Keeping the Peace (22 page)

“Nope. She did not. She took off to California. She wrote to my wife once, after she’d been gone near a year. She said she’d send for Richard when she could.”

“Did she?”

“She did not. She did come back, though. Eight years later.”

“She came back eight years later?”

The old man nodded. “Yep. She showed up one day, no notice, nothing. ’Course, Richard, he didn’t know her, but she came with a policeman, and she says she wants her kid. Then, she takes him, just like that. There was nothing we could do, even though we had him for eight years.”

The Giamos were still. It was an awful story. John said, “And did he make any contact with you before he came to Vermont this time?”

“Oh yeah,” said the old man. “We’d hear from him, a letter here and there, a card at Christmas. His mother had married again and had a couple of other kids. Once he got on his own, he did come back for a visit now and again. I thought he turned out all right, though. Went to college, got married, no kids though, then he was doing something else. Anyway, we always kept his room, just in case he wanted to come back.”

John blinked. “Is that where he’s staying now?”

“Yep.”

“Can I see it? I don’t have a warrant, but I’m not going to search it.”

“Sure, I don’t care. And it’s my house.”

They followed the old man past the chimney block and up a stairway littered with piles of old magazines and newspapers and bunches of clothing. At the top of the stairs was a hall with two doors opening off it on each side. The hall was as cluttered as the stairs, and miscellaneous extension cords ran the length of it. A bare bulb with a pull string hung in the middle of the ceiling.

John pointed to it. “Can I turn on the light?”

“Sure, go ahead. Richard’s room’s the last one on the right.”

John pulled the string and, followed by Melanie, went down the hall. He opened the door to the bedroom. The room was neat and clean. A homemade braided rug was on the floor. White, gauzy curtains hung at the window. The wallpaper was old, probably hung in the forties, but it was in good condition. Crocheted doilies were on a bureau and the arms of an overstuffed chair. There was a small bookcase in the corner. A double bed with an iron headboard was made up with a beautiful patchwork quilt. A bedside table with a lamp and a book on it completed the furnishings. There was a suitcase in the corner, flopped open. John walked over to it and looked in, but he did not touch anything. Melanie waited in the doorway.

“This is his room. Always was. We always kept it ready for him, and after my wife died, I did the same. He’s been here three nights now. Guess the skiing must be pretty good, what with the snow we just got.”

John had a sudden thought. “Mr. Seeley,” he said. “Do you own a gun?”

“Well, now, let’s see,” said the old man. “I got my deer rifle. I got a shotgun, and I got a twenty-two pistol.”

Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Melanie’s eyes grow wide and her mouth move as if to speak, but she knew her protocol and remained silent. John said kindly, “Can we go back downstairs? I’d like to talk to you about why we have to speak to your grandson. Also, can you lay your hands on that pistol? I’d like to see it.”

The old man eyed him again with his beetle-like stare, but he nodded. “Go on down to the kitchen,” he said. “The gun’s in the table by my bed. I’ll get it.”

John led the way downstairs, and they sat at the table waiting for Bud.

“What about fingerprints?” Melanie whispered.

“If he suspects anything, he’s going to wipe that gun clean before he hands it to me,” John said, keeping his voice low.

“I may be old, but my hearing’s still good,” yipped the little man from behind them.

Melanie started, but John only arched his eyebrows.

Bud came around to take his seat at the table. “I’ve always been a law-abiding citizen, Chief, and I’m not stupid, neither. I figured out pretty quick when you asked about Richard that he was in some kind a trouble, though I didn’t reckon it had to do with guns. I didn’t wipe nothing ’cause there was nothing to wipe.”

John looked up at him.

“The gun’s gone, Chief.”

John said, “You didn’t misplace it?”

Bud snorted. “I ain’t touched that gun in twenty-five years. Just keep it there in case anybody comes snooping around. I live here alone, ya know.”

John felt his wife’s hand on his knee. He cleared his throat and said, “Richard Seeley is suspected of the attempted murder of one man and accidental killing of another in the process. Although we haven’t even seen him yet, circumstantial evidence points to him as a person of interest. The crime was committed with a twenty-two-caliber pistol, and I wanted to come out here and talk to you, to make sure we were on the right track. Now that we’ve found that Richard Seeley is staying with you and that your gun is missing, we have enough evidence to at least pick him up for questioning. That is, as long as we can find him.”

“You don’t know where he is?”

John shook his head.

Bud placed his gnarled hands on the table. “He was here last night, but I get up at four thirty every morning, and he was gone by the time I had my coffee.”

Melanie leaned forward and, as was her habit, took the old man’s hand. “Mr. Seeley,” she said, “are you feeling all right?”

John expected the hand to be withdrawn, the question to be rebuffed with a snort, but instead, Bud sat there, letting Melanie hold his hand. It was that Y-chromosome thing again, he thought.

Bud said, “I can’t say I like sitting here with you telling me my grandson murdered somebody.”

“Oh, Mr. Seeley—” Melanie started.

“We’re not telling you that at all, Mr. Seeley,” John said over her. “We’re saying we’d like to talk to him and that there is circumstantial evidence connecting him to the crime. We need to know because the man who was meant to be murdered may still be in danger.” The police chief stood. “I’ve got to get back to my office, Mr. Seeley. I want you to know how much I appreciate your cooperation and understanding. It’s got to be very difficult for you.”

Melanie released the old man’s hand, patted it, and stood beside John. Bud stayed seated, staring at the table top. Melanie and John exchanged worried looks, but the old man rallied. He stood up, straightening himself as much as his bent form allowed. He reached out and shook the chief’s hand.

“Like I said, I’m a law-respecting person. I’ll help you, and if it turns out Richard’s done all this, well, then, I’ll help him, too. Sounds like maybe he could use it.”

“Thanks, Mr. Seeley,” John said, going out the door, “and if Richard shows up here, just give us a call and don’t tell him we’ve been here. We need to talk to him.”

With that, the interview was over. John and Melanie slogged back through the muddy snow to their vehicle and climbed in.

“The poor old man,” Melanie said softly.

“Yeah, he’s a real Yankee, though, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is. Stoic as they come, and realistic. Sometimes it seems that people like that bear more than they have to just because of their own attitudes and constantly trying to live up to, well, pre-determined, archaic standards that no longer apply.”

“Like your parents?”

“Ha! I guess so, yes, but they’ve softened up a lot, John.”

“Not at first. I thought they were both going to kill me.”

“What? When we ran off?”

“Yeah. I’m still sure they would have rather seen you a widow than married to me.”

“They thought I was pregnant.”

“I know.”

“I think it might have been the best day of my life.”

“When you got pregnant?”

“No, oh, that was, too, but I was talking about when we got married.”

“Really? Why?”

“Well, it meant we were together forever. It did to me, anyway. Didn’t it to you?”

John smiled at her. “Yeah, I suppose it did.”

“You sound dubious. What was the best day of your life, then?”

“The night we slept together for the first time.”

Melanie blushed and looked down at her hands. “Good answer,” she said. “Why, though?”

“Because it meant we were together forever.”

“Really?”

John had slowed the Suburban to a crawl. “Yes, really. After that, I knew I couldn’t live without you.”

“I don’t like the way we’ve been lately.”

“How have we been?”

“You know,” she said. “We’ve been distant. The other night was the first time we’d had sex in about two weeks!”

“That must be a record for us.”

“It’s not funny.”

John sighed and wiped his hand over his care-worn face. “What’s going on with you and Gabriel Strand?”

Melanie stifled guilt that bubbled to the surface at his question. She answered as evenly as she could. “Are you still fixated on that?”

He glanced over at her as he drove. “Yes. I am. Tell me about it.”

“I’m old enough to be his mother!”

“Melanie!” He pulled the Suburban as far to the side of the road as he could and stopped.

She gave him a long stare and then looked out the windshield.

“Mel, what’s going on? I need to hear it from you. This case is getting more and more convoluted. Who am I harboring in my own home?”

“There is nothing going on between Gabriel Strand and me.” She spoke so quietly, causing him to lean in slightly to hear her. “There could have been. Yes, I have to tell you. There could have been something going on. He…he spoke to me in the barn this morning.”

“Spoke?”

“John, he kissed me.”

“He kissed you,” John repeated. “In the barn. This morning.”

“Yes. I didn’t even know it was coming. He’s just a kid, John, and he’s frightened. I guess…I guess I was the nearest thing to hold on to.”

John blew angrily through his nose. “And how did you feel about that?”

“What do you mean?” It was impossible to hide the unnatural tone in her voice.

“I mean, how did you feel when he kissed you?”

“I was shocked, I think. I—I don’t know. I just stood there.” She hung her head and let her voice trail off.

“Well?” he prompted.

“Well, I set him straight. I told him it wasn’t possible. I told him I couldn’t reciprocate.”

“Thanks for that,” he said sarcastically.

“Don’t be cruel.”

“Cruel! You tell me you and this rock star are locked in an amorous embrace in our barn. Who’s cruel, Mel? Who’s cruel? Did you kiss him back? How do you feel about him?”

She unbuckled her seat belt and whirled in her seat to face him. “How do I feel? I felt pretty damn good! I felt like somebody valued me. I felt like it had been a long time since I’d had that kind of attention.” Panic had its cold hands around her throat, and she raged on. “If I were younger…If I were younger and single, he’d be just my type. He’s a good person, and I like him. But this made me very aware of something, John.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“It made me realize how much I love
you
! It made me realize there will never be another man for me. Not ever. I love you. I miss you, John! I miss you. I’m tired. The kids wring everything out of me some days. They’re just weaning themselves, and it’s hard. They demand. The paper demands. The animals demand. I’m always serving everybody. I’m so sorry. I neglect myself, and because you’re part of me, you’re neglected, too. That’s how I feel. That’s all I can say. Where have you been, John? Do you still love
me
? Do you still want to be with me and nobody else? How do
you
feel?”

He sat staring at her. Tears had begun to brim on her lower lashes. “If something came between us,” he said softly, “if we were separated by anything, I wouldn’t want to live. I love you so much, Melanie Dearborne. I have loved you all my life, since we were children. Don’t you remember?”

“Oh, John! We were really in love, weren’t we?”

They looked at each other. Bundled in their winter clothing, it was hard to move, but Melanie put out her hands to his face. They leaned toward one another over the console and kissed. It was a romantic kiss, there in the wilds of Vermont on the white ribbon of road, the new snow making it appear littered with diamonds in the afternoon sun.