The Dead Past (20 page)

“No,
Lise
, thanks. Please, relax."

She smiled and frowned at once, features tugging. Too much, too soon. "Well, you start on those. I'd like to freshen up, Johnny, and then we'll talk.”

“Okay," I said.

She was gone ten minutes and returned more in control of herself. The blouse had been buttoned properly and she wore a fashionable blue belt. She'd let her hair loose and brushed it into her usual style. She had on light makeup, and the color was back in her face. "I felt even more horrendous than I looked, which is really saying something. People have been calling and dropping by all morning but I didn't want to see anybody, really. I've been cleaning all day, everything. I grouted the upstairs bathroom, can you believe it? I've never bothered, and now I know it's even worse than I thought. Doug is the neatness fanatic."

"Where is he?" I asked.

"Over in Buffalo," she said. "He left yesterday afternoon to wine and dine some valuable clients."

"I thought he was manager of the men's retail store over at the mall in Prospect."

"No, Willie got him a job at
Syntech
eight months ago. Don't ask me what he does. He's told me but I don't understand any of his computer jargon, and I should because I'm getting left at the wayside. It started off as a hobby a couple of years ago and now he could be building a space station for all I know." She grinned. "He called twice yesterday afternoon. He usually calls in the afternoon, but not yet today. I never thought to ask him for the name of his hotel or room number. I mean, I never needed to reach him before. You're always supposed to have the name of the hotel in case of an emergency, but who actually thinks that way?"

I could think of about a million people with beepers who never liked to be out of contact for an instant.

"Lowell called and said he and that other deputy, Roy, were going to pick him up at the airport this morning. There's a blizzard in Buffalo and the flights are probably either canceled or delayed." She absently ran her fingers along the edge of the tissue box. "He's due tomorrow, and I'm sure Willie could use lots of friends soon. Not right now, but soon. I haven't phoned him yet. To tell you the truth, I'm afraid I won't be able to say anything. I'm afraid I'll make it worse."

"You won't, but I can understand." I took a sip of tea. It was like drinking diluted cough syrup.

"You're so sweet, Johnny." Her voice took on the same sense of importance it had the other night. "We're all proud of you, you know. I've never had a chance to say it to your face before, but the way you've handled yourself since your parents were killed . . . we admire what you've done, how you caught that man, and a few others like him over the years, and I know the
DeGrases
owe you everything."

"
Lise
. . ."

"You don't like talking about it, I'm sorry. So tell me, outside of the obvious, why are you here?”

“I wanted to ask some questions about Karen."

“Why?"

How to answer that:
Because your murdered best friend might've been screwing a kid burglar who may have caused the death of Margaret Gallagher and
...? Two people had been killed in less than a week and left on my lawn and more lives might be on the line, not the least of which being Anna's and my own. I just didn't know. The extent of how much I didn't know was intimidating. Proper etiquette and tactfulness went out the window. "It's important," I said.

"All right. What do you want to ask, Johnny?”

“You know Karen was found on my grandmother's yard."

"Yes. My God, it's terrible. Just like that boy."

I nodded. "His name was Richie
Harraday
. Have you ever heard of him before?"

"No."

"Karen never mentioned him?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"It's not a difficult question," she said. "I'm sure she never mentioned him." Lisa frowned. "Unless you mean after this Richie guy was already dead. Then, well, you heard her, she was talking about your dog eating him and stuff ..."

"I meant before. I was just wondering if she knew him. If she ever mentioned him."

"No, never. But why would… ?" Lisa paused. She reached for a cookie and absently nibbled off a few crumbs and then looked at it as if she'd been eating raw sewage and put it down. Her voice shrank further and tears filled her eyes but tenaciously held on and didn't fall. "Why would he kill her? And like that, in the same manner? On your lawn?" She stared at me. "What do you have to do with this, Johnny?"

~ * ~

Anna's van was gone and Anubis was still giving me dirty looks. I put on my sweats to take him to the park when I decided to try Jim
Witherton
again. He was the only person somehow related to Richie
Harraday's
murder who I hadn't spoken to. Out on the lawn, Anubis sniffed at the spot where Karen's corpse had been found so close in time and place to Richie's and then searched my face for answers. He kept hoping, and when he realized I had none he went back to sniffing. I tugged him on and we jogged up the block. I rapped sharply on Jim's storm door, and it nearly fell off the same way the
Bubricks
' had. The windows were dark with heavy drapes and yellowed shades, the kind of decor only a confirmed bachelor would ever choose, or not having chosen, still live with because it didn't matter enough.

Jim answered the door wearing a burgundy terrycloth robe and insulated white socks with holes in them. His toenails were sharp enough to fend off a wolf. His black hair hung in lengthy ringlets to the middle of his back. He was freshly shaven and smelled of Aqua Velva. He had a half-eaten piece of buttered toast in his hand—edges daintily cut off—and after he finished swallowing said, "Jon."

"Sorry to bother you, Jim."

He had one of those small smiles that started and ended at one corner of his mouth. "No bother at all, believe me. I'm kind of glad you stopped by. I was just wasting the day before my shift. Come on in. I don't think that dog likes me."

"He doesn't like anybody."

"You can leave him out there then."

I ordered Anubis to sit and stay. He gave me a wry look that said I shouldn't bother him with petty commands, but he didn't mind so long as he was out of the house. He lay on Jim's welcome mat and rolled onto his side with a grunt and stared off at a series of faint tracks in the snow heading towards a clump of spruces.

Jim was only a few years older than me, but his mannerisms made him seem almost elderly. There was a slight hitch in his walk and he moved slowly, stoop-shouldered. He coughed constantly, his chest as resonant as a cave, and although he remained relatively thin he still sort of waddled.

"My sleep is all screwed up," he said. "I can't get used to these times. You know when you have to change the clocks, you're screwed up for a few days? It's like that for me almost all the time. Even when I get home at one or two in the morning I can't manage to sleep. It's like six in the evening for everybody else, except there's nothing to do. Even the bars are closing. And you can forget about watching TV, all they have are these infomercials and sex phone ads. You ever call one a them?"

“No.”

"They ain't so good, believe me. It's a wonder the Moral Majority don't come down harder on them. And they cost a bundle. You ever work a night shift?"

"In college," I said. "I was a bartender for a while."

He nodded and looked at his feet and tried to work his big toe back into his sock. "I can guess what you want to talk about." He nodded some more and I nodded with him because it seemed the thing to do. "Another one last night. We
oughtta
be ashamed what's happening in this town."

"Tell me what happened the night you found Richie
Harraday's
body."

He sighed and rubbed at the indents of his eyes. "Not much to tell, and what there was, I already told to the cops, believe me. I didn't exactly find the body, I just saw it lying there. Wasn't sure what it was at first, and then I realized. Scared the piss out of me is what it did, to be honest. I ran to your grandmother's house as much for my own sake as hers. I didn't know if somebody was still prowling around or what. Could've been seven psychos out there waiting to jump me. Freaked me pretty bad."

"Anna appreciated you staying with her."

"I appreciated her not sending me home," he said, laughing.

"Did you see anything on his body?"

Jim's forehead creased and he gave me a sidelong glance. "Lowell asked me the same question last night when I drove by. Now why do you ask that?" I didn't say anything. "Just snow."

"No footprints? Tire tracks? Nothing else?"

"Just snow. It was coming down hard that time of night, the way it has most of the week. That's why I didn't recognize him—it, I guess I should say—as a body. Looked weird and I was kind of bored, like I mentioned, and decided to come back and take a look. Nothing else to it, believe me."

"Thanks for telling me," I said. I hadn't thought he'd have anything new to add, but I'd been compelled to question him myself. I believed him almost as much as he seemed to want me to.

He shook his head. "Why would anybody want to do that to a nice girl like Karen Bolan, huh? The guy I heard was a burglar and a real creep, but why would anybody hurt that lady?"

"I didn't realize you knew Karen," I said.

Back to nodding. "Sure, sure, I know Willie from when he works late at night, which is almost always. He's a hustler, that guy. Puts in a hell of a lot of overtime but it's really paid off for him. He'll make senior VP within the next couple of years, you watch. You want a beer or somethin'?"

"No thanks."

"Yeah, her and Willie made a nice couple. A little weird, you know, what with the strong personalities if I dare say, but nice. She sometimes picked him up or brought him a late snack. Always had a nice word to say to me at the door. Never minded signing in or putting on the visitors badge the way they're supposed to, even if she was only gonna stay a minute. A real golden smile on that lady." After a pause he added, "How's your grandmother holding up?"

"She's doing good," I said. Jim
Witherton
, security guard and green toenail grower extraordinaire, was not a professional bodyguard or a martial artist, but I would not have wanted Anna to be alone that night. For all I knew, there
were
still seven psychos running around loose. "Thanks for all your help. Some people might not have gotten involved."

"That's New York City you're talking about," he said. "This is still Felicity Grove, believe me."

We shook hands and said good-bye, and Anubis bounded at my heels and we ran back up the block and around to the main gate of the park.

Jim was right.

It was always Felicity Grove; with its cool mint ambiance, park and children, ring of oak trees near the courthouse with initials and hearts with arrows through them carved in as far back as 1890. Aging and fertile. The lake where seniors rented boats on prom night before driving up to the back woods, where I'd lost my virginity like everyone else. With the memorial plaques and statues of historical figures that sparked no recognition: who could possibly know the Civil War hero
Orville
Drinkle
?
The high school was like a social machine where we had been turned out with as many hopes as fears, and too many good yearbook photos, all of us stuck together by that selfsame glue of youth no matter how much time passed. The inevitable snowfall followed by the five-ton sanders, red-eared children with ski suits and shovels trying to make a few bucks, and succeeding. Thick-furred dogs barking behind low wooden fences, cats forever mewling in trees—the fire department really did climb ladders to save them—girls skipping rope and running garage sales beside their mothers, and paper boys riding bikes across the neighborhood, perfecting their boomerang Gazette underhand toss.