The Goodbye Body (21 page)

“Not if he bought a book on how to build a better bluebird house. But if he wanted a book on body decomposition or how deep to dig a grave, maybe I would.”

“If you don’t mind a personal remark, Mrs. Malloy, you’re sounding real weird. That boyfriend of yours is coming over, right? The two of you are going to tango?”

I realized my hands had been flitting like deranged moths and put them in my lap. “I appreciate your tactfulness, Cal. I’m agitated, but I’ll get over it. It seems as though all day long the world’s been beating a path to my door—and I don’t know why. Dolly Goforth was a customer, not a confidante. I don’t know where she is or why she left the way she did. If I hadn’t had a rat in my apartment, I’d be sitting on my own sofa, drinking tea and reading a novel. My daughter and her friend would be having a pizza with their friends.” I paused for a moment. “Well, that’s not true. They’d be at the computer lab at the campus trying to hire a hitman on the Internet.”

Beer spewed out of his mouth, just like in a movie. “A what?”

“Metaphorically speaking,” I said as I handed him a paper napkin and tried not to giggle as he mopped his chin. A giggle would be dangerous, in that it might evolve into hysterical laughter and a total loss of what little control I still had. Hercule Poirot never giggled, I told myself sternly, and Miss Marple would never allow herself to stoop to unseemly behavior. “They’ve moved on to mastering the intricacies of the tango. Tomorrow one of them may launch a campaign for Congress.”

He glanced in the direction of the den. “But a hitman … ?”

“They’re annoyed, but undaunted.” I looked at my watch. “Thanks for bringing the flowers, Cal. My boyfriend, as you call him, is on his way. I would like to call the shop tomorrow and find out who’s sending the flowers, I couldn’t make out the name on your van.”

“Aunt Bessie’s Bloomers,” he said, sounding abashed. “Do whatever you want, but I think you ought to just enjoy the flowers and stop worrying about who’s sending them. It never hurts to have a little mystery in your life.”

If only that was all I had, I thought as I let him out the front door and watched him drive away. If only I hadn’t found a body in the freezer.

If only I hadn’t seen the damn rat.

I was sitting on the patio when Peter showed up. For the record, he was wearing neither shiny shoes nor a tuxedo and diamond cufflinks, but I forgave him and participated in an agreeable, if not passionate, kiss.

“Pour yourself a glass of something,” I suggested.

“Are you aware that Caron and Inez are stalking across the den, each with an arm outstretched, clutching hands, and glaring defiantly at the wall?”

“Is that to be construed as an accusation of motherly malfeasance?”

He shook his head, went back in the house, and reappeared shortly with a glass of something that looked very much like scotch. He sat down next to me. “So you were serious about the ballroom dancing? Shall I call Jorgeson? He and his wife did a mean rhumba at the Christmas office party.”

“I’m too tired to explain,” I said. “How was your afternoon?”

“On a scale of one to ten? When I was obliged to take algebra, I never quite accepted the concept of negative numbers. I applied all the formulas, solved the equations, and slithered by with a passing grade. Now I know better.”

I let my head fall back. “If you want sympathy, I can give you the home telephone number of a really nice guy who works for a florist shop. Have you been sending me flowers?”

Peter caught my hand. “Should I have been?”

“Probably, but someone’s already beat you to it. I’m keeping all of them on the dining room table so I won’t be tempted to talk to them.”

“I assumed they were silk, and Dolly’s doing. My mother has arrangements like that all over her house. The maids dust them twice a month.”

‘Then you’d better watch out, Don Juan,” I said, “because I’ve got an anonymous admirer. When’s the last time you gave me anything more romantic than an egg roll?”

“I let you have the extra packet of soy sauce. Would you have preferred a diamond-encrusted wedding ring?”

The conversation was moving into an uncomfortable area. I slipped my hand out of his and reached for my drink. “Any news from Brooklyn?”

“Quite a lot, actually. Petrolli Mordella, known as Petti to his friends, lived in a brownstone in Flatbush. According to his neighbors, he was an Italian gentleman of impeccable manners and old-world charm who helped elderly women with their packages, played bingo at the parish hall, and bought gelatos for the children on Sunday afternoons. According to the precinct detectives, he was a low-ranking member of the Velocchio family.”

“The what?” I gurgled, nearly dropping my glass.

“The Velocchio family, as in the Mafia. Drug trafficking, prostitution, sanitation, union busting, bribery—the usual things. Is there something you’d like to share?”

I was grateful that I was sitting down, thereby saving myself from months of rehabilitation and physical therapy. “Remember Madison—the girl who was staying here until she left yesterday? Her father works for an antiques gallery called Velocchio and Associates. It’s in Manhattan.”

“And the reason you know this is … ?”

I wondered if I could sink any farther into the chair, or slither out of it and crawl under a shrub. “I called him this afternoon. I had no idea he … well, he …”

“Might be affiliated with the Mafia?”

“That truly never crossed my mind. He was rude, but I didn’t—”

“Why did you call him?”

“I called him because 1 thought he should know about Madison. Maybe I was hoping he’d say that she’d turned up at home or called to tell him she was on her way to Europe. I shouldn’t have, but I felt like something had to be done.” I took a deep breath, as no doubt errant Catholics did before entering the confessional. “And I thought he might tell me about Bibi and Dolly.”

Peter gazed coldly at me. “Were you planning to mention this to me?”

“I tried to call you earlier, but you were at the mayor’s office,” I said truthfully. “I knew you were coming by later.”

“This was a trivial bit of information that could wait until after dinner?”

I opted to go on the defensive, at least for the moment. “If I had known that Petti was a member of some Mafia family, I would have realized the significance and sent the Mounties thundering to city hall. I just thought I was talking to a brusque businessman. Was I supposed to think his business included drugs and prostitution, along with Louis the Fourteenth armoires? I may be perceptive, but I am not clairvoyant.”

“No, you’re Claire Malloy. Your name came up at the meeting several times. The chief wants me to haul you in as a material witness. The prosecutor’s combing his files in case you have an unpaid parking ticket or a library fine. The mayor is sending inspectors to the bookstore to make sure it’s not a fire hazard.”

“What a bunch of grumpy old men,” I muttered. “However, since you’re neither grumpy nor old, I suppose I can tell you the gist of the conversation with Madison’s father, as well of that with Sara Louise’s father. He called from Hong Kong, by the way. The reception was remarkably good. If there were water buffalo rumbling in nearby rice paddies, I couldn’t hear them.”

“Have you totally lost your mind?”

I took my time while I pondered his question. At the moment, the polls would not be in my favor. I would not have received a vote of confidence in the House of Commons. I most certainly would not have been nominated for the Supreme Court, or even allowed to sit in the visitors’ gallery. “I may be crumpling under the stress,’’ I said at last, hoping I wasn’t speaking gibberish. “I do believe my reaction is justified, however. I can either burrow under the gazebo or relate the conversations as best I can. Your choice.”

Peter might have preferred to call for men in white coats, but he pulled himself together and said, “Did you happen to tape any of these conversations?”

“I did not,” I said with what I felt was admirable aplomb. “I have yet to be seduced by technology.” Before he could respond, I proceeded to tell him every last detail that I remembered of my conversations with both fathers, and then embellished them with my impressions.

He was not impressed, alas. “How did you get Hayes’s number?”

“The same way that you should have. I looked through her purse and found his business card in her wallet. Her home address is in Sands Point. Is that anywhere near Flatbush?”

“Geographically, yes. Socially and economically, they’re not even on the same planet. The per capita income of any resident of Sands Point is apt to be larger than the gross national product of a Caribbean nation.”

“What about Bedford, Connecticut?” I asked.

“What about it?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s where Sara Louise is from. Is it comparable to Sands Point?”

“In that league, yes. Why do you think that’s where Sara Louise is from? Did her father mention it when he called?”

“It’s the address of the pharmacy where she got the pain pills. Madison told me that after they left the emergency room, they drove all over Farberville looking for a place to get the prescription filled. If they really went to the emergency room, that is. They may have realized they were in danger of being evicted, and used the assault as a means to exaggerate Sara Louise’s symptoms and play on my sympathy.”

“I’ll look into it,” said Peter. “Hospitals are reluctant to give out any information about patients, so we may have to get a court order. Their story about her car is true, though. It did have to be towed in because the key was snapped off in the ignition. The garage owner’s having a hard time locating another switch because of all the anti-theft devices. There aren’t a lot of Maserati dealerships between the coasts.”

‘‘Which they knew perfectly well. I can’t see either of them crawling under the car to disable it, or tossing random parts in a ditch. Breaking off the key was tidy and painless, and could be attributed to carelessness. Maybe they weren’t confident that Dolly would be delighted to see them, so they created a situation in which she might feel as though she ought to take them in. A variation of the emaciated kitten on the porch. It worked with me, and I’m not nearly as kind-hearted as Dolly.”

Peter stood up and took my glass. “I need to make a few calls, then I’ll freshen these and we can continue. Who knows what other tidbits you’ve conveniently failed to pass along?”

“Such as my shopping list?”

I followed him inside and went to the doorway of the den. Although Caron and Inez were hardly ready to take on the competitors in the Catskills, they appeared to be making progress. I was surprised to hear Inez hissing orders, and even more surprised that Caron was responding to them. It was the antithesis of their typical modus operandi. But if one were to judge proficiency by the degree of confidence, Inez had found an entirely new niche to display her heretofore unseen talent. Where it might lead her was problematic, of course, since competitive ballroom dancing might not prove to be a lucrative career.

Inez caught Caron before she toppled over backwards, then said
to
me, “Do you think it’s okay if we look around for peacock feathers and rhinestone tiaras?”

Caron’s face was flushed, from either embarrassment or exertion. “There are some dress boxes on a shelf in the closet. We really don’t have time to make costumes. The next time Dolly calls, you can ask her if she minds if we borrow some things.”

“If it doesn’t slip my mind,” I said. “Have you selected the music?”

“Not yet,” said Inez, neatly cutting off Caron. “We can’t use anything on the how-to videos because of the instructor’s voice. We found a tape made at some hotel, but the dancers are all old and the music’s kind of tame.”

“Whoever was in charge probably didn’t want anybody to have a stroke,” Caron said. “Some of them looked like they’d been smuggled out of nursing homes. We need something with shock value, as well as class.”

“I can’t help you,” I said. “Go ahead and see what you can find to use for costumes, but understand that you’ll have to get Dolly’s permission. They may be of sentimental value.”

Caron gave me an offended look. “It’s not like we’re going to steal them. I can’t see myself at the prom with peacock feathers sticking out of my hair. If I even go to the prom, which isn’t likely to happen unless I hire someone from the next state. We’re going to make total fools of ourselves at the talent show. Nobody will even talk to us at school. We might as well take baloney sandwiches and eat lunch under the bleachers in the old gym. Rhonda Maguire will be elected senior class president and assign us to the concession stand at the prom. I’ll get terrible grades and end up at a vocational school, learning how to be a welder. Some fat slob named Bubba will be my only hope of getting married, even though it means living with his toothless parents and his three frumpy sisters. You won’t recognize me after I gain fifty pounds and bleach my hair.”

“Oh dear,” I murmured, “that does sound bleak.”

Inez stuck out what little chin she had. “I think it sounds dumb. We’ll win the talent show, and when school starts, everybody will still be talking about how creative we were. We’ll give lessons during gym class. Rhonda can be on the cleanup committee after the prom.”

“At which time you’ll be swept up by a dashing gaucho on a black stallion, and the two of you will ride off across the pampas at sunset,” said Caron. “I can hardly wait to see that.”

“Adios, girls,” I said. “I’ll turn on the grill and start dinner in about an hour. In the meantime, Peter and I will be on the patio.”

“What about Sara Louise?” asked Caron. “Are we supposed to wait to eat until she waltzes back in? I think you should report the car as stolen.”

I returned to the patio and sat down near Peter, who was stretched out on a lounge chair. “Caron thinks Sara Louise should be nailed for grand theft auto.”

“You told her she could use the car and gave her the keys, and she’s only been gone for a few hours. I think she went off to meet Madison for some screwy reason. Unfortunately, we don’t have a clue where she’s been holed up all this time.”

“Did you trace Madison’s calls?”

“Yes, but with a curious lack of success. She used a cell phone, but there’s a security block on it. We can’t access the number, the account, or the location. It’s as if she’s calling from an alternate universe. Two of my men are trying to get information from the feds, but they haven’t had any luck. They keep getting transferred to different departments, put on hold, and then disconnected. They are not happy.”

“That is curious,” I said. “Wouldn’t the FBI cooperate with you if they were behind it?”

“The FBI doesn’t have to brake for local and state law enforcement agencies. The only time we hear from them is when they want something from us. They do not reciprocate. When I left the office, my men were on their way out to buy a Ouija board in hopes of channeling J. Edgar Hoover. But this doesn’t mean the FBI blocked the cell phone account. There are plenty of other intelligence agencies with the capability, including ones we’ve never heard of.”

I raised my eyebrows. “It’s hard to imagine Madison working for some top-secret British counterintelligence office.”

“All I can say is that it’s piqued our interest and we’re working on it,” said Peter. “We had better luck with the call from Dolly. Mordella’s cell phone again, this time from Miami. She’s obviously using false identity documents. We did get the passenger lists of all the flights out of the Farberville airport that afternoon, and we have the names of the women who were flying alone. There were no matches from Dallas or Memphis to Atlanta, or out of Atlanta to Miami. What’s more, she changed her appearance at the Farbervilie airport, so we don’t have a description. Airport security personnel can’t pull aside every woman traveling by herself. We don’t have a strong enough case to issue a warrant for her arrest.”