Murder in the Hearse Degree (17 page)

“What about this Tom? Does he know?”

“Could be. I didn’t even think to ask him. I’m going to go back down to Annapolis tonight and look him up. I also want to ask him about Mike’s ring.”

“Oh, God. The ring.”

“I’m thinking Sophie used it to help make her case that she had gotten in trouble with a married man.”

“I guess Sophie could have stolen Mike’s ring easily enough if she wanted it. It’s true he never wore the damn thing.”

Alcatraz had exhausted all his efforts with the Irish setter. He joined the children. Lily’s somersault tutorial was a bust and she moved on to leap frog. Or in this case, leap dog. Alcatraz was the hurdle. Toby wasn’t much interested in grasping this concept either. He preferred to fall against the dog and push his face into Alcatraz’s fur. Lily had all the moves for exasperation down pat. I left the pagoda steps and joined them. I held Toby upside down and let Alcatraz lick his face, which seemed to please the both of them. Lily informed me that my new name was Underpants and she bounced around like a jumping bean crying out, “Underpants! Underpants!”

Some minutes later Libby got up and began spreading out the sheet for the picnic lunch. I left Toby teething happily on Alcatraz’s tail and Lily and I helped her mother unpack the food. When we were set, Lily insisted on feeding her brother. With a ferociously determined expression she wielded her drumstick like a paintbrush and soon had Toby’s face liberally smeared with grease.

“I wonder if this is how Julia got her start,” I said. “If it is, you’d better put a stop to it. Surely you don’t want your daughter following in those footsteps.”

“You know, I don’t understand why the two of you didn’t stay together,” Libby said.

“What’s not to understand? Marriage turned out not to be our métier.”

Libby gave me a look. “Don’t go thinking you can squirm out of it with a little French.”

“I’m not. It’s a fact, Libby. Marriage nearly ruined a beautiful friendship. It was a bad fit for the two of us.”

“But you love her, Hitch. That was always so obvious.”

“Of course I do. And she still thinks I’m a pretty sweet pickle as well. Look, I’ve known Julia since we were in diapers together. We shared side-by-side bassinets up on the bar at the Screaming Oyster. We took baths together. She’s like a very very sexy sister to me. I know her better than I know anyone. And yes, I love her to death. But none of that is a reason why we should climb into a box together and do each other irreparable damage. We’re lucky we figured it out as quickly as we did.” I ripped open a new bag of Utzes and held it out to her. “Besides, that woman is nuts. Don’t forget that. A man has to protect himself.”

“I still think it’s sad.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I said nothing. I’ve had these conversations about Julia before. It’s nothing that words really succeed in explaining. I have a whole pocketful of metaphors for my friendship with Julia, but I’ve never found one that satisfies the situation. There was a time there when it obsessed me somewhat, trying to get a handle on the nutty thing. Big waste of energy. It was like trying to stuff a sperm whale into a popcorn bag. One day I simply decided that
Julia
was a nutty thing—granted, a drop-dead nutty thing of absolute maximum vivacity—and that there was simply no getting a handle on
her
. She wouldn’t fit into the bag.

“I’ll bet she’s still gorgeous,” Libby said.

“Julia? Still makes strong men weep.”

Libby shook her head slowly. “Hitchcock, can I go on record that I think you are an absolute fool?”

“Noted.”

We fell into a silence and watched the kids a while longer. Alcatraz had seen all that he could take and was licking the mess off of Toby’s face. The boy got such a case of the giggles that he erupted into hiccups. This set Alcatraz barking. Made for an interesting chorus.

Lily came over to us and I handed her a plum. She had a little pink plastic pocketbook with her—about the size of a change purse. She opened it up with much ceremony and dropped the plum into it.

“Is that for later?” I asked.

“ ’S for Cindy.”

“Cindy? Is that your goldfish?”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Noooo.”

“Who’s Cindy?”

Libby ran a napkin over her daughter’s face then bapped her on the fanny.

“Scoot.”

Lily shouldered her little purse and made her way up the steps onto the pagoda. She was talking to herself. Libby watched her for a few seconds then turned back to me.

“Cindy was our other nanny,” she said. “The one we had before Sophie. Lily’s been bringing her name up a lot the last couple of days. I think she’s beginning to combine the two in her mind.”

“What happened with that one anyway?” I asked. “I don’t think I know about that.”

Libby rolled her eyes. “There’s one I’d as soon forget.”

“How so?”

Libby hesitated. She glanced up again at her daughter.

“It just didn’t work out. The thing is, Mike grew up having a live-in nanny, but that’s not really the world I come from. I was happy to raise Lily without help. After Toby was born, though, my hands were full and Mike really pushed the idea of going the nanny route. I didn’t argue. I needed the help. And we had the space. But Cindy just didn’t turn out to be such a great choice. She was fine at first. No real complaints about how she dealt with the kids or anything like that. But she liked to go out a lot and she wasn’t always—”

There was a noise behind us and Libby spun around.

“Lily!”

Lily had clambered up onto the railing, on her stomach, and was seesawing precariously over the ground some twenty feet below. Libby leapt up.

“Lily! Get down from there. Right now!”

Lily continued to seesaw. I jumped up and scrambled up the steps just as the strap from Lily’s little purse slipped from her shoulder. Instinctively she reached to catch the falling purse. I lunged for her. Libby screamed. I got hold of the girl’s right ankle just as she was tipping off and raised her up high enough into the air that she wouldn’t hit the railing as she swung back like a pendulum. I prayed that the little ankle wouldn’t snap.

“Gotcha.”

I brought her safely back over the railing and Libby rushed over to help me set her back down. Lily sat a moment looking at the two of us, blinking like a canary, then her face suffered a minor implosion and she began to cry. Libby dropped to the ground and took the girl into her arms. I stood by in thumb-twiddling mode, which is what heroes have to do sometimes. Goes with the territory.

Libby sat rocking her daughter until the girl began to settle down. She looked up at me with a harried expression.

“The gray hair. It’s coming any day. I just know it.”

After a few minutes Lily turned off the spigots. The well was dry. The crisis was a thousand miles away. She announced that she wanted to go home.

“Okay, honey,” Libby said. “I think we’re about ready to go anyway. Why don’t you go get your brother ready.”

Lily gave her mother a first-rate scowl. I’m telling you, the kid really had it.

“I want to go
home
.”

Libby looked over at me. I mouthed, “Annapolis?” She nodded.

“Go get Toby ready, honey,” Libby said. Lily crawled down the steps backward, on her hands and knees, then went over to retrieve Toby, who was once more squatting down with the top of his head resting on the ground.

“She’s reverting,” Libby said, standing up and brushing off her pants. She ran a hand through her hair. “Every day she’s acting more and more like a baby. It’s a stress reaction.”

“Could be worse,” I said. “She could be hitting the sauce.”

“Much more of this and that’s what
I’ll
be doing,” Libby said.

We packed up and headed out of the park. Lily decided that the place she wanted to be was up on my shoulders, and I’m such a sucker for what women want, that’s exactly where she landed.

 

Sam was outside hosing down the hearse as we rounded the corner off Aliceanna Street. We stopped and I introduced him to everyone. Lily’s eyes went wide. I’m not sure she’d ever seen such a large person before. At least not up close. She asked Sam why he was black.

Sam gave her a large grin. “Because black is beautiful,” he said to her.

Lily turned to her mother. “I want to be black.”

“It takes more than just wishing,” Sam said to her.

“I want to be black,” Lily announced again.

Sam patted her on the head. “Keep wishing.”

Libby and the kids took off. I popped inside and found Billie in the display room, vacuuming. I stood in the doorway and watched her running the Hoover in and around our half dozen display coffins. Her head was down and her focus was fierce; she didn’t even see me.

I crossed the lobby and entered my office. Alcatraz trotted behind me. A midget was seated at my desk, leaning back in my chair, his feet up on my blotter. It was Darryl Sandusky.

“Hey, Goldilocks,” I said, “that’s my chair.”

“I know. I’m trying it out.”

“Why don’t you go in there and help my aunt?”

Darryl smirked. “I like
your
job. Cleaning, that’s women’s work.”

“You’re swimming in politically incorrect waters, young fellow,” I said, stepping over to the desk. Darryl was wearing scuffed black shoes. The sole of the left one had an elliptical worn spot. It was worn in gradations, like on a topographical map. Darryl had his fingers laced behind his head. I had to admit, the kid looked like he was born to kick back in a chair like that.

“When do I get to see a dead body?” he asked.

“I think I need a note from your mother before we start down that path,” I said.

“That’s not what you said before.”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s what I’m saying now. No cadavers without a note from Mommy.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Maybe you should try playing with someone your own age,” I said.

“They’re no fun, either.”

“Sorry about that, sport. Come on now, scoot.”

Darryl brought his feet down off my desk and stood up. He clomped over to the door. “I’m just trying to learn a trade.”

“I understand that. And I’m just trying to get in your way.”

Darryl sneered at me. “Well, you’re doing a good job.”

Darryl left. I got
my
feet up on my desk and I ran through my mail. Nothing to sing arias about. Billie had left the
Sun
on my desk. I checked to see what the world was up to—it seemed to be doing its usual skipping-along-with-a-club-foot routine—then I ran through the obituaries to see how the competition was doing. Seemed there were enough dead folk to keep food on everyone’s table for at least one more day. I checked my watch. Oh, gee, quitting time. Billie was still vacuuming—Parlor One—when I left. I poked my head into the room and yelled, “Good-bye!” but she was a million miles away and didn’t hear me. Alcatraz tried unsuccessfully to trip me several times in the half-block walk back to my place but I danced as deftly as Gene Kelly each time and remained upright.

After dropping Alcatraz off at home I headed over to Julia’s gallery and found Pete there, putting the finishing touches on Julia’s new counter. Chinese Sue was already ensconced behind it. She was nearly finished with
The Mill on the Floss
. Only because I’m a glutton for Chinese Sue’s particular brand of disdain, I asked her how she was enjoying it. She looked up from the pages and puckered her lips, then simply outstared me.

Munger was in a foul mood. I ambled around the gallery and looked at Julia’s stuff while Pete finished up. When he was done, he was in no mood for compliments. I gave him one anyway.

“Nice work, Pete,” I said.

Chinese Sue set her book down carefully and leaned as far as she could over the counter to appraise it upside down. She looked up at Pete and granted him not much, but still a damned sight warmer look than she’s ever given me.

“Only took me an entire week,” Munger grumbled.

“Took God just as long,” I said. “And a lot of the stuff he did ended up breaking.”

Pete said he wanted a drink. Turned out he wanted several. We went to the Oyster and I sat on the bar stool next to him while he put a couple of dents into a bottle of Jim Beam. I stuck with coffee. When Pete asked me why he was drinking alone I told him I was the designated listener.

“If you’ve got anything to talk about, Pete, I’m ready.”

He replied with a low threatening sound from his primal arsenal.

“That’s good, Pete. That’s a start. Just get the flow going.”

Which in fact he did. For the next forty minutes he didn’t shut up. He and Susan had had a fight. A real howler. Pete sought to put it in a historical perspective by taking a trip down memory lane to some of his and Susan’s previous altercations. I give Pete points here; he wasn’t condemning his wife. He didn’t cast Susan as the villain, but showed equanimity in dispensing the blame. His most recent tangle, he said, had featured his throwing a bowl of cereal across the kitchen in the morning room and Susan heaving a half gallon of milk right after it.

“Same thing happened at lunch,” Pete grumbled. “I threw my grilled cheese sandwich out the window. Plate and everything.”

“You might have some kind of eating disorder,” I said.

“Funny.”

“Who made the sandwich?”

“Susan did.”

“That was mean of you.”

“I guess that was the idea.”

“So what did Susan do?”

“She threw the frying pan.”

“The one she’d just cooked the sandwich in?”

“Yes.”

“Did she throw it at you?”

He shook his heavy head. “Out the window. I was egging her on. Married as long as we’ve been, you know how to push the buttons.”