Ticket to Ride (17 page)

“He just said they needed to find the letter. He sounded pretty pissed off about it. That's all those two talk about. Everywhere we go. Roy is calling Raines or Raines is calling Roy.” She frowned. “The mood he's in, he's gonna hurt me when he comes back.”

“Are you really afraid he'll hurt you?”

“He already hurts me plenty. But then he always comes around and apologizes. He even cried about it once.”

“You can always leave him.”

“And go where? And do what? I got it made with Roy. I just want him to go back to the way he was before Lou was killed. I know you're workin' on the case, that's why I wanted to talk to you. I thought maybe I could help you.”

“You've helped me a lot.”

“I have?”

“You know how to get hold of me, Pauline. If you need any help, call me. All right? Night or day. I'm going to give you my card. My office number's on the front and I'll write my home number on the back.” I had the feeling she hadn't told me everything she knew, but at the rate she was swilling booze she was going to be unconscious before long.

After I handed her the card and she started sliding out of the ragtop, she said, “I hope you have better luck with Wendy the next time.”

She took another belt on her way to her VW.

18

I
WONDERED WHAT A SUITABLE TIME WOULD BE FOR VISITING
David Raines. I hadn't slept well. Pauline's stories kept waking me up. I studied them as if I was doing an autopsy. Raines and Davenport working together on something. And upset about a letter.

I ate breakfast at the café near the courthouse. The fans were already going. Ninety-four was the prediction for this afternoon. It was already seventy-eight.

All the tables and booths were taken. I sat at the counter between a slurper and a guy who kept talking to me with his mouth full of sausage. It was like looking at the innards of road kill. The slurper was eventually replaced by an enormous man who giggled as he read the funnies. “Boy, that Dagwood sure gets in some trouble, don't he?” The other guy ordered more sausages. “That Beetle Bailey, he sure cracks me up.” I paid mesmerized attention to the newspaper, hoping he'd leave me alone.

Molly had written another story about Lou Bennett's death. Between the lines, you could hear her throbbing heart beating out a romantic rhythm. Not many murder suspects were called “strikingly handsome” or “eloquent” or “courtly.” She twice implied that with Cliffie's track record, there were “some unnamed sources” who were convinced of Doran's innocence.

The general café conversations ran to how the Hawkeye football team was shaping up for the fall and whether the Cubs could come back. Standard stuff. I kept glancing at the clock with the cracked face above the three coffeepots. It was only seven thirty. I'd decided to wait until eight thirty to show up at the Bennett estate.

I was just coming back from the john when somebody shouted: “Rachel, turn on the radio!”

The jukebox had been playing an old Connie Francis song, “Where the Boys Are.” Somebody jerked the plug from its socketending Connie's phrase half-sung.

Rachel dialed around until she found what everybody was waiting to hear. “To repeat: the body of Black River Falls resident Roy Davenport was found in his garage early this morning by a close female friend. Police Chief Sykes said that Davenport had been shot three times. Sykes also said that he's reasonably sure foul play was involved.”

Laughter rattled all the glassware. That's how you wanted your day to start—a good laugh at Cliffie's incompetence. “Reasonably sure foul play was involved.” Poor dumb Cliffie.

But past the joke was the reality of Davenport's murder. Lou Bennett and now his former business partner. And something about a letter. What the hell was going on?

I walked up to the cash register and paid my bill. Then I went outside and stood smoking a cigarette and watching the town come alive. The milkmen were finishing the last of their rounds in their white trucks, the mailmen in their summer shorts and short-sleeved shirts were just beginning theirs. The kids who played on baseball teams were headed out to Kilmead Park, where the city had recently taken some old bleachers from one of the high schools and set them down next to the ball diamond to give the parents a place to sit while watching their offspring play in T-shirts provided by the businesses that sponsored them. Then there were the young mothers pushing strollers, doing some light shopping before the heat got worse.

I was trying to decide where I'd learn more. I needed to talk to Pauline. The problem was that Cliffie would have her stuck in a room somewhere, shouting questions at her. He would be shocked that she and Davenport had been living in sin. It would be best to keep with my original plan. David Raines would no doubt be coming apart. Davenport's murder likely had something to do with the mysterious letter and whatever the two men had been involved in.

On the drive out, I realized that the discovery of Davenport's body would make a good case for Harrison Doran. Lou Bennett and now Roy Davenport, both murdered. Obviously there was a connection, and even Cliffie would have to see it. Much as Doran didn't want to leave jail, he'd soon be walking free again.

A man in a gray uniform was working the lawn with a power mower. A truck with the words
LAWN KINGS
was parked off the asphalt drive. The mower sounded angry in the morning stillness.

I pulled up to the front steps and parked. Somebody had been watching me from a second-floor window. I saw a blur of flesh and then a curtain falling back in place. I went up to the door and used a brass knocker the size of a catcher's mitt to announce my presence.

I don't know who I was expecting to see when the massive door opened, but it wasn't William Hughes. His dark skin contrasted well with his red summer shirt and white ducks. He didn't look happy to see me.

“Is there something I can do for you, Mr. McCain?”

“I'd like to see David Raines.”

“Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Raines is seeing anybody today.”

“Having sex all day, are they?”

“I've got things to do. And I'm sure you do too. So let's not waste any more time. I'll tell David that you called. He may get back to you. Good day, Mr. McCain.”

“Who is it, William?”

I watched her emerge from the deep morning shadows that cast the staircase into brooding relief. She wore an outfit of puce sleeveless blouse and matching walking shorts. White Keds covered her feet.

She saw me before William spoke my name.

“It's all right, William. I'll talk to him.”

“He asked for David.”

“I'll handle it, William.” She drew up next to him and touched his arm in an affectionate way. “It'll be all right.”

He looked at me and smiled. “You finally won one, McCain.”

“My lucky day, I guess.”

“Luck has a way of running out.” He returned her touch. “Just be careful, Linda. He likes to think he's tricky, and sometimes he is.”

As his footsteps retreated, she said, “You two know each other. It's one surprise after another this morning.”

“Meaning Roy Davenport?”

The lovely face tightened. “Maybe you can help me—or help my husband, I should say. William said that you wanted to talk to David anyway. He's on the veranda having coffee.” She paused. “He won't be happy to see you. He'll barely speak to me. He's obviously in some kind of trouble. I'm sure you've heard all the gossip about the differences we've had in our marriage. What nobody ever says is that I still love my husband very much. And I want to help him.”

She didn't wait for my answer. She blazed a trail through the house to a flagstone veranda where Raines sat beneath an umbrella'd table overlooking the exquisite green grounds of the estate. The drink in front of him was dark with bourbon.

“What the hell's he doing here?” he said when we approached the table.

“I asked him to talk to you—since you won't talk to me. I'm afraid for you.”

“And this bastard's going to help me? God, Linda, use your brain for once.” His face was red from drink and his eyes pinched and pink from lack of sleep. “I've already told you this is something I can handle. Roy's dead. Don't I have a right to be shocked?”

“Yes, of course. But there's something you're not telling me.”

I didn't want to slog through the soap opera any longer. “I wanted to ask you about a certain letter, Raines. That's why I came out here. Somebody I know heard you and Davenport arguing about it one night.”

He surprised me. Instead of fury he tried scorn. “Did Pauline take care of you while you were with her? I'll bet she's taken care of enough men to fill a football stadium.”

“David, there's no need to be vulgar.”

“Well, it's true. I could never figure out why Roy kept that slut around anyway.”

It was still somewhat cool out here. The robins and jays and sparrows in the trees sang sweet and loud. And to the east I could see the quarter horses run inside the fenced-in land Lou Bennett used for his animals. Be nice to just sit here and read and doze off in one of the comfortable lounge chairs scattered across the veranda.

“Are we finished now, McCain? You came out here ready to scare me with some bullshit Pauline told you. I'm sorry she didn't come through for you. Roy said she's quite good.”

“For God's sake, David. Have some respect for me if you don't have any for yourself.”

“Oh, don't worry. This is the kind of talk McCain here traffics in. He's a cheap little lawyer in a cheap little business. Ask any of the established men in this town. He's a joke and I don't want him dirtying up our home.”

Enjoy it while you can, asshole, I thought. I didn't want to embarrass Linda Raines any more than she was already. But someday I'd have my shot at him. Someday soon.

“Why don't you show me out, Mrs. Raines?”

“Yes, of course.”

“The judge has lost several friends because of you, McCain. They're afraid she'll pick up your stench some day and give it to them. I can smell it on the air already.” He addressed this to the glass in his hand rather than to me.

Linda Raines had tears in her eyes. This time I didn't trail her. This time she slid her arm through mine and led me through the house as if I'd been wounded. But she was the one who'd been hurt, and I suspected she'd been hurt many times before.

“He isn't really mean. He just has moods. I'm so sorry.”

“That's all right.”

“Were you serious about this letter?”

No point in frightening her even more. “Maybe he's right. Maybe it's just a story. Pauline does like to drink a lot.”

“I've been around them a few times, Roy and her. She's not my type, but I felt sorry for her, the way she's treated. Roy certainly didn't mind humiliating her in front of other people.” I don't think she caught the irony of her own words.

At the door she said, “The lawyers we know here, they're all David's friends. If I ever needed advice—”

I found a card and scribbled my home phone on the back. I handed it to her. “I'd put this where David can't find it. I don't think he'd be very happy about it.”

“No,” she said, her beauty momentarily ruined by worry and confusion. “No, but then there are a lot of things David isn't very happy about.”

Lynn Shanlon was carrying groceries from her Dodge station wagon to the stoop in back of her house. When I pulled into her drive, she had a quick smile for me and then kept on with her work. Being a gentleman of the old school—at least when it didn't take too much energy on my part—I grabbed the last two sacks and carried them to the stoop myself.

“I'll be happy to give you a hand getting them inside.”

“That's all right. I have to lock Grace in her room first. She's the little gray cat. She always tries to get outside. I get tired of seeing my pets hit by cars, so I don't let them out any more. If I keep opening the back door, Grace'll be out of here in a flash.” She pointed to the top step, where there was room enough for two adults to park themselves. “You want to sit down and have a cigarette while I get us some coffee?”