Dutch Me Deadly (10 page)

“The whole class went?”

“The whole class never did anything together, except attend assemblies in the auditorium. A bunch of us arrived early, and then kids came and went all day. I don’t recall everyone who showed up, but I know Hennessy was there, and Bouchard, Mindy and Sheila,
naturally
, Peewee—”

“—who was much shorter back then than he is now.”

“Right. He was a shrimp in high school. He must have over
dosed on growth hormone after he graduated. Uh, Bobby was there,
of course. Kids got along with him surprisingly well despite the fact that he was so much smarter than the rest of us. Mike McManus showed up—”

“Mike? He told me he was invisible in high school. What was he doing rubbing shoulders with the in-crowd?”

“Bobby really liked Mike, so he asked him to join us. It was probably the first and last time Mike ever found himself in such exalted company.”

Pseudo
-exalted was more like it.

“Paula was there, even though no one wanted her, but her parents bought her a car for graduation, so she showed up wherever she damn well pleased. I have a mental image of some jocks and cheerleaders whose names escape me, and a few of the more popular smart kids.”

“Pete Finnegan?”

“Hell, no. Pete was smart, but that’s all he was. He didn’t talk to anyone, he didn’t participate in anything, he never cracked a smile. He studied. Pete was a dud, even though he was the first kid in our class to get his driver’s license, which should have earned him bragging rights, but it didn’t. His first big rite of passage, and no one bothered to congratulate him. If I’d been Pete, I would have been so bummed, but he probably never even noticed. He did everything he could to be an outsider, so the rest of us accommodated him. If he’d shown his face at the park, I guarantee he would have been laughed out of the place.”

I flinched involuntarily. “And yet he signed up for the reunion.”

“A complete one-eighty. Go figure.”

“Were Mary Lou and Laura there?”

He scrunched his eyes shut as if trying to picture them in the scene. “I can’t visualize them, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t there.” He hesitated. “Well, Mary Lou might have shown up, but not Laura. The popular kids were always merciless with poor Laura. I’m surprised she hasn’t suffered permanent emotional damage.”

“She apparently rose above it.”

Chip pondered this as he massaged the bristly white hairs of his mustache. “Either that, or she’s spent a fortune on therapy.”

“Whatever the explanation, she’s certainly come out the winner. So,” I eyed him intently, “at what point did Bobby disappear?”

“Okay, I’m getting to that. We spent the day horsing around—eating junk food, sneaking into the woods to drink the beer we’d smuggled out of our houses, hanging out, making out, getting a buzz on—all the stuff that seems so cool when you’re a teenager. When it got later, Bobby said he had to get home before he got locked out, so he decided to hitchhike, and … that’s the last time we ever saw him.”

I stared at him, slightly jarred. “That’s it?”

“Pretty much.”

“He had the kind of parents who would actually lock him out?”

“He didn’t have parents. He lived at the orphanage on the other side of the city. St. Michael’s Home. The nuns locked the door at nine o’clock, so if you showed up at 9:01, you were on your own. I guess Bobby had missed curfew a couple of times growing up, and he didn’t want to do it again. He wasn’t fond of sleeping on the ground.”

Bobby Guerrette was an orphan? Huh. Someone had made a reference to an orphan, a misfit, and a girl who was afraid of her own shadow on the dinner cruise last night, but I’d obviously been too distracted by rising tempers to make the connection.

“None of us knew he didn’t make it back to the orphanage until he didn’t show up for class the next day. What a commotion. The principal called the police. We all got questioned. But hell, we didn’t know squat.”

“Did anyone see Bobby actually get into a car?”

His eyes flickered with sudden anxiety, as if he were struggling to recall the details. “I didn’t see anything, mostly because I was three sheets to the wind, but Hennessy saw a car stop to pick him up. Make and model unknown because it was too dark to tell, but he was reasonably sure it wasn’t white, and he didn’t think it was a station wagon. Peewee and Mike backed him up, but let’s face it, it wasn’t much to go on. Little wonder the police never found him.”

“That’s so sad.” I felt an emotional tug, not only for Bobby Guerrette, who never seemed to have gotten a break, but for the bullied kids, like Laura LaPierre, and the square pegs, like Pete Finnegan, who’d never experienced the thrill of having a buddy punch him in the arm in congratulations.

I suffered a twinge of guilt that I might have misjudged Pete. If I’d been a flaming introvert who’d been shunned in high school, I might have become a grouch, too. So maybe he wasn’t a villain. Maybe he was just a socially inept guy who was in desperate need of a friend.

“Changing the topic just slightly,” I ventured, “were you present for the big blowup last night?”

“In the Red Light District? Sure was. It was the classic battle between good and evil. Paula Peavey versus everyone else.”

“Did Pete threaten her?”

“Sure did. Said he’d been wanting to take her out for fifty years, though his choice of words was a bit more, how shall I say, colorful.”

“Did you know Paula never made it back to the hotel last night?”

“No kidding? I’d noticed the lack of tension on the bus this morning. Maybe she’s hanging out with your two guys. Or better yet, maybe she decided to go home. She got a pretty brutal taste of her own medicine last night. She might be feeling a little chicken-livered about facing her detractors after that. Paula loved to dish it out, but she could never take it.”

“You didn’t happen to see her after the blowup last night, did you?”

“Who, me?” He leaned back on his heels, as if trying to back away from the question. “Nope. Didn’t see her. Uh” —he checked the time— “would you excuse me? I need to make a quick pit stop before we meet up with our art expert.”

As a practical matter, it seemed someone should advise Wally of the possibility that Paula could have been too humiliated to continue the tour and might have caught a flight home, and I supposed that person would be me, but I didn’t relish the thought of freaking him out any more than I already had.

I cast an uneasy glance around the exhibit room, relieved when I didn’t see him.

Okay, at the very least, I felt duty-bound to go through the motions, but if luck was with me, maybe I wouldn’t run into him.

Happily, I ran into Mary Lou and Laura instead.

“Am I ever glad to see the two of you,” I said in greeting. “Mike was so concerned about you last night. He said one minute you were there, and the next, you were gone. What happened to you?”

Mary Lou offered a hesitant smile. “We got separated in the crowd. It was no big deal. I don’t know why Mike made such a fuss.”

I laughed. “Duh? He was afraid something might happen to you.”

“We’re big girls.” She linked arms with Laura. “We can take care of ourselves.”

Was it just me, or was Mary Lou acting a little testy? “So did you hook up with Mike on the bridge, or did you end up finding your way back to the hotel on your own?”

“We—” It was the only word she got out before freezing up like the proverbial deer in the headlights.

Laura tapped her watch to indicate the hour. “Sorry, Emily, but would you mind if we finished this conversation another time? Mary Lou and I have to powder our noses before the tour begins. See you up there. Okay?”

“Sure,” I said, as the two of them headed off in another direction.

Hmm. I seemed to be throwing everyone into a tailspin. They couldn’t get away from me fast enough. Maybe I should stop asking people about last night. And yet, if my innocent questions could spark such instantaneous urges to hit the restroom, what did that indicate? Bladder control problems, or something much darker?

A shiver rattled my spine as I searched out the staircase to the first floor.

I was getting a very bad feeling about this.

Ten

“This painting is one
of Rembrandt’s most notable,” our art expert informed us. We were gathered in a room with a vaulted ceiling and skylight, mist-colored walls that were embossed with giant fleur-de-lis, a blonde hardwood floor, and a long swath of carpet that mirrored the gray of the walls.

“It’s called
The Prophetess Anna
,” he continued, “and, as you can see, it depicts a very old woman studying a page in her Bible.”

His name was Harold, and he had the clear, well-modulated voice of a natural-born auctioneer. I could imagine him requesting opening bids for diamonds at Sothebys, pearls at Christie’s, or hogs at Arnie’s Auction Barn.

“According to the Bible story, St. Anna worshiped God day and night in the temple and therefore witnessed the young Jesus when he questioned the holy men about their teachings.”

I stood on tiptoe at the back of the group, thinking I’d have to wait until they moved on to the next painting before I could get a good look at this one. It also didn’t help that Peewee was hogging the front.

“Please note Rembrandt’s use of light and shadow in the portrait. He wants you to focus on both the woman’s hand and the Bible page, so he illuminates these details in such a way as to make them appear to be lit by a spotlight. The woman’s face, which is oftentimes the most important aspect of a portrait, is entirely in shadow.”

Feeling a presence at my back, I looked over my shoulder to find Jackie practically on top of me. “You owe me,” she whispered out the corner of her mouth.

“I know,” I whispered back.

“Have I mentioned that Tom and I are thinking about starting a family?”

“I am
not
carrying your baby.”

“Party pooper.”

Harold’s voice thrummed with enthusiasm. “The Dutch masters developed a simple technique to draw our eyes to the parts of their paintings they wanted to emphasize. It involves a bit of geometry and …”

“Have you read Beth Ann’s recap of last night?” I asked as Harold continued.

“Not every word. Her handwriting is atrocious.”

“So, what did you make of it?”

“Rather amateurish, but she has a real gift for metaphors.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not talking about Beth Ann’s writing skills. What did you think about the blowup?”

“Oh, that.” She waited a beat to gather her thoughts. “I am
so
ticked off. It would have been the perfect opportunity for a
well-dressed life coach to jump in and show these reunion screwups the error of their ways. Money in the bank, Emily, and I missed it. I’ll tell you one thing. Playing the part of the Good Samaritan is highly overrated.”

“Chip Soucy thinks that Paula Peavey suffered so much humiliation at the hands of her classmates last night that she might have left the tour and flown home.”

“That’s too bad. Now there’s one broad who
really
could have used my help. So”—she lowered her voice to a near inaudible whisper—“what’s my assignment for today?”

“Keeping your fingers crossed that the Dicks show up.”

“Oh, come
on
, Emily. No tailing? No disguises?”

“Not until the Dicks are back.” I sighed my frustration as I glanced around the room. “Have you seen Wally anywhere?”

“Men’s room. Ground floor. Last stall on the right.”

I arched a brow. “How do you know what stall he’s in?”

She sucked in her breath as she smoothed her skirt over her hips. “It’s like this. I used the old plumbing for so many years, I don’t always remember it’s been renovated.”

“You’ll notice this technique being used with absolute perfection in the next painting we’re going to discuss,” Harold announced. “An exquisite portrait entitled
Maria Trip
, and it’s right across the room. But before we move on, are there any questions?”

Bernice’s hand shot into the air. “Are you on Facebook?”

Oh, God
.

I hung back as Harold herded the group toward the painting and began his spiel. Nana hung back, too, apparently as anxious as I was for a closer look at the masterpiece.

“Can you believe this is a three-hundred-year-old painting?” I asked her. “It looks more like a recent photograph.”

“What I can’t believe are all them wrinkles on the old girl’s hand.” Nana tsked. “Didn’t they have no hand cream back then? If my hand looked that bad, I wouldn’t want it in no spotlight. I’d want it Photoshopped.” She held up her own hand for critical analysis. “Mine don’t look as wrinkled as hers, does it?”

I regarded her misshapen knuckles, bulging veins, and liver spots and squeezed her hand with affection. “You have beautiful hands.” Others might disagree, but to me, they were the most beautiful hands in the world.

“I wish the Dicks was here,” she suddenly confided. “I know they can be dicks, but I miss ’em clownin’ around and actin’ like dopes. Isn’t that somethin’? I guess I’ve gotten used to ’em.”

“They’ll show up,” I asserted with more confidence than I actually felt.

“They better, and soon. I don’t know how much longer Grace and Helen can take the pressure. Did you notice Helen today? She don’t got no eyebrows. She forgot to draw ’em on. That don’t
never
happen.”

Uff-da
. This was getting serious.

“I’m thinkin’ they need a distraction,” Nana advised. “Somethin’ to take their minds off the boys.”

“Good idea.” I gave her a hard look. “Were you guys able to get your eyeglasses straightened out back at the hotel?”

“The bus come, so we haven’t had no time to do it yet.”

“Then why don’t you plan to do it soon, and you can put Grace and Helen in charge.”

A smile split Nana’s face. “I like it.” She eyed the group as they streamed into the adjoining exhibit room behind Harold. “But Grace and Helen don’t never get elected to be put in charge of nuthin’, so I better give Osmond the poop so he can fudge the vote.”

“Assure him he won’t be prosecuted for voter fraud,” I called as she scurried to catch up.

I suddenly found myself the lone occupant of the room, save for Pete Finnegan, who’d lagged behind to study the portrait Harold had just finished discussing.

Hmm. I really needed to track Wally down, but finding Pete so accessible seemed like a sign from Above. Was he truly the bred-in-the-bone miserable cuss everyone accused him of being? The kind of guy who wouldn’t think twice about shoving you in front of a bicycle? Or did he have a kinder, gentler nature that was lying dormant just beneath his cranky crust, just waiting to be unleashed?

I bobbed my head in indecision.
Eenie, meenie, mynie
…

Okay, meenie won. Wally could wait.

I strode quietly across the carpet, stopping at the discreet barrier that fronted the painting of Maria Trip. “Does she look like someone you know?” I asked as I perused her pale face, frizzy hair, and huge man-hands.

Pete observed me out of the corner of his eye before inching sideways to put more space between us. “What’s it to you?”

“You look enthralled.”

He made a snarky noise in his throat.

“I sympathize with her hair. It looks like mine when the humidity goes off the chart.”

“No skin off my teeth.”

A declarative sentence! Well, minus the verb. “Unfortunately, I didn’t hear Harold’s spiel,” I lamented. “Did he have any insights to share?”

“No.”

“None at all?”

“NO!”

Oh, yah, this was going well. Might as well begin my fishing expedition before he up and left. I softened my voice and forged ahead. “Sad what happened to Charlotte.”

He let out a derisive
pish
. “If you say so.”

“Poor woman. I bet she never saw what hit her. She probably wasn’t bothered by speeding bicycles in rural Kansas.”

Silence.

“You must have had a ringside seat when the accident happened.”

He turned his head slowly in my direction, eyes slatted, brow puckered. “What?”

“You were already there when I arrived. Remember? I asked you what had happened, and you said you didn’t know? Actually, what you said was, ‘Dunno.’”

“What of it?”

“Well, my husband—he used to be in law enforcement—says that when we witness accidents, we can be so traumatized by what we’ve seen that our brains can trick us into thinking we saw nothing at all. It’s our body’s way of helping us maintain our sanity. Think of it as a computer reverting to safe mode to protect its internal data. But once the initial shock wears off, it’s not uncommon to start recalling things we swore we never saw.”

His mouth worked itself into a sneer. “You always talk this much?”

“Uh—so here’s what I was wondering. Since you were standing so close to the scene of the accident, have you recalled anything today that you didn’t realize you saw yesterday?” I was kinda hoping he’d remember pushing Charlotte into the street, but I was probably being too optimistic.

“I’m recalling that I don’t like people bothering me when I’m busy.”

And his face was turning red. Probably not a good sign. “But this is how people get to know each other,” I encouraged. “They talk. Usually to each other. And if they hit it off, they become friends.”

“I don’t want to be your friend. I don’t want to be
anyone’s
friend. Now, go away before I have security drag you away.”

“You should talk to my grandmother. She’s probably seen TV shows that stress the importance of having at least one friend. She likes to surf, so she sees a little bit of everything. How’s your cable service in Maine?”

“I’ve lived my whole live without friends.” His voice swelled with anger. “Why the hell do I need one now?”

I countered with a smile. “Is that rhetorical, or do you actually want an answer?”

“Do I look like a complete goober to you? Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing? You’re sniffing around, trying to blame me for that accident because of my run-in with that prissy malcontent. Well, it’s not me you should be after. Pester the folks who’re the real pros at covering up the truth. Ask ’em about the skeletons they’ve kept locked in their closets all these years. They knew exactly what they were doing back then, and they know exactly what they’re doing now. But don’t expect any straight answers. They’ll tell you lies and throw buckets of sand in your face. You know why? Because they’ve done it for so long, that’s all they know
how
to do.”

Why did I get the feeling we weren’t talking about Charlotte anymore?

“Good-for-nothing buggers,” he spat. “They don’t know I’ve
got secrets of my own. That’d surprise the hell out of them, wouldn’t it? I could ruin them all with what I know, and if folks like you don’t stop aggravating me, I swear I’ll make every last one of you pay.” He stabbed a spindly finger at me, forcing me backward. “Stay out of my face, you hear me? I don’t like you. I don’t trust you. And here’s the kicker—that’s never going to change. Get it?”

He didn’t want to talk to me. He didn’t want to be my friend. He absolutely despised me. Okay, I got it. But other than that, I thought the conversation went pretty well!

He stalked across the floor, nearly plowing into Sheila and Gary Bouchard who stood in the middle of the doorway, trying not to look uncomfortable. I didn’t know how long they’d been standing there, but if their pinched expressions were any indication, they’d certainly gotten an earful.

“Are you all right?” Gary asked as I joined them.

“I’m fine.”

“What’s got Pete so riled up?”

“I disturbed him while he was studying the Rembrandt. Apparently, that’s a no-no. Hey, you two cleaned up pretty well from the dinner cruise.”

Sheila’s lips quivered with ill-concealed rage. “Don’t ever mention last night again. I’ve even ripped the page out of my journal to remind myself to forget.”

I suppressed a smile. “I hear the situation got pretty ugly in the Red Light District.”

“That was jealousy talking,” Gary accused. “Pure jealousy.”

Sheila elevated her chin to a haughty angle. “Since the outies can’t destroy the life Gary and I have built for ourselves, their only recourse is to bring us down by attacking our talent, our intelligence, and our extraordinary good looks. Last night’s performance was a classic case of little people mouthing off, and newsflash! Their insults rolled off our backs like water off very expensive nonstick cookware.”

“Actually, I was talking about the confrontation between Pete and Paula,” I corrected. “Did you happen to see where Paula went after the big to-do? Because I don’t know if you’re aware or not, but she never made it back to the hotel.”

Sheila stared at her husband with wide-eyed innocence. “I’m sure we didn’t run into her again. That’s right, isn’t it, hon?”

“Exactly right. She just took off. Ask anyone.”

“Did the two of you walk back to the hotel by yourselves?”

They froze up from knees to eye sockets, giving me the same deer in the headlights look that had paralyzed Mary Lou. Easy to guess what was coming next.

“Do you remember seeing the girls’ room anywhere around here?” Sheila blurted, seizing my forearm in a show of urgency. “I’m on a diuretic for my blood pressure and it kicks in at
the
most inconvenient times.”

“Ground floor,” I said. “By the entrance.”

“You’re a life saver,” she said in a gasp of breath. “Thanks.” Lock
ing hands, they charged toward the hallway so fast, they left a trail of dust motes behind them.

“Expect gridlock!” I added for good measure.

Nope. I wasn’t buying it. Three people? Three quick getaways to the restroom? One person might be normal. Two could be a coincidence. But three?

Something fishy was definitely going on. The question was what?

Making my way to the adjoining room, I noticed the Hen-
nessys loitering near the doorway, as isolated from the main group as they could be and still be within earshot of Harold. Marching up to them, I cut to the chase.

“For future reference, the restrooms are located on the ground floor.”

Ricky blinked his confusion. “What?”

“Did either of you run into Paula on your way back to the
hotel
last night?”