Not Guilty (22 page)

Keely examined a smiling photo of the freckle-faced woman in a heart-shaped magnet on the refrigerator door. “Is that your wife?”

“That was the winter she got sick,” he said.

“She was lovely.”

Dan pressed his lips together and nodded. “She was a beauty,” he agreed. An uncomfortable silence filled the room.

“Dan,” said Keely, “this isn’t just a social call. I came to ask you something. I know it’s . . . unlikely . . . but . . .”

“Fire away,” he said.

“It’s about the night that my husband drowned . . .”

“Terrible. A young man like that . . .”

“Do you recall the night it happened?”

“Oh, sure,” he said, nodding. “My poker night. When I was driving home, I saw all the police cars and the ambulance . . .”

“So you weren’t here that night,” Keely said, then sighed, her shoulders slumping, the discouragement evident in her voice. “You got home after the police arrived.”

Dan swigged his soda and set the can down on the counter. “Right,” he said.

“Never mind, then. It was just a long shot,” said Keely, forcing herself-to smile. “You probably can’t even see our house from yours,” she said, peering out at the dense greenery around the kitchen windows. She bent down to pick up Abby. “Well, thanks for your time.” She tried to gently wrestle the muffin tin away from Abby, who did not want to let it go and yelped in protest.

“As a matter of fact,” he said, “I’m ashamed to admit it but I remember thinking as I turned up the street that I hoped they weren’t at my house—the police and all.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Keely admitted with a sigh. “I thought the same thing. I was hoping it wasn’t us . . .”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You can’t help it when you’ve got a teenager in the house. I was afraid it might be Nicole. She was here by herself that night. Hey, maybe you want to talk to her?”

“Could I?” asked Keely.

“Of course,” said Dan. “But I’ve got to warn you. She’s mostly oblivious.” He walked to the bottom of the stairs. “Nicki,” he shouted. “Nicki, can you hear me?”

Keely felt her heart racing with hope again. Any possibility.
Anything. She relinquished the muffin tin, and Abby returned to her game.

“What?” a girl’s voice demanded from upstairs.

“Come on down here, honey,” he said.

There was no further demand for explanation. Keely heard the thud of footsteps above, and then a barefoot girl in a T-shirt and chinos, her blond hair twisted into a formless knot with brushy ends, descended the stairs.

“Honey,” said Dan, “this is our neighbor, Mrs. Weaver. My daughter, Nicole.”

The girl smiled, revealing the metal band of a retainer. “I know—you’re Dylan’s mother. I saw you at the, you know, funeral.”

For a second Keely was taken aback that the girl would even mention-the funeral. Most kids would rather choke on the word than say it. It made them feel so awkward and uncomfortable. Then she remembered. Nicole had firsthand experience. She’d already lived through her own mother’s funeral.

“I wanted to thank you for that. For coming,” said Keely. “That was kind of you. I think it meant a lot to Dylan. To have a friend there.”

“We’re not really friends,” said the girl. “I see him in school but . . .” Then her gaze fell on Abby. “Oh,” she crooned. “Aren’t you sweet.” She began making noises at Abby, who responded with delight. “I love babies,” she said. “If you ever need a sitter . . .”

“Nikki, honey, you remember the night when Mr. Weaver drowned. I wasn’t home. I was with the poker guys,” Dan asked.

Nicole’s eyes widened. “Oh, yeah.” She looked at Keely pityingly. “How did it happen, anyway?”

“Well, Abby here fell into the pool, and my husband jumped in to try to save her. But he couldn’t swim. I just keep wondering how the locked gate to our pool got opened. At first I thought it was my son . . .”

“Dylan.”

“Dylan, right.”

“Speaking of Dylan,” said Nicole, “is he okay? I heard about . . . you know.” She drew her index finger partway across her neck and grimaced.

Dan raised his eyebrows curiously but didn’t ask.

“He’s still in the hospital,” said Keely, marveling at the information pipeline among teenagers. “But he’s doing better. The thing is, he wasn’t the one who left the gate open, and I just know my husband wouldn’t have been that careless, so I’m trying to figure out how it got open like that.”

“Well,
I
didn’t do it,” Nicole protested.

“No, honey,” said Dan patiently. “Mrs. Weaver isn’t suggesting that you did it. She just wants to know if you happened to see anyone else at her house that night.”

“A car in the driveway? Anything . . .” Keely pleaded.

Nicole frowned and shook her head. “No. I didn’t go out that night at all. I’ve got an unbelievable ton of homework this year.”

Keely pressed her lips together and nodded. “I was just hoping . . .”

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute,” said Nicole. “I ordered a pizza that night for dinner, and the delivery guy took forever. He told me he went to the wrong house first.”

Keely’s heart began to pound. “That
is
a possibility. It could have been my house. Our deliveries are always getting mixed up.”

Dan nodded. “Sure. That’s how we met.”

“Do you remember where you ordered it from?” Keely asked.

“Just a sec,” said Nicole. She went over to the telephone and rummaged in a sheaf of menus, notes, and pads on the counter beside it. “Here it is. Tarantino’s.”

She held out a sheet of paper, and Keely took it gratefully. “Thank you,” she said. “It gives me something to go on. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” said Nicole brightly.

“Okay, Abby,” said Keely. “Now we really do have to go. We’ve bothered these nice people enough.”

“No bother at all,” Dan insisted.

“And really, if you need somebody to take care of Abby, just call me,” said Nicole, “ ’cause I do a lot of baby-sitting.”

“She’s very responsible,” said Dan.

“Thanks,” said Keely, clutching the paper tightly. “Really. For everything.”

“Not at all,” said Dan. He walked back toward the front door with them. “Maybe now we’ll get to know you,” he said.

Keely nodded in agreement. There was no use in saying that she wasn’t planning to stay in St. Vincent’s Harbor a minute more than she had to.

N
O STROLLERS ALLOWED.
A handwritten sign on the door to Tarantino’s Pizza read.
All right,
Keely thought, and she bent over and lifted Abby into her arms. “Come on,” she whispered. She left the stroller on the sidewalk under an awning and pushed open the door. She was met by the mingled smells of garlic, tomato sauce, and molten cheese. There were two teenage boys seated at one of the scattered Formica-topped tables in the narrow restaurant; a man was in a booth reading the newspaper, a paper cup on the table in front of him. Keely walked up to the counter, jiggling Abby in her arms. There was no one to be seen in front of the metal doors to the brick ovens. She could hear loud voices, male and female, arguing in the kitchen in back.

Abby fretted, wanting to get down and explore. Keely glanced down at the dingy floor and shook her head. “Stay with Mommy,” she said, leaning over the counter to see if she could catch anyone’s eye. “I’ll be as quick as I can. Here, play with this,” said Keely, reaching into her pocketbook and pulling out a chain of plastic keys. Abby began to shake them and chew on them contentedly.

The arguing couple were hidden from view. Normally, Keely would have waited politely, trying to clear her throat loudly enough to be noticed, but today she couldn’t wait. “Hello,” she called out. “Can someone help me?”

The voices in the back fell silent, and then a short, attractive young woman with curly black hair emerged from the door to the kitchen. She was wearing a white T-shirt and a long white apron with
GINA
embroidered on the pocket. Gina’s high-cheekboned face broke into a pleasant grin at the sight of the baby. “How ya doin’?” she asked. “What can I get ya?”

Keely took a deep breath. “Actually, uh, I’m not here to order anything. My name is Keely Weaver. I’m looking for your delivery man. I’m trying to locate a fellow who was delivering pizza in my neighborhood a few weeks ago. Can you find out who that would be?”

The woman immediately looked wary. “Just a minute.” She turned and hollered back into the kitchen. “Patsy, c’mere.”

A tall, swarthy man came out of the kitchen. “What?” he demanded, not glancing at Keely. “Whaddaya want?”

Gina inclined her head in Keely’s direction. “Can you talk to this lady? She’s asking about Wade.”

Pat eyed Keely. “What’d he do?” he asked bluntly.

“Nothing. He didn’t do anything,” Keely said, rushing to reassure him. “I just wanted to ask him something.”

“About what?” the man demanded. “Is this a police matter?”

“No, not at all,” Keely said.

“ ’Cause we don’t want no trouble,” Pat said.

“No, it’s nothing like that. It’s . . . it seems that one of my neighbors ordered a pizza and the deliveryman had some trouble finding their house. And this all happened the same night that my husband was killed in an accident.”

“Killed,” Gina yelped. “What do you mean? Like an auto accident? Did Wade hit him or something? Oh my God.”

“No, no, he didn’t have anything to do with it. It’s just that my neighbor said your deliveryman stopped at the wrong house, and I was wondering if it might have been my house. I was hoping he might have seen something or . . . someone . . .”

Gina frowned. “I don’t get it. Seen what?”

Keely reddened. Both the man and woman were regarding her suspiciously now.

“Look, this is just a personal question I want to ask him. It has nothing to do with his job here.”

“He’s not here,” said the man bluntly.

“If you want to give me your name . . .” Gina offered. Pat shot her a warning look, but she pretended not to see it. “I can tell him to call you.”

Keely hesitated, then shifted Abby from one arm to the other and
began to fish in her pocketbook for a pad and pencil. “Will he be coming in soon?” she asked.

Gina glanced at Pat, who was glowering. “I’m not sure,” she said.

Suddenly the doorbell jingled and a scruffy-looking man with a peroxided crew cut came in. He was wearing a black T-shirt with
TARANTINO’S PIZZA
on it in white letters. He had hooded eyes that made him look half asleep.

“I’m back,” he announced wearily. He shuffled over to the soda machine and inserted a couple of quarters. A red can clattered into the metal trough. The man picked it up, popped the tab, and took a swig. He glanced over at Gina and Pat, who were watching him warily. “Do ya mind? I need a minute to chill out.” He flopped down into a seat at one of the booths and ran a hand over his face. There was a tattoo on his forearm, but Keely could not make out the design.

“Is that Wade?” she asked Gina.

Gina and Pat exchanged a glance. Then Gina spoke. “Hey, Wade. This lady is lookin’ for you.”

Wade swiveled around and blinked at Keely, who was still holding Abby in her arms. He held up his hands in surrender and shook his head. “Hey, man, she’s not mine. I didn’t have nothin’ to do with it.” Then he laughed.

Keely ignored the puerile joke. As if in agreement, Gina shook her head in disgust. “Hey, she wants to ask you something.”

Pat muttered to himself and started back for the kitchen. “Make it quick,” he yelled. “I got pizzas here to be delivered.”

Wade chugged some soda and slammed the can down on the table. “What do you want from me, lady? I’m on my break. What happened? You got pepperoni when you ordered veggie?”

Keely could see that this was as good as it was going to get. “A few weeks ago,” she said, “you were delivering pizza in my neighborhood. I live off of Cedarmill Boulevard. The girl across the street from me ordered a pizza from here that night, and she said the deliveryman got mixed up and went to the wrong house at first.”

“So what? The pizza was cold?” He shook his head. “You people kill me.”

Abby pulled a strand of her mother’s hair and squawked. Keely patted her back and pressed on. “There was an accident at my house that night. My husband . . . drowned in our swimming pool. I was wondering how the gate to the pool got opened . . .”

“I don’t know nothin’ about your pool,” Wade snarled.

“Oh, I heard about that on the news,” said Gina vaguely, as if searching her memory for details. “What a sin.”

“I’m not suggesting,” Keely said carefully, “that you had anything to do with it. I just thought maybe, if you did stop at my house by mistake . . .”

“Why would I stop at your house?” Wade demanded.

“A lot of our deliveries get mixed up with this particular neighbor,” said Keely. “We have similar last names and house numbers. Our name is Weaver, theirs is Warner . . .”

Wade made an impatient motion with his hand. “Cut to the chase.”

“I want to know, if you did stop there, if you noticed anything, anyone.”

“Who?” he cried. “What are you talking about?”

Keely felt her heart sinking. This was not the most alert, perceptive guy. “I don’t know exactly. A strange car in our driveway, maybe. Do you remember that night when you went to the wrong house?”

“I don’t know. I’ve delivered a million pies since then. When was it? Which house is you?”

Keely told him the date and her address and tried her best to describe the house for him. For a second, she thought she saw a leap of recognition in his eyes. “Do you remember it?” she asked hopefully.

Instantly, Wade became evasive. “I’m not sure. It could have been any house. I don’t remember.”

Keely sighed. “Well, somebody left that gate to the pool open. I’m sure it was an accident, but I just need to know how it happened.”

“Did you ask your friends if anybody came over?” Gina asked, trying to be helpful while Wade’s cold, hooded gaze flickered over Keely.

“I’ve asked everyone I could think of,” said Keely. “My husband was a lawyer. I thought it might be a client, but that was a dead end.”

“How come it matters so much how it got open?” Gina asked.

Keely spoke carefully. “The blame for the accident has fallen on my son, and he . . . he’s very upset about it. He wasn’t the one who left it open.”

Gina nodded. “Oh. That’s rough.”

“You say he drowned, your husband? As in dead?” Wade asked.

“Yes,” said Keely quietly.

“And you want to know if he had company that night?”

“I need to know,” Keely insisted.

Wade nodded and tapped his Coke can on the table. “Is there a reward?”

“Hey,
stunod
,” Gina interjected angrily. “Help the lady.”

Wade sighed and shook his head. “Sorry,” he said innocently. “I don’t know nothin’.”

“I’d be willing to give . . . a reward for the information,” said Keely.

Wade looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Give me your number. If I remember something, I could call you.”

Keely hesitated. She didn’t want anything to do with this creepy guy. She hated the thought of putting her name and number into his hands. But maybe this man knew something and didn’t want to reveal it in front of his employers. Reluctantly, she scribbled the information down and handed it to him.

Pat Tarantino began to bawl out Wade’s name from the back. “I got deliveries here,” he cried.

“All right, all right,” muttered Wade. “Keep your fuckin’ pants on. He tossed his soda can through the swinging push door of the garbage can lid and went off to the back of the restaurant.

Keely looked back toward the kitchen door where Wade had disappeared. Then she spoke in a low voice to Gina. “I was a little worried about giving him my number,” she said.

Gina sighed and avoided Keely’s anxious gaze. “I’m sure it will be all right.”

“You don’t sound too sure,” said Keely.

“Well, I’m not going to lie to ya. He’s been in trouble before. He was in jail for a while.”

“Oh, Lord,” said Keely.

“I didn’t want Patsy to hire him, but he’s the friend of a friend, if you know what I mean. Somebody we owed a favor to. And we needed a guy for deliveries. So far, he’s been okay.”

“What did he do?” Keely asked. “I mean, why was he in jail?”

“Oh, I forget. Don’t worry. It wasn’t rape or murder or something. We wouldn’t be sending him out to people’s houses.”

“I should hope not,” said Keely.

“I think it was some drug thing. Anyway, good luck. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Keely thanked her, then carried Abby outside, lowering her back into the stroller and pushing her across the parking lot to the Bronco. As she opened the trunk to put away the stroller, she saw the pizza delivery car idling in a no-parking zone. As soon as she glanced at it, the car lurched into gear and began to move, making a screeching turn and accelerating out of the lot.