The Goodbye Body (26 page)

“Do You Mind?” Caron chomped down on a piece of toast, scattering crumbs on the tile surface. “So what are we supposed to do while all these mobsters run around killing each other? Should we tape bedspreads across the window and have police officers slide pizzas under the front door? Are we allowed to communicate with the outside world?”

“You can communicate with anyone you wish,” I said, then hesitated. “Except for the media, in any form or fashion. They’ll know about Sara Louise by now, and the fact she was in Dolly’s car. The police out front will keep them from encroaching onto the property. You can go out to the patio, but be prepared to hear reporters shouting questions from the gate. You can tango till your toes tingle.”

“Tingle?” Inez said. “Mine are so bruised that I can’t feel them. Unless one of us pays more attention to the choreography, we’ll both be crippled by the time of the talent show. We can’t tango on crutches.”

Caron’s eyes narrowed. “And my toes aren’t bruised? My big toe looks like a plum.”

“Because your foot was in the wrong place,” countered Inez.

“Then so was yours, since it was on top of mine.”

I stood up. “Clean up when you’re done, then go outside, upstairs, or to the attic, if you can find it. Why don’t you go in different directions for a few hours? This enforced togetherness is driving all of us crazy. I’m sorry I got you in this mess, but we’re going to have to tough it out for the time being.”

“And what are you going to do?” asked Caron. “Go to the grocery store for two hours, like you did yesterday?”

If only I could. “No, I’m going to find a place where I can neither see nor hear you. We three can reconvene at lunchtime and whip up a delicately seasoned potage of eye of newt, toe of frog, and wool of bat.”

Caron and Inez glanced at each other. Caron finally cleared her throat and said, “Why don’t you try the Jacuzzi, Mother? It’s very soothing.”

“ ‘Adder’s fork and blind-worm’s sting, lizard’s leg and owlet’s wing,’“ I called over my shoulder as I went upstairs. There are some perks to being an English major, although hardly of a financial nature.

The Jacuzzi was indeed soothing. The telephone rang on occasion. Caron or Inez must have answered it, but neither came to the bathroom door to convey a message or demand an immediate response from me. The mystery novel failed to hold my interest, so I set it aside and idly concocted a list of those men who might qualify as Dolly’s mysterious informant. Peter and Jorgeson were not likely, nor was my science fiction hippie, who would be stymied if I asked him what day of the week it was. I ruled out all of my usual bookstore customers, as well as the students who came in with grubby reading lists. Someone I’d met since I’d taken possession of Dolly’s house, obviously.

Nick and Sebastian from Manny’s PerfectPools. Cal. Gary Billings. Daniel Hood. The yardman, although we hadn’t bonded. If Dolly had used the pronoun
he
in the broader sense, Lucy Hood, the woman at the Fritz Motel, the Squeaky Clean trio, or even Corporal McTeer. I ruled out the vapid reporter and the waitress at the Cardinal Cafe. After further pruning, my list was down to the pool guys, Cal, Gary, Daniel, and Lucy. Unless, as painful as it was to consider, the informant might be someone with whom I’d not spoken at all, someone watching from a distance. He, or she, was undoubtedly communicating with Dolly, since I hadn’t believed her story about calling a local friend to make sure brochures were collected from a print shop. Then again, I’ve never been accused of fussing over details.

The doorbell rang as I was getting dressed. I heard voices, but no one sounded agitated, so I took my time. When I arrived downstairs, I saw Caron, Inez, and Peter on the patio, eating pizza. I poured myself a glass of iced tea and went out to join them.

“You’re looking mellow,” Peter said as he moved a chair to the table for me.

I picked up a piece of pizza. “And you’re looking less like a stowaway on a cargo ship. Did Jorgeson tell you about Dolly’s call?”

He nodded. “She’s still in Miami.”

“Does she know who killed Sara Louise?” asked Caron.

“If she suspects someone, she didn’t tell me,” I said. “She didn’t really tell me much of anything, for that matter. She admitted that Goforth is not her real name and that she and Bibi lived in New York, but we already knew that.” I stared at Peter. “Could she be in the witness protection program? Is that why she has a Social Security number as Dolly Goforth?”

“Probably,” he said. He finished a piece of pizza and reached for another. “I gather you all are happy with pepper-oni and mushrooms. I thought about anchovies and black olives, but the combo seemed too exotic for lunch.”

“The witness protection program?” Caron squeaked. She turned to Inez, who was gaping like a guppy. “Is this cool or what? We actually met someone in the witness protection program.”

I hoped I wasn’t gaping as well. “So the FBI sent her here? Have they contacted you?”

“Not yet,” he said, “and I’m not going to sit all day in my office and wait for them to show up—if they’re even in town. Once they place someone in the program, they’re done with him unless he’s going to testify. Dolly’s not on the subpoena list.”

“Maybe she wasn’t subpoenaed because she volunteered to testify,” I said. “Then the Velocchios found out and came looking for her to make sure she doesn’t testify in the grand jury investigation.”

Peter finished his soda and sat back. “If that were true, the feds would have shown up and bullied us off the case. Their lack of concern suggests they’re not especially interested in her. Or Petti Mordella, for that matter. The witness protection program doesn’t imply they’re protecting a witness. After Bibi’s death, she may have cooperated with them, although I don’t know why she’d risk incurring the Velocchio family’s ire. Whichever FBI agent was on the case told her that it would be prudent to adopt a new identity and move elsewhere. The federal marshals assisted with the background papers, gave her enough money to get by for six months or a year, and then erased her from their radar screen. I doubt they cared what happened to her after that.”

Inez blinked at him. “In the movies, they—”

“In the movies,” he said, shrugging. “No one makes a movie about a family that’s whisked away to some town in Kansas, never to be heard from again. It happens more often than you think. There could be half a dozen people in the program who’re living in this county. The kids are lectured never to discuss their past except in the most general terms. The parents keep a low profile. Apparently, a lot of them can’t stand the pressure and leave the program. Others revert to criminal activity to make a living. The marshals don’t bother to tip off the local authorities about these people’s true identities.”

“So Rhonda Maguire’s family could be in the witness protection program?” asked Caron, her eyes flickering. “They didn’t move here until Rhonda was in the eighth grade, you know. Isn’t that suspicious?”

“Highly suspicious,” Peter replied gravely.

“Her father sort of looks like a ferret,” said Inez. “Maybe he shot Sara Louise and Petti.”

She and Caron wandered away to the gazebo to further discuss the ramifications of this startling hypothesis.

“You’re a big help, Sherlock,” I said as I picked up another piece of pizza.

“It turns out that you are, too. We culled a couple of stills from the videotape and faxed them to the Brooklyn detectives, who passed them on to the beat officers, who showed them around Petti’s neighborhood. One of the shopkeepers recognized Bibi immediately. Bibi Barlucci, that is, and his wife, Doris, known to close friends as Dolly. Friends of Petri’s. Regular patrons at the local cafes and trattorias. He died a year ago of a heart attack, according to his death certificate. The FBI took photos of everyone at the funeral, which ought to give you an idea of who attended.”

“So Bibi was a mobster?”

Peter shook his head. “No, but his clients were. He had a few indiscretions when he was young, then straightened up, went to night school, and eventually earned a degree in accounting and passed the CPA exams. He knew of the VelocChios’ illegal ventures, but all he did was shift money to various foreign accounts and cook a set of books that the IRS auditors could never crack. A nine-to-five job, very dry and tedious.”

“He would have been a useful witness at the grand jury hearing. Are you sure he died of a heart attack?”

“That’s what’s on the death certificate under ‘cause of death.’ According to the paperwork, Dolly found him unconscious in his office on the third floor of their house. She called for an ambulance, and he was transported to the nearest hospital, where he was pronounced dead on arrival. He had all the classic symptoms of a heart attack. The funeral was held at the parish church. Afterwards, his body was cremated and the remains were buried in the village where he and Dolly owned a lake house. There was no hint of foul play. He was seventy-seven years old, smoked cigars, drank, and ate rich Italian food.”

“Okay,” I conceded. “I suppose we already have enough bodies. No sign of Petti, I suppose?”

“His body could be in the trunk of a car, in a freezer, weighted down in the bottom of a lake, covered with leaves out in the woods, or buried in a basement. No one on the night shift at the hospital Thursday night admitted seeing someone in the vicinity of the morgue. No one saw a vehicle in the delivery parking lot after six o’clock.” He paused for moment. “If we got married, we could send Caron to boarding school and buy a boat. I’ve always wanted to sail around the world.”

“Do all guys have this Magellan complex?” I said. “If you sail around the world, then you conquer it? Or are you looking for a heretofore undiscovered tropical island to claim as your own? I hate to break it to you, but all the natives have satellite dishes and earn their living day-trading in coconut futures.”

“We could live on a remote farm in Australia.”

“So you can shear sheep and I can knit sweaters?”

He looked at me. “You’re avoiding the issue.”

I sat back and looked at him over the rim of my glass. “Yes, I am, but I’m distracted. I guess it has to do with the influx of mobsters. Perhaps I shouldn’t have fallen asleep during
The Godfather,
but I did. I don’t even know the terminology. What I do know is that they’ve descended on Farberville, murdered two of their own, kidnapped another, assaulted me and vandalized the bookstore, and sent Dolly into hiding. I’m really not in the mood to talk about sheep, dear creatures that they are.”

“If you put it that way …”

“I just did.” I stopped while Caron and Inez walked past us and went in the house. I had no idea what they might have been plotting, so I was relieved when after a brief moment I heard tango music from the den. “I need to tell you about the guy who’s been delivering flowers.”

“A victim of unrequited love?”

I told him what I’d uncovered concerning Cal, then said, “Why would he have given me the telephone number of the Fritz Motel if he wasn’t involved? I think he wanted me to know that he is, although I have no idea why.”

“But he doesn’t work for Aunt Bessie’s whatever, and he bought the flower arrangements himself?”

“If I look in the Yellow Pages, I can tell you the name of the place where he bought them, and for a lot more than pocket change. He did ask about Dolly’s whereabouts, but so did a significant percentage of the population. Can’t you put out an APB on the van?”

Peter wrinkled his nose. “Because he bought you expensive flowers?”

“No,” I said testily. “Because he wrote down the number of the Fritz Motel. Because he lied about working for Aunt Bessie’s Bloomers. Because he accepted an imported beer under false pretenses. Because he told me his dog might answer the telephone. What more do you need?”

“Evidence of a criminal act or the intent to commit one.”

“Don’t be such a stickler, Peter,” I said as I gathered up the napkins, glasses, and pizza box. “You should have gone to law school.”

“I did,” he said.

I spun around, almost losing my grip on the makeshift tray. “You did?”

“All Rosen boys go to Harvard Law School. Most of them join prestigious firms and dedicate their lives to corporate tax breaks and hostile takeovers. A few of them actually argue in court, but they loathe every second of it. They work sixty-hour weeks, sleep with their secretaries, and spend August with their families on Nantucket or the Vineyard.”

“You’ve never mentioned brothers.”

“And I’ve never mentioned Aunt Belinda, who lives in the carriage house on my mother’s estate and raises pygmy hedgehogs. What do I know about your family?”

“Everything you need to know,” I said, then went inside and headed for the kitchen. Peter trailed after me, but I pointedly ignored him as I covered the solitary piece of pizza in plastic wrap and put the glasses in the dishwasher. The pulsating music from the den was not helping the situation. Slow-slow-quick-quick-slow. I wasn’t sure where we were, whose turn it was to make the next move, whose toes might be trampled. And, to my mortification, I was having difficulty catching my breath. I finally managed to say, “Shouldn’t you be off investigating Sara Louise’s murder or looking for Petti’s body?”

He seemed to have no better idea than I about how to proceed. “I’ll call you later,” he said at last. “I’ll make sure one of the officers checks the backyard every half hour.”

“That’s a good idea. Caron and Inez may want to swim.”

“All right, then,” he said. “Call me if anything happens that makes you uneasy.”

“I will.”

“So I’ll talk to you later.” He left, although his presence lingered like the faintest whiff of pepperoni—or something much more potent.

Despite a decent night’s sleep and the session in the Jacuzzi, I felt exhausted. I sat on a stool for a long while, reflecting on our relationship and the secrets we were unable to share. If they
were
secrets. However, brooding has its limitations, so I stashed away the issue for future consideration and went into the den, where Caron and Inez were diligently stalking, fanning, flinging, and flipping. I waited until they arrived at the climax, in which they turned their backs on each other, then reeled around and dropped into a pose that looked painful to those of us with less than supple spines.