On the Other Hand, Death - Stevenson Richard - Страница 37

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"What was he wearing? The driver. Sports shirt? T-shirt? What?"

"Nothin'. He wasn't wearing nothin'. I mean, no shirt, ha-ha. Probably had pants on, though you never know these days. One time out at the home I was on my break, and I walked into the canteen, and this one nutty aide we used to have by the name of Neut Pryzby, he was standing by the soda machine with—"

"The man driving the car, Kay. He wore no shirt? The car window was open?"

"His arm was hangin' out," she said. "Yeah, that's right. Drivin' with the other arm. Nice arm, the one I saw. Thick and muscle-y, like Wilson's used to be. Nice big round shoulders. I like that in a man." She gave me a look.

I said, "You must have seen the side of his face. Did he have a beard?"

"Nuh—don't think so. Nope. No whiskers."

"Big nose? Little nose? Pointy? Flat?"

"Yeah. Nose. Guess he had one. Average, I'd say."

"Right. What about the other guy?"

"Hoo. Jeez. Guess I didn't really get a good look at that one."

"He was in the front seat, too?"

"Yup."

"How do you know it was a man?"

She snorted. "Huh! You think I can't tell the difference? I ain't that old yet."

"You mentioned 'crazy queers.' What made you think they were—queer?"

"Because it was on the radio. Cripes, it looks like I know more about all this crazy shit flyin' around here than you do."

"There was nothing about the two men you saw, though, to make you think that they were gay? Or their car?"

"No wrists flappin' in the breeze, if that's what you mean. Say, we could use a little breeze, huh? Anyways, Bob, you told me before that you was one of them. Bet that was just a line, though, wasn't it? Huh? You ready to own up to ol' Kay?"

She gazed at me forlornly. Happily, I was able to say, "I'm queer as a three-dollar bill, Kay. You want a good reference, check with officer Bowman. Not that I've ever passionately nibbled the man's lobotomy scar. Nonetheless, he will vouch for me in a forthright manner. Check it out."

She hooted. "G'wan! Next think you'll tell me Rock Hudson's one!"

"Yeah. Or Liberace."

Her laughter thundered out into the neighborhood and she slapped her great thigh with delight. The clap was like a sonic boom rippling across Georgia.

I said, "Listen, Kay, the cops will undoubtedly want to ask you some more questions about the car you saw. Meanwhile, I'll see that Mrs. Fisher receives this envelope."

"Glad to help out. Hey, is that Greco guy really dead? Lord, I about peed my pants when I heard that. Radio said he drowned. I mean, was he really kidnapped, or did he steal your money, or what the hell's goin' on around here?"

I said truthfully, "I don't know, Kay. I wish I did."

"When Wilson gets back here he's gonna kick up a real storm when I tell him the cops'll be back. Bill don't take to cops. He was kind of a juvenile delinquent when he was a youngster and had some pretty rough times with the law. When I tell him, I hate to think."

"Where is your hubby, Kay? He doesn't work Sundays, does he?"

"Hadda meet some people. Somethin' about the ball games. Business." She looked at her feet, then up at me again, not happily. "I won't tell him it was you that was here, Bob. Wilson's the jealous type. If I told Bill not to get his dandruff up, that you was just a homo, he'd call me a liar and a lot of other names. Wilson cares a lot about my reputation, I gotta say that. He puts me on a pedestal." She smiled feebly, and I smiled feebly back.

I told Kay I'd be in touch, then drove on down the road. I pulled over in front of the Deem house—both cars gone, no sign of life—and opened the envelope.

The note, in the by-now-familiar handwriting, read: "If you don't want Fenton to die like Peter pay $100,000 dollars again Mrs. Fisher. We will contact you. And this time no cops."

19

• Dot was on the phone with Peter

Greco's mother in San Diego. "Oh, no, Mrs. Greco. No, Peter did nothing to bring this on himself, you can be dead certain of that." She winced, and went on. "Peter was one of the sweetest, most considerate people I've ever known, and this thing is just the most unfair— Yes, I'm afraid it's not a mistake. I saw your son's body myself and— Is there someone there with you, Mrs. Greco?"

She stood slumped against the wall, her eyes half shut in a face collapsed with age and grief. As I passed her, our eyes met and she shook her head in spent resignation.

I went over to the cop seated at the kitchen table, apparently on guard against sugar bowl thieves.

You guys screwed up," I said. "This was tossed into the Wilsons' mailbox fifteen minutes ago." I dropped the envelope on the table. "How come their place wasn't covered?"

His jaw dropped and he snatched up the letter. His mouth clamped shut as he opened the envelope, and when he read the note his jaw dropped again. Getting up, he said, "I better notify the lieutenant."

"Right. This puts a new light on things. Or an old one."

The cop trotted out to his radio car as Dot went on speaking with someone who seemed to be a neighbor or friend of the senior Grecos'. After a moment, she placed the receiver on the hook but didn't move. There was a long silence. She glanced at me, then looked away. I could see what she was thinking.

I said, "It's no one's fault. Except the people who did it. They are the only ones to blame. When I find them, I'll tell them how we feel about what they have done."

"I offered them the money," Dot said in a broken voice. "What more could I have done?"

"Nothing."

"But if I had sold the house three months ago—"

"Yes, and if armadillos drove mopeds, fish could fly kites."

She gave me a funny look. "Why, that makes no sense at all."

I shrugged. "The point is, you've done the right things all the way down the line. Anyhow, you've got to stay strong and think about the present, Dot. And the future. Another problem's come up. Fenton is in trouble."

"I know."

"You do?"

"Of course. Fenton's been kidnapped. He took the money to the kidnappers this morning, hoping to buy Peter's release, and now with Peter dead the kidnappers are holding Fenton. Any fool could see that. I suspected as much when Fenton left this morning with the money and didn't come back. Peter's death confirmed it. Has there been another ransom note?" I nodded. "They'll kill Fenton, of course. Because he's seen them now and he'll be able to identify them. Do you think that's why they killed Peter? I think so."

The effort expended in getting all that out was too much for her, and, her face gone white, she clutched at the countertop. I helped her into a chair.

"Where's Edie?" she said.

"I don't know, Dot. I haven't seen her. Is she upstairs maybe?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, she's up there with the air conditioner running. Good God, it's hot! Is it me, or is today even more of a scorcher than yesterday? I used to think that when I was a child the summers were hotter and the winters colder. But now I'm not so sure. I suppose it's me. I guess it's just this dilapidated old sack of flesh and bones I drag around in. I think I'll go up and lie down for a bit. Edie's got the right idea. Cool off by the air conditioner. Yes, that's the ticket."

Dot insisted she needed no help climbing the stairs. She said that if I was hungry I should fix myself a sandwich and some salad. Which I did. The sun was low above the pear orchard. It was after six o'clock.

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