Murder Came Second (21 page)

“All kidding aside about bratty kids.” He lifted his glass to Sonny and me. “I worry about what La Segal might publish that would affect mine. Several years back my wife decided—or discovered—she was gay. That’s why we divorced. She had met a woman she fell in love with.”

“My goodness!” Mom looked startled.

“Yes. The divorce was about as amicable as they can be, I guess. I suppose neither of us had any very serious feelings left for each other. Mainly we were together for the kids, I think, and we weren’t together all that often, anyway. At least the divorce wasn’t cutthroat. Karen is a good mother. I saw no reason to start some sort of custody battle. So Karen and her partner have the kids, and seem to be doing a good job with them. They own a women’s sportswear store near White Plains and do quite well. They also make sure one of them is home every day when school gets out.”

“Do you see the kids?” Sonny asked.

“Yes. We have no problem with that. The only problem is that I’m away so much. I would like to spend more time with them, but that’s not Karen’s fault. Anyway, I bring them into New York or to my place up in Vermont whenever I can. Everything is pretty smooth. The kids love both women and vice versa. At first, there was some talk at school, but now everyone just seems to accept it. Schoolmates, teachers, other parents—no problems, except with an occasional right wing religious type, and the kids have learned to handle that.”

He sipped his wine and laughed. “They just lean over and whisper in the other kid’s ear, ‘Be careful what names you call us. There’s more of us than there are of you. You just don’t know it yet.’ But you can see why I don’t want Terese spreading news of that arrangement all over the
A-List.
People would read it and start the gossip up all over again. I have no desire to hurt my ex-wife and her lover, and certainly I want to protect the kids. I’d really like to gag Terese, and I don’t know how to do it. With a bath towel, maybe.”

Sonny stared dreamily at his beer bottle, not his first, I thought. “Sometimes I think it really would be nice to have a police state.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Mom countered. “Then I’d have to wear a big badge and carry a nightstick to keep you in line.”

I walked back with Mom and Noel to pick up Fargo and the car. It had been a nice long break, but the three of us were quiet and thoughtful as we walked. Personally, I’d be awfully glad when the play was presented and Terese had packed up and gone. Surely then she’d find some other target for her poisonous little darts. I wished Carlucci and his jolly troupe the best of luck, but I wasn’t the least certain I wanted them back every year for a series of Shakespearean soap operas.

Thanking Noel for lunch, I asked if he wanted a ride back.

“No.” He smiled rather sadly. “I think I’ll just start cleaning out the basement.”

I could almost get to like him.

137

Arriving home, I was startled to see Harmon mowing our lawn. It didn’t particularly need it, nor had I asked him to do it. I always did it myself. And I was pretty sure Cindy wouldn’t have asked him. Even more surprising was the speed at which he was striding around the yard, almost throwing the lawnmower out in front of him and then yanking it back the other way. Harmon was not noted for rushing through any job, but with his current reckless approach, I had some fear that flowers, vegetables and small shrubs would all be at ground level before he finished.

“Hi, Harmon,” I called. “What’s up?”

He throttled back the mower and came over, pale and sweating hard. I wondered if he were having some bizarre kind of heart attack. “Harmon, are you all right? Sit down for a minute.”

“Let me just finish this. I’ll be right there.”

“Okay, I’ll go get you a beer.”

He shook his head. “No, I better not have no alcohol. Ice water would be fine.” He roared off at a half gallop, and now I was really worried.

I brought out his glass of ice water and my iced tea as he finished. He gave the mower a cursory brush-off and propelled it toward the garage, nearly taking off my car’s front bumper and trailing grass clippings as he went. What the hell was the matter with him?

He flopped into the chair opposite me and stated without preamble, “She’s gone too goddamn far, Alex. I shall take action.”

“What are you talking about, Harmon? Have some water. Cool off a little.”

He took a sip, his hand so shaky he dribbled some down his shirt and never even jumped when the icy water hit his chest. “You remember my older brother Rob, that was killed in Vietnam?”

“Sure,” I replied. Actually I didn’t. I’m not sure I had even been born then, but I had heard about him over the years. Another war where we seemed to have no clear idea what we were doing or why.

“Well, a few days back I was over to the cemetery, clipping the grass and puttin’ out some flowers like I had promised my mother I always would, and here came Miss Nosy wanderin’ around, reading headstones. She asked who Robert was, and I told her. You got a cigarette, Alex?”

I handed him the pack and lighter. I wondered whether I smoked half as many as I seemed to give away. Didn’t anybody carry their own anymore? Or did they just wait for Alex?

“Well,” he said, “I told her about him . . . how he was hit himself, but kept firing at the enemy while they helped some of our wounded get in the helicopter, and then when it was his turn, he couldn’t make it. I told her how they sent him home with all them army men for the funeral, and how he got a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star that I still got in that little velvet box. She actually said she was sorry for my loss and went on.”

Amazing, I thought. Was Terese a closet patriot? Could she actually feel for a young boy’s loss of his only brother and a middle-aged man’s lonely task in the cemetery? Maybe underneath that leather tough exterior beat a heart of—

“But then, this afternoon right after lunch,” he interrupted my sweet dream. “I was mowin’ their lawn next door and she come running out screeching like a barn owl. Said she couldn’t work with me making such a racket. I told her this was the only time I had to do it. Then she gives me this smirk and says she found out Rob weren’t no hero, that he was a coward . . . shot in the back runnin’ away! All that hero stuff were just a cover-up, and she was going to write it up in her next magazine article! Making everybody think Rob were a coward, when lotsa the men in his platoon wrote and tol’ our mama that he saved them! Alex, Rob wasn’t no coward!” He burst into tears.

“Oh, God, Harmon, don’t you see she’s lying! She was just pissed you were making a bothersome noise and knew that was a sure way to hurt you! She wouldn’t be able to get that information from the government, even if it were true . . . or any information at all, in such a short time. She was just making it up as she went along. And no way is she going to publish it. You could sue her for millions! Forget it, Harmon. We all know what a hero Rob was!”

I finally got him sort of calmed down, although I’m not sure he really believed me, and he left. I spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning the mower, raking up the clippings and stomping the divots back into the lawn. That felt good. Every stomp was a kick in Terese’s butt.

Cindy’s arrival home at day’s end was laden with clues for the trained observer.

Her car door slammed with great vigor. As she walked across the driveway, I heard her kick at something and send it skittering. She came through the door fuming, “Fargo, if you keep leaving rawhides in front of the door, you’re going to kill somebody.” She came into the kitchen. I braced.

“Why is the outdoor grill lit? I hope to God we’re not having company. Would it be possible to get a Scotch and soda?” She continued toward the bedroom. “It’s stifling in here. I hate these damn shoes.” She disappeared.

Highly skilled investigator that I am, it was almost immediately obvious to me that Cindy had put in a bad day. I doubted that it had anything to do with Fargo or me, and she would figure that out shortly. So I simply made us both a drink, and Fargo and I went outside to put the steak on the grill and await the transformation.

It didn’t take long. Wearing shorts, a T-shirt and no shoes worked wonders.

“Hello, my darlings. I’m starring in a new production of the Seven Dwarfs, and guess which one I’m playing? Uhmm-m, that steak smells luscious.” She kissed us both, murmuring mea culpa
,
as she gave each of us a hug. “Good grief, what a day.” She sat down at the table and absently ran her hands through her hair.

“The bank was robbed and they think you did it?” I asked.

“No, they know exactly what I did. I did it right in front of half the bank.” She sighed.

“You . . . ah . . . had an accidental intestinal eructation? The elastic broke in your underpants? Your opium pipe fell out of your purse? You jokingly pinched someone you thought was Lainey on the butt, only it turned out to be Mr. Ellis’s sister?” I ran out of ideas.

“Worse than all of the above. It all started with this nice looking, very well dressed man who arrived unannounced at my office door. I tabbed him at about forty and medium-well-to-do. He informed me he’d had a 401K just sitting in some bank in a money market account, getting virtually no interest. He grinned and said it had been there quite awhile, just due to his own laziness. He wanted me to advise him how to diversify it into various mutual funds, bonds, stocks, so he would be getting good returns for his retirement.”

She took a deep drink of Scotch. She
must
have pulled a big boner
.
“He was quite presentable and spoke well. I aimed him into a chair and asked him about how much money we were discussing, and he said a bit over four hundred.”

“Alex, can you just imagine an extra four hundred thousand-plus on my accounts at the end of the week?” Her eyes went dreamy. “My bonus would support us for six months. I sent Marianne for coffee and pastry. Choate Ellis happened to be in the hall, and I called him in and introduced them. I introduced him to both our young brokers.” She reached for a cigarette, then muttered “No” to herself and continued.

“I worked out a nice portfolio with him. He was a bit conservative for his age, but I figured I could get around that later. Then I handed him a form, told him to fill it out, and we would arrange transfer of funds from his bank.” She looked up at me with an expression halfway between laughter and tears.

“He smiled and said, ‘Oh, that won’t be necessary.’ He reached into his pocket and laid four crisp hundred-dollar bills on my desk, plus two twenties and a small pile of coins. I asked what that was and he answered, ‘My 401K. I took it out of the other bank yesterday.’ Alex, I really thought I was going to faint. That was it. Four hundred and forty dollars and seventy-eight cents.
That
was his fabulous investment . . . a bit over four hundred!”

“What did you do?”

“I looked at my paperweight and my letter opener for a long time. Then I tore up his little pie chart and we got back down to business. He works for a florist. That suit set him back two months pay, at least. I put him on a budget that had him in tears, opened a Roth plan, and he’s supposed to sock one fifty a week into it. That’s one hundred and fifty dollars. I hope he likes that suit, he’s going to be wearing it a long time. Your steak is about to burn.”

So it was. We took care of that, made a salad and nuked a couple of potatoes, and there we were. We ate outside, there being no signs of the merry troupe next door.

We just finished when the rain started, and I wondered how they did lighting cues outdoors in the rain.

After we cleaned up, more or less, we actually found a decent movie on TV and curled up on the couch to watch it. It was still raining gently when we went to bed, a soft and swiftly working lullaby for two tired warriors.

I was having a lovely dream. Cindy and I were in Venice, coasting leisurely past beautiful palaces on a wide canal. Our gondolier was a stunning woman who sang some sort of operatic air as she poled the boat along.

Suddenly, instead of singing, she began to scream. And scream. And scream again. By the third scream Fargo was on the bed barking, and I was pushing him aside, trying to get up.

Chapter 18