The questions were: had his wife

confided in Larry about the agreements and would he talk about them if she did?

Sonny said that for openers he used the excuse of asking Larry how the Catlett family was holding up under the strain of Zoeâ€™s disappearance. Larry

thought they were doing pretty wel , considering. His main concern was about Marie, because of her age. The ongoing nervous tension wasnâ€™t helping,

natural y, but he felt Reed was a pil ar of strength.

When Sonny told him of Reedâ€™s verbal threats to Sonny, and physical threat to me, Bartles was flabbergasted. Then Sonny said he told Bartles of

Merrilouâ€™s weird behavior al along. By now, Bartles was thoroughly rocked.

Then Sonny said he casual y added, â€œOf course, Merrilou could be behind the whole thing, feeling she needs to stash away every dol ar she can.â€

Bartles looked confused, â€œReed is rich, isnâ€™t he? Merrilou should have no money worries.â€

â€œExcept one.â€ Sonny drank some of the iced tea Larry had poured for them, and looked meaningful y over the rim of his glass to watch Larry turn pale,

as Sonny opined, â€œI donâ€™t understand why the prenuptial agreement was worded that way, it was worse than insulting, it made her sound like a whore. And

I donâ€™t understand why she accepted those terms. Do you?â€ Sonny said he just kept staring at him.

Final y, Bartles gave in. â€œLook, Sonny, I shouldnâ€™t talk about this, but maybe it wil help you understand Merrilou a little better. Her actions may be a little

cold and self-serving, but I cannot believe she is criminal y involved.â€

He stood and put his glass in the sink, then leaned back against the counter as he explained to Sonny, â€œMerrilou comes from a lower middle-class

family. By gosh and by darn she managed to get herself through col ege. While there, she met a young man who became a minister, and they married. We

al thought it was a mistake to begin with, but what can you do? Nobody who thinks heâ€™s in love is going to listen to friends warning him about his fiancÃ©e.

Bob was assigned to a smal church in a rather wealthy community on Lookout Mountain, just outside Chattanooga.â€

â€œDid she know Bob was going into the church when she married him?â€ Sonny had asked.

â€œSure, he was already ordained. Anyway, Merrilou kind of put on airs around the ladies of the parish. Spending way too much money on clothes in order

to â€˜keep up,â€™ suggesting the church give Bob and her a complimentary membership to the golf club, a new car every three years. I donâ€™t know what al . I

know there was some bad feeling, including the general opinion that she had a lot to learn to be a preacherâ€™s wife. Then the other rumors started.â€

â€œLike what?â€ As if my beloved brother wouldnâ€™t have already guessed.

â€œMen. Or at least, the golf pro. Maybe Merrilou figured it was okay, now that they were members.â€ Sonny said that Larry actual y gave a man-to-man

grin, along with the surprising remark.

Then he looked genuinely pained as he continued. â€œOne of the church ladies saw them come out of the motel where the pro lived for the summer.

Merrilou always swore they had just stopped by to pick up some clubs needed for her lesson. I donâ€™t know what was true. But divorce was the result, and

Iâ€™m sure she got no alimony.â€

I couldnâ€™t resist adding my bit to the gentlemenâ€™s gossip hour. â€œHel uva lot of clubs they picked up if she had to go in and help the pro carry them out,â€ I

put in.

Sonny nodded and went back to his drumstick.

â€œWel ,â€ Cindy added, â€œsheâ€™s apparently scared to death of finding herself penniless for the second time, poor woman. Even if you donâ€™t like herâ€”and I

donâ€™t eitherâ€”you canâ€™t blame her for wanting some kind of nest egg. Right or wrong, she came out of one marriage without a cent. She wouldnâ€™t want it to

happen again. She should never have accepted that last prenuptial clause from Reed.â€

â€œHow could she not?â€ I grinned. â€œShould she have said, â€˜Darling, you know I would never cheat on you, but if you should catch me in the act, I want more

than a lousy ten thouâ€™?â€

Cindy stuck to her guns. â€œShe had a reasonable need of money, even if she took unreasonable steps to get it.â€ She moved to another point in the

discussion. â€œDo you suppose Emily Bartles knew the combination to the safe or knew the hour at which it would be open?â€

â€œPresumably not.â€ Sonny answered. â€œIt was a confused morning al around at Tel manâ€™s. The two owners left around seven oâ€™clock that morning. Cassie

flew them over to pick up a Philadelphia flight out of Boston. Emily Bartles and Charlie opened the gal ery at nine thirty as usual. Emily got there first by a

few minutes and had to wait outside for Charlie. Charlie arrived by cab, and mentioned to Emily that her car battery had gone bad overnight.â€ Sonny

loosened his tie and col ar and looked happier.

Then he continued, â€œEmily does not have keys, according to her. Oh, yes, Dana was supposed help out part of the day, but had to drive her

grandmother to an eye doctorâ€™s appointment in Hyannis. And with the Tel mans away, Emily and Charlie would both have to work a ful day.â€

I began to put the remaining food away. â€œI didnâ€™t know Dana spent so much time there. Did Emily Bartles hear a shot? Is that how Charlie was found?â€

â€œApparently Dana fil s in from time to time. After al , she is the Tel mansâ€™ niece.â€ Sonny stretched. â€œNice meal, thanks. No, Emily did not hear any

gunshot, and the morning went smoothly in general. Around ten, Charlie told Emily sheâ€™d better take her lunch hour from twelve to one. Charlie had a tooth

bothering her. It was getting worse, and she had managed to get a one thirty dentistâ€™s appointment. She thought it might run a little long.â€

â€œDid she real y have an appointment?â€ Cindy asked.

â€œYep. Emily left at twelve and returned about ten of one, to find the front of the gal ery wide open. She was surprised Charlie wasnâ€™t working at the front

desk, which someone always covered when the gal ery was open. Otherwise, anyone could have strol ed in and carted out pictures and statuary or

whatever. Emily shrugged it off, figured Charlie may have been in pain and nervous about the dentist, and assumed Emily would be back shortly. So Emily

just began her work of dusting and straightening, taking care of the few potential customers who dropped in and answering the phone. When Charlie

wasnâ€™t back by three, Emily cal ed the dentist to see if she was al right. She thought maybe Charlie hadnâ€™t felt wel , had gone home, and the dentist was

supposed to have cal ed the gal ery.â€

â€œBut Charlie had never been there,â€ I guessed.

â€œRight. When Charlie was twenty minutes late for her appointment, they had marked her off as a no-show. It had happened before. After they explained

this to Emily, she then walked down the hal to the back of the building and into the office and ran out screaming . . . cal ed 911 . . . and was in the parking

lot sobbing when the uniforms got there.â€

I lit a cigarette and didnâ€™t even pretend to count. â€œSo if she did know the combination, or if Charlie had the safe open for some reason when she was

shot, Emily could have emptied it and put the money in her car, or cal ed Merrilou to meet her in the lot and given it to her before she even cal ed the cops.â€

â€œYes, but think, Alex. Did Charlie just sit there quietly while Emily or Emily and cohort robbed the safe, took her gun out of the desk and shot her with it?â€

Sonny gave me a wry grin.

â€œMaybe Merrilou lured Charlie out into the gal ery on some pretext while Emily swiped the gunâ€”she probably knew where it was keptâ€”and shot

Charlie when she returned to her desk. And the safe was already open for some reason. Maybe Charlie planned to combine the dentist with the bank. And

that suicide note sounds like Emily.â€

I held my hands spread in front of me in a wonâ€™t-that-work? gesture.

Sonny shrugged. â€œIt could be. By the way, Larry Bartles sent you his best. He also said to keep your eye out for Catlett. Larry now thinks there may be

more there than just stress. And it could be violent.â€

â€œSwel . Did Larry have any specific information?â€

â€œApparently not. He didnâ€™t elucidate.â€

â€œThanks.â€

â€œAny time.â€

â€œYou two are not funny,â€ Cindy snapped. â€œIs Alex in danger or not?â€

â€œOh, I doubt it,â€ I said. â€œThe entire family has been strange from the start. I mean, who wants to be a forensic geologistâ€”playing with bones a thousand

years old? And why would the wimpy little kid want to place himself in with a bunch of Marines who would have him for lunch and spit out the seeds? Why

would Reed and Merrilou send Grandma out to get someone she knew as a nine-year-old kid to investigate Zoeâ€™s disappearance? And Zoe herself

sounds a bit wacky. I think they al just need a good psychiatrist.â€

â€œSounds like the al -American family to me,â€ Sonny stated and left.

Chapter 14

Thursday Sonny stopped by to update me on Charlie and Zoe. What update? No news was not good news.

He had asked me to stop by his office this morning and let him swear me in as a deputy. He wanted the Tel man sisters to be interviewed as soon as

possible and thought I might have more rapport with them than Jeanine or Mitch or even Sonny himself.

When I asked why, he said that A. I was female, as was Jeanine, but B. I was interested in artâ€”an artist myself of sorts, and C. I could, if I tried hard, be

more subtle than his other detectives. There was no point in antagonizing the women at this stage. After al , they had been miles away when the murder

happened. It was a matter of what or whom they might know or suspect. But he did want me to be able to say I represented the police, not that I was

simply Lieutenant Peresâ€™s curious sister.

It was quickly done, right hand raised, brief oath repeated, badge in its carry case slipped into my pocket. We had both done this before. And I was

soon out and on my official way.

I realized it was a bit early to cal on the Misses Tel man, so I swung by Momâ€™s to see how she was faring after her happy-turned-sad homecoming. As I

pul ed into the driveway, I had a great view of two jean-clad bottoms in the air. Mom and Aunt Mae were catching up on the weeding. They seemed quite

content to take a break, so Mom and I sat on the wal , while Aunt Mae pul ed up a lawn chair.

â€œWhere are you going at nine a.m., dressed so nicely and wearing makeup? Surely you didnâ€™t go to al that trouble just to avoid pul ing a few weeds.â€

Aunt Mae grinned. Then she turned serious. â€œI hope to heaven no one else has died.â€

â€œSo do I. As it is, I am on my way to interview the ladies Tel man about this mess, and I thought perhaps I should forego the jeans and sweatshirt. I

wouldnâ€™t want to upset the butler.â€

Mom laughed and brushed an errant strand of hair off her cheek. â€œBetsy and Jan Tel man may be aristocratic and just a teeny bit artsy, but they are

basical y quite nice and down-to-earth, and there hasnâ€™t been a butler since their father final y passed to the other side.â€

â€œIâ€™m surprised the other side didnâ€™t pass him right back.â€ Aunt Mae chuckled. â€œHe was one miserable character. Forever doing â€˜the right thing,â€™ but

talking about it so endlessly and egotistical y, it was much worse than if he had done the wrong thing and had to keep it a secret.â€

I smiled at Aunt Maeâ€™s gentle character assassination, and then noted that my mother was looking thoughtful y into space.

â€œYou stil with us, Mom?â€

â€œHmm? Oh, yes, I was just thinking. Iâ€™ve always assumed that Jan and Betsy were lovers.â€

â€œMom.â€ I leaned around to look at her and waved my hand in front of her face. â€œHel o, this is Earth cal ing. The Tel man sisters are . . . are . . . sisters,â€ I

finished lamely.

Aunt Mae shook an admonitory finger. â€œLegal y, yes. Physical y, no. If they were a man and a woman, they could marry with no comments about

consanguinity at al , and not worry about their children having no chins. They are actual y very distant cousins.â€

â€œMy God, are you sure? How did they get to be sisters?â€

â€œNot complicated, real y. Mr. and Mrs. Tel man had two daughters, Betsy and another girl several years younger, named Margo. One year their cousin

Jan, who was about Betsyâ€™s age, came to stay with them for the school year. Janâ€™s parents were going to the Philippines as missionaries, and they

thought it better to leave their daughter in the States. They were concerned about the volatile political situation and various tropical diseases, as wel as

available schooling. So the Tel mans volunteered to keep Jan with them.â€

â€œBecause it was â€˜the right thing?â€™â€ I teased.

Mother gave me a dirty look and Aunt Mae went blithely on. â€œMost probably. At any rate, her parents were both kil ed in some accident over there. Was

it a plane crash, Jeanne?â€

â€œNo.â€ My mother shook her head. â€œI think it was one of those crowded inter-island ferries that are forever going down in the slightest bad weather.

Whatever it was, poor Jan was suddenly an orphan. And the Tel mans adopted her.â€

â€œBecause it was the right thing,â€ Aunt Mae and I chorused.

â€œIf you both insist.â€ Mom shrugged and smiled dryly. â€œBut when you look at the Tel man family, I sometimes wonder if they didnâ€™t inspire that comment: no

good deed goes unpunished.â€

â€œWhy do you say that?â€ I wiggled into a new position. The wal was getting hard.

â€œA few years later the three girls were out horseback riding. Margo especial y loved horses, and Betsy liked them, too, but Jan wasnâ€™t very good at

riding. Her mount shied at a piece of blowing paper or something and threw her. For one thing, Jan was a lightweight. For another, the saddle may not

have been properly maintained. Whatever the problem was, the emergency stirrup release didnâ€™t work. The horse panicked and ran away, dragging Jan

by the leg.â€

â€œMy God.â€ I could picture the accident in my mind, and it was a horror.

â€œMargo was the youngest, but she was very brave and quick-witted and an excel ent horsewoman,â€ Aunt Mae put in. â€œShe managed to catch up with

Janâ€™s horse, somehow reached over and got the reins and managed to stop him. Even so, Janâ€™s leg and hip were appal ingly damaged.â€

â€œI can imagine,â€ I said. â€œSheâ€™s lucky to be walking . . . even to be alive. Her adoptive parents must have been shattered. First the poor kid loses her

family, then she almost dies herself.â€

â€œHer mother was heartbroken.â€ My mother nodded. â€œHer father managed to be quite stoic as I recal . Of course, it was only right that he send her to

some famous hospital that specialized in that type of rehabilitation. For months, they were afraid she would lose the leg, but they managed to save it, and

as you know, she now has only a slight limp.â€

â€œAgain, sheâ€™s lucky.â€ I lit a cigarette and Aunt Mae frowned. â€œYouâ€™d think Jan would have fal en for the brave Margo, not Betsy,â€ I mused.

â€œMargo was considerably younger.â€ Mom stood and propped her foot on the wal . â€œJan and Betsy were about the same age. And of course, before too

long, Margo had her own troubles.â€

â€œYes.â€ Aunt Mae crossed her legs comfortably. â€œA year or so later, Margo had the difficult job of tel ing her parents she was pregnant . . . with no potential

husband in sight. And single mothers were not so casual y looked upon in those days.â€

â€œHow did you know? About the pregnancy, I mean.â€ I asked, startled. â€œWere you two pals?â€

â€œNo, not real y close. I had just married your Uncle Frank, and he was then a sales rep for a pharmaceutical company. Margo came to me, hoping I

might be able quietly to get some drug through Frank that would cause a miscarriage. I didnâ€™t even know if the company made such a drug, but I knew

darn wel Frank wouldnâ€™t hand any out without medical supervision. It could have been dangerous to Margoâ€”and to Frankâ€”if anyone found out he was

suddenly in the abortion business.â€

I had to laugh. â€œThis sounds like a serial on the womenâ€™s cable channel.â€

â€œIt wasnâ€™t funny,â€ my aunt snapped. â€œMargoâ€™s mother was adamant against abortion. Her father wouldnâ€™t consider letting her keep the baby, and Margo

would not agree to give it up. She final y told them who the guilty man was. I donâ€™t know what kind of pressure the old man used, but shortly, there was a

quiet wedding, and about six months later Dana Portman was born.â€

â€œDana. So Dana is Betsyâ€™s and sort of Janâ€™s niece.â€

â€œYes, and theyâ€™ve been great to her. Old man Tel man disowned Margo and Dana, although I donâ€™t see how he reconciled blaming a baby for anything.

Dan later divorced Margo and got custody of Dana on some trumped up morality charge against Margo.â€ Aunt Mae yawned. â€œIâ€™m going to go heat up the

coffee. Excuse me for a moment.â€

I was confused and turned to my mother. â€œI donâ€™t get it. How could Dan Portman divorce Margo on a morals charge when it was him sheâ€™d been

sleeping with, and Dana was his kid?â€

Mom shook her hands from side to side. â€œIt wasnâ€™t that way. Dan traveled almost constantly on business. Margoâ€™s only real companion day after day

was Danaâ€”barely potty trained and speaking about three understandable words. Margo natural y got bored, probably feeling trapped by the baby, even

though she loved her. Dan was no fun when he was home. He either worked or slept, according to Margo. She started drinking quite a bit and going to

parties with her old gang. At some point Dan came down with the flu and took an early plane home. The nanny told him Margo was at a neighborhood

party, and for some reason Dan waited up for her. It was unfortunate, of al the nights he usual y went to bed at nine, he picked that one to stay up.â€

Mom shook her head rather sadly. â€œMargo came in late that night, much the worse for booze, and she had obviously been with a man. She never would

tel Dan who it had been, because she didnâ€™t want to hurt the manâ€™s wife. She told a friend it was the only time she had slept with Reed, and it only

happened because he got her drunk and more or less date raped her.â€

â€œReed Catlett,â€ I said flatly. â€œHere we are with al the same people involved in some sort of disgraceful tangle again. And how do you know al this?â€ I

gave her a raised eyebrow look.

She looked at me for a long moment. Final y, she answered. â€œYour aunt. Donâ€™t let her bifocals and apple pie fool you. When she and Frank were first

married, they traveled at a pretty high speed.â€

She grinned. â€œFor my peace and quiet, however, I would appreciate it if you didnâ€™t mention this. Yes, it was Reed. He was quite the young stal ion, and

Margo had a weakness for them, you know.â€

â€œYeah. He ainâ€™t doing too bad now, either.â€

Mother gave a dismissive head shake. â€œI doubt it wil last. Reed marries class and sleeps with sexpots. Only this time, he seems to have got it

backward. Heâ€™s married to Merrilou and making a big play for Martha Meyer, since her husband died suddenly.â€

Aunt Mae came out of the house bearing a coffee tray and muttering, â€œNo, no, no! Martha wil never give Reed Catlett the time of day. Her pedigree is

so perfect, she could be registered with the AKC. Reed just ainâ€™t in it for her. Coffee, Alex?â€ She began to pour a cup.

â€œNo, thanks. Iâ€™ve got to get over to the palace and interview the queen and princess. If you donâ€™t hear from me, Iâ€™m in the tower. Enjoy your gardening.

Sorry I canâ€™t stay and help.â€ I smiled winningly.

They both gave me knowing looks and I left.

The tale Mom and Aunt Mae had unfurled this morning reminded me of something I had read in schoolâ€”not in fact, but in style. Then I got it, that F.

Scott Fitzgerald story about Jay Gatsby, where the fel ow says, the rich are unlike the rest of us. It made me worry a little. Charlie Cohane wasnâ€™t rich. She

was financial y okay, but that wasnâ€™t rich. Had she gotten in over her head some way with one or more of her wealthy friends in the art world? Was she

trying to keep up with the Gulfstream set? Did she know something she shouldnâ€™t? Could Dan have been smuggling in art from abroad? Did the Tel mans

deal in fakes? Did Charlie somehow find out and threaten to report them? Or blackmail them? That was hard to believe, but a great reason for murder.

Was the note real y true, just strangely composed under terrible stress? Who could have hated the good-natured Charlie enough to kil her? Or was it

more than one person? Or was it real y Charlie herself, perhaps painful y il , and muddying the waters so her mother and El en wouldnâ€™t have to deal with

the shame of suicide as wel as death?

There were definitely two or more people involved in Zoeâ€™s disappearance. But that had no bearing on Charlie, had it? That was mostly a crime against

Reedâ€”who had a long list of non-admirers. The Bartles, the Tel mans, the Portmans, his own children and very possibly his wife. And, if you got right down

to it, the kidnappers. Surely they could have gotten it al together by now. Youâ€™d think a quarter of a mil ion would be a sufficient ransom. Who was stal ing

â€”Reed or the perps?

But now for the Tel mans. I turned into the drive of their imposing edifice and parked. As I walked toward the front door, I deeply hoped I wouldnâ€™t find

one sister standing over the bleeding body of the other with a smoking pistol, while Zoe Catlett stood nearby and said fervently, â€œAt last, darling, you can

be mine. Al mine.â€

Chapter 15

I was admitted to their home by both sisters, who seemed to come from different directions and arrive simultaneously at the door, laughing at their

synchronized appearance. It was a pleasant way to begin an interview. I introduced myself. They fol owed suit, insisting we use first names for simplicity,

and escorted me to a warm sunporch overlooking the marshes and tidal inlets and, farther out, the deep blue of the Atlantic Ocean. As we sat down, I

noticed a definite family resemblance between the two. Not enough to be blood sisters perhaps, but definitely there. Certainly both were attractive stil . I

placed them in their mid-fifties, but lithe, with young-looking complexions and smartly styled dark brown hair. And not a gray root in sight.

Mom was right. There was no Jeeves the butler in evidence, but a maid appeared in answer to a bel I neither heard nor saw anyone ring. Jan asked

for breakfast tea, Betsy opted for cocoa, and I fol owed her lead. It sounded refreshingly different from the gal ons of coffee I had been drinking lately and

would beâ€”I was wil ing to betâ€”wel made.

As we had walked through the house to the sunporch, it looked as if they were planning to move. Draperies were missing, light spots on wal s showed

where paintings had hung, furniture was out of place, and rugs were rol ed up against wal s. I wondered where they were going and why?

Betsy must have sensed my curiosity and explained, â€œWe were planning to get just about everything into storage and then paint and make some minor

repairs. After that, we intended to put the house and barn on the market. Now, with Charlie . . . gone . . . weâ€™re not sure exactly where we are.â€

â€œIâ€™m not sure I understand,â€ I replied. I wondered if they were running from something. Like maybe the cops.

â€œNom of course you donâ€™t.â€ Jan smiled. â€œBetsy, we have to go back a bit here.â€

She sipped her tea and turned back to me. â€œNew England winters are getting a bit much, especial y for me. We decided to sel the property, breaking it

up so the house and barn go together and the gal ery goes separately. I might add that the house was getting to be a bit much also.â€

When she paused, Betsy took up the explanation. â€œWeâ€™ve loved the Caribbean and especial y St. Lucie for years, and last winter while we were there

we bought a marvelous houseâ€”just the right size to have some company, but not muchâ€”and the master suite is on the ground floor. Oh, happy day.â€ They

looked at each other, and I could see they couldnâ€™t help grinning like two kids. They were obviously delighted with their future home.

â€œSo what is your problem?â€ I asked.

Betsy ticked off on her fingers. â€œFirst of al , we donâ€™t wish to appear uncaring of Charlieâ€™s memory. We loved her, too, and would prefer to put everything

on ice for a few months. But we canâ€™t. At this point, too many things are already in the works for us to cal a halt.â€

She held up the second finger. â€œThe gal ery is already sold. We are having our final gala reception there next week, hoping to move most of the

remaining inventory as our guests belt down the free champagne. Then we have to clear out of that building. We would postpone, but we canâ€™t. Too many

agreements made, al the invitations sent out, caterers hired from Boston, et cetera.â€

I nodded my understanding and sipped my cocoa. Superb. I was sure I had a mustache, didnâ€™t care and licked it off. â€œI think people wil understand.

El en Hal is a businesswoman herself. She knows you have to stick to certain schedules. And I imagine Mrs. Cohane is a reasonable lady. My mother is a

friend of hers, and Mom doesnâ€™t usual y go for the hysterical types. And who else matters, real y?â€ I shrugged. â€œEspecial y if youâ€™re leaving the country.â€

Jan chortled, â€œI like your style. The only other big problem is the house and barn. Charlie was going to oversee the repairs, the touching up, et cetera.

Now we have to find a handyman whoâ€™s capable and honest and wil simply do whatâ€™s needed without someone standing over him. Then painting

contractors wil come in, and who wil oversee them? We had planned to leave as soon as the gal ery was cleared. El en, of course, was going to handle

the sale of the house. Do you know her wel ? Do you think she wil stil wish to represent us? Sheâ€™s the best broker in town for high-end property.â€

I thought for a minute. â€œEl en is a friend, although I was always closer to Charlie. My lover Cindy actual y knows El en better. But, yes, I think so. Just

explain your situation. Iâ€™l talk to Cindy and ask her if she has any relevant thoughts. I know a handyman who might be suitable if the job is fairly

straightforward. Certainly he is honest. Iâ€™l ask him to cal you. His name is Harmon.â€

Both women uttered their thanks for my suggestions. â€œI have a question, just pure curiosity, do you figure your new owner wil actual y use that beautiful

old barn to stable horses, or turn it into a boutique? Or both?â€

Betsy laughed and put her hands out, palms up. â€œIn Ptown, who the hel knows? Thereâ€™s room for about six horses on the ground level, although none

are stabled there now. The top level is a very plain, spartan apartment and a studio with great northern lighting. It could be made quite luxurious, but Iâ€™m not

sure who would want to live on top of six horses.â€

We al laughed, and Betsy concluded, â€œSo I would imagine the new owner would convert it into two or three condos and make a mint, once they got a

hundred years of horse manure shoveled out of the bottom floor.â€ She got another laugh.

â€œIs it rented now?â€ I asked.

â€œNot exactly,â€ Jan explained. â€œEvery year we let a couple of young artists use it in exchange for doing some simple work around the propertyâ€”mowing

the lawn, keeping the parking lot clean, trimming the hedge, painting the fencesâ€”the sort of thing young men or women can handle fairly easily, without

trouble. And stil have time for their own artistic endeavors.â€

â€œHow generous.â€

â€œSometimes we luck out,â€ Jan said. â€œThis year we have two young men. One of them is quite talented. We should have wanted a show from him

someday soon, had we been here. We stil wil , in a way. We have an interest in a smal gal ery in Soho, as wel as some other arrangements in the works.

The other lad better stick to repairing fences, I think, although he does pleasant seascapes that sel wel .â€

At that point, the phone rang. Betsy reached around and picked it up.

â€œHel o. Yes, this is she. Oh, no.â€ There was a pause while she grimaced at Jan. I felt embarrassed to be listening, but couldnâ€™t real y think of what else to

do, and tried staring into space as if I were deaf.

Betsy went on. â€œWel , what about the Mercury? That, too, I see. There seems to be nothing we can do about it today. Weâ€™l expect them both tomorrow

mid-morning, then. Thank you for cal ing.â€

She replaced the receiver. â€œDamn, damn, damn! That was the garage. The man who delivers the auto parts from Hyannis had some sort of accident en

route this morning. The parts for the Lincoln and the Mercury, as wel as various other peopleâ€™s vehicles are spread somewhere al over Route Six. We wil

have neither car until tomorrow. Isnâ€™t that just great?â€

â€œSimply lovely,â€ Jan said. â€œEspecial y since we have an appointment with Choate El is in an hour, and I real y donâ€™t want to postpone it. I want some

answers today.â€

Betsy shrugged. â€œWe can always rattle up in our stylish truck.â€

â€œNo, we canâ€™t,â€ Jan replied rather testily. â€œI sent the boys off in it to do some errands. And it is not a truck, itâ€”â€

Betsy waved her hands airily. â€œWhatever. Weâ€™l just have to reschedule. Weâ€™l al manage to live.â€

â€œIâ€™l be glad to give you a lift into town. Itâ€™s the least I can do to repay you for the best hot chocolate Iâ€™ve had since I was eight. And Iâ€™m sure Choate El is

wil see that you get home. Most likely in grand style.â€

â€œIâ€™m sure youâ€™re right. And how generous of you. Letâ€™s have a refil . We have a little time to spare.â€

We had the second cup and spent the spare time with me asking the standard police questions I should have asked to start with.

Had they noticed any strangers lurking about? Did they or Charlie have any known enemies? Did anyone have a grudge against the gal ery itself . . .

perhaps a past employee or disgruntled customer? Did Charlie have money troubles they knew of? Had she been depressed? Did anyone owe them a

large sum of money? Had they noticed anything at al unusual recently?

One or both of the Tel man sisters answered no to every question.

Dropping the two of them off at the bank, I turned toward El en and Charlieâ€™s house. I real y had put this off too long, but God, how I dreaded it.

From the parking space, I could see through the window that El en was in the office attached to the house, so thatâ€™s where I went. She stood up as I

entered and we embraced silently, tears very near the surface for both of us.

Final y, I managed to get my voice under control. â€œHow are you doing, honey? Is there anything you need? Anything I can do?â€

She sighed. â€œNo. Sometimes I handle it pretty wel . Others, I donâ€™t. I guess Iâ€™l get better at it.â€

I looked around the office. â€œWhereâ€™s your secretary?â€

â€œOver at the town hal registering some deed changes and looking up some tax assessments. Life goes on. Why?â€

â€œWel , there are some things Sonny real y needs to know, but he thought it might be easier if you and I just talked.â€

â€œAbout Charlie. I honestly donâ€™t know if she was kil ed or if she . . . kil ed herself. I change my mind almost every hour. None of it makes any sense to

me. A year ago, I would have said suicide for Charlie was entirely out of the question. Now, Iâ€™m not so sure about it.â€

Her eyes teared up, but I pretended I didnâ€™t notice. â€œIn what way?â€

â€œItâ€™s been developing over the last year,â€ she said dreamily. â€œSometimes she was my sweet Charlie. Sometimes she seemed cold, and angry at the

world. And angry with me. It was al so stupid. Nothing needed to change. We had never thought much about money. Suddenlyâ€”for herâ€”it became

everything.â€

I wasnâ€™t fol owing her very wel , but said nothing, as she continued. â€œAs you know, my business has real y done wel of late. Yes, I spend a lot of time and

energy at it. No, Iâ€™m probably not the sweet, naÃ¯ve young girl Charlie fel in love with. But we arenâ€™t kids anymore, and things change.â€

Her expression was bleak and her voice had a bitter twang, and I wasnâ€™t sure what to make of it.

â€œAt first, Charlie was as happy as I was at our increased income. Then, oh, at least a year ago she began making little snide remarks. Cal ing me

Donel a Trump and Jil Gates. Asking me if I could spare five dol ars so she could buy a cup of coffee. My wardrobe expenses came under discussion.

Alex, Iâ€™m not beautiful, but I do try to make a good impression on clients. I go to the hairdresser every week, and I have nice-quality clothes.â€

I had to admit to myself that Charlieâ€”like meâ€”was not the greatest American model. With us, cleanliness was next to al that mattered. El en was stil

enumerating their problems, and I switched my attention back.

â€œShe real y blew when I bought the new station wagon, but hel , Alex, it was for the business. I have to cart prospective big spenders around, and it

makes a better impression to have a good-looking, comfortable car than an old milk cart. You can show a piece of prime property easier from a Chrysler

than a beat-up Kia.â€

I offered her a cigarette, which she accepted. I lit hers and mine and asked, â€œDidnâ€™t she do pretty wel financial y at Tel manâ€™s? I know they thought highly

of her. Didnâ€™t they pay her wel ?â€

â€œVery wel , plus al sorts of commissions and perks, and Iâ€™l tel you how much they valued her. You know how a business wil take out a life insurance

policy on a partner or an important employee to make up for how much they feel that employeeâ€™s death would cost the company in lost revenue and good

wil ?â€ I nodded. â€œThey have one for a hundred thousand on Charlie.â€

â€œGood grief. You donâ€™t suppose they kil ed her?â€ I blurted. â€œOr had her kil ed, I guess?â€

El en actual y laughed. â€œNo way. Theyâ€™d have kil ed the Easter Bunny first. No. You can forget them.â€

She became serious again. â€œAlex, I have thought about this to distraction. I think Charlie had some sort of nervous breakdown. We never used to argue

about money. If I had more available, wel , I paid for some of our vacations, some household improvements. You know how it is. The bil s get paid. Thatâ€™s

al that real y matters. I thought everything was for us. Charlie began to act as if we were no longer us, but you and me. We were definitely drifting apart. I

donâ€™t know if it was just a bad patch in our lives togetherâ€”you know, they do happen from time to time in any relationshipâ€”or the beginning of the end.â€

She picked up a pen and began to doodle on an envelope. I waited. â€œLast winter we went out to Aspen for a week. I paid for the business-class airline

tickets and hotelâ€”a good one. We had both been working hard. I thought we deserved a little luxurious coddling. It was my . . . my pleasure to be able to

do it for us, Alex. You do understand, donâ€™t you?â€

She looked actual y in pain. â€œOf course I understand, El en. Last summer I had the deck redone on Aunt Maeâ€™s cottage that Cindy and I use. I got a real

kick out of watching their faces light up when they saw it. Little thing or big, itâ€™s fun to do something nice for someone you love.â€

â€œExactly.â€ She nodded emphatical y. â€œOn the flight Charlie kept urging me to have more wine, more canapÃ©s, more coffee. She kept saying loudly that

as Iâ€™d paid for it, I might as wel enjoy it. By then I wasnâ€™t enjoying any of it. Later, at the hotel, Charlie went into this act of ordering the cheapest dish on the

menu. Then, she tipped the room service waiter about five percent and complained every day about the cost of using the ski lift. It was awful.â€

She took a deep breath and went on. â€œThen this spring we went to Ireland. Charlie insisted we split the cost down the middle, and she made al the

travel arrangements. It was a horror. Flying is bad enough nowadays, even if you can afford to upgrade, and at this point in life, thank God we can. But we

didnâ€™t. We flew tourist, and I can tel you, it was grim from start to finish. Stale peanuts and al . Once there, we stayed in third-rate B and Bs. In one place,

we had to share a bathroom with two other people. Instead of renting a car, we took tour buses. Ireland is supposed to be lovely, but unfortunately, al I

remember is an upset stomach, uncomfortable seats, lumpy beds and rusty pipes. And every bit of it unnecessary.â€

I couldnâ€™t believe what I was hearing. This was like some hysterical woman in a bad movie. It sure wasnâ€™t the Charlie I had known so wel . But El en

wasnâ€™t finished with her saga.

â€œAfter a year of riding me about being Ms. Mil ionaire, while she never spent a penny on herself, a few weeks ago she suddenly went completely the

other way. She bought herself a whole new wardrobe, and I must say she looked great. Then one night she came home in a new car . . . just whirled up the

driveway in a new Accord and cal ed to me, how did I like the color.â€

â€œWowee. Had she hit the lottery or something?â€

â€œNot that I know of. But she was very up. Almost manic. I asked her why she had suddenly bought such expensive wheels. She laughed and said almost

exactly what I had said about my new station wagon: when you are in business you need to have a decent car and clothing.â€

â€œWas she going into some business or had she invested in one?â€ I asked.

El en spread her hands helplessly. â€œYou tel me. She wouldnâ€™t. She just kept saying everything was great and that we would soon be on an even keel.

Whatever that meant, and I would be proud of her.â€

I moved on to another subject. â€œYou read her note, of course.â€

â€œMany times.â€ El en stubbed her cigarette out and stared at it for a moment. â€œI canâ€™t start those again. Yes, I have put every possible interpretation on it

from murder to suicide to an accident to a bad joke that somehow went terribly wrong. Obviously, it was completely unlike Charlie. She never spoke like

that, and I never saw her write a letter like that. Bad Victorian prose wasnâ€™t her cup of tea. And there was nothing wobbly about her grammar. Oh, hel , Alex,

give me a cigarette.â€

I complied and El en continued. â€œI assumed, however, that very few murderers would write like that, either, unless she was kil ed by a half-educated

ghost left over from eighteen-fifty. I final y decided that she wrote it, and it real y was suicide, although it nearly kil ed me to admit to myself she preferred

death to being with me. Her mother isnâ€™t doing very wel around that aspect, either.â€ Her voice broke.

â€œEl en, sweetie, you know thatâ€™s not it. She short-circuited somewhere. I know how much she loved you. She told me often enough. I just wish I could

have helped. But I never even knew anything was wrong. She never said a word to me about money. Nor about cars or trips or new clothes. I hadnâ€™t seen

her in several weeks. The summer was such a nutty mix-up. I feel terrible about that. Maybe she had trouble with your success, thought it might lessen her

in your eyes or something. Maybe if she had just talked to someone, she wouldnâ€™t have done this. Could she have developed some serious medical

problems?â€

El en simply shrugged. â€œI have no idea, Alex. At this point,â€ she added sourly, â€œI wouldnâ€™t bet on anything. Donâ€™t talk yourself into a guilt complex over this.

If she had wanted to talk to you, she certainly knew where to find you. And Iâ€™m sure she knew you would always find time to meet with her.â€

Startled at her hostility, I changed the subject, braced myself for an explosion and asked, â€œDo you think she could have been having an affair?â€

El en shook her head and smiled wryly. â€œQuite possibly. Look, Alex, we were together nearly fifteen years. Iâ€™m pretty sure Charlie had a couple of brief

flings. Maybe she was having one now, though I canâ€™t prove it. And I have to admit my trips to realtorsâ€™ conventions were not always celibate.â€

Iâ€™m sure my mouth was open in surprise. â€œBut, El en, I thought you guys were rock solid.â€

â€œSo did I, Alex. I figured as long as we were both discreet, and as long as they were just little detours down our path together, what the hel ? And that

could stil be true. Or maybe there was someone else who had become my replacement. Maybe not. But to get back to your most important question, I

think that whole note was designed to be so unlike her that we would al think it was written by her kil er. So we wouldnâ€™t think suicide. So her family and I

would be spared that, at least. But, honestly? I think she kil ed herself.â€

And that about said it. I invited her to lunch and got the turndown I expected.

Chapter 16

So I treated myself.

The Wharf Rat Bar felt like a safe, cozy cocoon after my late-morning conversation. A few people at the bar, a few more at the tables, and mostly

familiar faces. The weekday tourists were definitely thinning with every degree the thermometer dropped.

The large round front table was once again populated with some part-time fishermen who gathered most off-season days to bemoan the paucity of

fish, the government quotas on the fish there were, the infringement of foreign fishermen on sacred fishing grounds, and the cost of fuel to get to the

fishing grounds in the first place. Joe the bartender had dubbed them the Blues Brothers, and the name had stuck.

Harmon was one of the group, and interrupted the cantata to ask me, â€œHey, Alex, how you guys doinâ€™ on Charlie Cohaneâ€™s murder?â€

â€œActual y, Harmon, we donâ€™t know yet that it is murder. Our information is stil pretty thin. Thereâ€™s no conclusive answer yet.â€ I was damned if I was going

to broadcast what little we did know to the entire Blues Brothers contingent.

â€œToo bad, whichever it was.â€ He shook his head. â€œCharlie was a good â€™un. Wel , Iâ€™m stil lookinâ€™ for that van. I reckon theyâ€™re layinâ€™ low now that lots of

people have left town. You know when Iâ€™l find â€™em? The first cold, rainy day. Everybody wil be decked out in raincoats and hoods, and itâ€™s hard to tel

people apart, thatâ€™s when theyâ€™l be out and trading.â€

It took me a minute to remember that Harmon was referring to drug trades as usual, real or imagined. But I found his point about raincoats interesting. I

had never thought of it. It made a strange kind of sense.

â€œGood thinking, Harmon. That rainy day idea real y has merit.â€

He gave me a knowing nod. â€œThereâ€™s more things than philosophizers dream up, Alex.â€

Harmon quotingâ€”in his own styleâ€”Hamlet! Maybe I should have ordered a straight shot. The world was definitely askew. Actual y, I ordered a pastrami

with fries and half a sour pickle. I needed comfort food. Real y, it was quite healthy: meat, grain, veggie and green. I felt rather pure.

Joe asked me if anything was new in the Zoe Catlett situation, and it pained me to answer in the negative. I certainly wasnâ€™t being of much help to

Sonny. And, more importantly, to Zoe.

â€œI hope they find the girl soon,â€ Joe mused. â€œReed ainâ€™t going to stand up forever under that kind of strain. I went most al the way through school with

him. He was the brainiest kid in the class, but he wasnâ€™t wired al that tight. And he sure didnâ€™t like to be crossed.â€

â€œReal y.â€ I was more interested in my lunch than Reed at the moment.

â€œYeah.â€ Joe gave the area an unthinking swipe with his bar towel. â€œI remember. A girl in our class turned him down for the prom or some other dance,

and she said it pretty loud, so several of us heard it and started laughing at him. You know kids. They love anybody elseâ€™s embarrassment. Wel , Reed, he

upped and slapped the girlâ€”hard! Right there in front of everybody.â€

â€œMy God. Talk about overreacting.â€

â€œYep. If you were smart, you didnâ€™t cross Reed â€™less you were bigger than him. But then he could turn around and be real y nice. One time when we were

in high school, when classes let out, the ice cream truck was in the parking lot. A bunch of us had al lined up to get something, and I noticed this little girl

about ten or so from the grammar school across the way, standing off to the side and looking real sad at al of us having a treat. Next thing you know,

thereâ€™s Reed, handing her a cone heâ€™d bought for her. I remember he even took her books and walked along with her, so she could handle the cone

easier.â€

â€œHow nice,â€ I mumbled through a bite of sandwich. Why were loud bel s going off in my head? Older boys could be nice to young girls. Some of Sonnyâ€™s

friends had been generous with me, especial y after our father died. I just had a dirty mind.

Then I had another thought. Why had Marie Catlett agreed to have Zoe come live with her and her lover? Marie was retired. She had final y realized she

was a lesbian and apparently met a woman to share her life. It was a time of life when she and her lover deserved quiet happiness. Maybe some travel,

theater, gardening, the beach, whatever they wanted. And why would they want a rather difficult seventeen-year-old girl? Unless she felt the girl badly

needed her.

Surely, Merrilou would have calmed down about Zoe being gay. Zoe wouldnâ€™t have the stress of changing schools in her senior year. She and Dana

would have frequent weekends, if that relationship held up. It looked as if Larry Bartles might even be a backroom al y in keeping Merrilou from too many

efforts to get Zoe into the Baptist equivalent of a nunnery.

At least Merrilou was up front in her feelings about Zoeâ€™s lifestyle and friends. Reed seemed to be going in circles, with Zoe alternately his sweet baby

girl and his cross to bear. And he didnâ€™t seem particularly close with either of his sons. Maybe he was just one of those people who find affection hard to

express.

It came to me with a bite of french friesâ€”so many bril iant thoughts did. If anyone real y knew the Catlett family, it would be Mrs. Hengel, their long-time

housekeeper and nanny. Recently termed redundant by the new Mrs. Catlett, she should be happy to disgorge any family secrets.

â€œSay, Joe, do you have a phone book handy?â€

He reached under the bar and plopped one onto the countertop near me. â€œIt may be last yearâ€™s.â€

â€œI donâ€™t think that wil matter,â€ I said. â€œThanks.â€

As I absently straightened some half-torn pages in the book, I remembered another family I hadnâ€™t fol owed up onâ€”Harry Maddockâ€™s. I hoped Mrs.

Maddock might possibly know something about Zoe, her family or her relationship with Harry that would be of help. It wasnâ€™t very likely, but I looked up their

number. There was only one Maddock, and I jotted their address and number in my little green book.

I found three listings under Hengel: Martin Hengel, Martin Hengel, Jr. and D. Hengel. My bet was on the last one. Lots of women used an initial rather

than a feminine name, which I thought advertised, rather than concealed the fact that they were women living alone.

The Maddock house was closest, so I started there. The doorbel was promptly answered by an attractive woman I placed in her early forties. She was

wearing jeans and T-shirt, plus an oven mitt on her right hand.

â€œMrs. Maddock?â€

â€œYes, may I help you?â€

I explained who I was and why I hoped she might be of assistance.

â€œI doubt I know anything of interest to you, but come on in . . . in the kitchen if you donâ€™t mind. Iâ€™ve got cookies in the oven.â€

That explained the mitt. And the fragrance from the kitchen made me hungry al over again. As we walked through the living room and a smal dining

area, I noticed that the furniture was not expensive, but was clean and in good taste. On the wal were pictures that were obviously prints of famous

paintings, but they were attractive and tasteful. Evidently, Mrs. Maddock made the best of what must be a rather limited income.

She offered iced tea, poured it and then removed a large sheet of Tol house cookies from the stove. She seemed to keep turning her back to me, and I

noticed her dabbing her eyes once or twice. Had she been crying? I hoped Harry hadnâ€™t joined the missing. Iâ€™d try to find out.

â€œDoes Harry happen to be around?â€

â€œNo, heâ€™s working this summer at the Happy Hot Dog, and his shift ends around four. Then he usual y hangs out at Mickeyâ€™s til around dinnertime.

Unless his father has chores lined up for him, and even then . . .â€ she trailed off with a grin. I guessed I had been wrong. Probably the heat from the oven

bothered her eyes.

â€œWe can try the cookies in a minute or so,â€ she said with a smile. Had I looked that eager?

While we sat at the kitchen table and waited, I asked, â€œMrs. Maddock, did Zoe by any chance spend the night here recently?â€

â€œPlease,â€ she said. â€œMy name is Karen. When someone says Mrs. Maddock, I think of my mother-in-law, and I try to do that as seldom as possible.â€

I laughed. â€œOkay, and Iâ€™m Alex.â€ I repeated my question.

â€œNo,â€ she answered slowly. â€œI can only think of one time she stayed over. One of those fast ice storms came up last winter while she was here doing

homework with Harry. We didnâ€™t want her to drive in it, so she stayed in the guest room. I cal ed her father, of course, to tel him where she was.â€

She placed two cookies on a smal plate and set it in front of me. â€œI see. Does she come by often, just to visit?â€

Karen shook her head. â€œNot al that often. Once in a while, they do homework together. Sometimes she gives him a ride somewhere. My husband Mark

is quite strict about letting him use the car. Says if a bike was good enough for him, itâ€™s good enough for Harry until he can buy his own car. Actual y, I think

Mark would be happier if Harry had more male friends, rather than being quite close with Zoe and Dana Portman. I think he feels male bonding is more

important than being friends with two nice girls. I tel him it wil al balance out, but I think Mark stil regards it as a bit sissy. Although when you see Harry on

the ice, sissy definitely does not come to mind.â€ She gave a barely visible, tight little smile.

â€œThese cookies are to die for,â€ I said with a mouthful. â€œBut Harry and Zoe are good friends?â€

â€œOh, yes, I would say so. I donâ€™t think itâ€™s a sweetheart thing, but friends, yes. They talk about going to col ege together, but with Harry wanting to be the

new Bobby Orr, and Zoe planning to be another Katharine Hepburn, and Dana al set for Yale, that seems a bit remote.â€

We both laughed. Then Karen frowned. â€œIf we can get Harry to col ege at al . It costs so much nowadays, weâ€™re going to need a dozen student loans and

an athletic scholarship to boot. I just hope his grades are good enough. His father doesnâ€™t encourage him. Mark doesnâ€™t feel col ege is al that important. I

do. I think itâ€™s usual y the difference between a career and a job.â€

I agreed it was a problem these days and then asked, â€œHas Harry seemed upset or worried lately?â€

â€œAs I think of it, he has been edgy of late. Natural y, anyone would be with a friend missing. I wonder why he didnâ€™t tel us? We had no idea.â€

I finished the second cookie and covered for Harry with a quibble. â€œI imagine he was asked by her father to keep it quiet. I think Reed feels itâ€™s safer for

Zoe, the fewer people who know. The police think just the opposite: the more people who are aware, the more likely someone wil see or hear something.

But Reed Catlett is quite adamant on the privacy issue.â€

â€œThatâ€™s too bad. Iâ€™d be shouting it from the treetops if it were my child, asking help from the entire town. So, Iâ€™m afraid Iâ€™ve not helped you. I hope it al

works out wel for her. Sheâ€™s a nice girl. Even my husband is fond of her, and heâ€™s not big on teenagers in general.â€

â€œKaren, I donâ€™t usual y toss this kind of information around. I donâ€™t think itâ€™s up to me to do so, but we real y are desperate for any kind of lead in this

case. Did you know Zoe is a lesbian?â€

She turned pure white. â€œMy God, no. Donâ€™t ever tel that to Mark.â€

â€œWhy not?â€ I was startled at her overreaction.

â€œOh, Iâ€™m making too much of it.â€ She waved her hand as if erasing a blackboard. â€œItâ€™s just that he doesnâ€™t especial y like gays.â€

And there were the incipient tears again. What the hel was going on here?

â€œHe picked a damn strange town to live in.â€

She shrugged. â€œHe was born here. Itâ€™s nothing real y. He just had a bad experience in school.â€ She stopped.

I wasnâ€™t about to leave it there. â€œWhat do you mean by â€˜badâ€™?â€

She sighed. â€œWhen Mark was in his teens, he was slender, with big blue eyes and blond curly hair.â€ She rol ed her own eyes. â€œI thought he was

gorgeous. So did some of the gay boys, and one or two of them came on to him. Nothing serious, and certainly not violent, but some of his own friends,

who knew he wasnâ€™t gay, teased him about it. I guess it just sort of soured him on gays. You know, kids can be sensitive about that sort of thing. Actual y, I

donâ€™t know why he stil lets it bother him.â€

I had a pretty good idea, but I wasnâ€™t about to delve into Markâ€™s psychological pottage. â€œI see. And you donâ€™t know anyone else who might have some

hard feelings about Zoe?â€

â€œNo.â€ Karen smiled. â€œZoe would be hard to dislike. Sheâ€™s bright, funny, nice . . . and her sexual orientation is her own business as far as Iâ€™m concerned.â€

â€œThank you for talking with me and for the great cookies.â€

â€œSorry I wasnâ€™t of more help. May I tel Harry you were here?â€

â€œOh, sure. And remind him if heâ€™s thought of anything or heard anything, be sure to let us know.â€

I thanked her again for the cookies, assuming it would be impolite to ask her to sel me the batch.

Moving right along, I reached the Hengel residence.

The doorbel played a couple of bars from â€œHome, Sweet Home,â€ and the last few notes were accompanied by the heavy tread of someone

approaching the door. It opened to reveal a corpulent woman with thinning white hair and stil -bright blue eyes that looked at me warily.

â€œYes?â€

â€œGood afternoon Ms. Hengel. Iâ€™m Alex Peres, and Iâ€”â€

â€œYou must be Jeanneâ€™s girl. You look just like her.â€ Now a smile played tentatively around the corners of her mouth.

â€œYes, I am, and thanks for the compliment.â€

â€œCome on in.â€ She got that wary look again. â€œYou arenâ€™t sel ing anything, are you?â€

â€œNope. Not since I quit peddling Girl Scout cookies. Youâ€™re safe.â€ I grinned.

We went into a bright living room with chintz-covered, over-stuffed furniture and blond wood tables, probably avant-garde in 1950. Mrs. Hengel pointed

me to a seat on the couch, into which I sank, and from which I doubted I would ever rise. She settled herself in a less enveloping chair across from me,

wiggling into a comfortable position rather like a dog settling tail-first into his bed.

â€œMrs. Hengel, Iâ€™m a deputy police officer. I donâ€™t know if youâ€™ve heard, but Zoe Catlett has gone missing, andâ€”â€

â€œYes.â€ Her face had lost its cheery look. â€œRob came and told me. Didnâ€™t want me to hear it as gossip and be shocked. My heart, you know. Heâ€™s such a

sweet boy. Donâ€™t tel me youâ€™ve got bad news.â€ She raised her right hand to her left breast in what I thought was a gesture of long habit, designed to warn

bearers of bad news to tread gently around her sensitive heart.

â€œNot at al ,â€ I assured her quickly. â€œThatâ€™s part of the problem. We donâ€™t have much news at al .â€ I quibbled a bit as I went on. â€œMy brother, Lieutenant

Peres, thought that you might have some background information on the family that would be helpful. I know Marie slightly, but otherwise we donâ€™t real y

know any of them. Sonny would have come himself, of course, but he felt that perhaps it would be easier for you to talk to another woman, rather than a

policeman marching up to your door in a uniform.â€ Not that Sonny often wore a uniform, but it sounded good.

â€œNow isnâ€™t that thoughtful.â€ She preened a bit, feeling special. â€œI donâ€™t know what I can tel you. The three childrenâ€”they al have their motherâ€™s

temperament, thank God. Frances was one of the kindest, nicest people you could ever meet. Now Reed, he was a cold, withdrawn man most of the time.

Oh, once in a while heâ€™d warm up, but mostly he just seemed to live for his work.â€

She closed her mouth firmly and leaned back in her chair as if sheâ€™d provided al the news she intended to.

â€œAm I right that you worked for the Catlett family part-time until Frances died and then, ful -time?â€

â€œYes. Marie convinced me to. She had stayed with them quite a while after Frances died, but she wanted to get back to her own home, natural y. We al

felt the children needed someone to be there for them. I mean, other than the day help, fine though they were,â€ she added.

Mrs. Hengel frowned and continued. â€œGod knows Reed was no help. Heâ€™d either cal home in the late afternoon and say he was staying late at the

office, or come home from work, have his dinner, go into his home office and work some more there for most of the evening. Weekends, he was always

off on some social affair.â€

She shook her head and looked bemused. â€œI hardly saw him or talked to him. He even put my check on the kitchen table when I wasnâ€™t around. I actual y

had the feeling he disliked my being in his house, and Iâ€™ve no idea why. My quarters were up on the third floor, so I certainly was no bother to him when I

wasnâ€™t working.â€

Simply because, like Everest, you were there, my dear. What would you have found downstairs if you got the midnight munchies and went to the

kitchen, or thought you smel ed smoke and went to check? Would you have found a lady of the evening tiptoeing out? Or maybe his best friendâ€™s wife?

I trol ed a bit. â€œDid you ever see any signs that he abused Frances physical y? How about the kids . . . physical y, sexual y?â€

She shook her head. â€œDepends on what you cal abuse. I never saw any marks or anything on Frances, and she wasnâ€™t afraid of him. And the kids only

had the normal kind of cuts and bruises that al kids get. I certainly saw nothing that made me think he molested them. Frances would have figured that

out, and wouldnâ€™t have stood stil for one minute. Now if you mean was he sarcastic and enjoyed being critical, thatâ€™s another bal of wax.â€

â€œFrances died in a car accident, didnâ€™t she?â€ I asked.

â€œThat was what the police report said,â€ she answered shortly.

â€œYou mean there was some doubt?â€

â€œIt was in the car wreck, al right, but Iâ€™ve never been al that sure it was an accident. I think that car was tampered with.â€

My eyebrows arched. â€œBy whom?â€

â€œIâ€™d rather not say,â€ she answered primly.

â€œMrs. Hengel,â€ I reminded her gently, â€œyou have just accused someone of murder. You canâ€™t just shrug that off like you donâ€™t want to gossip about a

neighbor who doesnâ€™t starch her pil owcases.â€

â€œAl right.â€ She sat up straight and looked me in the eye. â€œIâ€™ve always thought it was Reed. So there.â€

â€œWhy?â€

â€œAlex.â€ She cocked her head at me. â€œYou keep reaching for your pocket. For heavenâ€™s sake, smoke. Thereâ€™s an ashtray right in front of you.â€

Guilty, but relieved, I lit a cigarette. â€œGo ahead.â€ I gestured. â€œWhy would Reed have kil ed Frances?â€

â€œBecause he couldnâ€™t keep his zipper up.â€ She snapped the words out in a heartbeat.

She looked embarrassed, and I smothered a grin. â€œSo Reed was a womanizer,â€ I said. â€œWas Frances aware of it?â€

She nodded and continued. â€œAfter a while. You know, the wife is always the last to know. Some friend final y told her he had al but raped Margo

Portman one night at a neighborhood party, when Dan Portman was out of town and Frances had taken the kids down to their place in Pennsylvania for a

weekend. It was one of the few times I ever heard Frances raise her voice. I could hear them quarreling al the way from their bedroom up to mine.â€

â€œWhat was the result of her confrontation?â€ I asked.

She twisted her mouth with disgust. â€œOh, typical man. He swore it was because somebody spiked his drinks and Margo came on to him, and he

promised it would never happen again. I guess he was goodâ€”or at least carefulâ€”for a time. Of course, it final y started up again. Then Frances made her

mistake.â€

â€œWhat do you mean?â€ I leaned forward.

â€œI was upstairs in my quarters and I heard them start talking loud again. I could tel from the tone that they were arguing, though I couldnâ€™t understand the

words over the sound on my TV. I real y didnâ€™t want to hear, but soon they got even louder. Just plain yel ing, and one of themâ€”Iâ€™m sure it was Reedâ€”threw

something that broke. Iâ€™m not sure if he was aiming for Frances or not, but I guess he missed.â€

Mrs. Hengel pul ed a tissue from her skirt pocket and blew her nose vigorously.

Her voice was shaky as she continued. â€œFinal y, I heard Frances say sheâ€™d had al she could take. She was going see her lawyer the next day. Then she

was moving with the kids to their country place and he would never see them again. Oh, and she was going to take his last penny with her.â€

I lit another cigarette, number six for the day, I thought, and mental y said naughty Alex.

Aloud I said, â€œThose were pretty strong words for her to use, even under the circumstances.â€

She tucked the tissue away and steadied her voice. â€œWel , yes, for Frances that was like somebody else using every swear word you can imagine. But

she was just beside herself, Iâ€™m sure. I knew her from a child. I worked sometimes for her mother when I was a girl. Frances would never have denied him

seeing his kids, and she would never have gouged him for money. She was just hurting and raving on a little bit. We al do that sometimes.â€

â€œYes, we do.â€ I nodded. â€œBut Reed must have believed her.â€

â€œI guess he did. I canâ€™t prove it, of course, but Iâ€™d bet my last penny he went out in the middle of the night and did something to that van.â€

â€œHow did the wreck occur? And where?â€ Surely not a fatality on Provincetownâ€™s clogged, narrow streets.

â€œThe day after the fight, Frances was on the way to her lawyerâ€™s up in Orleans. In fact, she had asked me to pick up Marvin at school in case she didnâ€™t

get back in time.â€ She sniffed, and the soggy tissue reappeared.

â€œDown just this side of the traffic circle she supposedly lost control of the van and hit a tree. Frances was a good driver. She could handle a vehicle in

any weather on any kind of road. The cops said she was going wel over sixty. Maybe so, but she didnâ€™t lose control of it in broad daylight on a dry road.

By the time they got her to the hospital, she was gone.â€

Mrs. Hengel gulped and continued her sad tale. â€œThe Eastham Police cal ed the house, looking for Reed. Al they would tel me was that thereâ€™d been

an accident. I gave them his office number. He went to the hospital, I guess. I was never sure. I picked up Marvin. Soon the other kids came home. I had to

tel them thereâ€™d been an accident. They could tel from me and the maid and the cook. We were al worried sick. It got later and later. Final y, Reed

crawled in, about half in the bag, red-eyed and weepy. Right in front of the children he asked me, â€˜Did you tel the kids their mother got kil ed?â€™ I damn near

kil ed him.â€

I shook my head, speechless. Al I could visualize was an accident happening to Mom when Sonny and I were children, Aunt Mae there and trying to

keep us calm, and our father coming in drunk and asking, â€œMae, did you tel the kids Jeanne is dead?â€ It would have been the perfect scenario.

I pul ed myself back to reality and asked, â€œThe police found nothing suspicious in the crash? Did you tel them about their fight?â€

â€œI told them. They said they would check the van again. They found nothingâ€”if they looked. They just said she was going too fast for the road.â€

Mrs. Hengel looked pale and spent.

I felt bad at bringing al this up again. The woman had obviously suffered, both for herself and for the children.

â€œJust a couple more questions and Iâ€™l move along. I know this is tiring. You stayed on several years after the, uh, accident?â€

â€œYes, I couldnâ€™t leave the children. Marie came up often to see them, but they needed someone ful -time. But I tel you frankly, while Iâ€™m not in love with

that made-up southern bel e of Reedâ€™s, Iâ€™m not sorry she gave me the pink slip, either. It was hard, being polite around her and Reed, and I donâ€™t suppose

she likes me any better than I like her. Iâ€™m getting older and so are the kids, and theyâ€™l al just have to get along and live their lives as best they can.

Frances ainâ€™t coming back, and Reed ainâ€™t going to change, and the kids ainâ€™t gonna bow and curtsy to their step mama. Miss Bel e oâ€™ the Bal hasnâ€™t

figured al that out yet.â€

â€œI understand. Any ideas about this kidnapping?â€

She pursed her lips and gave her head a curt shake. â€œNope. But I imagine the bel e may be right about it being a trick. Reed was getting cheaper by

the day. Spending al his money on the bel e, I reckon. And while he may put on a good face, I can tel you heâ€™s not thril ed at Zoe announcing sheâ€™s gay.

Heâ€™s got a lot of clients who may think it reflects on him. Zoe may figure itâ€™s a way to get some money and get back at him and just get out. I can tel you,

those two boys wonâ€™t be there one day longer than they have to be.â€

â€œYou think heâ€™l pay the ransom? He seems to be stal ing.â€

â€œEventual y. You see, he also has quite a few gay clients he wonâ€™t want to look bad in front of, either.â€ She laughed. â€œYouâ€™ve heard about that rock and the

hard place? Heâ€™s right there betwixt and between and it serves him right.â€ She stood.

So did I, after a struggle. I thanked her and took my leave.

Chapter 17

I drove home in some sort of fog. I couldnâ€™t get over El en saying she and Charlie accepted casual affairs as normal after being together a number of

years. Charlie had been my close friend, yet she had never said a word to me about that aspect of her life. Did she think I would repeat it? No, she knew

me better than that. Did she think I was that stiff-necked? God knows I had had enough affairs earlier in my own life. I just managed to have them pretty

much one at a time. Did she think I would have been judgmental? Would I have been? Possibly, I had to admit. I know El enâ€™s comments had not set wel

with me.

And al this jazz about money problems. Why would Charlie make them up where they didnâ€™t exist? El en was teetering on what people euphemistical y

cal ed â€œquite comfortable.â€ Spel ed r-i-c-h. Charlie apparently made good money at Tel manâ€™s, and Iâ€™m sure she kicked in al she could reasonably be

expected to. So if El en liked a little lace on the curtains, she was apparently happy to pay for it. What made Charlie so unhappy about that? I knew Charlie

would never freeload, and I was virtual y certain El en wouldnâ€™t be bitchy about a few extra bucks spent in their mutual behalf. I couldnâ€™t think of any couples

I knewâ€”gay or straightâ€”where each person made the exact same money as the other.

Cindy made more than I did. It had caused no problems about that for us, as far as I knew. And I thought I would. Cindy had teased me in the beginning

that I brought some pre-Cindy assets to the relationshipâ€”already owning a house with a low mortgage rate, and the very reasonable rent Aunt Mae

charged for the cottage we used as a sort of local getaway. Cindy had been gung ho on getting me set up with a SEP plan for retirement, and watched

over it like a hawk. We both contributed to a household account. I donâ€™t know. I wasnâ€™t al that involved with our money, but things seemed fine. As El en

had phrased it, â€œthe bil s got paid.â€ We were putting some away for our dotage. Once in a while we took a weekend in Boston or Maine. And we were

thinking of a longer vacation next spring.

Should I inquire regarding our mutual finances? I thought for a minute. Not on your life.

I shut the door on money and moved on to Zoeâ€™s situation. Which of course was also about money. I knew that Sonny had advised Reed, as I had, to tel

the kidnappers that two hundred thousand dol ars was the absolute maximum amount of cash he could raise. They, in turn, were sure to knock at least

some amount off the mil ion. Then it became simply a bargaining session.

Say they al final y agreed on four hundred thousand. I knew Choate El is could have that in Reedâ€™s hands in an hour. At least some of it would be

marked bil s, and I would bet the sum would also include some doctored bearer bonds that could be easily tracked as wel .

Then al that remained would be to set up a meeting time and point of exchange. If the kidnappers felt it too dangerous to bring Zoe along to the

exchange, they could tel Reed when and possibly the general area where she would be released. Simple. Zoe is loose, and quite possibly the perps are

not.

The only problem was, at this point, nobody knew when Reed was speaking to the kidnappers, or what he said to them. If he were speaking to them at

al . Once the prepaid cel phones had got into the act, the cal s were pretty untraceable. I found myself fearful that Reed had stal ed so stubbornly for so

long that the captors had by now simply kil ed Zoeâ€”or worse, left her tied up someplace remote, where she would starve before she was foundâ€”and

disappeared in disgust.

I pul ed in the driveway and was not thril ed to see Harmon perched on the back steps. I was tired, mental y and physical y. It seemed months since I had

accomplished anything even vaguely productive. And I real y just wanted to sit quietly and think. Or maybe just sulk. I did not feel up to hearing chapter

three thousand and six of Harmonâ€™s personal encyclopedia of Ptown drug trades.

â€œHiya, Harmon. Iâ€™l be right with you. Just let me get the animals out. Want a beer? You look hot.â€

â€œSounds good,â€ he answered and then explained, â€œI was in the sun, picking your ripe tomatoes and peppers before the squirrels got at â€™em. I know you

been busy with other things. I put them on the shelf in the garage.â€ I thanked him, told him to be sure and take some later for himself and went in the house.

Fargo, Wel s and I exchanged happy greetings before they remembered they were mad at me for leaving them al day. Then they went out and turned

their attentions to Harmon, to let me know I was an unimportant blip on their busy radar.

I got Harmonâ€™s beer out of the fridge and concocted what I deemed a wel -deserved bourbon Old Fashioned for myself. Back outside I handed Harmon

a paper bag to hold his produce later, motioned him around the side of the house to the tables and chairs, and made a fuss over the fur bal s, who had

once again decided to love me.

â€œWhatâ€™s up?â€ I asked.

â€œSonnyâ€™s in court, trying to get those home invasion kids who pistol-whipped that couple tried as adults.â€

â€œYeah? I hope he succeeds. They may be young in years, but theyâ€™re aged in meanness. Now, what else is on your agenda?â€

â€œI stopped by his office a while ago. I got two important leads to give him in the Zoe case, and he ainâ€™t there. But now youâ€™re here.â€

â€œSo I am.â€ I laughed and sipped my drink. Already things looked better. â€œOkay, go ahead, what news have you got? We could use something juicy at this

point. Clues have about dried up.â€

â€œThis may be the most important,â€ he stated firmly. â€œI saw them two women that was dealing drugs with that guy in the blue SUV out on the wharf a while

back.â€ He halted and sat back, as if he had completed some important news bul etin. Film at eleven, I supposed.

Final y the penny dropped. â€œOh, you mean the women in the van.â€

â€œThatâ€™s right.â€ His face grew dramatical y solemn. â€œYou see, I repaired Ms. Hatcherâ€™s driveway gates right after lunch. Then I stopped by the bank to

cash her check. Much as I hate to say it, as I went in, they was walking across the main floor with none other than Choate El is. El is, with al them fancy

security guards watching everybody else, walkinâ€™ with drug dealers and patting one of them on the arm and tel ing her he was glad they had managed to

account for most of their money. Choate El is of al the stuck-up people. I couldnâ€™t hardly believe it. I almost turned around and said something right then

and there, but I didnâ€™t want to put them on the alert so they might disappear before Sonny could get to them.â€

I managed not to laugh. I could just see the expression on Choate El isâ€™s face if Harmon had accused him of drug dealing in the lobby of his own bank.

â€œGood thinking. What did the women look like?â€ I asked the question not from any real interest, but Harmon did try so hard to corral drug dealers, I

figured the least I could do was react positively to his attempts.

â€œOh, they was definitely from the New York connection. Tal , too skinny for my taste, dark hair al cough-ured. They was wearing pants, but they looked

like they were expensive, maybe tailor-made. I donâ€™t think they were even from Fileneâ€™s.â€

This time I laughed aloud. â€œNice going, Harmon, nobody could beat your observations.â€

He grinned like a shy boy, head down. â€œWel , a cute description is very important, Sonny says, so I try. Oh, by the way, El is cal ed the one whose arm he

was patting Bessie or maybe Betsy.â€

I closed my eyes for a moment. Wonderful. Harmon had tapped the super-wealthy, pil ars of the town, Tel man sisters and Choate El is, president of the

bank and vestryman of the Episcopal Church, as drug dealers. Sometimes I wondered how Sonny stood it.

Harmon was moving right along to his next triumph in crime solving. â€œ . . . and I decided to have a beer at the Fishermanâ€™s Dock for a change.â€

I took a healthy sip of my drink and turned what was left of my attention back to our detective extraordinaire. â€œYouâ€™re slumming, Harmon,â€ I teased.

â€œYeah,â€ he agreed. â€œDonâ€™t tel Joe. But it was lucky I did. Mark Maddock was there. Heâ€™d already put away a couple, and he was layinâ€™ it on thick to al

his buddies at the bar.â€

It took me a minute to realize he was referring to Harry Maddockâ€™s father and asked, â€œWhat do you mean, laying it on thick?â€

Would this day ever end? Seemingly, it was set to run forever-amen, even though I was not.

â€œMark was bragging that he had twenty thousand cool ones, and he said he wel deserved them and then some after al the shitâ€”I beg your pardon,

Alexâ€”that had been handed him al his life by folks who thought theyâ€™s better than him. I put it aside as just the booze talking, but one of his friends took

him up on it. He asked Mark if heâ€™d robbed Fishermenâ€™s Bank lately. Now Mark, he looked kinda funny at first, like he might start a fight, but then he

realized it was a joke and laughed and said heâ€™d had some good luck at the track.â€

I was beginning to be intrigued. â€œMaddock must have had a heavy bet on the exacta or something to win that kind of money,â€ I said. â€œYou donâ€™t win

twenty grand putting ten dol ars on Speedo in the fourth.â€ I stood up. â€œHold on a minute and let me freshen these glasses.â€

I got no argument from Harmon.

When I returned, Harmon nodded his thanks, obviously thinking of something else. He looked up and nodded again. â€œMaddock wasnâ€™t at no track. I saw

him and another guy today carrying a couch into that upholstery repair place he works at.â€

â€œMaybe he meant another day,â€ I offered.

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. â€œIt didnâ€™t sound like it. Nope, I figure he has somehow got himself lined up with Choate El is and them two women.

Maybe some nights he kinda borrows that big truck and goes into Boston or New York, lookinâ€™ al innocent with Upholstery Repair painted al over the

truck. Iâ€™m tel ing you, this is big-time, Alex.â€

I nodded. Iâ€™d agree to anything to get some solitary quiet.

â€œThe sad thing is, I think heâ€™s got his boy, Harry, involved with him. While he was rambling on, bragging about his windfal , he said something about

Harry was going to be proud of him for coming up with the money. I real y do hope Harry ainâ€™t in it. He is a nice boy.â€

â€œYes, I hope so, too.â€ I sipped my drink careful y. I was so tired, it wouldnâ€™t take much to put me right up there with Maddock. So how did the high rol er

leave it?â€

â€œHe set the bar up with free drinks. I asked him if he wasnâ€™t afraid heâ€™d spend Harryâ€™s part of the money, buying us al drinks. He said he guessed he

could spare a few drinks out of twenty thousand dol ars. I said I guessed he could, too, and after my drink, I just left. It looked like the rest of them was

settling in to get a lesson in picking winners.â€ He chortled at his own wit.

â€œDo you think he was lying about having the money? If he wasnâ€™t, where do you think he real y got it?â€

â€œHe had a wad on him, al right, and they looked to be mostly fifties and twenties. Iâ€™d figure at least a couple of hundred. More like three. He sure didnâ€™t

have twenty grand on him. Of course, it could be at home or someplace else. Heâ€™s got to be involved in drugs in a big way, Alex. That kind of money,

maybe he brings it in hidden in the stuffing they use for upholstery. So if you see Sonny before I do, you be sure and tel him about these two new important

connections in town.â€

â€œOh, I wil , Harmon. And I know heâ€™l be grateful.â€

He stood and thanked me for the beers with his usual politeness and left, detouring obediently through the garage for his tomatoes and peppers.

I sighed. Two new drug connections. Thank you, Harmon. I wish they were al that easy.

I thought of how Sonny would love Harmonâ€™s latest discoveries in crime and smiled as I nibbled at the orange slice I had put in my drink. There were a

couple of cherries in the glass, too. In fact, if it hadnâ€™t been embarrassing around others, I would have put in four or five. I loved them. Cindy had suggested

I simply drain the juice off a bottle of them, soak them in bourbon and eat them flambÃ© with a spoon for dessert. I was pretty sure she was kidding.

The story of the Tel man sisters and Choate El is was typical y, outrageously Harmon. Although shipping drugs in bales of couch stuffing might not be a

bad idea, at that. Occasional y our Harmon was quite creative. The rest of the Maddock story began to bother me.

For one thing, this was not a characteristic Harmon tale. Here, he had actual y seen a sizeable amount of money. More than Maddock was likely to

have normal y at any one time. Was Maddock in some way connected to Zoeâ€™s disappearance? I wondered if he knew Reed from years back and was

acting as some sort of go-between. Or had he perhaps seen something? Or did Harry Maddock know more than he was tel ing about something, and had

he let it slip to Mark, who then blackmailed somebody for the big money?

I brought myself back to earth. Of course, flashing a few big bil s in a bar was no proof Mark actual y had twenty thousand dol ars. And I wondered why

he had bragged that he had twenty thousand dol ars, when al the gal ery records indicated that slightly over twenty-five was missing. Most people who

boast about money tend to brag up not down. But I rather imagined he did have some sizable amount, for the simple reason that he hinted at Harryâ€™s

col ege expenses.

It would have seemed more realistic to me if Mark had claimed he planned to buy a boat, a new car, even a new house or a trip. Most likely to bet it al

on his lucky horse tomorrow, now that he was on a rol . And come out a mil ionaire . . . in his dreams. Right up to the moment when he lost the last hundred

dol ars. According to his wife, col ege was not high on Markâ€™s list of important expenses, hardly to be bragged about to his bar friends unless he real y had

it. At least for today.

I munched a cherry. Maybe Mark had felt more guilt than he had admitted about not providing at least some assistance for Harryâ€™s education. Maybe

Mark, Betsy, Jan and Choate were planning to run the Cali Cartel out of business.

I must have said the last sentence out loud, for I received a snappy reply.

â€œHow long have you been in the sun? Or are you just drunk on cherries?â€

â€œNot long and no. Harmon was just here. You know what that does to oneâ€™s coherent thought process. Hel o, darling.â€

Chapter 18

I had left a bevy of phone messages around town for Sonny. I wasnâ€™t the only one in the family who frequently ignored or misplaced their cel phone, and

thus far, Iâ€™d had no reply.

Cindy and I were both tired and were quite happy to sit down to one of those tossed together dinners that sometimes seemed better than planned

ones.

She was delighted to learn that Charlieâ€™s reputation was intact, even though a portion of money was stil missing. Apparently, if Harmon had overheard

Choate properly, the books balanced. The cash, of course, was stil missing, but it made no sense to think that Charlie had anything to do with the theft.

Other than be kil ed by the thief, of course.

I told Cindy about Harmonâ€™s latest drug cartel. She was almost rol ing with laughter and teased meâ€”I hoped she was teasingâ€”that she was going to

tel Choate first thing in the morning.

I bribed her into silence by tel ing her about El enâ€™s and Charlieâ€™s casual infidelities.

â€œSomehow that doesnâ€™t surprise me,â€ she said quietly. â€œIt saddens me, but it doesnâ€™t surprise me.â€

â€œWhy?â€ I popped the last bite of salad into my mouth. â€œTheyâ€™re no different from us, and we donâ€™t cheat.â€

â€œYes, they areâ€”were. They were together a long time, and some people donâ€™t handle continuity wel . Even their careers were different from ours. I work

for a bank, where every penny must be in the right slot, both for the bank and for the customer. You are out there every day, upholding the law and trying to

catch the people who donâ€™t. And Iâ€™m not teasing you about that.â€ She stood up and started to clear the table.

I looked up at her, confused. â€œBut they were both honest. The bank just proved that Charlie was. And El enâ€™s reputation is pure as snow. Iâ€™ve never heard

of her in a slimy deal.â€

Cindy nodded and began putting dishes in the washer. â€œI donâ€™t mean they were dishonest. I mean, they were both in wheeler-dealer jobs, where half the

sales effort is social, where a lot of big money changes hands with a lot of little side deals thrown in. Itâ€™s just a different milieu than yours or mine, where

something is legal or it isnâ€™t, and at closing time the books must balance.â€

â€œI get you now.â€ I leaned back in my chair and lit cigarette number eight. It had been that kind of day. â€œMaybe they felt their jobs were so continuously

stressful, they had the right to a little additional recreation.â€

â€œMaybe. Havenâ€™t you ever been tempted?â€

I took a slow drag on my cigarette to give myself some time to decide how to answer. Truth? Lie? Truth.

â€œOnce.â€

Cindy returned to the table and took one of my cigarettes, a sure sign she was jumpy. â€œIt was Maureen, wasnâ€™t it? She was bound and determined she

was going to get you.â€

â€œYes, but I figured out it was nothing to be flattered over. She just wanted another notch in her wel -carved belt.â€

â€œStil , she was lovely to look at, and very sexy. No wonder you were tempted. What stopped you?â€

I was getting uncomfortable. Why the hel had I started this?

â€œItâ€™s simple. One day she made a major pass at me, and I had immediate visions of a very exciting afternoon. Then my brain turned on and I knew I

would spend daysâ€”maybe yearsâ€”of regret and self-hatred. Regret at losing you and self-hatred for not living up to my agreement with myself.â€

Sonny never did return my phone cal , but he picked that moment to walk through the back door. I was extremely happy to see him.

We retired from kitchen to living room. I felt the need for comfort. Sonny and I flopped on the couch, while Cindy remained upright in one of the wing

chairs. Sonny had carried in the coffee tray and we al helped ourselves to some needed caffeine.

I gave him the report of my day, and he was impressed with my endurance if nothing else.

â€œThe Tel man sisters and Choate El is,â€ he mused. â€œI would bet Father Jameson wil be Harmonâ€™s next victim. No one else is left. Heâ€™s already tagged

that lady who runs the day care center.â€

â€œThere must be a bishop who visits occasional y. He could bring the drugs with him in that tal hat they wear,â€ I supplied dreamily.

â€œWake up, Alex. It isnâ€™t bedtime yet.â€ Sonny handed me my mug of coffee from the coffee table. â€œSome of what you picked up today is very interesting.

Iâ€™m just not sure where things al fit. In fact, Iâ€™m not especial y sure where anything fits. Maybe itâ€™s al just a bunch of gossip and neurotic people. Or maybe

itâ€™s a conspiracy to drive the Peres kids crazy.â€

Cindy lit another cigarette from my pack on the coffee table. I hoped she wasnâ€™t getting back into old habits. â€œI think you both need a vacation,â€ she

said. â€œStart with Reed. If he kil ed his wife, heâ€™d hardly flinch at diddling around raising money for his daughterâ€™s ransom, hoping the price would go down.

Or maybe he paid Mark Maddock twenty big ones to kil Zoe so she canâ€™t embarrass him anymore.â€

Sonny sat up. â€œYou know, you could have aâ€”â€

â€œBe quiet. Iâ€™m not finished. Maybe Harmon got it backward about your Tel man saints. Maybe they were on the wharf, paying someone to kil Charlie

because she discovered those two young men are up in the barn painting over stolen masterpieces, which Dan Portman flies in aboard his Gulfstream

and Jan peddles in New York on those trips of hers.â€

â€œMy God, Cindy!â€ I put my mug back on the coffee table. â€œWe could spend years unraveling this mess. Painting over masterpieces. What a can of

worms that opens up. And Dan Portman has a reputation of being as honest as Abe Lincoln . . .â€

â€œ . . . who slept with a young soldier when his wife wasnâ€™t around.â€

My lady was on a rol .

At that point, the phone rang. Cindy reached to the table beside her chair and picked it up. â€œHel o. Oh, yes. Sheâ€™s right here. Hold on.â€

She handed me the phone, whispering, â€œJan Tel man.â€

â€œHow timely. Should I ask her about the masterpieces?â€ I whispered back, and then aloud said, â€œHi, Jan. This is Alex.â€ I motioned for Cindy to push the

speaker button.

â€œAlex, weâ€™ve had two rather strange things happen today, and the more we thought about them, the more we thought weâ€™d better see if you, too, felt they

were important.â€ She sounded tense.

â€œSure, Jan, what happened?â€

â€œWel , first of al , at the bank this morning, the forensic accountant Choate had cal ed in, gave us his report. Going back several years, he finds no

indication whatsoever that Charlie Cohane misappropriated a penny of the gal ery funds. One or two very minor errors anyone might have made, but no

evidence of theft, whatsoever. We were delighted. Of course, the money from the safe is stil missing, and we may never find it, but we certainly donâ€™t think

Charlie took it. We were so fond of Charlie. It had been terribly painful to have even the slightest suspicion she had taken any money that wasnâ€™t hers. We

feel as if weâ€™re breathing normal y again.â€

I didnâ€™t tel her we were already privy to that confidential informationâ€”courtesy of the townâ€™s beer-guzzling character. â€œGod, what a relief!â€ I exclaimed

dramatical y. â€œEl en and Charlieâ€™s mother wil feel as if you took a ton of bricks off their shouldersâ€”not to mention their hearts.â€

â€œYes, we plan to cal them both shortly. But first, thereâ€™s a new mystery.â€

The three of us looked at each other and grimaced.

â€œOh? Whatâ€™s that?â€ I managed to ask neutral y.

â€œA woman named Marie Santos cal ed us earlier today. She had found a piece of paper with the gal ery name on it, caught among some flowers in her

front yard. She assumed someone had just tossed it carelessly away, or possibly that it had blown off a garbage truck or something of the sort, and she

started simply to put it in her own trashcan. Then she noticed it was a bank deposit slip and thought it might be valuable, so she cal ed us.â€

Jan paused, as if taking a sip of something. I certainly felt that I could use a sip of something at that point. She continued. â€œBetsy went over to her home

on Medeiros Street and picked it up. Alex, it is a deposit slip for $25,130 cash, which is approximately what we found was missing from the safe. It was

made out on the day Charlie died, and it wasâ€”as usualâ€”signed by her. What on earth do you think?â€

I thought that twenty-five thousand had been in more places than Jack Kennedy had been in beds. I took a deep breath. â€œJan, I frankly donâ€™t know what

to think just offhand. Let me talk to my brother about this. Hang on to that paper. Does anyone else know about this?â€

â€œNo.â€

â€œKeep it that way, and get the slip into a safe place. I, or a policeman, wil pick it up in the morning. Thank you so much for cal ing. Iâ€™l be back to you,

Jan.â€

â€œI understand. Good night, Alex, and thank you.â€

â€œGood night.â€

We al started talking at once, and then we al quit. â€œWil this day ever end?â€ I wailed. Hadnâ€™t I said that before? â€œAl we ever get are more questions. We

never get any answers.â€

Cindy was on her feet and headed for the highboy where we keep the booze. â€œHere.â€ She handed out smal splashes of brandy. â€œThis wil either wake

us up or put us to sleep. I donâ€™t much care which. Iâ€™l make some fresh coffee.â€

Sonny spoke slowly. â€œThe deposit slip is dated and presumably signed the day of Charlieâ€™s death. The gun was found on the floor beside her. The safe

was open. The money was missing. How do we get them al back together?â€

He sipped his brandy and went on. â€œWhereâ€™s the money? Itâ€™s not in herâ€”I guess now I should say El enâ€™sâ€”house. Charlie has no safety deposit box in

any bank on this end of the Cape. Itâ€™s not in her personal account at Fishermenâ€™s Bank. With their permission, weâ€™ve searched Mrs. Cohaneâ€™s place, El en

and Charlieâ€™s premises, and the gal ery. Itâ€™s not at any of them. Either she gave it to an accomplice to hold, or somebody else stole it. Either way, Mark

Maddock comes to mind.â€

I shook my head. â€œItâ€™s hard to see Mark Maddock and Charlie as cohorts. He drinks too much, he gambles and he is a blabbermouth. By tomorrow

morning, the whole town wil know Mark Maddock somehow came into a bundle. Thatâ€™s a bit dangerous if youâ€™re going to stash your stolen goods with

him.â€

â€œYeah, I suppose.â€ Sonny yawned. â€œAnd you forgot to mention, Markâ€™s dumber than dishwater. If he was sel ing drugs, heâ€™d put them in a little bottle with

his name and phone number, so youâ€™d remember where to get your next stash.â€

I was too tired to laugh. â€œAnyway, Markâ€™s wife says he ainâ€™t fond of gays. So Charlie doesnâ€™t seem a very likely chum for him. In any case, if she gave it

to an accomplice, why make out a deposit slip?â€

â€œMaybe it was someone other than Mark as an accomplice. Maybe someone she did business with.â€

â€œCharlie was as close-mouthed as they come. I doubt she would have had anyone for a partner in crime, as it were.â€ I set my coffee down with a bang. I

was tired and getting irritable. â€œSurely, she didnâ€™t have a cooperative tel er who would verify the deposit and then claim the bank lost it.â€

Cindy sipped her coffee. â€œEmily Bartles was there. She could be the accomplice. Motive and opportunity, right there.â€ She sounded right out of Law &

Order.

â€œOkay.â€ I patted her hand. â€œThen I stil say why make out a deposit slip?â€

â€œDonâ€™t be condescending. Maybe she wanted someone to think she was going to the bank.â€ Cindy sniffed.

â€œSo she took the slip al the way over to Marie Santosâ€™s house and tucked it in her rosebush? Who did she think was going to find it? Itâ€™s only luck Marie

Santos saw it. It could have stayed lost in there forever.â€

Sonny held up his hand. â€œTry this. Charlie plans to make a bank deposit. She opens the safe, takes out the money, puts it on her desk and counts it.

From her desk she takes out one of a supply of blank deposit slips we found in one of the desk drawers, fil s it out and signs it. At the same time, she

takes the gun out of her desk drawer to take with her to the bank. Someone comes in, sees the money and the gun, shoots Charlie and takes the money.â€

He drained his brandy, set down the glass and continued. â€œHe hurries away from the gal ery. Wherever heâ€™s going, his route takes him along Medeiros

Street by the Santos house. He discovers heâ€™s accidental y picked up the slip along with the cash, and tosses it out the car window.â€

â€œAbsolutely reasonable.â€ Cindy topped off her coffee and put the carafe down on a tile. â€œWho was it?â€

â€œI dunno.â€

Sonny stood up and stretched. â€œGood night, ladies. Itâ€™s time for me to say farewel . Tomorrow Iâ€™l get Jeanine to have another go at Emily Bartles. Iâ€™l

have a go at Maddock. Alex, please go and get that rose-scented deposit slip. Try not to handle it more than itâ€™s been handled, and drop it off with Nacho.

Now Iâ€™m going to have a go at my nice bed.â€ He gave the fur bal s a cursory pet and left.

I helped Cindy clear the living room and took Wel s and Fargo out for last patrol. As usual, the two black bodies immediately disappeared into the

shadows. I hadnâ€™t turned the floods on, and I cal ed them both, to no avail. I think they knew damn wel I couldnâ€™t see them.

Final y, I said, â€œOkay, you miserable beasts, no bedtime goodies.â€ I canâ€™t swear to the first part of the sentence, but the word goodies is definitely in

their vocabularies. By the time I got to the door they were dutiful y at my heels.

We al settled quickly into bed, even foregoing the news. I was just dozing off when Cindy emitted a loud, lengthy sigh.

â€œWhatâ€™s wrong?â€ I asked.

â€œOh, nothing real y. I was just thinking how nice and simple it would be if the Tel mans stil had a butler.â€

â€œGood night, Cindy.â€

â€œGood night, Alex.â€

Chapter 19

Our breakfast, never a leisurely affair Monday through Friday, was downright hurried this morning. Which meant I spil ed the orange juice and spent

time wiping it up. Wel s jumped into Cindyâ€™s lap with wet orange paws, which meant a complete and time-consuming change of costume. I thought we had

a second quart of milk in the fridge and poured the last of one container onto my cereal. We did not have another container. So instead of cereal, although

I had offered her mine, Cindy was eating toast, which she pronounced soggy, and drinking black coffee to the tune of many yuks and arghs.

Actual y, the day had started extremely wel . Cindy had awakened in an amorous mood, and I was rarely one to turn down an invitation. But our

rapturous moments had made us run late in the morning preparations for the day. Cindy was nearly always punctual in getting to work, but I doubted the

bank would have to close its doors and turn away depositors in the hundreds if she were a few minutes late. I made the mistake of voicing this opinion

and got a rather lengthy soliloquy on the necessity of setting a good example to oneâ€™s coworkers and subordinatesâ€”a problem I did not face, she

explained sweetly to me, since my occupation was a solitary one, except for Fargo, of course. And since I rarely had to be at a certain place at a certain

time, whereas banks, as one knew, were punctual to the minute.

I replied pleasantly that if she would figure out a way to schedule crimes between eight and four, Monday through Friday, I should be more than happy

joining her at the proverbial time clock, careful y noting brief coffee breaks and taking lunches never to exceed one hour.

I felt guilty eating the cereal, so I put it on the floor, where Fargo picked this morning to growl when Wel s tried to share. This earned me a dirty look as

Cindy arose from her pale toast and dark coffee, and stroked the cat. â€œBe brave, darling, Iâ€™l bring you some milk on my lunch hour. I wonâ€™t have time to stay

and eat with you, but at least you wil be fed.â€

â€œSheâ€™s got a whole bowl of crunchies she hasnâ€™t touched.â€ It was a weak defense.

â€œShe needs liquid.â€

â€œSheâ€™s got fresh water.â€

â€œIâ€™ve got to run. See you.â€

â€œYes.â€

As quarrels went, this one was hardly critical, and we would both be over it soon. Cindy, as soon as she got some decent coffee and turned to CNBC

on the smal TV she kept on her desk. Me, as soon as I stopped by the deli for coffee and a hunk of Portuguese fried bread and took Fargo to the beach.

Stil , it got the day hopping around on the wrong foot. Especial y fol owing such a lovely beginning. Oh, wel .

I straightened the kitchen and made the bed, and Fargo and I got out of Dodge. The Atlantic was stil there, the early sun promised brightness and later

warmth, and the breeze held no gusty threats. A smal gaggle of Canada geese were bobbing just beyond the light surf, stil resting from their nightlong

flight toward warmer climes. Fargo took an appraising look, but elected to leave them to relax a while longer. Instead, he raced down the beach,

scattering a bunch of scavenging gul s, then pausing to leave his conquering spoor wherever they had been. As Ozymandias had said, â€œLook upon my

deeds, oh ye mighty, and despair.â€

I laughed aloud and felt much better. On the way home, I stopped and bought two quarts of milk. I journeyed on to the florist, not yet open and trying to

get her plants sprayed, but wil ing to make a quick sale. I purchased a large and somewhat tacky bouquet of colorful somethings.

As she wrapped the stems in paper for me to carry, I fil ed out a card: The quality of mercy is not strained. It fal eth as the gentle milkshake from

Heaven. Love, Alex. I slipped it into a tiny envelope, which the owner tied to one of the stems.

â€œYou just never know, do you?â€ she opined more than asked.

â€œUhmmn,â€ I felt was a proper answer.

â€œI only bought four of these bouquets from my wholesaler this morning, figuring their style might be a little . . . ah, excessive. And this is the second one

Iâ€™ve sold before Iâ€™ve even opened the shop.â€

I wondered what other guilt-ridden soul patrol ed the mean streets of our Provincetown at this early hour of the morning. It was comforting to feel I was

not alone.

Arriving home, I was surprised to see Cindyâ€™s car in the driveway. The way her day was going, someone at work had probably spil ed toner al over her

second dressâ€”thus farâ€”of the morning. I very nearly just kept going, brave heart that I am, but the thought that something real y serious could have

happened sent me inside, mouth dry, ready to duck and run.

I stopped in my tracks at the sight of Cindy trying to fit two quarts of milk into the crowded fridge, and the clone of my boisterous bouquet sitting jauntily

on the kitchen table.

When we both stopped laughing, we hugged and I handed her the milk I had bought, and she groaned but final y found a spot for it. The two bouquets

now sat on either end of the highboy in the dining room.

â€œAnd the end of this sad tale,â€ she said in almost a whisper, â€œis that there was another container of milk al along. It had gotten behind the iced tea and

neither one of us saw it. I canâ€™t stay, darling. I real y do hate to be late. I just couldnâ€™t leave us at odds and ends that way. What on earth can we do with five

quarts of milk?â€

â€œI think Aunt Mae has a great recipe for chocolate pudding. Iâ€™l check it out. That should use up some of it.â€

â€œDonâ€™t you try to make it,â€ Cindy said quickly. â€œI mean, youâ€™l be busy and I can do it easily this afternoon when I get home.â€ She smiled sweetly and

falsely. â€œJust get the recipe.â€

â€œYes, dear, you are so thoughtful. Iâ€™m off to the Tel mansâ€™. I love you.â€

And so I was final y beginning my work day, complete with the partner who kept my job from being solitary. The Tel mans were cordial, as usual, and

welcomed Fargo with smiles and friendly pats, but I sensed a strainâ€”not between the two of them necessarily, but in general. Thinking to relax the

atmosphere a bit, I told them of Cindyâ€™s and my morning. At least it made them laugh. I donâ€™t think it did much for their overal dispositions.

Betsy handed me the deposit slip, and I took it by the corner. God knows how many people had handled it by now, but one went through the motions.

You never knew, as the florist said. The paper had at some point been damp, either from morning dew or possibly from Mrs. Santos watering her yard, but

everything was stil quite legible, if a bit smeary. The date was clearly that of Charlieâ€™s death. The signature was definitely Charlieâ€™s, as far as I could tel .

The amount to be deposited was $25,130, wel within the window of what the Tel man sisters said it should have been. The paper had at some time been

crumpled and was slightly torn in a couple of spots.

It was impossible to guess whether it had been tossed from a moving vehicle or by a passing pedestrian. Provincetown was rarely without at least a

mild breeze, which could have blown the slip anywhere any time.

I slid it into an envelope I had brought along for the purpose and put it in my jacket pocket.

â€œWel , I guess that does it.â€ I patted my pocket. â€œI suggest if you plan any cash deposits between now and the time you leave, you cal the police

department and request an escort. Theyâ€™l send someone in plainclothes if you wish to do it unobtrusively, but thereâ€™s no point in taking chances.â€

â€œHow very kind of you to think of that. We have been a bit nervous, rattling around in the mostly empty house. Maybe we should borrow this lovely boy of

yours.â€ Jan lightly touched Fargoâ€™s shoulder. â€œAs a matter of fact, the only cash we probably wil deal with before we steal quietly awayâ€”oops, no pun

intendedâ€”is the night of the gala. We hope to sel a lot of art that night, so we donâ€™t have to crate it and send it over to the Boston gal ery we have an

interest in. Choate is sending over two guards to babysit the money and checks for the evening and take it to the bank for us.â€

Betsy spoke up, writing a note on a pad she took off the table. â€œYes, but first we have to take a bit out to pay Dana. Oh, and we have to remember to

sign the van registration so Harry can take it. So many details. Weâ€™l never get out of here, and if we do, thereâ€™l be a string of people running behind us

waving things weâ€™ve forgotten.â€

My head was spinning. I managed to break into Betsyâ€™s screed. â€œDid you mean Dana works for you?â€

â€œOh, yes.â€ She spread her hands. â€œNot as an official employee, you understand. She simply lends a hand when we need her. She does whatever needs

to be done, but mainly sheâ€™s our frame repairperson. She can make a ratty gesso frame look like it was made yesterday. No trace at al of where she

replaced the plaster, no matter how intricate the pattern. And we pay herâ€”quite franklyâ€”under the table, because we know where the money mostly goes.

Please donâ€™t tel the IRS. We pay them quite enough, thank you.â€

â€œWhat do you mean you know where the money goes?â€ I felt like Alice in Wonderland as things got curiouser and curiouser.

Jan answered me. â€œMost of it goes to Danaâ€™s motherâ€”our sister Margo. That bastard Dan Portman cut her off without a sou. She and her loverâ€”a very

sweet man who loves her dearlyâ€”are living on a shoestring in Spain. They wonâ€™t take any money from Betsy and me. Weâ€™ve offered time and again.â€

â€œBut Dana wanted to help and was sure her mother wouldnâ€™t accept it from her, either. So Charlie came up with a genius idea,â€ Betsy interposed. â€œThey

send the fairly smal amounts Dana earns, but anything helps. Charlie got Choate also involved in the conspiracy. The overseas transfer paperwork from

the bank looks as if the money is a dividend from some obscure start-up company our father had invested in years ago, so Margo accepts it.â€

â€œI see.â€ I sipped the cocoa the maid had placed beside me unasked and smiled my thanks. â€œAnd since Dana is your niece, I imagine you pay her wel ?â€

â€œWe try to be generous to al our employees,â€ Jan said.

â€œAnd is Harry Maddock an employee? I assume thatâ€™s the Harry whoâ€™s bought your . . . van, is it? Does it by chance have a blue streak on the side?â€ I

daintily wiped my mustache away with a soft linen napkin. Such luxury.

Jan raised her eyebrows and rol ed her eyes. â€œItâ€™s the remains of a van. Weâ€™re just giving it to Harry at Danaâ€™s suggestion. Lord knows we couldnâ€™t sel it

for a dime. The dent in the door and the blue streak were the final blow. Some man in a blue SUV from Ohio, I think it was, backed right into us on the

wharf. It was a nothing accident, and being from out of state, he didnâ€™t want to file a police report and go through his insurance company to repair the van.

As if anyone could. So he gave us two hundred dol ars in cash. We figured we were more than amply paid. I just hope Harry is as good at auto repairs as

he says he is.â€

Betsy grinned. â€œIf he isnâ€™t, he soon wil be.â€

Since Jan was smoking, I felt free to do the same. She pushed an ashtray closer to me and asked, â€œHow did you figure the old rattletrap had a blue

stripe?â€

â€œI stopped for coffee at Mickeyâ€™s Pizza one afternoon and two young men driving the van joined some friends at one of the sidewalk tables,â€ I said. â€œI

just wondered if they were your two live-in artists. By the way, one of them seemed never to speak. He smiled, pointed, used body English, but no words.

Does he have some sort of speech impairment?â€

Both women laughed. â€œHardly,â€ Betsy chortled. â€œUnless you consider a very lower-class British accent an impairment, and I doubt he would even know

what you meant if you asked. Believe me, he can talk a blue streak if you get him started. You must have the wrong lads.â€

â€œProbably.â€ I let it go. I didnâ€™t have the wrong lads or the wrong van. â€œWel , let us al ow you to work on down your list of chores. Oh, is Dana working

today?â€

They both looked blank. â€œIâ€™m sorry,â€ Jan said sadly. â€œCharlie always made out the work schedules. I donâ€™t even know. Her car wil be in the lot if sheâ€™s

here.â€

â€œOkay. Not important. Bye-bye.â€

Chapter 20

Danaâ€™s car was indeed in the parking lot, along with the Bartlesâ€™ ancient van, mottled but not blue streaked. I was glad to see that Emily was also at

work. It meant I could get Dana off to herself and talk to her without phone cal s, drop-ins or deliveries interrupting us. And we had plenty to talk about. I put

Fargo on lead in honor of possible delicate artwork lying around, and we walked toward the gal ery entrance.

I real y wanted this Zoe situation sorted out soon. The tension level got higher by the day. The atmosphere in the Catlett home must be palpable with

antagonism on the one hand and concern for Zoe on the other. Tweedledee and Tweedledum must break a sweat anytime they heard footsteps

approaching. Dana and Harry were under pressure. Zoe must be in the worst shape of al . And when people got that tight, they made mistakes. They

made decisions that could haunt them for life. They took actions that could be fatal.

It was definitely time to saddle up and sound the charge.

â€œGood morning, ladies.â€ I smiled as I walked through the gal ery and into the back room that served as office, storeroom and repair shop. Emily

seemed to be bathing an oil painting in a mild detergent mix, rubbing it gently with a washcloth, while Dana was applying plaster to a large ornate frame

using such interesting tools as a Popsicle stick and a nutpick.

â€œEmily, wonâ€™t that smear the paint?â€

â€œThat was my first thought, too,â€ she said, continuing her efforts. â€œBut apparently, if you rub gently with a soft cloth and then rinse it lightly with clear water,

you just take off the surface dirt and brighten it up. You donâ€™t disturb the basic paint, but the colors show bright and fresh, like it was done yesterday.â€

â€œJust make sure it wasnâ€™t done yesterday and the paint is wel , wel set.â€ Dana laughed. â€œOtherwise you have Kindergarten one-oh-one and then some.

The paint on that one is safely years old and hard as a rock.â€

â€œSay, Dana,â€ I said casual y, â€œcould I see you for a couple of minutes?â€

â€œSure. Let me just smooth this out and close up the plaster and get it off my hands. Five minutes max.â€

â€œOkay.â€ I nodded. â€œIâ€™l be outside.â€

I went out and sat on one of the benches placed randomly in a grassy area along the side of the gal ery. I didnâ€™t have long to enjoy the scenery. Dana

was true to her timetable as she sat down beside me.

â€œWhatâ€™s up?â€

â€œYouâ€™ve been lying start to finish on this kidnapping thing is whatâ€™s up. You can start tel ing me the truth right now, or I can cal my brother to take you

down to police headquarters so you can think about it in a nice cozy cel . Whatâ€™l it be?â€

She covered her face with her hands and began to cry. â€œOh, God, Alex, Iâ€™ve been so frightened. I am so frightened.â€

â€œTears donâ€™t hack it, Dana, not at this point. Itâ€™s gone on too long, with everybody playing innocent, and I donâ€™t think anybody is. First, is Zoe stil alive?â€

â€œYes. Oh, yes, sheâ€™s al right. Thatâ€™s the only thing thatâ€™s right.â€

Her gaze drifted up the hil to the old barn. Bingo! Why hadnâ€™t I thought of that eons ago?

â€œStart at the beginning, Dana, and one lie from that mouth and you go out of here in cuffs.â€

She took a deep, shaky breath and began to speak. â€œIt real y did start as a game . . . a lark, whatever. You know that. And the two guysâ€”Rick and

Geraldâ€”real y did just volunteer to help us. Hel , they knew the gal ery was closing. Their summer of painting and beaching and parties and sex was

ending. They had little, if any, money to go back to New York, or maybe England, wherever. It would be a farewel . A farewel caper for them, and five

thousand each would be mighty handy. It looked like a win-win for everyone.â€

Dana gave a short laugh. â€œOne of them had read an article about someone who got kidnapped and thought he now was an expert on al aspects of

kidnapping. For example, they would put Zoe in a tent inside the barn so no one could accidental y see her moving around through the openings in the

barn. And no one could see a dim light at night. Also, it would give her some privacy. Remember, she was not a prisoner.â€

I was glad Dana said that. It was hard not to think of Zoe as a victim. However she might be feeling now, she had been the instigator.

Dana ran her hands through her hair distractedly. â€œI lied to you about showing a sketch of the guys around town, but you know that now. It was just to

throw you off. They real y didnâ€™t want me fol owing them out here to be with her the night she was . . . taken. They were afraid Jan or Betsy might see my

car and wonder what I was doing up at the barn at night.â€

I managed to get a question in. â€œWhy did they take a chance of hurting you badly, tossing you out of the van?â€

She crossed her legs, looked at her stil swol en ankle and shook her head.

â€œThey didnâ€™t toss me out. I was never even in the van. They were just pul ing awayâ€”fairly fast, yesâ€”but I would have been okay if I hadnâ€™t tripped over a

skateboard some idiot had left on the edge of the sidewalk. Iâ€™m lucky I didnâ€™t fal under the back wheels of the van. And they couldnâ€™t very wel back up to

see what happened. They had to go on, and they knew Harry was there to help me. They got Zoe settled in the barn. The next morning Rick came out to

my house and cal ed Zoeâ€™s home and got that crazy bitch her father married. And then it stopped being a game.â€

I stretched and lit a cigarette. â€œIn what way?â€

Danaâ€™s tears had stopped. Her face was taut with worry, lips pul ed into a thin line. I wouldnâ€™t want to cross her when she was fifty.

â€œGerald told us that the kidnapping article said you needed to keep the house of the kidnapee under surveil ance, so you would know who was at home

and when, and if there were cops around, et cetera. That made sense to us. We certainly didnâ€™t want to cal and get the wicked witch again. But the guys

were so stupid they just took the van and parked it up the block a little way where they could see the front door and the driveway. And they parked in the

same place for two whole long days. How could they be so utterly dumb? I was stil home nursing this ankle, or I would have warned them they were just

asking to be found out.â€

I grinned and shrugged. Sonny always said your average crook was not overly smart, and our Anglo-American duo was inexperienced to boot.

â€œWho spotted them? Marvin?â€

â€œNo. Reed. They were parked in their usual spot, one of them presumably watching the house while the other one dozed or read. Al of a sudden this

male voice at the driverâ€™s window says, â€˜Good afternoon, gentlemen. As you can see, I am not in the house.â€™ Gerald said Reed had the biggest pistol ever

made pointed at his head. They were plain terrified.â€

â€œWith good reason.â€ I laughed. â€œIt was once pointed at my head, too, and I thought it bore a strong resemblance to a cannon. How did the encounter

end? Obviously he didnâ€™t shoot them.â€

â€œReed told them to go out to Race Point or the amphitheaterâ€”I forget whichâ€”and meet him there in half an hour. He said if they werenâ€™t there, heâ€™d

give the police the plate number and their description . . . if he didnâ€™t decide to settle the matter himself. He smacked Gerald on the head with the gun and

walked back to his house. Obviously, control of the situation had shifted. Whatever control we had had was now in Reedâ€™s hands. He could describe Rick

and Gerald. He could describe the van, and he had a plate number. I was terribly frightened for Zoe. None of the others seemed to realize how serious this

was. They were stil thinking only of the money.â€

I was impressed with Danaâ€™s maturity and insight, but I was also stifling a grin. I thought I knew how the trip to the amphitheater ended.

Dana continued. â€œThey went out to the amphitheater, al right, but for some reason the place was absolutely crawling with cops. The guys tried to act

nonchalant and look innocent, but they were scared and took off in a minute or so. They thought Reed had screwed them, but apparently not. Nobody

fol owed them. Meantime, Zoe was getting itchy. I snuck up to see her a couple of times when no one was around, and got her some clean clothes of

mine. After the debacle with the cops, we waited a day or so and cal ed the house again. Reed told the boys to meet him at an outdoor greasy spoon

down on Route Six.â€

She gestured toward the highway and then continued. â€œThere he gave them some one-time cel phones and the number of his own cel and told them to

stop using his landline.â€

He was worried the cops had it tapped. Strange that he was the one worried about that, isnâ€™t it?

It was indeed. We had al thought the kidnappers had instigated that ploy. I was getting warm and thirsty. â€œAny cold drink machine around?â€

â€œHeavens! Nothing so lowbrow as a drink machine, but thereâ€™s soda in the fridge in the office. Is Diet Coke al right or would you like ginger ale?â€

â€œCoke is fine.â€

As Dana walked away, my mind began to race. Why hadnâ€™t Reed simply driven down to the Tel man place and rescued his daughter? He must have

realized, if the guys were driving a van registered to the Tel mans, Zoe just about had to be in the barn or somewhere in that mausoleum they cal ed a

house. If he didnâ€™t want to go it alone, their use of the van was certainly enough to get the cops a search warrant for the entire premises, even though the

Tel mans were not involved. And money should no longer even be involved. It was a straight rescue operation.

I figured that while Reed hadnâ€™t been in on the so-cal ed game from the beginning, he was definitely in it now. He was stal ing, stal ing, stal ing. I wanted

to know why, why, why?

Dana broke into my thoughts as she handed over a wonderful y cold can of soda. â€œThanks, this is great.â€ I took a long swal ow and asked bluntly. â€œWhat

is Reedâ€™s part in this plot? Heâ€™s in it now, isnâ€™t he?â€

â€œTo his neck.â€ She set her soda can on the bench between us. â€œHeâ€™s . . . heâ€™s punishing her, I think.â€

â€œHow? Why?â€ I rubbed my cigarette out on the end of the bench, fieldstripped it and put the filter in my pocket.

â€œWel , some of this may sound crazy, but think about it. In front of the family, he was at least neutral, if not supportive, about her being a lesbian. That

night, he came to her room and tore her a new one. He cal ed her a pervert and an ungrateful bitch. Said she would tarnish the family name. Who does he

think they are, royalty or something? I mean, her grandmother is a sweetheart, but sheâ€™s hardly a blue blood. Then he said she could hurt his business,

swanning around with a bunch of rough dykes. As if youâ€™d cancel building your house of dreams because your architect has a gay kid. It didnâ€™t stop Dick

Cheney. And Merrilouâ€™s a lot more likely to ruin Reed social y than Zoe. He ended up slapping her and walking out.â€

â€œSo he lost it. Any idea why?â€ I hoped she had one. I didnâ€™t.

â€œWel . . .â€ Dana paused. â€œThis is where it gets murky. A few weeks ago, Zoe showed me a picture of her mother at age eighteen. Until I final y realized

the hair and the clothes were wrong, I thought I was looking at a picture of Zoe. I think maybe Reed is mad at Frances for getting kil ed and mad at Zoe for

looking like her. And who knows? Maybe wants to have her . . . you know, physical y.â€ She looked embarrassed but determined.

â€œCould be. Iâ€™d have to ask a shrink.â€ I sipped my drink.

â€œAs to how heâ€™s punishing her, thatâ€™s easy. He wonâ€™t let her come home, for one thing. He told the boys he has the money, that he wil give each of them

fifty thousand Saturday night at the gala. But not til then. Then heâ€”Reedâ€”wil â€˜rescueâ€™ her from the barn. Obviously, there wil be no money for Zoe or

Harry. He told Rick and Gerald to take al her clothes away and not let her wash, much less real y bathe. He told them to give her a bucket to use for a

toilet. She could dump it once a day. Bread and water should be her diet, and there should be no lights for her, much less radio or TV. Oh, and no blanket

at night. Let memories of her lover keep her warm despite the chil . I could happily kil the son of a bitch.â€

â€œI can hardly believe it. Her own father? Do you believe Gerald and Rick are tel ing the truth?â€ I lit cigarette number something, more to hide my horror

than anything else.

â€œYes. Alex, they arenâ€™t real y bad guys. Remember, when they got into this, it was mostly for fun. Maybe wrong, and not nearly as funny as we thought it

was. But fun. And I didnâ€™t tel you the worst suggestion he made. Reed laughed and told them if they didnâ€™t mind a little B.O., they should feel free to have

sex with her as often as they wanted. He said probably al she needed to forget al this gay shit was to get laid by a couple of healthy, raunchy young men.

Can you imagine any father saying that to two men?â€

â€œNo, I canâ€™t.â€ And I couldnâ€™t. My feelings toward my own father might not be exactly warm and fuzzy, but he would have kil ed any man who raped me. And

rape was the proper word for what Reed had invited Rick and Gerald to do. â€œDid they take advantage of the offer?â€

â€œOh, no. Rick is gay, for one thing. But they are both decent fel ows. They wouldnâ€™t do that. In fact, they havenâ€™t done any of the awful stuff Reed

suggested. They know he wouldnâ€™t dare be seen going up to the barn to check if they did fol ow his instructions, so theyâ€™re safe enough. Zoe is bored, sick

of McDonaldâ€™s food and getting frightened that itâ€™s dragging out so long, but she is basical y okay. She doesnâ€™t even know what her bastard father said.

We havenâ€™t wanted to add to her stress. Iâ€™l tel her about it afterward.â€

â€œMaybe youâ€™d want to make sure her grandmother is with you when you do that. Zoeâ€™s going to be feeling pretty insecure for a while. It wil be a lot for

you to try to handle by yourself.â€

â€œI know. Iâ€™ve been worried about going away to school. I would like to stay home, but I just canâ€™t screw that up.â€ Dana giggled and it was good to hear

the girl that stil lived inside. â€œMy father would have somebody kidnap me if I went through everything I did to get into such a good school and then just

casual y decided to take a semester off before I even started.â€

â€œAnd so he should.â€ I smiled at her. â€œMaybe Rick and Gerald could start a kidnapping business. Although they donâ€™t seem too adept at it. By the way,

how do they plan to get away from here?â€

â€œReed got them two phony passports from some friend of his. I think he said down Cape someplace.â€ She picked up our two empty cans and winged

them neatly into a trashcan. â€œI saw them, and they certainly looked genuine to me. Reed says a rental car wil be parked by the gate over there Saturday

night. They wil get away from the East Coast right away, driving some inland route down to Atlanta. From Atlanta they fly to Dublin and are on their own.â€

â€œReed seems wel versed in a life of crime,â€ I remarked sourly.

â€œI wondered about that.â€ She turned to me quizzical y. â€œDo you suppose he has a secret life of some sort?â€

I ignored what I assumed was a facetious question, wanting to get us back on a cop/suspect role if I could. It was hard to think of any of them as

anything but naughty children, who should be spanked and then hugged and forgiven. The only vil ain seemed to be the highly respected father.

â€œDana, as far as I can tel , you have broken about a dozens laws. What I should do is take you down to headquarters and let my brother, Lieutenant

Peres, decide what to do with you. I know he wil at least want to talk with you, if not arrest you. Heâ€™l doubtless have questions Iâ€™ve missed. But I hate to

see you walking into the police station, firmly escorted by a deputy police officer.â€

She turned pale. â€œOh, please Alex, please donâ€™t do that. My grandmother might literal y die of mortification. Is there any place else I could meet your

brother? Any time, anywhere. I promise I would be there. Although I canâ€™t think of anything weâ€™ve missed, Iâ€™l be glad to go over it again with him. I just have

this feeling we should get Zoe out of there soon. Maybe your brother can think of something. The boys would like just to let her go now, but they real y do

need some money and especial y the car.â€

â€œAnd,â€ I added dryly, â€œthere is a little matter of the various laws they have broken. Or did you think the police would stand by, cal ing â€˜Erin go braghâ€™ as

they drive down Route Six?â€

â€œOh, oh, yes, of course.â€

â€œGive me your cel phone number and Iâ€™l have Sonny cal you.â€

She wrote it in my little notebook and handed it back to me.

â€œAnd donâ€™t pul a disappearing act on me, Dana. I would be seriously irritated if you did that.â€

â€œDonâ€™t worry.â€

She walked back toward the gal ery. I hoped to God her next stop wasnâ€™t the Costa del Sol.

Chapter 21

I watched her walk away and had to smile to myself. To Dana, to the two young men and Harry, perhaps even to Zoe, this whole mess was stil simply a

practical joke that hadnâ€™t worked out as planned. Reed had not slipped on their banana peel. I found myself half-wishing that he had, and that al of the kids

had gotten away scot-free with a fistful of his money. I could join the chorus myself, with no trouble at al , as they al trundled away singing, â€œWeâ€™re Off to

See the Wizard.â€

I took a final drag on my cigarette and stood up. That was not exactly the attitude a deputy police officer should entertain. I went through the field stripping ceremony again, fished the other filter out of my pocket and tossed them both in the trash, as Fargo and I walked to the car.

Driving back into town I decided to drop off the wilted deposit slip and see if Sonny were free for lunch. I could tel him what I knew, and he could decide

how he wanted to approach Dana. And when and where. I knew he didnâ€™t like the way Reed had handled any of this, including pointing a loaded gun at his

sister. I imagined he might be as lenient as he could be with the kidnappers and try to convince the town prosecutor to be the same.

I, on the other hand, was considering rethinking my decision not to prosecute Reed for bursting into my house and scaring me half to death. Not to

mention my pets. I could certainly go after him for trespass and reckless endangerment. Possibly even assault with a deadly weapon.

Or maybe I could use it as leverage against Reed. I wouldnâ€™t prosecute him if he didnâ€™t prosecute the kids. That was a thought. It might also be

blackmail. But perhaps not if tactful y presented by the town prosecutor.

As I turned onto Bradford Street, there was a sudden tingling in my left breast, which startled the hel out of me until I realized it was my cel phone,

buzzing away in my shirt pocket. Somehow it had gotten switched from ring to vibrate. What the hel , they used cel phones for everything else nowadays,

why not that? I could hear the late night ads now. How I real y hated that damn thing. I fished it out of my pocket and answered irritably as I pul ed over to

the side of the road.

â€œYes, hel o.â€

â€œAlex, itâ€™s Cindy.â€

â€œHi. Whatâ€™s wrong? Are you al right?â€ I knew she wouldnâ€™t be cal ing to discuss the dinner menu.

â€œIâ€™m fine, but I donâ€™t think Karen Maddock is.â€

â€œWho is . . . oh, yeah. Whatâ€™s wrong with her?â€

â€œI decided to come home for lunch. I thought Iâ€™d have a sandwich and a nice big glass of milk.â€

We both gave the obligatory laugh and she continued. â€œShe was on the answering machine, crying so hard I could hardly understand her. Something

about there being a lot of money somewhere that it shouldnâ€™t be and she couldnâ€™t find her husband. I swear she said she was afraid he was on the rack.

How could he be on a rack this day and age? And could you come at once, as she had no one else to cal . Does this make sense to you?â€

I shook my head as if she could see me. â€œOnly the last sentence. Did she leave a number?â€

â€œNo.â€

â€œOkay, Iâ€™m in the car now, not too far from her house. I guess thatâ€™s where she is. If she cal s back, tel her Iâ€™m on the way and try to get a number.

Thanks, honey. Iâ€™l see you later.â€

â€œGlad to be of service, maâ€™am. Be careful, and donâ€™t forget the chocolate pudding recipe. â€™Bye.â€

It took me until I had driven several blocks to realize that Cindy was not sending me to get a pudding recipe from a hysterical Karen Maddock, but from

my Aunt Mae. God, when would I have time to do that?

Common sense final y prevailed. Surely if anything were critical y wrong, if the roof were smoldering or someone was bleeding in the driveway, Karen

would have had the brains to cal the firemen or the EMTs. If not, she could wait five more minutes. I pul ed over to the side of the road againâ€”law-abiding

citizen that I amâ€”and dialed Aunt Maeâ€™s number, hoping very much she would be home. She was.

I recounted to her how we came to have a plethora of milk and explained my scramble at trying to help Sonny. I asked if she could cal the house and

read the recipe for her chocolate pudding to the answering machine. She would be happy to do so, she assured me, and I left her laughing at our mixed up morning.

While I was parked, I cal ed police headquarters and told Nacho I had the deposit slip, which looked legitimate, if battered, and would get it to her at

some point. Not to worry, it was safe. I patted my pocket and panicked at its emptiness until I remembered I had locked it in the glove compartment.

Sonny wasnâ€™t there, so I left a truncated account of why he should see Dana ASAP.

I drove on and swung into the Maddock driveway. There was only Karenâ€™s car in the drive, but the garage door was closed. Another car could be in

there. I hoped Karen was home. I would have no idea where else to look for her.

I left Fargo in the car until I could make sure just what was awry in the Maddock household, and rang the doorbel . There was no answer, and after three

rings, I walked around to the back and tried the kitchen bel . There was no answer there either, but I thought I saw a curtain flutter. In a moment, the door

flew open and Karen launched herself into my arms.

It would not have ordinarily been an unpleasant sensation, but she was crying heavily and snuffling mightily, and I was praying urgently that the moisture

on my neck came only from her tears. I patted her back, said, â€œThere, there,â€ about a hundred times, and final y sort of waltzed her out of the doorway away

from the gaze of any nosy neighbors, across the kitchen and into the living room. Pushing her gently onto the couch, I then went back in the kitchen and

grabbed a couple of paper towels. The situation seemed far beyond the capabilities of a tissue.

I asked her where they kept the liquor, and she waved abstractedly toward the kitchen. I made another trip there and found it in the third cabinet I tried. I

got out two glassesâ€”do you blame me?â€”and put together two stiff vodkas with 7UP, some dried up lemon I found in the fridge and ice. A couple of sips

reduced Karenâ€™s sobs to mere sniffs and gulps, and in another minute or so, I felt relatively safe in asking what was the matter. I had been a little ahead of

myself in expecting a sensible answer.

â€œI found eighteen thousand dol ars in the freezer, and I think Mark cleaned out our savings account and I canâ€™t find him and his boss canâ€™t either. Or the

passbook, or his pal Richard.â€

A new freshet of sobs and tears resulted from this befuddled screed, and Iâ€™d had about enough. Enough with missing money and missing kids and

missing husbands and missing pals and bastard fathers, not to mention murder. And final y, having been unable to find any bourbon, I was drinking cheap

vodka, which I didnâ€™t real y like, even when it was expensive. Got that?

â€œFor Godâ€™s sake, Karen, get a grip. I canâ€™t help you if you donâ€™t make sense.â€ Something in my voice apparently got through to her. She blew her nose

and straightened up.

â€œWe have a freezer in the garage where we keep extra stuff. I do a little catering on the side and keep extra dough and other things in it, plus we use it

for food that wonâ€™t go in the freezer in the kitchen. I went out a while ago to take out some pastry dough, and the freezer was a total mess.â€

She sipped at her drink and took a deep breath. â€œI assumed Harry had been looking for some special flavor of ice cream or something and had

messed it up. I started taking things out so I could put them back in proper order. About halfway down I found this canvas bag.â€

She pointed to a table in the smal adjacent dining area. I recognized what the bag was as soon as I saw it. It was like several others I had seen at

Fishermenâ€™s Bank, looking rather like large school lunch bags, and used by people who dealt in sizable amounts of cash for deposit or withdrawal. I was

sure it would have Fishermenâ€™s Bank stamped on one side.

â€œDid you check what was in it?â€ Stupid question, but it got her in gear again.

â€œOh, yes. I saw right away it was money, so I brought it out here and dumped it on the table.â€

The voice broke and tears began again, but a schoolmarmâ€™s look from me got her back on track. â€œThe bil sâ€”theyâ€™re mostly fifties and twenties and a

few hundredsâ€”had gotten a little damp and were hard to count. I did it twice. Once I got a little over eighteen thousand, once I got nineteen.â€

She was talking freely now, and my mind wandered for a moment or so. Eighteen or nineteen thousand . . . somewhat under what was missing from the

gal ery, if Karen had counted correctly, between damp bil s and doubtless shaking fingers. The track! Karen would have been afraid her husband had

gone to the track. That took care of torture on the rack.

On the other hand, Harry Maddock was in dire need of money, and he hung around the gal ery, at least sometimes. Had he somehow opened the safe,

or seen the money on Charlieâ€™s desk? Had mild-mannered Harry kil ed her? Even though he was counting on a share of the kidnap ransom? Stranger

things had happened. Maybe he just happened to walk into the office and couldnâ€™t resist al that lovely money.

I pul ed myself back to Karenâ€™s tale. Something about a maiden aunt, with no other relatives, had died and left Karen plus two distant cousins al the

poor dear had on this orb. Karen had gotten a letter from her auntâ€™s attorney up in Sandwich, where the aunt had lived, tel ing her to come to his office with

ID and pick up her third of the money. At least I think thatâ€™s what she said.

â€œSo,â€ she continued, â€œmy cousin Ruthie and I decided to drive down together to each pick up our portion. Then Ruthie suggested asking the third cousin

to ride down with us. No use taking two cars when we al lived in Provincetown. I agreed and asked Ruthie who it was. Ruthie said she knew her slightly

and her name was Charlotte Cohane. I had heard of her, but had no idea she was kin. So thatâ€™s what we did. We cal ed and invited her to ride with us.

She was delighted and I was glad we did. She was so nice.â€

Karen babbled on. â€œI looked forward to knowing her better, and then of course sheâ€”died. And I think that may be why Mark stole the money.â€

I was staring at her, speechless. She was Charlieâ€™s cousin. And she had just found nearly twenty thousand dol ars in her freezer. And her homophobe

husband was missing. I had that Alice in Wonderland feeling again.

I was fal ing . . . fal ing . . .

My hands were shaking in time with Karenâ€™s when I lifted the glass to my lips. I took a sip, cleared my throat and tried to speak normal y.

â€œLet me get this straight. Your aunt died and left her three nieces about twenty thousand apieceâ€”you, Ruthie and Charlie Cohane? Right?â€

That would explain Charlieâ€™s spending spree. I wondered if it would explain her tel ing El en that she needed a more respectable car than her old VW

because she, too, was going into business?

â€œYes,â€ Karen replied. â€œAunt Jane never married. She was a nurse and lived with another nurse for a number of years. I figured them as lovers, but

maybe they were just friends. Doesnâ€™t matter. They were very close. Aunt Janeâ€™s partner died several years back, and Jane was never real y wel after that.

Ruthie used to take the twins to see her once in a while. And sometimes I took Harry. Aunt Jane loved him from the time he was a baby. Said he looked

just like her father.â€ Her voice got wobbly again and she sipped her drink.

â€œI wish we had seen more of her, especial y after her friend died,â€ Karen continued. â€œBut you know, Sandwich is a long drive for just a casual visit. Ruthie

and Charlie both said they saw her sometimes, too, but we al felt bad it wasnâ€™t more. Especial y lately.â€

â€œYes, Iâ€™m sure,â€ I said abruptly. I wanted to get past the sentiment and into how Charlie fit into this sudden gaggle of relatives.

â€œDid you say you think Charlie was the reason your husband may have taken the money you got from Aunt Jane? How could that be?â€ I asked.

â€œLetâ€™s see . . . on the way home we three girls stopped for lunch, to celebrate our good fortune and to drink a toast to Aunt Jane. We got to talking about

what each of us would do with the money. We giggled about sil y things we would never do, like go to Paris in April, buy a red sports car, get a new

wardrobe and an â€˜escortâ€™ to squire us around New York. Just having fun, you know?â€

â€œIndeed,â€ I answered patiently. â€œThen what?â€

â€œThen . . . I guess it was Ruthie who said she and I should start the catering business we had always wanted. Sheâ€™s a fabulous cook, and I do real wel

with canapÃ©s and desserts. Then we sighed and got back to reality and said we guessed weâ€™d spend it on the kidsâ€™ col ege expenses. Ruthie and Carl

are a bit better off than Mark and I, but they also have twin kids who wil be in col ege at the same time, so they are real y in a bind.â€

â€œDid Charlie say what she might do with her twenty thousand?â€

Karenâ€™s face lit up, and she was very nearly beautiful, red nose and al . â€œThis is what was so great!â€ she exclaimed. â€œCharlie said to me, â€˜If you spend

twenty thousand on Harry for col ege, in one yearâ€”possibly twoâ€”youâ€™l be broke again, and he stil wil have two or three years to go. If you and Ruthie go

into your catering business, you can both help Harry every year, and then you can both help the twins when they get to col ege age, and stil be making

money.â€™â€ I was beginning to feel like a member of the family, listening to the plans for al the kinder.

I was also ready to scream at Karenâ€™s seeming inability to give me a straight answer. â€œKaren, thatâ€™s wonderful advice to you and Ruthie. God knows

this town needs a first-class caterer. The ones we have al think a spiral cut ham, potato salad and cole slaw plus ice cream with strawberry sauce is

perfect for al occasions. If you can better that, you should have our yuppie set beating your door down. But what did Charlie plan to do? She certainly

couldnâ€™t cater a party of starving explorers. The only thing I ever had that she cooked was a TV dinner, and that was stil cold in the middle.â€

Karen managed to delay things further by making herself another drink. I declined. I was confused enough as it was.

Final y, she returned and continued. â€œCharlie was going to run the business end of things. She said she would handle the advertising and sales

promotion. She said the Tel mans swore she could sel ice cubes to Eskimos. And she said she could keep the books and inventory items we always had

to have on hand, and that way you got the best prices from vendors. She would figure profit margins, too. Honestly, Alex, she actual y knew more about it

than we did. It was perfect. Al Ruthie and I had to do was cook. And that we can do.â€

It was sad to see her face fal as she realized these dreams would never be. I patted her hand. â€œMaybe you could find some other third person,â€ I

suggested weakly.

She just looked at me.

Wel , at least now I knew what Charlie had been so excited about. Sheâ€™d found an outlet for her many business aptitudes. And a family, to boot. I wished

Iâ€™d known. I would like to have told her weâ€™d book their first party. What a waste. What an effing stupid waste of her talents and enthusiasm. The only good

thing I could think of was at least Charlieâ€™s mother and El en would be relieved she hadnâ€™t suffered some sort of mental breakdown.

I realized Karen was looking at me quizzical y and shook my head.

â€œSorry, I was daydreaming.â€

She smiled sympathetical y. â€œYes, Iâ€™ve done a lot of that lately. Anyway, to finish this soap opera, we al parted that day on cloud nine. I couldnâ€™t wait to tel

Harry and Mark. I made a special dinner and bought a bottle of champagne. Over dinner, I told them my good news. I was al excited. I kept laughing,

saying who could guess that we could al go head over heels. That I just fel in love with Charlie in minutes. And she even knew a wel -equipped little place

we could rent, at least for a start.â€

She lifted her glass of vodka as in a toast. â€œHarry was so happy, he actual y almost cried for a moment. Mark was furious.â€

â€œDid you say furious?â€ I thought I heard wrong.

â€œYes. I had mentioned what Charlie had said about running the business and the promotional end of things, and he yel ed that he wouldnâ€™t have me

turning Aunt Janeâ€™s money over to some queer and catering queer parties just because they had more money to burn than the rest of us.â€ She looked

down for a moment, embarrassed.

â€œThen, right in front of Harry, he screamed that the way I had acted in bed the past few years he shouldnâ€™t be surprised if I had become queer myself

and had some dyke on the side. Alex, I thought I would faint.â€

â€œI donâ€™t doubt it.â€ I stubbed out my cigarette in the ashtray, wishing it were Markâ€™s nose.

â€œI was hurt and angry,â€ she went on. â€œIf Mark thought our sex life was lousy, he was right, but he forgot how many times he came to bed so drunk sex just

didnâ€™t work. Anyway, he stormed out and didnâ€™t come home that night. I imagine he stayed with a young man heâ€™d gotten friendly with at work. I donâ€™t think

Mark has a girlfriend. Frankly, I donâ€™t know who would have him.â€

Possibly the young man from work, I answered silently. Aloud, I said, â€œAnd you think he took the money out of the bank so you couldnâ€™t invest it along

with Ruth and Charlie?â€

â€œYes. I had deposited the check from Aunt Jane immediately in our savings account. Thereâ€™s a thousand or so missing from the check I put in the bank,

and I canâ€™t find the bankbook. The accountâ€™s in both names, worse luck. When I found the money in the freezer, I cal ed Mark at work.â€

She sighed and shook her head. â€œNothing was going right. On the phone, I got his boss, who was real y seeing red. This is a busy time of year for them,

and both Mark and the young fel owâ€”Richard somebodyâ€”had cal ed in sick this morning. The boss says heâ€™s going to fire them both. I donâ€™t know if he

means it. I hope not. But we agree on one thingâ€”weâ€™d both be wil ing to place our own bets that Mark and Richard are at the racetrack.â€ She slammed

her glass on the coffee table so hard, I was very glad it was plastic.

I put the coda on this sonata by asking, â€œThe bankbook is missing, you said?â€

â€œYes. Iâ€™ve looked everywhere.â€

â€œLet me cal the bank. We may be able to make certain of your balance without the book.â€

I cal ed Cindyâ€™s direct number, and wonder of wonders, she picked up. â€œCindy Hart, may I help you?â€

â€œI hope so, honey, we have a bit of a situation here. Karen Maddockâ€™s husband has disappeared, possibly having cleaned out their savings account.

Karen canâ€™t find the bankbook, but she did find eighteen thousand or so in cash in the freezer, where Mark may have hidden it. She wants to know if itâ€™s

part or al that remains of the savings account. Is there any way you can help us?â€

I could almost hear her shrug. â€œIf they want to be helpful downstairs I can. Hold on a minute.â€

I heard a click and then was treated to â€œTales from the Vienna Woods,â€ which I rather like. Karen was watching me like a mongoose eyes a cobra, so I

didnâ€™t dare whistle along with the orchestra.

â€œAlex, are you stil there?â€

â€œYes, darling. I am here.â€

â€œOkay. The husband may be gone, but the family fortune seems intact. There is a balance of $23,405.05. No recent withdrawals. When Mrs. Maddock

made the latest depositâ€”of $19,994.65â€”she left the bankbook along with the check. The tel er assumed she wanted the bank to hold the book. They

have it safely in a drawer somewhere. She can pick it up anytime. So can the husband.â€

â€œThanks a mil ion, honey. Mrs. Maddock wil be greatly relieved. By the way, she thinks Mark may be at the track, though I donâ€™t doubt she would prefer

he was on the rack. Oh, and please advise the tel er to check first with Ptown Police if anyone tries to make a withdrawal or get the book. Tel Choate the

police wil official y freeze the checking and savings accounts shortly. See you tonight.â€

â€œYep. Gotta run, other phone.â€ She clicked off.

I leaned back in my chair and grinned. â€œYour fortune totals something over $23,400. There have been no recent withdrawals. When you deposited Aunt

Janeâ€™s check, you left the bankbook with the tel er. You were a little excited, maybe? They have it safely stowed.â€

â€œOh, thank God!â€ Karen had one or two tears left, but not many. â€œOh, I feel ten years younger. I wonder where al this other money came from? Could he

possibly have won that much at the track, or maybe on the numbers? I canâ€™t believe it. Mark has never been lucky at that sort of thing. And he certainly

hasnâ€™t been acting elated the last week or so.â€

I stood up and stretched. I was beginning to feel numb in spots. â€œWhat do mean?â€

â€œWas he depressed?â€

â€œNot exactly,â€ she demurred. â€œMore edgy and short-tempered. He wasnâ€™t sleeping wel . Iâ€™d wake up and heâ€™d be over by the window looking out. If I

asked what was wrong heâ€™d just snap at me to go back to sleep. And Harry got accepted at Northern Connecticut Col ege. At the dinner table I said weâ€™d

better ask them about a scholarship. Mark blew up and said just have faith in him for once. We wouldnâ€™t need any scholarship.â€ She shook her head.

Sad? Bewildered? I didnâ€™t know.

Then she asked, â€œAnd why did you freeze our bank accounts? Do you have a legal right to do that?â€ She was ready to display a little righteous anger

now.

â€œI donâ€™t. Iâ€™m a mere deputy, and temporary at that. Thatâ€™s why I need to cal Sonny right now.â€ I picked up the phone again.

â€œWho is Sonny?â€

â€œMy brother, Lieutenant Edward J. Peres of the Provincetown Police. You see, your bank account stil has al your money in it.â€ I gestured toward the

dining table. â€œBut over there sits a lot of money that did not come out of your account. Where did it come from? I donâ€™t know, but it is worrisomely near the

amount that was stolen from the Tel man Art Gal ery the day Charlie was kil ed.â€

Karen dropped her glass. But at least it didnâ€™t break.

Chapter 22

At police headquarters, Nacho worked her usual magic, chased Sonny down at some careful y undisclosed location and patched him through to me

â€”sounding thoroughly irritated.

â€œIâ€™m busy as hel , Alex. Youâ€™re beginning to remind me of Harmon.â€

â€œAnd you remind me of Captain Anders. What are you so involved with? A blonde or the Wall Street Journal?â€

â€œNeither. If you must know, Iâ€™m interviewing Dana Portman.â€ He went on to tel me how surprised he was at her maturity . . . what insight she had into

Reedâ€™s warped personality . . . what a keen perception of the problems the police department faced, having never been official y involved in what might

not be a kidnapping in the true legal sense anyway . . .

â€œGoodness, Sonny, I told you she was a charmer, but I didnâ€™t recognize she had such deep intel ectual powers. When are you announcing your

engagement?â€ I could tel that Dana was in no danger of being subject to police brutality, especial y since I could hear restaurant sounds in the

background.

â€œDonâ€™t be an idiot, Alex. Sheâ€™s al of eighteen.â€

â€œWonderful. You wonâ€™t have that nasty olâ€™ problem of statutory rape.â€

â€œAlex,â€ his voice was dangerously soft. â€œWhy did you cal me?â€

I told him, as briefly as possible. His reply sounded more like the Sonny I knew and sometimes loved.

â€œShit.â€

â€œIndeed,â€ I agreed with a nod. â€œWhat do I do if Mark walks through the door as we speak?â€

â€œDonâ€™t let him get your gun. You do have it with you? Are there any other firearms in the house?â€ He was suddenly al business.

â€œI have mine, yes. I donâ€™t know if there are others in the house. Hold on.â€ I looked at Karen, who was studying the lemon in her drink. â€œKaren, are there

any guns in the house?â€

Wherever she was, she brought herself back with difficulty. â€œGuns? Harry used to have a bunch of cap pistols. Oh, and he had a BB rifle.â€

â€œKaren,â€ I said gently, â€œreal guns.â€

â€œOh.â€ She frowned thoughtful y. â€œMark has a shotgunâ€”maybe two. He goes duck hunting once in a while. And I think maybe a pistol, Iâ€™m not sure.â€

â€œWil you please get the shotguns now, and see if you can find the handgun. Bring them down here pronto. And be careful, he may have left them

loaded.â€ I turned back to the phone. â€œDid you hear that, Sonny?â€

â€œUh-huh. Iâ€™l stay on the line until you have them. Look, no funny remarks, please. I real y need to finish talking to Dana. We have to get that kid Zoe out of

there soon, but we also want to nail everyone involved. I probably include Reed in that list, and it may take a little time to set it al up.â€ I heard him sip

something that was probably better than what I had. He cleared his throat and went on.

â€œSo Iâ€™m tied up here for the next few hours. Iâ€™m sending Jeanine out to you. Sheâ€™s the only person I have available except Officer Mendes, who is stil

learning how to extract his pistol from its holster without endangering himself and everyone else within a one hundred and eighty degree arc. Can you and

she handle Maddock if he shows up drunk? He can be pretty obnoxious.â€

I took the last swal ow of my watery drink with its slight aftertaste of kerosene. â€œJeanine could handle a Bengal tiger by herself. Weâ€™l be okay. What shal

we do with him if he shows?â€

â€œAsk him sweetly where he got the money. Heâ€™s going to be very upset when he sees it laid out wherever youâ€™ve got it. Be careful with this guy.â€

â€œYeah. Oh, hereâ€™s Karen bringing al three guns. Jesus, Karen, watch where the hel you point them. Sonny, Iâ€™ve got to go. Quick, tel me, do I get into the

Charlie thing with Mark?â€

â€œSure, you and Jeanine can put him into a good sweat. Bring him in for more questioning if you want, or if you get enough, arrest him. If you real y need

Mendes, cal Nacho. Okay? See you later.â€

I said good-bye to a dead line and turned careful y to relieve Karen of two shotguns and a revolver. I broke the shotguns and found both empty. The

revolver was loaded, but dirty, and didnâ€™t smel as if it had been fired lately. I dumped the cartridges in Karenâ€™s hand and suggested she put them in a

baggie somewhere obscure.

I took al three weapons out and locked them in the trunk of my car and let an anxious Fargo out to trot for the nearest tree. Output taken care of, we

turned to input, and he had a drink from his little bowl and the thermos of water I keep in the car. About this time I spotted Jeanine walking up the sidewalk,

wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, looking most unlike a policewoman. She had parked her unmarked car around the corner so Mark wouldnâ€™t be suspicious

at two strange cars in his yard.

I looked pointedly at her garb and mine and remarked that Mark would probably think we were both lesbians, on our weekly visits to various homes,

handing out literature recommending the lifestyle.

We turned toward the house and she laughed. â€œMaybe we should tel him weâ€™re members of a twelve-step program to help make conversion easy. I told

my husband if he gets me pregnant one more time, Iâ€™m turning gay.â€

I smiled and shook my finger at her. â€œBe careful of the promises you make. You could end up with no husband and four kids.â€

I took Fargo in with us, mainly because the car was getting a little warm to leave him and partly because he makes an impressive appearance.

We spent a long, boring, nerve-wracking afternoon waiting for Markâ€”and possibly his pal Richardâ€”to show up. Jeanine and I careful y counted the

money and final y got the same total: $19,050. If this were indeed the money from the Tel man Gal ery, it was some $6,000 short of what it should be.

Between what he spent on drinks for his barfly buddies last evening and what he took to the track today, surely even Mark wouldnâ€™t have gone through that

much money. I wondered where it was.

Then the lightbulb went on above my head. No, Mark wouldnâ€™t have spent six grand on drinks for the house, but he might have given a generous present

to his â€˜pal.â€™ Especial y if that friend had been with him when he robbed Tel manâ€™s . . . and probably shot Charlie. I didnâ€™t say this to Jeanine because Karen

was nearby futzing with something in the kitchen.

I did get up, take my 9 mm Glock out of my purse and stick it in the rear pocket of my jeans, pul ing my shirttail out to cover it. Jeanine raised her

eyebrows. â€œYou just had a thought?â€

â€œYeah,â€ I answered. â€œThat there may have been some help from the junior partner.â€

She thought a minute and then got it. â€œSo if the partner is here, too, we might have two to take in?â€

â€œYup.â€

â€œThat could get interesting. Do you have cuffs?â€

â€œYeah, I got them out of the car earlier, just in case Mark beat you here and got rambunctious.â€

The day dragged on. Karen gave us coffee and cheesecake, for which I was duly grateful, having missed my lunch.

We sat around the dining room table and tried to chatâ€”three women with little in common. If they talked about kids, that left me out. If Jeanine and I

talked about cops, it left Karen out. If Karen and I talked of looking for a third catering partner, it left Jeanine out. Final y, of course, we got to the weather

and wrung it dry. We started with todayâ€™s autumn loveliness and worked al the way back to the myths we had heard about the hurricane of 1938.

We almost missed the sound of a motor in the driveway. Karen jumped up and peeked out the window. I wondered for a moment if she were about to

dash out and tel Mark to run for it, but she came back and sat down.

â€œItâ€™s Richardâ€™s truck. I guess he brought Mark home.â€

â€œWil he come in, too?â€ Jeanine asked.

Karen shook her head. â€œI doubt it. If they have been drinking and didnâ€™t go to work, he knows Iâ€™l be wel and truly pissed.â€

A car door slammed. We waited a few seconds and there was no second door. I think we al let out a breath. Mark was enough to handle. Richard

could wait. Jeanine was on her radio, advising headquarters Mark was here at last, and that Richard drove a green Ford pickup approximately three

years old, plates unseen.

Mark entered the front door, crossed the living room and came into the dining room with a tentative smile for the three women seated innocently at his

dining room table. Then he spotted the money neatly stacked in the middle of it.

â€œWhatâ€™s going on here? Who the hel are you? Karen, where did you get that money? Answer me!â€

Karen seemed as frozen as her cookie dough, so I answered for her. â€œShe found it in the garage freezer, where you hid it, Mark. Iâ€™m Deputy Officer

Peres, and this is Officer Marcus. Weâ€™d like to know where you got the money. Sit down, Mark, and tel us how the horses have been treating you.â€

â€œOh,â€ he laughed a little too loudly. â€œHorsesâ€™re like women. You never know, one minute to thâ€™ next. You jusâ€™ got to hope for the best.â€ You could smel the

booze, and he was slurring slightly, but he was far from dead drunk. I wasnâ€™t sure if I was glad or sorry.

â€œHow did you fare today? Were they good to you?â€ I hoped they had been. Mark in an expansive mood might be more likely to talk. He stil hadnâ€™t sat

down.

â€œFared fine, fine. Woulda had a real good day if my last pick hadnâ€™t stumbled cominâ€™ outa the gate. Stupid jockeyâ€™s fault.â€ He shook his head in disgust.

â€œBut Iâ€™m on a real rol here. Got the system beat al to hel and back. Gonna double my money in a month or less.â€

Karen found her tongue and produced a truly wifely statement. â€œYouâ€™d better more than double it. Your boss says youâ€™re fired. You and that Richard

cal ing in sick on the same day! You think Mr. Ambrosio is such an idiot that he wouldnâ€™t know? And now youâ€™ve got the police involved saying you stole the

money from Tel manâ€™s Art Gal ery. Are you real y that big a fool? Did you actual y rob them? I canâ€™t believe you would do such a thing.â€

Mark turned pale and leaned both hands to steady himself against the table. But his mouth was hard-set now and his tone no longer jocular. â€œJesus,

Karen, you stupid cow. What have you been tel ing people? I knew once you got mixed up with them queers, youâ€™d be less than worthless. Now youâ€™re

cal inâ€™ your own husband a crook and a thief. You know that money came from our savings account. I never stole a penny from anybody. Karen, go get me

a beer.â€

He swung his index finger back and forth, pointing at Jeanine and me, swaying slightly. â€œNow you two dykes got no business coming into my house,

trying to influence my wife and insult me. So you can just get the hel out and right now!â€ He gestured grandly toward the front door.

Karen set a can of beer on the table and scampered for the kitchen.

Jeanine does not suffer fools lightly. With her around, I would greatly prefer to be on the side of the law. She stood, reached across the table and

grabbed the front of his shirt, pul ing him toward her. â€œDykes is not a friendly word, cowboy. If you use it once more, you may be talking with a cute little

baby boy lisp because your front teeth are missing.â€

She pushed him and he sat down so hard that the chair beneath him gave an ominous crack. Jeanine sat herself down more gently and continued.

â€œNow everybody knows you saw that twenty-five thousand dol ars al neatly stacked up on Charlie Cohaneâ€™s desk, and it was just too pretty to pass by. You

might as wel admit it, Mark. We can prove it.â€

â€œIâ€™m admitting nothing, and youâ€™re not proving nothing.â€ He crossed his arms and smirked. â€œNow, I am tel ing you nicely to get the fuck out of my house

before I throw you out.â€

Before Jeanine could make him try to prove that he could, I said, â€œLook, Mark, you are in trouble, and it wil cause hardship on your family. About twenty five thousand worth. We have checked the bank. This moneyâ€â€”I waved my hand over the tableâ€”â€œdid not come from your savings account. And the bank

doesnâ€™t give out those little green canvas bags to every customer to pack his lunch. They go to a few real y heavy hitters. And you ainâ€™t one of them. If you

cooperate, things wil be nicer for everyone involved, including you.â€

Jeanine took up the tale. â€œYeah, Mark, you know, you werenâ€™t too clever leaving the bands around the bil s. How much do you want to bet your

fingerprints are al over them? Iâ€™d say the odds are approximately nine to one. Then thereâ€™s the five grand missing from the Tel man depositâ€”and which

we know you gave to your blond Adonis for al his help . . . one way or another. Just how long do you think heâ€™l sit quietly when he gets pul ed in as an

accessory to murder?â€

I came back on the scene after a sip of coffee. Mark was swinging his head from one to the other of us like a stunned bul . But stil a potential y

dangerous one. â€œOne other thing, Mark, the bank deposit slip you tossed into Marie Santosâ€™s yard. She found it and cal ed the Tel mans. What would you

say if it had your thumbprint right smack in the middle of it?â€

I had no idea if it did or didnâ€™t, but it sounded good.

â€œYou have no way of checking my fingerprints.â€ Mark sneered. â€œIâ€™ve never been arrested. Man, you dykes are dumb. You think Iâ€™d fal for that?â€

â€œYou donâ€™t have to fal for that. You left your fingerprints al over Charlie Cohaneâ€™s desk.â€

â€œThe hel I did!â€ he shouted. â€œWe wiped that desk cleaner than a whistle. I didnâ€™t kil her!â€

We al realized what he had said at about the same moment. Jeanine and I looked at each other and smiled. Karen let out a groan from wherever she

was lurking in the kitchen. Mark, with upper arm strength, due no doubt to lifting sofas in and out of trucks, turned the dining table over. Glasses, cups, dirty

dishes and money cascaded into Jeanineâ€™s and my laps, and the edge of the table itself pinned our upper legs to the chairs in which we sat.

Mark bolted through the kitchen toward the back door. Jeanine and I final y got a coordinated lift and got the table off us. She ran toward the kitchen

door after Mark. Strangely, Fargo fol owed her, I suppose because that was the door he had come in. I went for the front door, assuming Mark was headed

for the garage and his car.

I hoped to get there first and be standing by the door, gun in hand and saying sternly, â€œAl right, Mark, hands against the garage, legs spread out, and

donâ€™t move.â€ Then Jeanine would cuff him, we would march him to the unmarked car, and away to the police station we would triumphantly go.

It didnâ€™t work out quite that way. My script bore little resemblance to the performance. First of al , I seemed to be having some trouble extricating my

weapon from my hip pocket. It seemed caught on some errant threads. Perhaps Officer Mendes and I should schedule a date to go to the firing range.

Secondly, where was Jeanine? Nowhere in sight.

Fargo came dashing around the corner of the garageâ€”obviously ahead of everyone elseâ€”and jumped for my arms to tel me he would protect me.

Trying to fend him off, I didnâ€™t see Mark careen around the corner, skidding on the long grass, and running headlong into Fargo and me. We al three went

down in a messy heap, winded and confused.

Fargo recovered first and began to struggle to get out of the pile. I got my breath back and grabbed the dogâ€™s col ar and held him tight. He hates being

col ared and complains bitterly with high-pitched whines and yelps and barks. Heâ€™s only protesting, but most people think it is prelude to an attack. Mark

obviously thought so, and began an effort to rol free.

I managed to prop on one elbow and said, â€œDonâ€™t move an inch or Iâ€™l let the dog loose, and heâ€™l have your bal s before you know theyâ€™re gone.â€ Mark

laid his head slowly and careful y back on the grass. I had just begun to wonder how long the three of us could maintain this tableau, when Jeanine

appeared.

She was moving at a crawl and limping heavily, face twisted in pain. But trouper that she was, she had her revolver out and cocked. We got Mark

handcuffed. I couldnâ€™t stand Fargoâ€™s shrieks any more and let him loose. Unthinking, I swatted him lightly on the butt and said, â€œOh, okay, Tiger, go ahead

and kil .â€

Mark sank to his knees and wet his pants.

At that moment Officer Mendes pul ed up, wheels squealing, siren dying away to a low whine, answering a neighborhood cal that someone was

torturing an animal.

Chapter 23

I recal last year, when Cindyâ€™s father had a mild heart attack, and she was frantical y waiting for Cassie to return from a charter and fly her down to

Connecticut. She cleaned the whole house, including windows, in just about two hours. I was very worried about him, too, of course, but I did the sensible

thing. I quietly sat at the kitchen table, drank cup after cup of ever-stronger coffee, smoked half a pack of cigarettes, ate two or three doughnuts and

worried.

Karen Maddock, it would seem, was of the Cindy ilk. I would never understand people like that. Anyway, while Jeanine and I had been questioning Mark

in the dining room, she had begun to mop the kitchen floor. When Mark had run through the room he accidental yâ€”or purposelyâ€”kicked the bucket of

water over, and Jeanine slipped in it and twisted her ankle badly.

She needed a hospital. I needed another cop to ride with Mendes and Mark while I took Jeanine for medical care. Fargo needed a ride home. The

unmarked police car needed a driver, and Mark needed a bath and clean clothes. Our Abbott and Costel o act seemed destined for a long run.

Karen offered to pack some clean clothes and personal items for Mark and send them with us. Somehow, I did not want either Mendes or me walking

into the station carrying the suitcase for a smel y murder suspect, more the bel boy than the dauntless law enforcer. I suggested she bring it down later.

Final y, final y! After standing around forever, we put Jeanine and Mark, sitting as far apart as possible, in the back of the police cruiser, driven by

Mendes with al windows downâ€”first to police headquarters to instal Mark in a cel and get the money in a safe, then to the clinic to instal Jeanine in a

cast. I drove my car home, with Fargo now dozing in the front seat, weary of it al . The unmarked police car would doubtless be picked up sometime by

someone.

Cindy met me at the door with a big hug and kiss, fol owed by a look at my clothes and a wrinkled nose. â€œI was getting a little worried. What on earth

have you been doing? Rol ing in a pasture? Youâ€™re covered with dirt and grass stains and you smel of cat piss.â€

â€œNot cat piss,â€ I sighed. â€œMark Maddock got scared.â€

â€œWhat on earth scared him that badly?â€

â€œI told him Fargo was going to bite off his bal s.â€

She looked at me sharply to see if I were kidding. Realizing I was not, she burst into laughter.

â€œMy sweet creampuff? Never! Oh, Fargo, such an insult! My poor baby, let me feed you. We canâ€™t have you reduced to cannibalism.â€

I wished she had offered to feed me, but I said meekly, â€œI guess Iâ€™l go take a shower.â€ No one argued with me.

Resting my eyes. I was only resting my eyes as I listened to the TV. I was not asleep. I was listening to several people prove they were not smarter than

a bunch of fifth graders. Neither was I, to my chagrin. Some of the science questions were not even understandable, much less answerable. Yet, the kids

mostly just rattled them off, while the contestant stood looking humiliated. I opened my eyes to find my brother standing over me, smiling.

â€œA wel -deserved nap. Sorry to wake you up.â€ He looked worn out. I could almost feel sorry for him. Then I recal ed that he had probably had a delicious

lunch, whereas I had had none. And my dinner had consisted of a cold chicken leg, sliced tomato, a hunk of cheese and the end of a baguette.

â€œI was only resting my eyes.â€

â€œWhatever you say. I just wanted to let you know, tomorrow night is D-Dayâ€”wel , D-Night . . . oh, hel , you know what I mean.â€

â€œPerhaps you need a wel -deserved nap to perk you up,â€ I said kindly. â€œDo you feel up to talking about it? D-Day, I mean?â€

â€œCoffee should help.â€ Cindyâ€™s smile was genuine as she brought in the tray and set it on the coffee table. â€œYou both look like you need a good nightâ€™s

sleep and a day off.â€

Neither of us would admit to that, so we al took coffee and at least two of us tried not to gulp it down.

Sonny set his coffee mug down and rubbed his eyes with a sigh. â€œOkay, here we go. Dana just cal ed me. She was at the barn for one last check on

Zoe, when Reed Catlett phoned with the final instructions for Gerald and Rick. Iâ€™l give the kid credit, she has good timing. If it werenâ€™t for her, weâ€™d stil be

pretty much in the dark.â€

Cindy shook her head. â€œI can hardly believe it. The father of the kidnapped girl is giving instructions to the two kidnappers, and they are prepared to

fol ow them. That is absolutely absurd.â€

Sonny nodded. â€œThe word I think I would use is obscene. Anyway, as you know, tomorrow night is the big farewel shindig at Tel manâ€™s Gal ery, and Reed

figured with a crowd mil ing around, it would be a good time for him to get the money to Gerald and Rick. They can make their getaway and Reed wil

gal antly rescue Zoe once the coast is safely clear.â€

Cindy snapped her fingers and stood up. â€œThat reminds me.â€ She reached up on the mantel. â€œOur invitation to the party came today. You canâ€™t get in

without it, Sonny. Do you have one? We have two here for some reason.â€

â€œIâ€™l have a dozen after I see the Tel mans tomorrow morning,â€ he answered sarcastical y. â€œFirst of al , I was told by Trish to get an invitation if I had to

steal it. Second, I was told that Iâ€™d better be wearing a tux, or she would show up in her ratty old bathrobe. I ask youâ€â€”he looked at us with a shake of his

headâ€”â€œam I on duty, or am I escorting my girlfriend to some artsy-smartsy gala?â€

â€œBoth,â€ we chorused.

Cindy added, â€œTrish and I wil look after each other, mingle with the multimil ionaire New York and Boston jet sets, get slightly tipsy on Krug champagne

and have a wonderful time dancing the night away. We may even buy a picture or two. I know about how much Iâ€™l see of you, my love.â€ She gave me a

pursed-lip smile and spoke to Sonny. â€œBut donâ€™t worry, she wil be in her tuxedo also. And so, I imagine, wil a great many other people.â€

â€œThatâ€™s a great comfort.â€ Sonny pul ed out his little notebook. â€œNow hereâ€™s how it wil go down. Youâ€™d better take some notes, Alex, so you can go over it

in your mind tomorrow.â€

I was aghast. â€œSonny, I agreed to help you out for a day or so. Glad to do it. But enough is enough. I want to have some fun tomorrow night, too. Mom

and Aunt Mae are going. Cassie and Lainey wil be there, along with Walter and Bil y and God knows who else. I do not intend to pass up champagne and

caviar. And you want me to run around chasing kidnappers?â€

â€œNow, Sis . . .â€ I knew I was in trouble. â€œYou can have fun at the party. We hope most of the people there wonâ€™t even know what is going on. And your little

role wil beâ€”wel , mostlyâ€”ah, supervisory. Let me explain the whole picture, so you can have a completely easy mind.â€

I waited for him to go on. He sounded so oily, I half expected him to offer me a beautiful nineteenth century bridge at a bargain price.

â€œFirst of al , Reed has arranged for a rental car, a light blue Toyota, for the two â€˜kidnappersâ€™ to escape in. It wil arrive around seven and wil be parked in

the lot, near the front exit. The keys wil be left in one of those magnetic holders under the right front fender. Even if one of the Tel mans should notice the

car arriving early, they would think it belongs to one of the caterers or some of the security people whoâ€™l be watching the art al night, to make sure nobody

wanders out with one of the smal er piecesâ€”something they havenâ€™t bought.â€

I had a bril iant thought. â€œSonny, couldnâ€™t some of the security people help you out better than I?â€

â€œNo. Reed and his lovely wife wil arrive at eight, when the party is in ful swing and it is ful y dark. Reed wil have a briefcase. He wil walk with the lovely

Merrilou to the bar and leave the briefcase on the floor at the end of the bar. It wil contain one hundred thousand dol ars, plus two plane tickets from

Atlanta to Dublin, two driverâ€™s licenses and two credit cards, which wil not be reported stolen until after the two young men have landed in Ireland and had

time to move on.â€

Sonny reached for my pack of cigarettes on the table, and Cindy took advantage of the intermission to ask, â€œI wonder where a respectable man like

Reed got those credit cards and al those false papers? I wouldnâ€™t have any idea in the world where you get a false passport.â€

â€œI think I can answer that question.â€

The three of us looked around, astonished to see Harmon and another man standing in the dining room door.

â€œYour kitchen doorbel ainâ€™t working, Alex. Iâ€™l check it out tomorrow and fix it for you or pick up a new one. We knocked, but you didnâ€™t hear us. I hope we

didnâ€™t scare you ladies none.â€

â€œNo, no, itâ€™s fine, Harmon,â€ I reassured him. â€œYou and your friend have a seat. Can I get you some coffee?â€

The two men passed on coffee and sat down gingerly on the loveseat, which Sonny had vacated to sit by me on the couch. â€œWhatâ€™s up, Harmon?â€

Sonny asked. I knew he couldnâ€™t be any happier to see Harmon than I was. We real y didnâ€™t need one of Harmonâ€™s drug-dealer fantasies. But we al had

managed smiles of welcome. Cindyâ€™s was probably genuine. She was fond of Harmon and loved his theories on who was who in his imaginary Ptown

drug cartel.

â€œDid you just say you could tel us where Reed got some phony ID papers and credit cards?â€

â€œYes, but first, Alex, thank you for recommending me to the Tel man ladies for that repair work on their house. Itâ€™l have me in work for quite a while. First

thing I did was apologize to them for thinkinâ€™ they was drug dealers, and I told them they could tel Choate El is I wasnâ€™t watching him no more, neither. They

said everyone should be so ass . . . ass . . . assidious in their civic duty. They thought that it was kind of funny, and they werenâ€™t mad at al at my mistake.â€

They werenâ€™t the only ones who found it funny. I, at least, found it absolutely delicious, visualizing stodgy Choate El isâ€™s reaction to learning heâ€™d been

tailed as a drug dealer by Provincetownâ€™s Character in Residence. Neither Sonny, Cindy nor I dared make eye contact.

â€œNow, this hereâ€â€”Harmon pointed a thumb toward his companionâ€”â€œis my brother-in-law, Clete, from Fal River. Heâ€™s on vacation for a couple of weeks

and is going to stay and help me with the outdoor repairs, soâ€™s we can finish them before it gets too cold.â€

We three nodded greetings to Clete, and Sonny remarked, â€œThatâ€™s al good news, Harmon. But whatâ€™s it got to do with Reed Catlett?â€

â€œIâ€™m getting there. I went down to Fal River to pick Clete up so he could leave their car with his wifeâ€”my sister Georgia. While I was there, Clete took

me out to lunch at this place he claims has the best fried oysters on the whole East Coast. Wel , I ainâ€™t so sure the Wharf Rat donâ€™t beat â€™em, by a hair, but

they was good.â€ He cleared his throat several times. â€œMy throat is a little dry. I wonder might I trouble you for a little something cold?â€

I got up. We had al decided we were a little dry. Cindy actual y requested a smal glass of wine. The rest of us settled for beer.

Drinks served, Harmon final y cleared his throat and got to the core of his latest investigation.

â€œThis restaurant Clete took us to, it was a workingmanâ€™s place, plain and simple. A bar with a TV up at one end, some kinda rickety tables and chairs, a

pool table. You didnâ€™t feel out of place in jeans or coveral s, â€™cause thatâ€™s what everybody had on. And the portions al looked to be what a man with a half dayâ€™s hard work stil ahead of him would need.â€ I had to admit Harmon was observant.

Here he turned to Clete. â€œI think you can tel this part better than me.â€

Clete nodded and began. â€œThese two fel as come in and took the table next to us. Tables are fairly close together in there. The first guy, his name is Bil

Slote. I know him to speak to, and we did. He had on khakis and a shirt with no tie, carried a hard hat, so he couldnâ€™t have got a table at the Ritz.â€ He

smiled at his humor and paused for a sip of his beer.

Then he went on. â€œThis Sloteâ€”heâ€™s a contractor, got a reputation for being a tough guy and for hiring tough guys. He gets at least half of the jobs around

Fal River that are plums. Mainly the county and state stuff. Wel , the other contractors, they grumble, but they donâ€™t do nothing about it. Rumor says you

cause trouble for Slote, and you wonâ€™t even get the crumbs you do get, and you might find some of your large equipment breaking down kinda frequent. I

donâ€™t know whether thatâ€™s true or not. But itâ€™s what I hear.â€

He let us digest that for a minute and continued. â€œThe guy having lunch with Slote stood out like a . . . wel , he stood out. He had on a suit that cost more

than I make in a month, shoes al shined up like my little girlâ€™s Sunday school pumps and those thin, shiny socks with some kind of fancy stitching up the

side. Actual y had on a lavender shirt. Looked like silk. Probably a good thing he was with Slote. This dressy guy, he gave us both a real politicianâ€™s

greasy smile, like they give you whether you know them or not. I only know his last name. Itâ€™s Cuniff. He works for the state, something to do with okaying

bids for new construction. They had a drink, waitinâ€™ for their lunch.â€

Harmon took over again. â€œIt was nearly two oâ€™clock and pretty quiet in there, so you could hear what people was saying. Slote, he says to the other guy

that Reed Catlett is getting to be a pain. He donâ€™t want to dummy up the specifications, but he stil wants his cut. This Cuniff smiles, nasty-like, and says, â€˜I

got a young architect thatâ€™l fit real nice right here,â€™ and he patted his jacket pocket. â€˜You just carry on the best you can with Reed for now. Within a month or

so, Iâ€™l have this young guy al sewed up, and Reed may find himself designing public bathrooms at the beach.â€™ Then their lunch came and I didnâ€™t hear

them anymore. But if I wanted a phony passport, I bet you Reed Catlett could get it for me.â€

Wel , damn, I thought, Harmon has final y stumbled onto something that sounds real. Not only real, but much more far-reaching than the odd drug trade.

God bless him, his ship has come in.

Sonny was more down to earth. â€œHave you mentioned this to anyone else?â€ Harmon and Clete both shook their heads. â€œBe sure you donâ€™t. Not only

could you tip them off to start covering their tracks, but also, if what you say is correct, you could get hurt. I mean this. Donâ€™t you guys have a couple of

beers and start bragging how clever you are.â€

â€œNo, Sonny, we wonâ€™t breathe a word.â€ I hoped he meant it.

â€œOkay.â€ Sonny smiled. â€œYouâ€™ve both done a great job. I know a guy in the state police down your way, Clete. Iâ€™l see what he knows about it. Now, you

two, be patient, be careful, be quiet!â€

Sonny stood up and shook hands with them both. They could hardly take it as anything but good night, and so they left.

And we once again addressed my briefing for tomorrow.

Cindy was literal y drooping over her wineglass. I took it from her gently and pointed toward the bedroom. â€œGo.â€

She looked up at me with tired eyes. â€œYou wonâ€™t mind? I hate to do this. You both look as tired as I feel.â€

I pul ed her upright and held her against me for a minute, then kissed her. â€œNow I feel fine,â€ I said. And I did. â€œWe wonâ€™t be long.â€ I looked meaningful y

over her head at my brother.

â€œAbsolutely not, just a few more smal details. You run along.â€ He patted her on the head as if her name were Fargo, which I thought would earn him a

snappy retort. But she was too tired. She went.

â€œYou got anymore beer?â€ Sonny watched her walk toward the bedroom with envy.

â€œYeah, but it may put us both on the floor.â€

â€œSeriously, I wonâ€™t be long.â€

He wasnâ€™t long getting the beer, either, and we started the action back at the Tel manâ€™s bar.

â€œAfter Reed and Merrilou get their drinks, sheâ€”who knows nothing of this, we are sureâ€”wil start to socialize. So wil Reed, but he wil be on the

lookout for Gerald and Rick. They wil have a similar briefcase, containing some newspapers to give it a little weight, and the key to the barn.â€

â€œOkay.â€ I sipped the beer, if I passed out it wasnâ€™t my fault. â€œSo when Reed sees the guys come in he goes and picks up the case with the key, and he

goes and gets Zoe. Tweedledee and Tweedledum pick up the case with the money and go to the car. Which I assume wil be under observation by

Provincetownâ€™s finest.â€

â€œYeah,â€ Sonny replied. â€œMitch wil be back from vacation and wil come in a day early. He and Pino and Dobis wil cover the Toyota and your two

Tweedles. Mendes and Sanders wil be in two cruisers up where the road turns onto Route Six, just in case Rick and Gerald get away somehow. Anybody

in a blue Toyota is going to spend a lot of time talking to cops tomorrow night.â€ He laughed. â€œWeâ€™ve even got the state guys alerted al the way up to the

bridges just as a precaution.â€

I lit a cigarette and tossed the pack to Sonny. He was considerate. He carried his own lighter.

I sat up straight and tried to concentrate as he continued.

â€œNow comes the part that makes me hope Reed does spend some nice long prison time for doctoring design plans for a kickback and a few other

things.â€ His mouth turned down at the corners and his eyes were cold. â€œThat son of a bitch told Rick and Gerald that Zoe is to be wel sedated and entirely

naked when he gets to her tomorrow night. He wil â€˜rescueâ€™ her, put his suit jacket around her and carry her, otherwise naked, right down the hil and into

the crowded gal ery. And, doubtless with crocodile tears streaming down his face, heâ€™l be yel ing, â€˜Look here everyone, my darling daughter is back in her

loving fatherâ€™s arms!â€™â€

My cigarette tasted suddenly harsh and bitter. I stubbed it out. â€œSonny, that cannot possibly be true!â€

â€œWel ,â€ he admitted, â€œI donâ€™t know exactly what words he wil be yel ing, but you can bet itâ€™s something that makes him the loving, heroic father. And the

drugged and naked part is true. But there is one good thing. Your Tweedle boys are getting smart, a little late in the game, but better than not at al . They

taped the cal and, according to Dana, wil put it in the mail to me tomorrow morning.â€ He actual y smiled. â€œThey donâ€™t realize they wil al be here to tel a

jury the details about it in person.â€

â€œWhat do you think you can charge Reed with?â€

â€œAt least two counts of reckless endangerment, endangering the safety of a juvenileâ€”Zoe isnâ€™t eighteen yetâ€”conspiracy to commit a rape, il egal

restraint, bribery, il icit use of drugs and anything else we can come up with, like throwing a gum wrapper on the sidewalk.â€ He grinned.

His grin faded and he slugged down a goodly portion of his beer. â€œI am not going to al ow that girl to be publicly humiliated and terrified, being carted

virtual y unclothed into a crowd of a hundred people. Theyâ€™l al be staring, yel ing questions, cheering and pounding the valiant father on the back. And al

the women wil be making a fuss over her.â€

Sometimes I quite liked my brother. â€œYou going to arrest him when he picks up the briefcase with the key?â€

â€œNo, he could explain that as just accidental y picking up a similar briefcase. I want him showing that he knows exactly where she is. First of al , there

wil be an ambulance with an EMT crew, parked behind the gal ery. If anyone sees it, it wil simply look like a precaution in case anyone faints in the crowd

or whatever. But when the ambulance driver sees Reed reach the barn, he wil quietly drive up the hil and park beside the entrance.â€

He turned to me and poked me rather hard on the leg. â€œThis, dear sister, is where you come in.â€

â€œOuch!â€ I didnâ€™t want to come in. I wanted to go to bed.

â€œWhen Reed leaves the gal ery and starts up the hil , give him a fair lead and then fol ow him.â€ Sonny had taken control of the cigarettes and helped

himself. â€œHe wonâ€™t look back, Iâ€™m almost sure. Heâ€™s got a one-track mind about this thing. And I want a witness. You fol ow him into the barnâ€”if he sees you

thenâ€”he does. What the hel , you are technical y stil on his payrol . Tel him youâ€™re just backing him up. But I stil think he wonâ€™t look behind him. He thinks

heâ€™s righteous as hel , dealing with this disobedient, ungrateful, queer daughter. I donâ€™t want him to have a chance to rape Zoe himself, or to beat her up,

later blaming it on the guys. When he carries Zoe downstairs, I want her put in that ambulance and taken to the clinic for a thorough checkup.â€

â€œAnd just how do I manage to accomplish that with this fanatic? What do I do, Sonny? Do I curtsy and say â€˜This way, your Grace, please put Zoe inside

the pretty red and white ve-hicle?â€™â€

Sonny shrugged. â€œJust flash your badge and your weapon at him. They are more convincing than a curtsy. If he argues, just shoot him in the foot.â€ He

stood, orders to the menials now complete.

â€œThere is one smal problem, sir. Iâ€™m not carrying a handbag tomorrow night, much less a Glock semi-automatic. There is no place to put it. My tux is a

sleek fit, and I wil not have a great bulge in my hip pocket, nor wil I have my jacket dragging down below my knee from carrying it in a side pocket. And a

shoulder holster is out. No gun, Son.â€

He lifted his hands helplessly. â€œHit him with a rock. Seriously, you better have a weapon with you.â€ He turned back toward the door as he said, â€œSee you

at the station about eight thirty in the morning. Coffee and doughnuts on me.â€

â€œWhat? Why? Are you crazy?â€

â€œMark Maddock. I didnâ€™t get a chance to talk to him. The minute he got a shower and some food, he passed out. When he wakes up, heâ€™l be sober, with

plenty of worrisome thoughts. Iâ€™m just as glad he did pass out. I had a lot to do.â€

â€œOh, of course,â€ I said. â€œYou were running behind after your three-hour lunch with Dana? Sheâ€™s an infant and sheâ€™s gay.â€

â€œI am aware of those two things, Ms. Morality Police. She is also a gutsy kid and our only reliable contact with Zoe and her keepers. You and Jeanine

had Mark pretty wel rattled. We should get a confession in no time. See you at eight thirty.â€ He was gone.

I tossed my clothes on a chair and turned to the bed where Cindy lay, deep in dreamland. I didnâ€™t even bother shooing Wel s and Fargo off my side of

the bed. I merely curled up in the little space they had left me. It was just fine.

Chapter 24

The darling four-legged members of the family woke us early. I got up to let them out and wondered yet again where they found their energy. I stood in

the doorway, watching them, my mind a virtual blank. I felt Cindyâ€™s head nestle between my shoulder blades and I asked, â€œWhy are you up? You are the

only sane one in the family. Go back to bed.â€

â€œWe have time to take them to the beach before you have to leave,â€ she answered. â€œI vaguely heard Sonny say something about eight thirty last night.

Shal we take the little buggers for a romp?â€

Cindy and Wel s rarely joined Fargo and me for a beach trip, and I was pleased.

â€œSure. Thatâ€™s a great idea.â€

We rapidly donned last nightâ€™s clothes, cal ed the kinder and left, with Fargo shifting around the backseat, complaining that he was supposed to ride in

the front seat, and Wel s, hissing quietly when he crowded her. A typical family excursion.

I stopped at the Topsail and picked up Portuguese fried bread and two coffees. Cindy actual y broke off a hunk of bread and tore into it like a hungry

sailor. Not a typical family excursion.

We reached Race Point, and I parked right at the top of the paths down to the beach. There were only two other cars there, probably surf fishermen.

Fargo scampered down with Wel s in hot pursuitâ€”and I had no camera.

Cindy and I fol owed more slowly.

When we got to sea level, I turned and looked out over the ocean to the horizon where the sun was just sending exploratory rays along the whitecaps,

making them look like dainty, timeless gold antimacassars on the oceanâ€™s ample armrests.

â€œWhatâ€™s your forecast, Caleb? Fair weather?â€

â€œAyup,â€ I answered in my best fishermanâ€™s accent. â€œShe may blow a little toward eveninâ€™ but tharâ€™l be no rain, lady. You câ€™n wear yore best boa tâ€™night.â€

â€œIâ€™m glad thereâ€™l be no rain, thank you, but I am not at al sure the world is ready for me in a boa.â€

We strol ed on. Cindy laughed and pointed. Fargo had rousted a bunch of plovers and they flew away, low over Wel s, who performed several athletic

leaps and final y did a little jig on her hind feet, front feet waving ineffectual y in the air where the birds had been. Fargo gave her a disgusted look and

plunged into the water, managing to spray her rather thoroughly, which, of course, had been his purpose.

I shook my head. â€œSometimes they are so human they almost frighten me.â€

â€œAt least they are rarely vicious without a reason,â€ Cindy said. â€œRogue animals do happen, but few and far between. You can usual y trace a bad animal

to a bad human.â€

â€œThen no wonder ours are such paragons of virtue.â€

I popped my empty coffee cup into the bag our breakfast had come in. Cindy added hers and I took the breakfast detritus over to one of the trash

barrels placed at intervals along the beach.

We walked slowly back to the car, holding hands and leaning slightly into each other. I turned to her and said, â€œI love you,â€ just as she simultaneously

said, â€œI love you.â€

Cindy tilted her head against my shoulder. â€œIsnâ€™t it nice weâ€™re in accord?â€

â€œYes. Yes, it is.â€

A soaking shower and second cup of coffee put a finishing touch on my morningâ€™s good humor, and I arrived at Sonnyâ€™s office at eight thirty sharp, wide

awake and smiling. Surprisingly, so was my brother. He handed me a cup of coffee and actual y used a paper napkin to hand me a doughnut.

â€œHas Mark just given you an eight-page written confession?â€

â€œNo, heâ€™s stil whining that he didnâ€™t do it. But one Richard Merril arrived at the front desk a little while ago, announcing that he wants to clear his good

name in the Charlotte Cohane matter. That probably means he intends to muddy Markâ€™s.â€ Sonny flashed his Great White Shark grin.

â€œAh.â€ I took a bite of the pastryâ€”stil warm! â€œI take it Merril is Markâ€™s coworker and buddyâ€”wel , used to be his buddy, anyway.â€

â€œYep. Heâ€™s in the interrogation room awaiting our pleasure. Shal we join him?â€

â€œOh, yes. I wouldnâ€™t miss this.â€ I swiftly finished off the doughnut, wiped my mouth and fol owed Sonny down the hal , carrying my coffee.

The young man seated at the table was rather fresh-faced and pleasant looking, with dark brown curly hair and dark brown eyes that looked clear and

warm. His posture was straight but not nervously stiff. I judged him to be around six feet tal . He actual y rose when we entered the room.

â€œGood morning, Mr. Merril , I am Lieutenant Peres and thisâ€”â€ He was stopped in midsentence by Merril reaching across the table and extending his

hand. Sonny was so startled, he took it. â€œ . . . and this is my deputy,â€ he finished weakly.

I suppressed a giggle, sat down and arranged my notebook and coffee several times until they straightened themselves out.

â€œNow, er, Richard. Whatâ€™s al this about clearing your name? Thus far, you have no police record in Ptown, or in the state as far as we can judge at this

time. Not even a parking ticket. What is it you think may cause you a problem?â€ Sonny smiled his sweetest smile, offering Merril al the rope he needed.

â€œSir, Iâ€™m afraid if I donâ€™t straighten this out personal y, you might somehow get the idea I was somehow involved with Ms. Cohaneâ€™s death, and I wasnâ€™t,

except maybe a little bit afterward, but nothing that would have helped her.â€

â€œI see.â€ I was glad Sonny did. I wondered if Richard were kin to Bil ie at the Rat. â€œWould you like to start at the beginning, and would you mind if I taped

this interview?â€

â€œNot at al , sir, Lieutenant. Tape away. No confusion that way. I guess you could say it started when we got Mrs. Widmanâ€™s sofa and chair loaded on the

truck to be re-covered. Her house is maybe half a mile from the Tel man Gal ery, and Mark said heâ€™d like to stop by and tel Ms. Cohane he had no hard

feelings. He and Karen had been considering a divorce anyway, he said, and he for one thought it was a fine idea. Heâ€™d been unhappy for years, but just

stuck it out because of his son, Harry.â€

Sonny was clearly speechless. I managed to ask, â€œYou mean Karen and Mark were considering a divorce, and Charlie Cohane was somehow involved

in their decision?â€

â€œMs. Cohane was the reason for the divorce.â€ Richard gave a short laugh. â€œKaren told Mark that the very day the two women met, they knew they were

meant for each other, and they were even going into business together. Mark informed her he wasnâ€™t going to sit stil while she got involved with some

dyke and made him the townâ€™s laughingstock. Karen said, wel , then he could sit stil somewhere else. A divorce would be fine with her. She wasnâ€™t giving

up her new business or her new, uh, friend.â€

Sonny final y found his voice. â€œYou mean Mrs. Maddock and Ms. Cohane had fal en in love with each other? Just like that?â€

â€œSir, it surely sounded that way to me.â€

Without thinking, I had lit a cigarette. I blew smoke toward the ceiling and said, â€œThat romance is a little hard to believe, and Mark Maddock would never

wish any two lesbians wel . He hates al gays, and if his wife has discovered she is gay, that would put him right over the edge. If I had any doubts that

Mark kil ed Charlie, I just lost them.â€

â€œI hate to disagree with you, maâ€™am, but youâ€™re wrong. Mark did not kil her. Iâ€™l tel you what happened. I parked the truck in the art gal ery lot like Mark

told me, and we went over to the gal ery. There didnâ€™t seem to be anybody there, and we wondered if theyâ€™d al gone to lunch and somebody forgot to

close the door. We were standing inside the main door, and Mark was tel ing me to stay there where I could see if anybody pul ed into the lot or started

down from the house. If anybody was coming, I should yel and tel him. He would be in the office if Ms. Cohane was there, and we would skedaddle.â€

By now Sonny had made the necessary hand motions to tel me he wanted a cigarette, and I slid the pack down the table as he asked, â€œWhy were you

going to run if someone came in if you werenâ€™t doing anything wrong?â€

Richard looked unhappy at the smoke, but answered politely. â€œMark said he didnâ€™t want to run into anyone he knew. He was afraid of getting teased

about losing his wife to another woman. In fact, he said he might look for another job and move farther up Cape, so he didnâ€™t have to listen to it every time

he went out for a beer.â€

â€œOkay, you were standing guard. Then what?â€ Sonny looked dubious.

â€œI was by the main door, as I said. Mark took two or three steps toward the office door, which was closed, and then there was a loud pop! Mark and I

looked at each other, and then we ran for the office door. We banged on the door asking was everybody al right. When no one answered we opened the

door.â€

He swal owed hard and continued. â€œI saw a lady running out the back door. She got in a car right outside the door and roared off. And then I saw

another lady sort of slumped in an office chair kind of pushed back from the desk with a little bit of blood running down her forehead. Then I realized the

back of the chair was a mess. I yel ed for Mark and he came over. I picked up the desk phone to cal nine-one-one, but he took it out of my hand. He felt

her wrist and said she was a goner, which was what we had better be.â€

â€œDid you leave then?â€ I asked.

â€œNo. I donâ€™t know when I first saw the money on the little table by the desk. God, it looked like a fortune al stacked up and neatly banded. Mark had

already noticed it and had put some of it in a bag there on the table. Then he quit doing that and picked the gun up off the floor and wiped it with his

handkerchief and put it in the ladyâ€™s hand. It fel out, which Mark said it would have done if sheâ€™d shot herself. He said that we had to make it look like we

had never been there and never saw a thing. You see, we didnâ€™t know if the tal lady had been so upset she ran away when Ms. Cohane shot herself, or

whether she had shot Ms. Cohane and thrown the gun on the floor as she left.â€

â€œDid you know Ms. Cohane?â€ I asked.

â€œNo, never met her.â€

â€œDid you notice the gun was on the floor to Cohaneâ€™s left side, as if she used her left hand to shoot herself, or as if this other woman made it look as if

she had?â€ Sonny fol owed up.

Richard looked down, as if he were somewhat ashamed. â€œI never even thought of it. You see, the money was beginning to look good to me, too. Mark

saw my face and said, â€˜Help me get the rest of this in the bag, and five thousand is yours.â€™ That would get me through another year of col ege with what I

made this summer. And I said okay. It occurred to me somebody just driving by might see our truck with the name on the side. Not that we did a thing to

that poor lady, but if we should be seen, and later questioned, it would be a lot better for us if she had some reason to have kil ed herself. Mark thought a

minute, then laughed and agreed, so I did it.â€

â€œIn what way?â€ Sonnyâ€™s dubious look was fading.

â€œI saw some plastic gloves I guess they used handling some of the pictures and put them on. The computer was already on, and I wrote a suicide note.â€

Merril frowned as I lit another cigarette, but didnâ€™t complain. Instead, he said, â€œI figured if this lady ran an art gal ery, she was probably pretty arty herself,

so thatâ€™s the way I wrote the note. Mark said it was real y good, so thatâ€™s how we left it. Mark said now nobody would ever figure out whether Ms. Cohane

kil ed herself and the other lady just found her, or the other lady kil ed her and phonied up the note. He said it was bril iant. Then he just made sure we left

no prints on the telephone or anything, and we walked casual y out with the bag. We hadnâ€™t seen a soul except the runaway lady.â€

â€œDidnâ€™t you see anything at al of what she looked like?â€ I asked.

â€œNot real y. She had on slacks of some dark color and her hair was blond-ish and kind of long . . . wel , not real y long, just medium, I guess youâ€™d say.

Oh, she was real y tal , I think. Almost as tal as me, a good five-ten.â€

â€œWhat about her car?â€

â€œYeah, it was a dark beige. Kia, or maybe a Saturn, I think. Iâ€™m not sure.â€

Sonny looked at me and breathed, â€œJesus!â€

I gave him a wink and turned to Merril . â€œDo you happen to know a lady named El en Hal ?â€

He pondered a moment. â€œNo, I think not.â€

â€œNow thatâ€™s strange, Mr. Merril . You just described her perfectly. But I believe you when you say you donâ€™t know her. You see, we have a lot of herring in

this town, and Mark has given you a nice big red one to drag across the trail. And you fel for it. Perjury, if you testify to this in court, could be a real

mistake. But if you want to stick with your story, weâ€™l bring her in for a lineup, and weâ€™l check her alibi. Itâ€™s up to you.â€

He pushed his chair back from the table and held up his hands, palm out, as if he were trying to stop a train. â€œNow hold on, maâ€™am. Iâ€™m not perjuring

myself for anything or anybody. I donâ€™t know her. I never saw her in my life, and to tel the truth . . . she wasnâ€™t even there! Mark thought it would be a good

idea to have a stranger there, so she could have kil ed Ms. Cohane and taken the money. He just told me what she looked like and what her car was like,

and said we should both describe them the same way. Look, I want no part of any of this. I only took the money to help me through school. Here.â€

He reached into his hip pocket, and Sonny and I tensed, but he brought out a folded manila envelope, wel fil ed. â€œItâ€™s the money. Itâ€™s every bit there. I

was going to give it back anyway. I figured it would be bad luck.â€

â€œAnd you donâ€™t know whom you were describing?â€

â€œI do not. I figured it was just someone Mark dreamed up on the spur of the moment.â€

â€œThe woman you so perfectly pictured, El en Hal , was Charlie Cohaneâ€™s lover and housemate for fifteen years,â€ I said. â€œThe only place you went wrong

was on the car. She traded the Kia for a Chrysler some months back.â€

â€œOh, God. Iâ€™m fucked.â€

I could not help but agree.

Sonny and I looked at each other and smiled. â€œNow, Mr. Merril , let me tel you what I think real y happened. I think you stood at the front entrance, as you

said. But I think you were alone. Mark had gone into the office for his little chat with Charlie. You heard the pop and ran into the office. There you saw

Charlie with a bul et wound to the head and Mark holding a pistol. Right?â€

Merril was searching madly for innocence, and I had to admit that the not-too-bright young man had been led down the old garden path.

â€œLieutenant, maâ€™am,â€ he sputtered. â€œIt was an accident. Mark swore it was. Then he thought up this lady and I stupidly went along with his idea, and

â€”worseâ€”I thought up the suicide note. I admit I did that and I shouldnâ€™t have. But thatâ€™s al I did, and I am very sorry to have misled you. Can I go now?â€ He

was pale and sweaty, and his hands were shaking.

Sonny gave him a pitying look. â€œRichard, Iâ€™m afraid you must be our guest for a while. How old are you? Do your parents live around here?â€

â€œIâ€™m nineteen. They live down in Rhode Island. Why?â€

â€œI suggest you cal them and tel them to get you a very sharp lawyer. You are under arrest as an accessory to murder, but a good lawyer may be able to

cut that down to obstruction of justice.â€

â€œMy momâ€™s going to kil me.â€

â€œYeah, wel , better her than the state.â€ Sonny pressed the intercom and Mendes came to escort Richard Merril to a cel . â€œBook him for accessory to

murder,â€ Sonny instructed. â€œThen give us about ten minutes and bring Mark Maddock in here. Donâ€™t let the two of them see each other,â€ he said. â€œTel

Nacho to let him cal his mommy as soon as heâ€™s booked.â€

While we relaxed for a few minutes, Nacho brought us fresh coffee and Sonny actual y produced a pack of his own cigarettes. Before he lit his, he lit

one and handed it to me. I felt as if I were in an old Bette Davis film.

When Mark walked in, firmly gripped by Mendes, he looked very different from the last time I had seen him. He was sober and clean. His hair was

combed, and he was recently shaven. The handsome young man he had been was stil in there somewhere. He didnâ€™t know Richard Merril had turned

himself in and confessed al , however inadvertently, and I was sure Mark thought he was in the clear except for the money. And a sympathetic judge might

be quite lenient about that if Mark pleaded that when he saw al that cash, his only thought was for his sonâ€™s col ege tuition. He had an arrogant look about

him that made me eager to puncture it for him.

Sonny courteously asked Mark to tel him what had happened that day, and we listened without interruption. Markâ€™s tale was almost verbatim to Richard

Merril â€™s first story. He tried to make it that Richard had insisted on stealing the money and that heâ€”Markâ€”reluctantly complied, but that was about the

only real difference.

As for the person running out the back door, Mark said he was trying to see if Charlie was alive and could be helped, and al he saw was a tal woman

with fairly long hair, wearing slacks, running out the door. Then he saw the blur of what he thought was a brown Kia leaving swiftly.

â€œMark.â€ I tapped my finger on the table. â€œYou are lying through your teeth. You never went to Tel manâ€™s to have a friendly chat with Charlie! You couldnâ€™t

have a friendly chat with anyone whoâ€™s gay, much less someone you think is sleeping with your wife. Iâ€™l grant maybe you didnâ€™t go there to kil her. Maybe

you just went there to try to frighten her into leaving Karen alone, probably to beat her up for good measure. But when you saw the gun on the table beside

the money . . . bingo! Kil this wife-stealing, lesbian bitch and get a fistful of money to boot.

â€œThen you got the bright idea of putting another woman on the scene,â€ I added. â€œYou made her the spitting image of El en Hal , because you know when

someone is murdered, a spouse or lover is always somewhat suspect. That gave you another laugh. Maybe Charlieâ€™s bitch lesbian lover knew of the

Charlie/Karen affair and could go down for the shooting There never was a second woman in the room. You made her up and Richard swore to it. You do

know El en, donâ€™t you?â€

â€œNo. I mean I know her when I see her. We redid her office furniture. She and her friend picked out the material.â€

â€œNice going, Alex. Sounds good to me,â€ Sonny said.

â€œLook, Sonny, I tel you I never kil ed her.â€

Obviously, Mark was not going to talk to me, a mere woman, and gay at that. â€œYes, I was mad,â€ Mark admitted. â€œWouldnâ€™t you be? This crazy woman,

Charlieâ€”whoever named a woman Charlie?â€”comes on the scene and decides sheâ€™s gonna start up some hoity-toity catering business with my wife.

And Karenâ€™s cousin Ruthie goes along with it! Her own cousin going into business with a dyke whoâ€™s screwing my wife? Whatâ€™s the world coming to?

Then Karen wants a divorce, sheâ€™s so in love with this queer. A divorce, after we been married nearly twenty years. Okay, Karen hasnâ€™t been much of a

wife lately, but sheâ€™s not al that bad. I wouldnâ€™t never have left her.â€

He sounded as if he were describing an old lawnmower that wasnâ€™t cutting evenly but was stil usable.

â€œSo what were you going to do?â€ Sonny asked. â€œRough her up?â€

Mark looked up slowly. â€œMaybe, but no more than that. I just wanted her to back off. What would everybody think of me? What kind of man loses his wife

to another woman? Theyâ€™d be laughing al over town. And Harry. What would this do to him? Would he be laughing, too? I walked in the office and there

she sat putting big stacks of money in a green bag. Looked like a mil ion. She looked up and asked meâ€”real tough-likeâ€”who I was and what did I want?

â€

He buried his face in his hands, his next words barely understandable. â€œI saw her hand inching across the desk and realized she was after a pistol, sort

of half hid under some papers. I knew sheâ€™d shoot me. I could see it in her eyes. I was just some low-life thief come to take her money.â€

He was talking faster now, hands rubbing up and down his reddening cheeks.

â€œI grabbed her hand and tried to get the gun away from her or turn it away from me. I think her elbow slipped on the table and the gun went off and she

kind of reared back in the chair with the back of her goddamn head blown al to hel . I didnâ€™t mean it, Sonny.â€

He began to cry. â€œI didnâ€™t mean it. It was an accident, I tel you. I didnâ€™t kil her! And then that fool Merril comes thundering through the door yel ing his

head off, screaming we gotta make it look like suicide and get the money and get out before somebody comes back to the gal ery. Then he was running

around to the computer. It was like some of those crazy kidsâ€™ cartoons.â€

â€œDid you know Charlie did some things left-handed, so you put the gun in her left hand and let it fal to her left side?â€ I asked.

His sobs grew heavier. â€œNo, I never thought about that . . . I guess it was just the easiest way to do it with the way she was sitting. But I didnâ€™t mean it,

Sonny. I wouldnâ€™t never have kil ed nobody! Al I wanted was Karen and things back the way they was.â€

And I realized that in about five minutes, we had listened to the tale of a manâ€™s lifeâ€”rather dul , but not real y unhappyâ€”disintegrating into a hel he

would never leave. And along with him, he had taken his own family and Charlieâ€™s, plus Charlieâ€™s lover, and even, to a lesser degree, Richard Merril â€™s and

Karenâ€™s cousin Ruthie and Charlieâ€™s many friends.

Al because he didnâ€™t like the lifestyle of certain people.

Chapter 25

I was at home. I had told Sonny I simply couldnâ€™t take any more of Markâ€™sâ€”probably genuine, but stil self-servingâ€”remorse. If I were to be of any use to

Sonny tonight, I had to get away from the whole mess and try to recoup some of my early morning sanity.

Cindy had listened with interest and sympathy to my account of Markâ€™s and Richardâ€™s actions, and asked only one question: Why did Mark try to place

El en at the scene?

I shrugged. â€œHe hates al gays. If El en had no alibi for that time period, we would at least have had to give her some serious thought, especial y since

she and Charlie were going through some rough waters at the time.â€ I lit my hundredth cigarette and cringed at the taste.

â€œSonny wonâ€™t question her, wil he?â€

â€œNo, thereâ€™s no reason. I hope she never even hears about Markâ€™s tale. Sheâ€™s had enough.â€

She stood and came over to me and held me tight for a moment. I felt I could have stayed there forever, but she backed away slightly and put on her I wil -be-obeyed voice. â€œNow, darling, I want you to mix yourself one stiff drink and have it while I make you some scrambled eggs and toast. You have to eat

something. And then take a nap. We are going to enjoy tonight, even if World War Three is announced on the six oâ€™clock news.â€

It al sounded good to me, exceptâ€”the way things were goingâ€”I thought we might skip the news.

Cindy woke me gently about five oâ€™clock, whispering in my ear, â€œThe two furbal s are outside terrorizing the squirrels, and the phone is turned off.â€

I yawned. â€œWhat amazing good luck.â€

We took ful advantage of our fortuitous privacy. By six, we were beginning our toilettes for the big night and had forgotten al about what might be on

the news. In any event, it was a slow night, with the lead story about a boat chartered by the Loyal Order of the Moose that had managed to run aground

near Plymouth, with no casualties. Even the weather was cooperative, the forecast cal ing for clear skies and a brisk, but not cold, breeze. Ayup!

Our sartorial efforts were not in vain. Cindy actual y had her dark curls under some kind of control, piled atop her head, the better to display her long

and graceful neck. Her off-white dress had a scoop neck and a rich red and gold sash just below the waist. Her only other touches of color were a

sizeable single-ruby necklace of my motherâ€™s and red pumps with her signature stiletto heels, which I suggested should be registered as dangerous

weapons.

I felt pretty sharp myself, in my tux with a single-button jacket and the traditional stripe down the trousers. Instead of a tie I wore a white shirt with a fril y

jabot, so heavily starched I felt it would break before it would bend. My black slip-ons were as brightly polished as Sonnyâ€™s favorite boots.

I was not carrying a weapon, unless you counted the jabot. I figured, if I hugged somebody tight enough, I would probably stab them to death.

Otherwise, I was pretty harmless, and the sleek lines of my tux were undisturbed. I even carried a slender cigarette case in the breast pocket.

Driving over to the Tel man Gal ery, Cindy chattered happily about who would be there and how they might look. Her monologue required only the

occasional â€œUmm,â€ and â€œOh?â€ for answers, which was just as wel . I was going over Sonnyâ€™s careful y detailed plan in my mind, and that was what worried

me. Too many details, too much that might go awry.

What if the light blue Toyota wouldnâ€™t start and the rental company sent a black one? Would everyone realize only the color had changed? What if

someone actual y had a heart attack? The EMTs and their ambulance couldnâ€™t remain aloof, waiting for Zoe. What if Gerald and Rick looked in their

briefcase to find that Reed had fil ed it with one-dol ar bil s? What if the key to the barn didnâ€™t work? What if they accidental y gave Zoe an overdose and

kil ed her?

â€œWhat?â€

â€œFor the third time,â€ Cindy said with some asperity, â€œWhere do you want to park? Itâ€™s seven oâ€™clock, as your dear brother requested, and we certainly

have a wide choice of spaces. I think he and Trish are the only others here, except the security people. Oh, no, thereâ€™s one other car, and one next to it with

Mitch and Pino getting out. They actual y have on tuxes. Why do they stil look like cops? Iâ€™l bet Sonny wonâ€™t.â€

â€œBecause they feel like cops disguised in tuxedos,â€ I said. â€œSonny simply feels gorgeous. Park by him. I donâ€™t want either of us anywhere near that

Toyota.â€

â€œWhy not?â€

â€œItâ€™s the so-cal ed getaway car. If thereâ€™s going to be a screw up, thatâ€™s probably where it wil be.â€

â€œOkay.â€

As we walked across the parking lot, I noticed a few other cars coming up the road. I was glad. I didnâ€™t want to be conspicuous, glued to the bar,

awaiting the switch of the briefcases. On the other hand, if I had to be stuck somewhere, the bar was certainly preferable to the entrance to the menâ€™s

room.

Tendering our invitation to the security fel ow at the door, we entered the main gal ery, where Cindy was immediately cornered by a middle-aged couple

I assumed were her customers at the bank.

Smiling vaguely, I continued toward the bar, stopping now and then to give a closer look to this or that painting. One large pastel caught my eye with

favor. Three young women were in their garden, one clipping flowers, the other two holding out baskets to receive the bouquets.

The colors mere muted, lines indefinite, the costumes suggested rather than detailed Edwardian design. The overal effect was serene and innocent. I

liked it and looked closer. Then I saw that one girlâ€™s hair was combed forward, partial y to conceal the fact that she had no ears. A second figure lightly

held her friendâ€™s arm, and her smiling face revealed no eyes. The thirdâ€”by now I knew what I was looking forâ€”was drawn with her face in shadow

provided by a large, period straw hat, and of course, she had no mouth.

â€œYou like it?â€ a high-pitched English voice asked. It was Tweedledum, alias Gerald.

â€œVery powerful,â€ I said. â€œItâ€™s also lovely, and your moral is quite definite. Youâ€™d have to be blind or deaf these days not to hear evil, or to see it. And youâ€™d

have to be mute not to speak evil. We al do it from time to time, even though we may try not to. Yes, I like it. Is it your work?â€

He actual y blushed. â€œYes. Not everyone understands. They just think itâ€™s freaky. I wil make you a gift of it. Iâ€™m leaving anyway. I want someone who

understands it to have it. Whatâ€™s your name and I wil tel Betsy you wil pick it up after tonight.â€

â€œThatâ€™s very kind. It wil be particularly meaningful after tonight. Are you sure about this? It would probably sel easily.â€ My fingers reached out of their own

accord and stroked one girlâ€™s cheek.

â€œVery sure.â€ He nodded. â€œYour name?â€

â€œNow donâ€™t scream and go flying out.â€ A waiter approached with a tray of champagne glasses. I took two and handed one to Gerald. â€œMy name is Alex

Peres, but Iâ€™m only here to watch out for Zoe. Dana cal ed me, and I donâ€™t want Reed to take advantage of Zoe, or make himself out some hero to the

crowd.â€

He swal owed half of his champagne in a gulp. â€œGood. Reedâ€™s a rotter if I ever met one. Iâ€™m glad youâ€™l be with her. Dana says youâ€™re good stuff.â€ He

looked at his watch. â€œReed should be here in about ten minutes. When I see him Iâ€™l go in the office, ring the barn, and Rick wil come down with the

briefcase for him.â€

I nodded, and we both set our glasses on a convenient table. â€œWeâ€™d better separate. In case Reed is early, he shouldnâ€™t see us together. Thank you

again for the picture. Iâ€™l treasure it.â€

We shook hands and he walked away, leaving me feeling as if I should model for a portrait of Judas. I had to resist an almost overwhelmingly strong

urge to go tel him to beware blue Toyotas and have Cindy slip the keys to her red Civic into his pocket.

I checked my watch and walked a few feet from the bar, ostentatiously studying a piece of statuary that looked to me like the cornerstone of a building,

or possibly the headstone of a grave. Quickly dropping that thought, I looked over and saw my mother, shackled as usual by Choate El is. She looked

desperately at me for help, but I simply smiled and waved and walked back to the bar. I knew she would love that.

I took another glass of champagne. I nodded and smiled and waved to various people and spoke to a few who came to the bar for hard drinks or beer.

But I didnâ€™t move. My mother looked worried, and the last thing I needed was a parental visit to my guard post.

I managed to catch Trishâ€™s eye and pointed at Mom. Trish frowned, then her face cleared. She took Cindy and started across the floor to assure my

motherâ€”I hopedâ€”that I would not shortly be fal ing-down drunk.

I turned back to see Reed standing nearby, ordering a double Scotch straight up and placing a briefcase at the end of the bar. We nodded to each

other, but apparently neither of us could think of anything to say, and I wandered back to my statuary, where I could keep an eye on him.

He finished his drink and ordered another one. I hoped it didnâ€™t make him nasty. About the same time, Rick sauntered up to the bar with his attachÃ©

case, placed it near Reedâ€™s and ordered a Perrier. Smart. Reed tossed off his second drink, picked up Rickâ€™s case and started for the door. I patted my

marble mystery good-bye, set my glass on top of it, swiped a red and a green cherry from the bar and placed them artistical y in the glass, to the

amusement of the bartender, and went into my bloodhound act. I passed a smiling Rick as he picked up an obviously weighty case and sidled toward the

back door.

Chapter 26

There was a quarter moon, which didnâ€™t provide much light, and as the wind picked up, it caused clouds to scud across the narrow crescent, making

what light there was intermittent. The driveway up to the barn was not wel maintained, with deep ruts and loose rocks that were giving me trouble in my

leather-soled shoes. I stopped for a moment to catch my breath and heard the sound of shoes scraping along behind me.

Turning quickly, I was not happy to see Cindy and Trish hobbling in my wake, arms around each otherâ€™s waist, making a rough go of it in their high

heels.

â€œGo back,â€ I cal ed softly. â€œYouâ€™re going to break your necks, and youâ€™re making a racket.â€

â€œYouâ€™re not going up there by yourself!â€ Cindy hissed. â€œDid you see how much Reed was drinking?â€

â€œYes. Iâ€™l be okay if I donâ€™t break a leg getting there. Stay back, dammit.â€ I turned and tried to go faster. Reed was almost at the barn.

I was not far behind him when he reached the door. I slowed and tried moving only when the moon was covered. Stil , I wondered why he didnâ€™t hear

me. In one fairly lengthy bright period, I realized he was bent in concentration over the door, apparently having trouble with the key. I was now only a few

feet behind him, and even Cindy and Trish were making progress.

Just what we needed: the four of us standing around trying to look as if we always took a moonlight strol up the Matterhorn, while Zoe awoke, dizzy

from her Snow White sleep, and fel naked out the window.

Ah, now he had it open. Why didnâ€™t he turn on the interior lights? The switch was right inside the door. If I knew it from Dana, surely the guys had told

him. I couldnâ€™t real y see, but sensed he had gone through the dark door and was inside. I got to the door and felt for the switch, moving it up and down

with no results. Probably as some last-minute attempt to make Reedâ€™s life more difficult, they had thrown the master switch, and God knows where that

was. I took a step forward and stumbled over a bale of hay.

I wondered how the hel old it was, and then remembered Betsy had told me they had stabled two horses for the summer. A couple they knew just

couldnâ€™t bear to leave their pets at home in New Jersey, pining for them. What was it Fitzgerald said? That the rich were different? Indeed they were.

Reedâ€™s feet clattered off to the left, tel ing me he had found the stairs leading to the apartment on the second floor. Hopeful y now I could turn on the mini

flashlight I carried on my key ring. It was strong for its size, and I immediately picked out the foot of the staircase.

As silently as possible, I ascended the stairs and crept through the guysâ€™ living room and the tiny hal toward the kitchen. I noticed a flickering light

ahead of me. My God, instead of bringing a flashlight, Reed was using some kind of large cigarette lighter that he had for his pipe! An open flame in a

barn ful of straw and hay. Swel . Iâ€™d discourage that as soon as I caught up with him.

Betsy and Jan had told me that the barn apartment had a living room, bedroom, bath and kitchen. They had planned to add another bedroom and bath

on the other side of the kitchen, but hadnâ€™t yet done so. Consequently, the end wal of the kitchen, real y wasnâ€™t a wal at al , but several vertical two-by-fours

with a sheet of canvas nailed over them and a thin plywood door opening onto the rest of the loft. It was here that Zoe was domiciled when the Tweedles

werenâ€™t home, in case someone should come into their apartment.

Reed stopped in the kitchen, and I pul ed up short in the smal hal way that led into it. He removed his tux jacket, and I was not pleased to see the hilt of

a pistol jammed into his trousers. I had some thin hope that it might go off and catch him in the . . . wel , letâ€™s be generous and say foot. Next, he removed

his tie and undid several shirt buttons. I was getting uneasy with al this making himself at home. He turned to the refrigerator, scrabbled around in it and

actual y came up with a can of beer.

As he walked toward the makeshift door, he popped the can and took a long swig from it before he crossed to where Zoe lay on what looked like piled up straw covered by a clean blanket and pil ow. She wore only a T-shirt and panties and had pul ed a corner of the blanket up over her legs.

He knelt over her, patting her cheeks none too gently, saying, â€œCome on, Zoe, wake up! This damn game of yours is over. The cops have got your

boyfriends, and if I have my way, theyâ€™l get Harry and Dana, too. God knows her father caused me enough trouble for a lifetime. Wake up! Iâ€™m sick of your

tricks. Youâ€™re just like your mother.â€ He slapped her harder.

Zoe moved restlessly and murmured something unintel igible.

Obviously, it was time for me to make an entrance. I summoned up al the insouciance I could muster and leaned casual y in the doorway.

â€œHi, there, Reed. Looks like our girl is coming around. I can take it from here if you want to go down to the gal ery and spread the good news.â€

He was like a basebal player who couldnâ€™t check his bat in mid-swing. He backhanded Zoe cruel y across her breast and certainly aided her in

regaining consciousness.

She slurred, â€œOuch! Quit it, Daddy. That hurt. What are you doing here?â€

He started to hit her again, and she knocked his arm away. Unfortunately, in her stil -groggy state she knocked the hand that held the lighter. It dropped

to the straw-strewn floor and started a smal blaze. Both Reed and I tried to step on it and succeeded only in jostling each other.

I dived for the lighter and got it and flipped the cap closed. I did my version of Cindyâ€™s tarantel a on the little flames, but for every one I stamped out,

another grew stronger. I could have used some help, but Zoe had dozed off again, and Reed had sprinted for the kitchen. At first I thought he had run for a

fire extinguisher I had noticed beside the stove, but when he did not return, I final y realized he had simply scarpered.

Truth to tel , I doubt if the extinguisher would have done much good anyway. Between the straw al over the place, the old dry timbers of the barn and the

draft that seemed to be turning into a gale, I realized that the only thing left was to try to get Zoe and me the hel out. Soon.

And she looked like about a hundred and ten pounds of dead weight. I hoped I could handle it. I sat her up and poured the last half of Reedâ€™s cold beer

over her head and did a little cheek slapping of my own.

â€œCome on, get your arms around my neck and hang on unless you want to fry. This place is going up like a volcano. We gotta get out now!â€

She tried. We both tried. We fel back onto her makeshift bed a couple of times, and final y found our balance at the same time. I started for the kitchen

and the stairs, with some vague idea of getting the extinguisher and using it to cut us a path through the flames to the stairs. Just as we reached the door,

the canvas wal went up with a frightening roar and unbearable heat.

We fel back, and I left Zoe sitting for a moment while I ran to the window and looked out. The ground, some fifteen feet below us, was rough and

scattered with sizeable rocks. To jump would almost certainly mean permanent injury for one or both of us. Suddenly Trish was beneath the window,

waving her arms and shouting something I couldnâ€™t hear over the truly terrifying roar of flames. I knew Iâ€™d only increase the draft if I broke the window, but I

couldnâ€™t think of any other options. I kicked out the window.

â€œThe other end of the loft!â€ Trish screamed. â€œA ladder. No flames yet. Hurry!â€

I waved and got Zoe vertical again. We started for the east end of the barn, Zoe hanging on doggedly as I half dragged her behind me. It seemed to me

we moved in some slow, drunken lockstep, and it was getting hard to see and harder stil to breathe. We went on, although my legs were definitely

wobbling. What the hel , I thought. We had nothing better to do.

Cool drops on my face and chest pul ed me from my dreamy state. A thin stream of water like that from a garden hose was spouting up through a hole

in the floor, with the top rung of a ladder sticking out. I had not seen the hole for the smoke, and we would have fal en through it in another two steps.

Cindy stood below us with the hose. Trish scrambled nearby, pushing bales of hay together around the bottom of the ladder. Suddenly there was a long,

agonizing crack and then the crash of a rafter and section of the roof gave way in the west end of the barn. It cleared the smoke for a minute, though the

roarâ€”if it couldâ€”grew louder.

Cindyâ€™s dirty wonderful face appeared near the ladder top. â€œGet Zoe over the edge, and Iâ€™l put her feet on the ladder.â€ She sank out of sight as I

struggled to obey. â€œOkay,â€ she said shortly, â€œWeâ€™ve got her. Let her go and come on. Donâ€™t linger!â€

I swung my shaking legs over the edge and onto the shaky old ladder. When my weight hit the second rung, it went flying, fol owed by the third, fol owed

by my fal ing the rest of the way.

Donâ€™t ever let anyone tel you that baled hay is soft. It has al the give of an empty swimming pool. I knocked the breath out of myself, and even when I

final y started to breathe again, it was simply too much trouble to move. I would just rest for a day or two and then move. Surely, no one would mind.

Someone did. I felt an icy stream of water move up and down my body, and I moved with an alacrity I thought was a lost art. â€œWhat the hel are you

doing? That water is ice cold. Iâ€™l have pneumonia.â€

â€œYour clothes were smoldering,â€ Cindy said casual y. â€œNow wil you get the hel out of here before it al comes down? Can you walk?â€

I walked, Cindy behind me with her trusty stream pointed back at the disintegrating barn. We propped on the rim of a nearby water trough and smiled

at each other.

â€œAside from that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you enjoy the play?â€ I asked.

â€œTerrible. The ingÃ©nue was at least fifty, and the champagne at the interval was flat. Are you hurt anywhere? You look awful.â€

â€œHave you looked in a mirror lately? I donâ€™t think Iâ€™m hurt. Did Reed get out?â€

â€œNot that we have seen. Wasnâ€™t he with you?â€

â€œYes, he went into Zoeâ€™s room to wake her up. Thatâ€™s another story, but briefly, he was using a lighter for a flashlight and dropped it. When he saw the

fire start to build, he ran. I donâ€™t know where. I thought he went to get a fire extinguisher, but he never came back.â€

At that point the fire engine arrived, groaning, lurching and spattering rocks behind it. They had had to lay hose for a long distance to a hydrant. Right

behind it was the ambulance. Had they real y been sitting behind the gal ery al this time, waiting for a dim electric light to go on in the barn? Hanging

tightly to the running board of the ambulance was my brother, looking worried. Hopping off, he looked around anxiously, found Cindy and me, then Trish

and Zoe, and let out a breath audible even over the sound of the fire.

â€œEverybody okay here?â€

â€œIâ€™m fine,â€ Cindy said. â€œYour heroic sister has a smal burn on the back of her hand and one around where her pants cuff burned. But not serious, I think.

Trish is fine. Zoe is stoned, but seems otherwise okay. Reed is missing. Bastard is probably down at the gal ery slugging down champagne and tel ing

everyone how he walked through fire to try to save his beloved child.â€

â€œWherever he is, watch out,â€ I said. â€œHeâ€™s got a big automatic stuck in the waistband of his pants, and heâ€™s had a good half pint of Scotch to drink.â€

I stopped to cough. My throat felt raw when I talked. â€œHe was working up to beating the hel out of Zoe. He is not in a happy mood. If he ever has been.â€

â€œExcuse me, folks.â€ It was the fire chief, who had been standing quietly behind Sonny. â€œSonny, who was the young lady you wanted taken to the clinic?

And does anyone else need to go?â€

â€œShe goes.â€ Sonny pointed at Zoe. â€œPlease have the driver ask whoeverâ€™s in charge to hold her overnight. Sheâ€™s drugged. We donâ€™t know with what or

how much. And she goes.â€ He pointed at me.

I started to protest and coughed instead.

The chief smiled. â€œYouâ€™d better come along, miss. You probably need some oxygen. Weâ€™ve got some in the ambulance to start you on. Theyâ€™l probably

release you later tonight.â€

He took my arm and then turned back to Sonny. â€œIs everybody out?â€

This time, I managed to speak. â€œWe donâ€™t know where Reed Catlett is. The last I saw he was running through the apartment toward the stairs. And heâ€™s

armed and nasty.â€

The chiefâ€™s mouth tightened. â€œNo way can I send men in there now, anyway. Thereâ€™s nothing holding the structure up but stubbornness. It wil go anytime

now. Maybe Catlett got out a window and just wandered off. He could easily be injured and disoriented.â€

At that point Reed solved the mystery for us. The firemen seemed to aim their hoses at one point in the roof and the flames momentarily grew smal

and harmless looking. And Reed cannonbal ed through a window, landing on a wet, grassy area, and rol ing to his knees.

As he knelt there, probably getting his breath back, a section of the old tin roof slid to the ground with a crash and gave us a sad view of the remains of

the apartment. I thought how easily Zoe and I could have been trapped there and began to shake in earnest. An EMT appeared, to put a blanket around

my shoulders and handed me an oxygen cone.

I saw Reed get to his feet and turn toward the ambulance and our little group around the water trough. Above the noise of the fire, lessening some now,

there came a light pop as if someone had pricked a bal oon with a pin. And then another pop!

Almost simultaneously, I heard the old trough make a metal ic noise, and a spate of dirty water shot out a smal hole in the side. As I stared, there came

a loud ping from the back bumper of the ambulance.

â€œGet down,â€ I yel ed. â€œReedâ€™s got a gun. Heâ€™s firing!â€

We al hit the ground except Sonny, who was peering cautiously around the corner of the leaking trough. The area was wel lit now, between floodlights

and flames, with the exception of little smoke puffs that skittered along the ground before joining their larger companions drifting skyward.

â€œHeâ€™s not shooting,â€ Sonny cal ed. â€œI can see him perfectly wel and both hands are empty. Heâ€™s just standing there. Whoâ€™s stil inside? Who else had a

weapon?â€

Another pop sent Sonny diving behind our leaky shelter.â€ Oh, God,â€ he cried. â€œI know what it is. Iâ€™l bet Reed dropped his automatic somewhere and the

ammo is cooking off in the heat. Stay down. The damn bul ets could go anywhere.â€

Two more pops had issued forth as Sonny spoke. â€œAlex, you saw the gun. How many cartridges would it be if he had one in the chamber and a ful clip?

â€

â€œWho do you think I am, the local gun dealer? I barely got a glimpse of the thing. It was big. Period. Maybe twelve, even fourteen cartridges. I donâ€™t

know. Three more pops, thatâ€™s seven. Sonny, Reed is lying on the ground.â€

â€œProbably final y woke up to whatâ€™s happening and got to the ground. Another one, thatâ€™s eight.â€

Then we al cringed at the sound of a smal explosion. â€œThatâ€™s it,â€ Sonny sighed. â€œThank God, the rest of them got hot enough to blow al at once. I donâ€™t

think there wil be anymore.â€

The chief got to his feet, his boots sucking in the now muddy area we inhabited.

â€œOkay, folks, partyâ€™s over. Everyone okay?â€

Apparently everyone was. Now that the barn was just a low-burning mess, with only the bereft looking chimney to hold a hundred years of history. The

chief was busy sending some of his minions down the hil to help the beleaguered cops make sure the crowd stayed safely down by the gal ery. The EMTs

were getting the ambulance turned around, preparatory to boarding one sleepy and one reluctant passenger.

I was making sure Cindy would come as soon as she could to the clinic and bail me out, when I noticed something odd.

â€œSonny,â€ I cal ed and pointed. â€œReed isnâ€™t getting up.â€

Chapter 27

â€œShit!â€ Sonny muttered. Things were getting back to normal.

He ran almost daintily across the slippery grass to where Reed lay on his stomach, one arm extended as if to have broken his fal . Sonny said

something to him and shook his shoulder, getting no response I could see. Then Sonny squatted beside him and shined a flashlight on his neck and head.

At that, Reed began to jerk his arm in smal movements, and I thought I saw his lips move.

â€œMedic! Over here, please. Now!â€

The medic grabbed his bag and ran, sliding to a halt at Sonnyâ€™s side. First, he looked at Sonny with a tired manâ€™s disbelief. Then he donned plastic

gloves and knelt beside Reed, ruffling through his hair. He stopped, pointed with his other hand, and Sonny nodded and stood, stretching. The medic

yel ed back to his cohort for a stretcher, and Sonny returned to us.

â€œHeâ€™s alive . . . barely. Heâ€™s got some real y bad burns on his neck and back. But what wil probably do him in is a gunshot wound.â€ He flashed a

sardonic smile. â€œYou might say that Reed shot himself, or at least his own gun shot him. Whatâ€™s the sayingâ€”you can run, but you canâ€™t hide?â€

â€œHow ironic.â€ I shook my head. â€œHe didnâ€™t give a damn if his own daughter died, much less me, and then heâ€™s hit by a total y random shot from his own

gun. I donâ€™t know whether to hope he lives or dies.â€ I suddenly felt very tired.

â€œIf youâ€™re feeling kindly, youâ€™l hope he dies,â€ the medic said, approaching Sonny with a pen and some form that required his signature. â€œThat is a large

caliber bul et rol ing around his brain, fired at fairly low velocity I would guess. God knows what a merry mix-up has gone on in there. Much easier on his

family to go to one funeral than to have Reed sitting around the house for years, a confabulating turnip. Thanks, Sonny. Can you spare one of your cars to

take these ladies to the clinic? I real y donâ€™t want them to ride with Reed.â€

â€œSure, very thoughtful of you. Cindy can take them, or Trish.â€

â€œWeâ€™l each take one,â€ Trish said. â€œI need your car anyway, Sonny. I need it to get home.â€

â€œOkay. One of the firemen wil carry Zoe down. See you al later. I have a little matter to take up with the manager of Econo Car Rentals, if I can track him

down, bloody idiot!â€

â€œWhat did he do wrong? The blue Toyota was parked right by the gate when we came in.â€ A smal rainbow of hope began to shimmer in the back of my

mind.

â€œSo it was, and is, and ever shal be until Econo comes and gets it.â€

â€œI donâ€™t understand. When we came in Mitch and Pino weâ€™re lol ing around two cars away, like they were just catching a smoke, al decked out in

tuxedos. They couldnâ€™t have missed the Tweedles getting in the Toyota. Anyway, didnâ€™t Mitch take the keys out from under the fender?â€

â€œOh, yes.â€ Sonny sighed. â€œWhat none of us thought about was that your Tweedle-not-so-Dumbs never intended to go near the blue Toyota. They went

out the back door where they had parked a car they rented earlier from Econo and drove sedately out the back gate. The security guy back there says he

remembers a car going out around seven thirty, but nobody had told him to stop cars using that gate, so he didnâ€™t. And al he remembers is a large, light colored car. Wouldnâ€™t you think Econo might at least have mentioned bringing two cars instead of one?â€

I managed not to cheer. Cindy and Trish also seemed to have developed coughs.

â€œMaybe you can stop them at the bridge,â€ I said helpful y.

Sonny flashed an acid grin. â€œBy now theyâ€™re over the bridge and hel -bent for grandmotherâ€™s house. If theyâ€™re smart, theyâ€™l ditch the car at some al -night

diner and go to Logan Airport where one of them wil rent a car and drive to Toronto or Montreal for a flight to Europe. Or maybe Tokyo. The other wil fly to

Nova Scotia or maybe Pittsburgh and get an overseas flight from there. They wonâ€™t go anywhere near their original itinerary.â€

â€œWhat about getting al that money out of the country?â€ Cindy asked.

Sonny shrugged. â€œEach one wil have fifty thousand in large bil s. A lot of it wil fit in a wal et. The rest wil rol up in dirty socks and underwear and shirts.

Or in various folders in an attachÃ© case. It doesnâ€™t take up that much room.â€

The ambulance passed us slowly, trying to avoid the worst of the ruts. We four managed to walk down, at least now able to see where we were going.

Zoe was groggy, but able to walk with Cindy on one side and Trish on the other. I managed.

At the foot of the hil we got Mitch to run interference for us and drafted Pino to find my mom and tel her Sonny and I were fine.

The first person I saw in the clinicâ€™s emergency room was Dr. Gloetzner. It didnâ€™t surprise me. I seemed to encounter him anytime I needed medical aid

or information, or was accompanying someone who did, especial y under unusual circumstances. My mom said he and I had a love-hate relationship. I

think it was simpler. We had the same sense of humor, which was sometimes, under stress, quite out of the realm of proper behavior.

â€œAh, Ms. Peres, I was afraid you werenâ€™t going to stop by. Yet I knew it was a night just made for us to meet.â€

â€œSorry to be late, Doctor, but I like to be early at a fire sale.â€

He looked at my ruined and filthy finery, sniffed my obvious reek of smoke and nodded. â€œI hate fires. They are the most frightening kind of crisisâ€”with

the possible exception of a tsunamiâ€”which Iâ€™ve never experienced.â€

â€œI know. I guess itâ€™s that both of them are so inexorable. I was scared out of my wits tonight, I can tel you.â€

â€œI doubt it.â€ He actual y patted my back. â€œScared, yes, witless, no. I understand you were the one who rescued young Zoe.â€

â€œHad plenty of help.â€ I stopped short, coughing again, which inspired the good doctor to listen to my chest and back and pronounce minor smoke

inhalation. I resisted an urge to inform him there had been nothing minor about it.

He cal ed a nurse over and pointed to my arm and ankle, muttering something I didnâ€™t understand. It resulted in her spraying my arm and ankle with

something that felt wonderful, and placing a light bandage on both areas.

â€œThey may be a little sore tomorrow, but they arenâ€™t deep. Are you in some kind of minstrel show?â€ The nurse grinned.

â€œBunch of wannabe comedians,â€ I muttered. â€œI was practicing my Santa Claus act and somebody lit a fire in the fireplace. Any news on Zoe or Reed?â€

â€œZoe is sleeping it off. Her doctor thinks she was given a mild overdose of one of those sleeping pil s they advertise with butterflies and soft music al

over the TV. Sheâ€™l be okay by tomorrow. Maybe hungover, but okay.â€

The nurse turned to Dr. Gloetzner. â€œDr. Baylor said to tel you the swel ing in Mr. Catlettâ€™s brain is slowing. He is stil with us, and the medevac chopper

should be here in ten minutes.â€

Gloetzner nodded. â€œThank you, nurse. Iâ€™l be right there.â€ He turned to me. â€œI think you are basical y okay, Ms. Peres, having come through stil another of

your perilous adventures. Your middle name isnâ€™t Pauline by any chance, is it?â€

â€œNo. Itâ€™s bad enough, but not that bad. Can I go now?â€

â€œIn peace, my child, in peace. Sleep with an open window and none of those white, tube-like things until tomorrow soonest. Preferably never.â€

â€œYeah, yeah. Thanksâ€

â€œGood night, Charlie Chaplin. I hear you done good.â€

I grinned. He always got the last word. Escaping into the waiting room, I spotted Cindy, holding hands with someone I real y did not want to see. Marie

Catlett sat upright and dry-eyed, her face gray with fatigue and grief.

â€œAlex!â€ She tried desperately to smile. â€œI am so glad you seem to have come through this terrible night with only minor wounds. I wil thank you properly

for my granddaughterâ€™s life in a day or so, when I get my wits about me.â€

â€œPlease, Marie, donâ€™t even think of it.â€ I spread my hands and moved them in a negating motion. â€œAnyway, Cindy and Trish did as much or more than I

did.â€

â€œThen I shal thank them also. Alex, is there any news of Reed?â€

The last thing I wanted to do was give her false hope. The other last thing I wanted to do was take away the hope she stil nourished. Final y, I said,

â€œHeâ€™s definitely stil with us, and one of the doctorâ€™s said the medevac chopper is now only about five minutes out.â€

â€œThank God.â€ For the first time, her voice sounded old. â€œThey are letting me ride over and go to the Boston hospital with him, in case he should regain

consciousness.â€

Fat chance, I figured. â€œOh, fine. Should I fetch Rob or Merrilou to go with you?â€

â€œNo, I think this is a time for me alone. He is my only child, you know.â€

Before I could burst into tears, a nurse appeared in the door, motioning toward Marie. â€œMrs. Catlett. Weâ€™re ready to go now.â€

I vaguely remember the ride home, the shower and soft pajamas, the mug of tea lashed with rum and sugar. The chunk of chocolate cake. I final y

realized Cindy was stoking me with sugar to counteract delayed shock. I felt dreamy and removed from al the chaos and danger and grief. Wel s was in

my lap, Fargo balanced with front paws on my leg and cheek against my arm. It was so sweet, I squeezed them both and told them I loved them. They

didnâ€™t like being squeezed and moved away, and I cried a little at their departure.

The phone rang and Cindy picked up. She said â€œyesâ€ and â€œohâ€ several times, added, â€œI guess Iâ€™l tel her,â€ and hung up.

â€œTel me what?â€

â€œReed died in the chopper. They turned around and came back.â€

â€œDid he regain consciousness?â€ I cried a little at the thought he might not have.

Cindy nodded. â€œProbably more or less. He took his motherâ€™s hand and said, â€˜You were always a wonderful woman.â€™ Who knows whether he was talking

to her or to Frances or a hooker in Boston?â€

â€œCome on, itâ€™s bedtime,â€ I was suddenly sleepy and assumed everyone else was.

â€œNo lobster, no caviar.â€ I noticed Cindy looked concerned as she tucked the quilt up around my chin. â€œI mean,â€ she said, â€œThe Tel mans were going to

serve a buffet with cold lobster and deviled eggs with caviar. We didnâ€™t get any.â€

I must have looked bereft, for she laughed. â€œMaybe we can cadge some leftovers. At least you are getting back to normal.â€ She kissed me and turned

out the light.

I cried a little that she was so thoughtful.

The next day was a day of soreness . . . of body, of mind, of heart. I was finished with my crying jag, but it seemed to me that half the people I knew had

suffered serious losses in the last few weeks.

I thought of the old adage: Finders keepers, losers weepers. But that implied some sort of balance. At least some people found, even if others had to

lose. The events of the recent past didnâ€™t seem to be working that way.

Marie Catlett had to be the worst hit. To lose a childâ€”an only childâ€”had to be the lowest blow you could get. It went against al the rules of nature.

Parents died after a gentle old age, comforted and loved by their children. Marie would not.

Along with leaving a demolished mother, Reed had left three children in emotional and financial limbo, having not yet recovered from the loss of their

mother. Now dealing with a stepmother about as different from Frances as she could get. And the stepmother was now widowed herself, however much

that may have affected her. And I wasnâ€™t halfway through my list.

If I kept this up, Iâ€™d be weeping again.

Cindy was out with Fargo, getting the papers. I grabbed my jacket and coffee and went out to trim the hydrangea. It was one of those misleading,

summerish September days that fools you into thinking winter isnâ€™t coming this year. I rapidly shed the jacket, and the hydrangea rapidly shed it branches.

I was stuffing them into a plastic bag when Mom and Aunt Mae arrived. With food, bless â€™em.

Fargo arrived next. He probably smel ed Momâ€™s meatloaf three blocks away, but Cindy wasnâ€™t far behind with papers and croissants. We had just sat

down to what would probably be our last outdoor breakfast of the year, when the Tel man sisters arrived. Between them, they lugged a cooler fil ed with

lobster, caviar and three bottles of wine, al together, worth about what I make in a week.

Fortunately, Cindy had shopped generously, and after fresh coffee and goodies al around, one of those sudden silences settled over our group. A

couple of us laughed softly. Several throats were cleared, and final y Jan spoke up.

â€œFirst of al , Iâ€™m grateful we are al here in good health. Secondly, Betsy and I need some advice. Jeanne, Mae, I know you can help us with this. We

were supposed to leave tomorrow, but things keep changing and we keep needing to be here a bit longer.â€

â€œLike certain people making your lovely old barn burn down,â€ I said bitterly.

â€œAnd certain other people keeping it an unfortunate occurrence, rather than a tragic death scene!â€ Betsy added with asperity. â€œBut I admit, the old stone

chimney just wouldnâ€™t let us go. We decided to keep the property around the barn and build a cottage to use in the summers. We canâ€™t use the stones

again in a chimney, but we can put them elsewhere. A faÃ§ade or perhaps a patio or garden. Weâ€™l see.â€

Mom took a sip of her coffee and laughed. â€œBetsy, you donâ€™t seem to need advice, you seem to need a little time without high drama.â€

â€œThat, too.â€ Betsy smiled. â€œBut hereâ€™s where the advice comes in. We, or the business, actual y, had a hundred thousand dol ar insurance policy on

Charlie as a highly valued employee. We plan to keep half of it to reimburse us for actual expenses we wil incur due to her . . . absence. We could legal y

keep the other fifty. We do stil maintain the corporation and have certain other interests, but we would rather it went someplace where itâ€™s needed,

preferably local.â€

â€œCharlieâ€™s mother could surely use a portion of it,â€ Aunt Mae piped up immediately. â€œEspecial y now with Charlie gone. Sheâ€™s not poverty stricken, but

she certainly counts every penny. And thatâ€™s not just an expression. An extra thousand or so would be a help. But I donâ€™t know how sheâ€™d feel about taking

it.â€

â€œDonâ€™t tel her,â€ Cindy said. â€œJust say it was Charlieâ€™s policy, bought through the company. If the insurance company wonâ€™t issue a check to the mother,

route it through the bank.â€

Jan looked at Betsy. â€œWel , thereâ€™s part of it solved. Next.â€

â€œCould you give me a day or two?â€ I asked. â€œI have an idea, but I need to check a couple of things.â€

â€œI donâ€™t see why not,â€ Jan said. â€œIt seems we wil be here. And now, our second question: Do we attend Reedâ€™s funeral or not? We real y have no desire

to go, but we donâ€™t wish to insult the family, either. What do we do?â€

â€œI imagine half the people in Ptown are asking that question this morning,â€ I said and lit a cigarette and managed not to cough before I put it out.

â€œYou do not attend,â€ Aunt Mae said firmly. â€œIt wil be in the local paper tomorrow. The funeral is private, for the immediate family only. I stopped by their

house this morning to see if I could help in any way.

â€œGod, youâ€™re brave,â€ Cindy murmured.

â€œCourage is different in each of us, dear. Actual y, theyâ€™re holding up wel . Marieâ€™s friend arrived this morning. Zoe wil be home this afternoon. Rob and

Merrilou are real champions.â€

I almost choked on my coffee. â€œRob and Merrilou are champions? Iâ€™m surprised at that. I though sheâ€™d be on her way back to Dixie by now, clutching

large T-notes.â€

â€œNo, Merrilou apparently has taken over, but gently so. She cal ed a conference early this morning. She says she wil keep the house, at least until

Marvin is ready for col ege, or the Marines, if that idea lasts. She says the children need an anchorâ€”a headquartersâ€”to cal home, and while they may

not ever be the ideal family, at least they can be friends. If Zoe wants to live with Marie, fine. If not, which seems more sensible, there wil be no controversy

about how she leads her life in Provincetown. And sheâ€™s going to remodel the master suite so Marie and Barb can have a little private apartment anytime

they want to visit or just come to the Cape.â€

â€œMerrilou hasnâ€™t suffered a recent blow to the head, has she?â€ I couldnâ€™t resist.

â€œNo, and she has not been walking along the road to Damascus lately, either.â€ Aunt Mae could field a good one when she tried. â€œNo one in this town

exactly welcomed her, and she handled it badly, Iâ€™m sure she would admit. But she was right about the kidnapping original y being a trick. If Reed hadnâ€™t

tried to turn it into a nasty, abusive experience, it would al have fizzled out in a day or so. This entire mess could have been avoided.â€

Thoroughly chastised, I was aware of some dim idea circling my own jolted brain. Iâ€™d nail it down when I had some quiet time.

Our little impromptu gathering dispersed shortly after that. I supposed al of usâ€”except Aunt Maeâ€”were thinking that we hadnâ€™t exactly cut Merrilou

much slack. I personal y remembered referring to her as â€œa money-grabbing sexpot, offset by also managing to be a religious hysteric who would gladly

reinstate her own version of the Inquisition.â€ Somehow, it no longer had the same ring to it as it had at the time I so cleverly said it.

As I cleared the tables, Cindy checked the ice in the cooler and pronounced it adequate. â€œAnd weâ€™ve certainly got an entire dinner here.â€ It seemed that

the Tel mans had included a fresh-cut salad, dinner rol s and petit fours with the lobster and deviled eggs with caviar. Momâ€™s and Aunt Maeâ€™s more

pedestrian fare went into the freezer.

â€œWhy donâ€™t you bring in one of those bottles of wine and letâ€™s crack it,â€ I suggested. â€œThereâ€™s a couple of things Iâ€™d like to talk to you about.â€

â€œI wondered how long it would take you to sample the most expensive wine weâ€™l probably ever drink.â€

â€œWould you prefer we save it for our fiftieth anniversary?â€ I asked sweetly.

â€œActual y, Iâ€™ve been wracking my brain to think of a reason we ought to open one of them.â€

So we got out two of our best wine glasses, put some ice in our best wine cooler, I careful y wielded the corkscrew, and we took them al into the dining

room to our little table-for-two by the window.

And we talked.

Chapter 28

We talked and we talked, letting our thoughts roam until they solidified. After an hour or so, we felt they could not be improved upon, so I changed into a

fresh shirt and started my rounds. We needed a few answers before we could have the pleasure of helping the Tel mans distribute their largesse.

Fargo reminded me that he hadnâ€™t had much attention for the last day or so. I said, â€œOkay, you can come,â€ and he bolted for the car.

My first stop was Karen Maddockâ€™s. I found her and Harry at their kitchen table, munching tuna sandwiches with little enthusiasm. I was using the fact

that Reedâ€™s funeral was to be private as an excuse for stopping by, although certainly Karen would eventual y wonder why I didnâ€™t simply pick up the phone

to relay such mundane information. Then I asked Harry if I could please speak to his mother alone.

He shrugged and took his plate into the living room, closely fol owed by Fargo, who loved tuna fish. Shortly, I heard the TV come on.

I hoped I didnâ€™t find myself on the sidewalk wearing the remains of Karenâ€™s lunch in my hair after I asked my question.

â€œKaren, is it true that you and Charlie were having an affair and that Charlie had found a little house for the two of you to share?â€

She actual y laughed aloud and said, â€œLord, no! Alex. Who on earth dreamed that one up?â€

â€œMatter of fact, it was your husband. He was tel ing Sonny and me the events at Tel manâ€™s Gal ery. He said you had served some big fancy dinner,

complete with champagne, and made the announcement. First, you told them of the catering business with Rosie and Charlie. Then you told them you

were in love with Charlie, that you were made for each other, that Charlie had found a place for you to live, and that you wanted a divorce. Mark was

especial y upset you had said al this in front of Harry.â€

â€œAs no doubt he should have been if it were true.â€ She waved her hands as if she were clearing steam away from a boiling pot. â€œAlex, anyone in my

family, certainly including Mark, can tel you that when I get excited, I tend to overstatement . . . and then some.â€

She got up and poured us both a mug of coffee. â€œFirst of al , I am not gay. If I were, I certainly hope I would have found a better way to tel Harry than at a

family dinner with Mark present.â€

I sipped my coffee, tried not to wince, and nodded my understanding.

â€œSecondly,â€ she said, â€œI may have said that the three of us were meant for each other and that I just loved Charlie to pieces. And Charlie had found a

little restaurant that was closing down for good, with most of the equipment we needed. We would have rented it and worked out of it. Certainly none of us

would, or could, have lived in it.â€ She shook her head in disbelief.

â€œWhat about the divorce?â€ I asked

â€œOh, I think Mark said something about not sitting stil while I got involved with a bunch of gaysâ€”queers, he said. I told him I wasnâ€™t about to give up this

chance to be independent. If he didnâ€™t want to sit stil for it, he could move. I meant it. I imagine a divorce might wel have been the end result, but the word

wasnâ€™t even used at the time.â€

I smiled. â€œThat about clears it al up. Neither Sonny nor I could believe what Mark was saying.â€

â€œMistaken or not, he stil kil ed her. None of us wil ever get over that.â€ Karen sighed. â€œPoor Charlie is dead, and Ruthie and I are sad and disappointed

to boot. And Harry is heartbroken that his father is a murderer.â€

â€œIt may not be quite as bad as it seems now, Karen. For one thingâ€”donâ€™t tel Harry until itâ€™s certainâ€”it may turn out to have been some kind of

accidental shooting. Manslaughter, yes, but thatâ€™s better than murder.â€

Her face brightened as I stood. We gave each other a farewel hug.

And I moved on to visit number two. Fargo leaned against me in the car. He reeked of tuna fish, not one of my favorite perfumes.

â€œWhat are you? A cat? Real dogs donâ€™t eat tuna fish.â€ He gave me a look that said this one did, and sighed heavily into my face.

We pul ed into the Catlett driveway, and Fargo immediately looked happier, doubtless recal ing the croissants of his last visit. A maid admitted us,

looking askance at his presence. She led us into the dining room. The family was gathered around brunch remains, eerily recol ective of my first visit,

minus Reed, plus Zoe and Marieâ€™s friend Barb.

Their greetings to us were much warmer than before. Even Merrilou managed a pat for the dog and asked if he could have a piece of bacon. I figured it

would be a wonderful breath freshener and readily agreed.

Aside from Marie, who looked completely drained, and Zoe, who stil seemed a little spacey, the household seemed in some quiet way, happier, as if a

splinter had been removed from the constant pressure against a sore thumb.

I accepted coffeeâ€”delicious in this houseâ€”and a cranberry muffin. Conversation was general, with Marie and Zoe thanking me again for my help last

night. I was getting embarrassed and wondering how I could separate Merrilou from the crowd, when she did it for me.

â€œAlex, could Rob and I see you in the office for a moment?â€

â€œSure.â€ I noticed it was now the office, not Reedâ€™s.

Settled in a comfortable leather chair, I waited. Rob nodded to his stepmother, and she began.

â€œMay I assume youâ€™ve heard the rumors that Reed was somehow involved in a fraudulent construction scam on certain state buildings in the area?â€

I nodded. She continued. â€œJohn Frost cal ed early this morning to warn us that an investigation was imminent. Reedâ€™s business and personal assets wil

probably be frozen. We canâ€™t do anything about the business, but we have taken certain steps to protect the personal ones.â€

Rob continued. â€œIâ€™l be at the bank first thing tomorrow to clear out the safety deposit box. Dad always kept enough cash to run on for two or three

months. Iâ€™l get that and any personal papers out. Iâ€™m listed for access.â€

I muttered, â€œUnhuh,â€ and pul ed out my cigarettes, looking at Merrilou questioningly. She grinned and motioned for Rob to crack a window.

Replacing the pack and lighter in my pocket, I held up a cautionary hand. â€œDonâ€™t tel me anything youâ€™re doing that is il egal. If I know it, someday I may

have to testify to it. But I can tel you this. Stick with John Frost. He wil look out for your interests to the last penny, and he can make Shermanâ€™s March to

the Sea look like mischievous trespass.â€

â€œRight. I had that feeling. Thank you.â€ Merrilou gave me a keen look. â€œTrust funds and insurance policies are okay. Reed did not shoot himself to avoid

prosecution.â€ She gave a sour smirk. â€œThe house is in my name andâ€”â€

â€œHow so?â€ I interrupted. â€œThe wil canâ€™t possibly have been probated.â€

She laughed bitterly. â€œA week or so after we came here from our honeymoon, Reed was so busy he had to work on a Saturday. Good little bride that I

was, I took him his lunch, al dol ed up in a wicker basket with a ribbon! He was busy, al right, on the couch with one of his female draftspeople! They were

so busy they never even heard me. I snapped a photo on my cel phone and left his lunch in the hal with a note that the house was to be in my name by

Tuesday, or Iâ€™d sue for divorce, naming theâ€”marriedâ€”lady, on Wednesday.â€

â€œMy God, you and Reed had been married almost no time.â€

â€œYes, not quite a month. Of course he swore never to do it again, and I forgave him. But the house is mine, and was so long before any business fraud

was mentioned anywhere.â€

â€œGood for you!â€

â€œI donâ€™t recommend it as a way to start a marriage,â€ she replied. â€œHowever, to wrap this upâ€â€”she pointed across the roomâ€”â€œJust academical y, do you

know a good bank in Nassau or thereabouts?â€ She looked pointedly at the safe standing in the corner.

I felt my heart beat a little faster. According to Choate El is, Reed had final y come up with over half a mil ion dol ars in cash. Where was it? Not the

bank, he had brought it here, with his two goril as, to Reed. Only a hundred thousand had gone to the Tweedles. Merrilou interrupted my thoughts.

â€œAlex, I swear to you on the Bible, I do not know the combination to that safe. I have never seen what is in it. For al I know, it may be ful of old Snickers

bars.â€

â€œGood enough.â€ I deliberately did not look at Rob as I dug out my cel phone and cal ed home.

When Cindy answered I said, â€œThis is purely hypothetical . . . a bet with a friend over a drink. Can you name three banks in Nassau?â€

â€œWhat the . . . oh, yeah, sure.â€

I scribbled them down as she rattled them off and handed the list to Merrilou. â€œThanks, honey. Forget this cal . Oh, did you see El en?â€

â€œYep, al is wel . See you later.â€ She hung up.

I tucked the phone back into my pocket and looked at Rob. â€œI do not wish to know any more about any of this, okay? Now, could I boot you out for just a

few minutes?â€

â€œNo prob. Thanks for your help. Al of it along the way. And donâ€™t hesitate to send us a nice fat bil .â€ He smiled.

â€œMy pleasure,â€ I said to his retreating back.

I turned to Merrilou. â€œWhat did you major in at col ege?â€

Her eyebrows went up, but she answered easily. â€œBusiness. Why?â€

â€œSo managing a smal business would be within your capabilities?â€

â€œI would think so. Again, why?â€

â€œJust one more question,â€ I temporized. â€œWhat about sales?â€

â€œYou mean sel ing? Honey, if itâ€™s made, I can peddle it.â€ She smiled at me and blinked her big blue eyes, and I believed her. â€œNow, you gonna let me

know what business I am in or not? Iâ€™m beginninâ€™ to be afraid to ask.â€

I told her. She was thril ed.

â€œYou know, I was going to look for a job. Iâ€™d go crazy just sittinâ€™ and knittinâ€™ in this mausoleum. But I knew this was a bad time of year. This is wonderful.â€

â€œYouâ€™l have the winter to cut your teeth on smal stuff. Cindy and I are booking the first party. Others wil come along, with your expertise, and by summer,

youâ€™l al three be pros. But what about dealing with gays, Merrilou? There wil be a lot of them.â€

â€œMy dear Alex, business is business. That is the first commandment. I am discovering not al gays are so bad, after al . Donâ€™t ask, donâ€™t tel . That is the

second.â€

â€œGood enough.â€ I laughed. â€œIâ€™l have Karen cal you.

â€¢ â€¢ â€¢

Cindy and I final y got our lobster and caviar and finished off the bottle of truly excel ent wine we had started that afternoon.

Cindy told me of her visit to El en Hal to explain the plans that Betsy and Jan had for Charlieâ€™s insurance policy. The Tel mans wanted to be sure El en

didnâ€™t perchance need some of it herself. Not al people who seem to be making it big, real y are. But El en didnâ€™t need it and was happy to see it do some

practical good for local people.

â€œIâ€™m particularly glad about Charlieâ€™s mother,â€ she had said. â€œIt was hard enough for her to let Charlie do little things for her. Iâ€™m sure she wouldnâ€™t have

let me help at al , though Iâ€™d have been happy to.â€

So we were able to cal the Tel mans and forward El enâ€™s suggestion of thirty thousand to Charlieâ€™s mother, ten thousand to the catering group to help

them get off the ground, and ten thousand to Harry Maddockâ€™s col ege fund.

Then we looked at each other. Were we real y at home together with no one we had to cal , no place we had to go?

Cindy sighed. â€œThere are at least some winners in this. Frankly, except for poor Marie, there are no real losers in the Catlett fold.â€

â€œEl en,â€ I named the next on my list.

â€œA loser for now,â€ Cindy agreed. â€œBut her business is thriving, and sheâ€™s good folks. Sheâ€™l meet someone before too long. Then thereâ€™s Karen.â€

â€œA mixture,â€ I said. â€œSome pain around Mark, natural y, and I know she feels for Harry, although heâ€™s better off outside Markâ€™s sphere of influence. How

about the Tweedles?â€

Cindy laughed aloud. â€œOh, winners al the way. Who do you think is going to run the little shop in St. Lucie for Betsy and Jan?â€

â€œYou think so?â€

â€œBetcha.â€ She finished her wine and yawned.

â€œHow about we go to bed and watch some TV?â€ I asked.

â€œSounds good to me.â€

And so we did. I pushed a button on the remote and we watched the screen come to life. I pushed another button and we watched it go blank.

As Cindy turned into my arms, I thought, we have lost a friend in this, and feel the grief of some others. But we have each other, and with that, we wil

never be losers.

Chapter 29

There was another â€œfinderâ€ in our little Provincetown nursery rhyme, but his find did not come to light until long after our lovely fal had given way to the

monochrome drear of December.

I was battling the blahs and trying to make out two Christmas card lists, one for Cindy and me, one for my business contacts. I welcomed the

interruption of the phone.

I particularly welcomed Sonny on the other end, advising me that the Provincetown Police Department had final y cut a check reimbursing me for my

tuxedo, demolished in their behalf.

He added that if I would meet him at the Wharf Rat Bar at noon sharp, he would treat me to lunch. I gushed my acceptance of this rare invitation,

ignoring the forecast of sleet for the afternoon, and wondering why my brother had twice underscored my being on time. Iâ€™m usual y prompt anyway, but

today I arrived at the Rat fifteen minutes early.

Sonny was already at the bar, and only one stool beside him was empty. I took it, and a couple of people standing at the end of the bar glared at me. I

judged that Sonny had flashed a gold badge to save it. Before I could order a beer, Joe set a bourbon Old Fashioned in front of me.

As I started to thank my brother for the unusual generosity, he advised me that he had ordered a seafood platter for both of us. â€œI figured Iâ€™d better order.

Bil ieâ€™s going to be busy around here.â€

At that remark, I realized that not only was the bar fil ed, so were most of the tables. A rarity this time of year. â€œWhatâ€™s going on?â€

â€œThatâ€™s what I want to know!â€ said a voice behind us. Bil ie, Joeâ€™s wife and the Wharf Ratâ€™s excel ent cook, went on, â€œWeather like this and everybody

gone for the season, and weâ€™re ful with a sleet storm coming, when in the summer a drop of rain meant nobody was here when they were here.â€

Conversation with Bil ie always left me with a slight buzzing in my ears. But she was a sweetie, and her seafood platters were masterpieces.

â€œHang in there, Bil ie. If you get swamped, Iâ€™l help you clear.â€

â€œThanks, Alex. I appreciate your help even if I donâ€™t take it.â€ She hurried on.

â€œCan you understand her?â€ Sonny whispered.

â€œPerfectly.â€

â€œNow that scares me. Ah, hereâ€™s the noon news. Letâ€™s watch it.â€

â€œI sat silently watching and listening, without knowing why, to a male and a female anchor reciting the disasters du jour. Looking around, I saw that most

of the Ratâ€™s customers were doing the same thing. Bored, and very close to being irritated at my brotherâ€™s mysterious smug smile, I almost missed the

beginning of why we were here.

The video showed the governor pinning medals on two men, saying something about the Good Citizens Award and their help in initiating an

investigation regarding fraudulent practices in state construction.

Suddenly I recognized Harmon and his brother-in-law, looking strange and uncomfortable in double-breasted suits and stylish haircuts.

At the same moment, a shout came from the Ratâ€™s front table, where Harmon and his Blues Brothers cronies hung out. â€œLook, everybody! Look at that!

Iâ€™m on the TV. Iâ€™l be damned, they said we would be on TV, but I didnâ€™t believe them. Look at that!â€ Harmon, now in familiar jeans and work shirt, but with a

medal pinned to the shirt pocket, had leapt to his feet and was pointing at the screen, where the grinning governor stood between the two men and raised

their hands like triumphant boxers.

Applause, cheers and whistles broke out around the Rat, as the news went on to lesser stories. Harmon made his way around the room, stopping a

moment here, shaking hands there, smiling, as if he were the governor himself.

When he reached us, he stopped and thanked Sonny, with tears in his eyes, for reporting his tip to the State Police. â€œI just love the both of you,â€ he said.

â€œYou are good people. I wish you had been with us yesterday. It was something. They put the governor and us in this nice room until they were ready to

make that little movie. They cal ed it the green room, though there wasnâ€™t nothing green it. But there was a big table and leather chairs and al kinds of

drinks. Hard and soft. The governor, he made us al a stiff one. I figured maybe he was nervous about being made a movie of.â€ Harmon tilted his bottle of

beer for a genteel sip.

â€œAnyway, just to settle him down,â€ Harmon continued, â€œI told him about some of my crime experiences. He was especial y interested in that al igator with

the naked lady. And I can tel you . . . I have to say it . . . he was plumb amazed. Nice man, but donâ€™t know much about the drug picture.â€

Sonny grinned. â€œIâ€™m sure you set him straight.â€

â€œI did,â€ Harmon said. â€œAnyway, here I rattle on, and what I want to say is to the two of you. I know how hard you both work when a case is tough. Iâ€™ve seen

you both tired and worried, but Iâ€™ve just gone on about my own business. Wel , I want you to know, from now on, Iâ€™m not going to be so selfish! This medal

real y means somethinâ€™ to me. Iâ€™m gonna be Johnny-on-the-spot to help you both in every way I can. And thatâ€™s a promise.â€

He rested a large, warm paw on each of our shoulders.

Sonny looked stricken.

I managed a reply, quite probably tearful.

â€œHarmon, you cannot imagine what that promise means to us.â€

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