All the Pretty Hearses (24 page)

Judith had just finished her kitchen tasks when she heard the doorbell. Wiping her hands on a towel, she hurried to the entry hall. When she looked through the peephole, she couldn’t see anyone on the porch. The only activity in the wet, dark cul-de-sac was a set of red taillights turning onto the cross street. The wind had come up, blowing the camellia bush against the house and making the Rankerses’ porch chimes jangle like broken glass. Bracing herself, she opened the door. To her astonishment, a man in a wheelchair was seated a few feet away.

“I’m Sidney Foxe,” he said in a vaguely familiar voice. “I believe you’re expecting me?”

Judith tried not to gape. For the third time in the past few hours, she was startled by the sight of an unexpected visitor. Unlike Abe Burleson, who was a stranger, but like Jean Rogers, whom she’d recognized after the initial shock, the newcomer was known to her, not as Sidney Foxe, but as Zachary Conrad.

“Come in,” she said, holding the storm door so that her guest could maneuver inside. “I assume you came by cab?”

“A cabulance,” Sidney replied. Like Gertrude, he had a motorized scooter chair. “The parlor again?”

“No,” she said. “The living room. There’s more space. Come by the window seat. I’ll sit there. May I get you something to drink?”

“No, thank you. I dined just a short time ago.”

“You seem to have recovered from your illness,” Judith said, indicating he should sit by the bay window.

Sidney stopped the wheelchair. “I’d overexerted myself by trying to walk too much.” He gazed at the view of the bay, though it was blurred by the heavy rain. “A nasty night. Snow’s in the air.”

“It’s January,” Judith remarked absently, moving some of the pillows and cushions before sitting down. “I have to admit I’m anxious to hear your story. I did find out you weren’t Zachary Conrad.”

Sidney smiled, revealing uneven and slightly discolored teeth. “It’s not a happy story.”

“That doesn’t bother me. I’ve heard plenty of sad stories.”

“I’ve been homeless,” Sidney said. “Do you know any homeless people’s stories?”

“I do,” Judith replied, thinking back to a homeless man who had become a murder victim.

If Sidney was surprised by her response, he didn’t show it. “I’m an engineer with a degree from MIT. That sounds impressive, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose it does,” Judith allowed. She tried to ignore the wind blowing down the chimney and battering the shrubs outside the bay window. “Apparently it didn’t spare you from hard times.”

“True.” Sidney folded his hands in his lap. He was dressed in a suit and tie under a black raincoat. The clothes looked worn, but of decent quality. “I’m not totally paralyzed, by the way.”

“I assumed that,” Judith said, feeling a draft through the window. “Otherwise, you couldn’t have walked at all when you were here last night posing as Zachary Conrad.”

“Yes.” Sidney stared at his thin hands. “I had a good job for years with Northeast Utilities in Hartford, Connecticut. I got married, had two children, a boy and a girl. One night we were coming back from my son’s hockey game. There was black ice on the road. I missed a turn and crashed into a utility pole. Ironic, eh?”

Judith hated to ask the obvious, but did. “What happened?”

“My wife and children were killed. Outright, not even a scream. I was seriously injured. I couldn’t work for over a year. I lost my job. I lost my whole world.” Sidney related the events as if by rote, staring past Judith into the rain-spattered window, as if he could see each horror unfolding like a slide show. “All I had was the memory of something I couldn’t see—six feet of black ice. And the sound of those power lines snapping, snapping, snapping.” He shook his head, as if the noise was still beating on his brain like a death knell.

Judith started to say something comforting, but for once nothing came to her. It was just as well. Sidney had taken up his tale again. “After many months in hospitals and rehabilitation centers, I made a partial recovery,” he continued, speaking more naturally. “I had no close family in New England, but my wife had a nephew attending college here. I thought he might be a source of comfort. He wasn’t. He didn’t have time for a crippled uncle he hardly knew. That was six years ago.”

“He had no relatives in the area?”

Sidney shook his head. “He’d moved here from Los Angeles. His own family was a quarrelsome bunch. He was diligent about his studies. I was an unwanted distraction.”

“The young can be selfish,” Judith murmured.

“Indeed.” Sidney took a deep breath. “I ran out of money very quickly. That’s when I became homeless, living under the freeway at night, spending my days on the streets. One late Sunday afternoon I was sitting on the sidewalk by the football stadium. The game was just letting out. Hardly anybody noticed me. They were talking about the home team’s victory. Then an older man stopped to ask when I’d last eaten. I told him I wasn’t sure. He offered to take me to dinner. I was stunned. I didn’t know what to say. He was a big fellow, and despite his age, he was strong. He got me on my feet and half carried me to a nearby café. I told him my story. He listened and promised to get me a job with the city. He had connections. His name was Al Grover.”

“Uncle Al!” Judith gasped. “I’ve heard that story. But it was about a doctor, not an engineer.”

The hint of a smile touched Sidney’s lips. “I suspect there’ve been hapless doctors, lawyers, and Indian chiefs who’ve crossed his path.”

“Yes,” Judith agreed. “Uncle Al’s generous. Did he get you a job?”

Sidney nodded. “He tried to get me on with the lighting department, but they didn’t have any openings. I met Zachary Conrad then.” He paused. “A true bureaucrat. I didn’t like him. I don’t think he liked me either. I had, at the time, what some might call an ‘attitude.’ ” Sidney cleared his throat. “I had lost my respect for other human beings, despite your uncle’s kindness.”

“Understandable,” Judith remarked, moving a bit to get out of the window’s draft. “Did Uncle Al find other work for you?”

“Yes, with the health department. But I’m getting ahead of myself.” His reproachful expression indicated that Judith was pressuring him. “I literally bumped into Conrad’s wife on my way out of his office, being crippled. Hannah Conrad was supposed to have lunch with her husband, but he’d canceled. Too busy, he’d told her. She was angry. She berated me for my clumsiness before she realized I was handicapped. In her ire, she suddenly took my arm and said she would take me to lunch instead. And she did. During that meal, I discovered she was crippled, too—not on the outside, but the inside. An overbearing mother and a domineering husband had destroyed her self-confidence. We became lovers that very afternoon. That was two years ago. Three weeks later, I became an inspector for the health department.”

Pieces were beginning to fall into place, but Judith didn’t want to further rush Sidney. “You must’ve been relieved.”

“I suppose I was,” Sidney said vaguely. “It was not, of course, my forte. There was no challenge. Checking for past-due dates on food and making sure kitchen help wore hairnets was unsatisfying work. I wanted more. I have a curious mind. By chance, I came across my nephew, who was also working for the city. He’s a police detective. You may know him. His name is Keith Delemetrios.”

Judith tried to hide her surprise. “Really? Yes, I’ve met him.”

“Oh? What do you think of him?”

Judith sensed she had to be careful. “As a person or a detective?”

“Either. Both.”

“He seems conscientious about his job,” Judith said truthfully. “I know almost nothing about him except that.”

“He’s driven,” Sidney said simply.

“You mean to seek justice?”

“Yes. You could put it that way.”

Judith caught something in Sidney’s dark eyes that disturbed her. “That’s all I can say. Could I ask you about your job?”

“Why? It’s very boring.”

“Were you sent to ARBS a week or two ago?”

Sidney laughed, a rather unpleasant sound. “Of course I was. That’s how I was reinjured.”

“It was termed an accident,” Judith said, involuntarily moving farther away from her visitor on the window seat, draft or not. “Do you own the condo on Lake Concord?”

“No, no,” Sidney replied, scooting a bit closer to Judith. “That’s Hannah’s pied-à-terre for our romantic rendezvous. She sometimes lends it to other family members when they need . . . to get away.”

“I’m confused,” Judith admitted. “I know that Zachary Conrad was there in a wheelchair and that he was shot to death. Can you explain how that happened? It makes no sense.”

Sidney’s smile was quirky. “You are too impatient. Of course I can explain. Zachary was a bureaucrat, but a conscientious one. He’d heard rumors of an investigation in the police department. When I had my accident—and I don’t consider it an accident, but a deliberate attempt to keep me from investigating what was going on at ARBS regarding some of their meat products. In any event, Hannah told me he couldn’t understand why the police didn’t investigate my mishap. I was able to get around with a cane and sometimes, on bad days, crutches.” He caressed the arm of his wheelchair. “But this was a setback. I couldn’t stay in my apartment. There’s no elevator and I’m on the second floor. Hannah suggested I move into the condo. Zachary knew it was a retreat of sorts for family members, but he had his suspicions about his wife. He wanted to be a hero in her eyes and those of the police department. He was also ambitious, having sat in the same job for too long. Hannah told me all this and I spoke to Keith—Del, he likes to be called—to ask about the lack of a police investigation. He insisted he wasn’t fully informed, but it had something to do with a former chief before his time. Like most young people, if it hadn’t happened to him, it hadn’t happened.”

“I understand,” Judith said, “but why are you telling me all this?”

“Because,” Sidney said, “it’s all your fault.” He smiled. “That,” he went on, standing up, “is why I’m going to kill you.”

Chapter Twenty-­two

J
udith froze on the window seat. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Sidney had taken a lethal-looking hunting knife out from under his raincoat and released the blade.

“I have great upper-body strength,” he said calmly. “You may scream, but I will slit your throat so fast that anyone who hears you will find only your corpse.”

Judith shook her head, trying to find her voice. “Why?” The single word was a whisper, so soft that she wasn’t sure she’d actually said it.

He stood only a foot away from where Judith sat. She’d forgotten how tall he was. “You ruined my life. The accident was your fault.”

“No.” Again, she didn’t know if she’d spoken out loud.

“Yes. You meddled in police affairs. You besmirched my father’s reputation.”

“Your . . . ?”
This must be a nightmare.
Nothing makes sense. I don’t know anybody named Foxe. This man is insane. And I’ve got to wake up.

“I changed my name when I moved here,” Sidney said, the light from the lamp on the cherrywood table glinting off of the steel blade. “Foxe is so close to his name, so clever of me. You recall Lloyd Volpe?”

Judith gasped. The Silver Fox—Volpe, vulpine, foxlike. “I never . . .”

The Grandfather clock in the corner of the room struck midnight. The deep sound startled Sidney. He grimaced, clapped his free hand to his ear, and turned, just enough to lose his balance. Judith flung herself at him, heedless of her artificial hip, oblivious to what damage she might do to her own body, desperate to save her life.

He fell against the wheelchair, crumpling in pain. The knife was still in his hand. Judith was lying halfway on top of him, but she couldn’t reach his arm. If only he lacked the strength to use his weapon, she might be able to stand.

The clock finished its twelve chimes for the hour. The sudden silence seemed to have a favorable effect on Sidney. He, too, was trying to move just enough to take aim with the knife.

The unearthly quiet was broken by what seemed like a disembodied voice from somewhere nearby.

“Yoo-hoo,” Arlene called. “Where are you? I found my tomato paste. Judith?” She glanced into the living room. “Oh my goodness! I didn’t realize you were . . . ah . . . entertaining. I’ll go now.”

“Arlene!” The name felt ripped out of Judith’s throat. “Help!”

“What . . .” Arlene, who had momentarily disappeared, poked her head around the corner of the archway. “Oh, dear! Are you hurt? Is he . . . ?” She saw the knife and let out a little cry of shock. “What is this?”

Judith suddenly realized that Sidney had stopped moving. The knife lay on the carpet. “Oh my God!” she cried. “Help me up!”

Arlene was spurred into action. “I don’t know what to think,” she murmured, carefully getting Judith to her feet. “You’re shaking like a leaf. You’d better sit.” She looked at Sidney. “Who is this? Is he dead?”

“I don’t think so,” Judith said, still leaning against Arlene, “but we’d better call 911. Kick that knife out of the way, would you?”

Hanging on to Judith, Arlene kicked the knife so hard that it skidded all the way across the carpet to land by the piano at the other end of the living room. “Shall I call for you?” she asked, settling Judith back onto the window seat.

“I can do it,” Judith said, reaching for the phone on the cherrywood table. But before she could steady her fingers to dial, she heard sirens. “Maybe we don’t have to. Is the door still open?”

“No. I’ll open it,” Arlene said, with a last look at the unconscious man. “I don’t know what to make of all this,” she said, heading for the entry hall. “I thought the wheelchair was your mother’s, but it’s not . . .”

Her words faded as she went out of sight. The next voice Judith heard was Joe’s.

“Oh my God!” he cried, rushing into the living room. “Oh no!” He awkwardly circumvented Sidney to get to the window seat and wrap Judith in his arms. “Damn, damn, damn! I knew this might happen!”

Judith barely heard him. She was still trembling, but all that mattered was that she was pressed against Joe and she was still alive.

“Brandy,” he said to someone, though Judith wasn’t sure who, as she could tell from the sounds of movement and lowered voices that several people were in the living room.

“Joe,” she whimpered as he slowly pulled away. “Don’t.”

“I’m taking you into the parlor,” he said softly. “Can you stand?”

Judith wriggled her toes, then planted both feet on the floor. “I think so, if you help me.”

It was only a short distance to the door that led from the living room to the parlor. Judith glimpsed the activity, but didn’t really take it in. She only noticed Arlene, who was apparently heading for the kitchen. “I have no idea,” she was saying to a man whose back was turned. “I came here with tomato paste. I’ve never seen that man on the floor in my life. Maybe he’s a traveling salesman. But that’s not Mrs. Grover’s wheelchair, I can tell you that much. Oh—there’s a knife by the piano. You’d better take that as some sort of evidence, Woodrow.”

Woody,
Judith thought as Joe half carried her into the parlor.
Of
course.
“I must be gaga,” she murmured. “I didn’t even recognize Woofy. I mean,
Woody
.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Joe eased her onto the settee. “I should take you up to bed, but I’m not sure I can carry you all the way to the third floor.” He looked a bit sheepish. “I’m not as young as I used to be. We’ll wait until you’re steadier on your feet.”

“I still don’t understand what happened,” Judith said in a querulous tone. “That man must be insane.”

“Probably,” Joe said, glancing out one of the windows. “It’s starting to snow.”

“It is?” The weather was the least of Judith’s concerns. “Who is he? Sidney Foxe, I mean.”

Joe leaned on the settee’s arm. “Just take it easy. You’ve been through hell. I can see that.” He sighed ruefully. “I’d hoped to keep you out of this. Maybe you should’ve been arrested instead of me. At least you’d have been out of harm’s way.”

“But,” Judith persisted, “what does Volpe have to do with all this? He hasn’t been chief for several years.”

“Did you mention the Silver Fox?” Arlene asked, entering from the hall door. “I poured the brandy into juice glasses. It seemed wrong to use your nice snifters with that man lying on the living room floor. Some of the guests heard the sirens and came into the kitchen. I reassured them it was merely a false alarm caused by Tulip tripping our security system.”

Judith didn’t bother reminding Arlene that she didn’t have a security system. Instead, she looked at her neighbor with a grateful expression. “You saved my life—and you’ve come to my rescue before. In fact, the first time it was up at church. Thank you, thank you!”

“Well, what are neighbors for?” Arlene shrugged and raised her glass. “Cheers. Or something.”

“You usually go to bed early,” Judith said after taking the first strong sip of brandy. “Why were you up this late?”

Arlene waved a hand. “Oh, Carl! His back is bothering him when he lies down and he was all over the bed, so I decided if I couldn’t sleep, I might as well clean out the kitchen cupboards. That’s when I found my tomato paste. I saw your lights were still on, so I thought while I remembered I’d come over to repay you.”

Judith smiled. “You certainly did.”

“Is there anything else I can do?” Arlene inquired. “I can’t tidy up the living room with all those people in there doing whatever it is they’re doing, which I might add, seems rather unpleasant. I don’t think that man on the floor is dead, though. Do you know him?”

“No,” Judith said. “That is, not exactly.”

“Some people are like that,” Arlene remarked. “You think you know them, but you don’t.” She drained her glass in one gulp. “I’ll sleep in Kevin’s old room tonight. Call if you need me.” Seemingly unfazed by the midnight terrors and the strong drink, Arlene left the parlor.

“Incredible,” Judith said. “Arlene is utterly unflappable. Raising five kids has given her some kind of inner strength.”

Joe rubbed her shoulder. “You’re kind of a tough nut, too. It’s a good thing Woody checked the outgoing e-mails. But I realized you’d know I’d never send such a stilted message.”

Judith struggled for breath. “You . . . didn’t? Who did?”

“Del’s crazy uncle, I guess. He’d stopped by just as Del was about to leave. I’d never seen the guy before. How come you let him in?”

Judith grimaced. “I thought the e-mail
was
from you. It seemed like a good way to communicate so you could delete it immediately.”

Joe held his head. “Jeez.”

“I feel like an idiot!” Judith cried, clutching Joe’s arm.

“No, no. I’m the idiot. I should have . . . I never thought much about the guy except that he seemed a little weird. Del didn’t mention that his uncle sent an e-mail. Maybe he didn’t know. Damn!” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have found out if Woody hadn’t checked for messages and saw a new one had just gone to you. That’s what made us race here with all systems on red alert.” He sipped more brandy before putting the glass down on a tiered side table. “I’d better go see if the guy’s really alive, and if so, what they’ll charge him with. Attempted homicide, and maybe get him to confess to shooting Zachary Conrad. I gather he had some grudge against the guy.”

“Don’t,” Judith said, her voice almost normal. “He didn’t kill Conrad.”

Joe stared at his wife. “How do you know that?”

“Sidney Foxe or Sidney Volpe or whoever he is has tinnitus. You know—ringing of the ears. Renie’s uncle Balthazar had it. It’s a recurring disease that, in his case, may have been caused by a car accident that . . . never mind. I’ll tell you later. The grandfather clock chimes set him off. My point is, he would never fire a gun. That’s why he carried a knife.”

Joe leaned against the parlor door frame, his expression quizzical. “Spare me details. You wouldn’t know who did kill Conrad, would you?”

“Well . . . I think so. The obvious first suspect in any homicide case. Mrs. Zachary Conrad, née Hannah Paine.”

J
udith slept until almost noon. Joe had seen to the guests, making his special egg dish that Martha Morelli had disdained as “unoriginal.”

When Judith got out of bed, she was stiff and sore, but grateful to be alive. It was too late to make it to noon Mass. Maybe she’d try for an evening service at another nearby parish. She certainly had a lot to thank God for on this snowy Sunday in January.

By the time she got downstairs, all the guests had departed. Joe had cleaned up the kitchen and was in the living room watching a pro football game.

“Hungry?” he asked when she sat down on the arm of his side chair.

“Oddly enough, I’m not,” she said. “I don’t remember when I last ate. How’s Mother?”

“Disgusted,” Joe replied, muting the TV sound. “I thought she’d pass out when I brought her breakfast. She was sure I was gallows bait. In fact, she thought the sirens last night were the cops coming to arrest you as my accomplice.”

“Maybe if I get a cup of coffee, I can focus on you explaining what was really going on with this nightmare.”

Joe put a hand on her leg. “Sit. Go over to the sofa. I’ll get your coffee.” He turned off the TV. “Stupid game. The Giants are getting their butts kicked by the Panthers.”

Judith didn’t argue. She paused only to look outside, where a dusting of snow remained on the ground.
Pretty,
she thought, and shivered, despite the burning logs in the fireplace. Had it not been for the grandfather clock, she might be
in
the ground. On her way to the sofa, she blew the clock a kiss.

Joe had brought coffee for both of them. “Let’s time-travel back to an occasion when you managed to take down a crooked cop,” he said, sitting across from Judith on the other sofa. “Uncle Al was involved in that one, as I recall. After the cop was canned and went to prison, Chief Volpe got a lot of criticism for hiring him in the first place. Lloyd didn’t like criticism. Not long after that he took early retirement—voluntarily. We knew he had kids, a couple of daughters, one in the Bay Area, the other in the Twin Cities, and a son back east, which is where Lloyd came from originally. He was hired, in fact, from the Boston Police Department, where he’d made a name for himself as a hard-nosed drug buster. He never talked about family much, being a private kind of guy. You met him a couple times, right?”

Judith nodded. “At least. He was pleasant, if not exactly warm. I did my best to be friendly, but he seemed immune. I suspect the only person who knows much about his private life is Arlene. She’s relentless when it comes to eliciting information.”

“Arlene.” Joe shook his head. “Incredible woman. I talked to Woody this morning. Once they had the doctors check out Foxe—or Volpe or Nut Job—he talked and talked. The current departmental investigation of misdeeds triggered flashbacks for him and he was fixated on the idea that his father’s career had been deliberately destroyed by some amateur.” The green eyes sparked. “Guess who?”

Judith was stunned. “How did he find out about that old case with the bad cop?”

Joe leaned back on the sofa. “It seems you have a fan site. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s stupid. I never look at it. They refer to me as FASTO and half the people who look at it think I’m called FATSO. It’s embarrassing.”

“You should take a peek now and then,” Joe said. “You might also have told me about it. There are at least two dozen references to the bad-cop incident—just in the past six weeks. That’s what set Sidney off. He was sure you’d caused his father to leave the force. The guy’s psycho, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t clever. Now Woody and Chief Stuart have to give the bad news to Lloyd, who is blissfully basking in the sun on Kaanapali Beach in Hawaii.”

“Oh, dear!” Judith tried not to feel guilty. “But what about Hannah? Has she been found?”

Joe chuckled. “Yes. She was at the condo, waiting for Sidney.”

“What?” Judith shrieked. “But it’s a crime scene!”

“They took the tape down after my alleged arrest,” Joe said. “We’ve had it under surveillance ever since. She confessed. She’s as crazy as Sidney. Her biggest mistake was letting Sonya act like a caregiver. Sonya figured out that Hannah and Sidney had something going on there and confronted Zachary, who admitted he thought his wife was having an affair. Sonya was so disgusted with the whole bunch of Paines that she stomped off and never came back.”