Razzamatazz (A Crime Novel) (29 page)

"Annie, the murderer has never been caught. I guess there's still some suspicion about him. Or at least it was there between the lines."

She'd wanted to shout at Peg, tell her she was just as bad as Burton Kelly. But she hadn't. She got off the phone and read the article again. This time she saw that the implication was there.

But her main concern was what Colin must have suffered at the time, still suffered. She couldn't imagine anything worse. When Bob had died she'd been devastated. She tried to think what it might have been like if he'd been murdered, but couldn't. And in Colin's case there were his children. It was almost impossible to know what she would have felt in his circumstances. Surely rage. Bitterness. And frustration. She was amazed that Colin functioned as well as he did.

During the day ten people came in to show her the article and sixteen phoned to tell her about it. So it wasn't odd that Colin had taken his phone off the hook. If she'd gotten calls, he must have too. But why hadn't he phoned her? Surely he must have known she'd be on his side. Still, he might have felt embarrassed by not having told her the truth. And maybe he was trying to protect her by not appearing at her house.

Well, that was foolish. They were friends, weren't they? Were Colin anyone else she would have gone to his house and tried to comfort him. She was, after all, a minister.

The night was cool. She slipped a sweater over her shoulders and went down the back steps. Behind the wheel she faced a truth. She wasn't going to Colin as a minister, she was going to him as a woman. And it felt perfectly fine.

LOOKING BACK
—50 YEARS AGO

On Wednesday of this week the Ladies' Sewing Society of Seaville celebrated its 90th anniversary by serving a delicious supper to nearly 150 guests, after which a most appropriate program was rendered. The original constitution states that its object was to furnish and beautify the House of God and also to promote social and friendly intercourse in the village. The initiation fee was 12 cents for the ladies and 25 cents for the gentlemen.

TWENTY-NINE

When Colin finally connected with Mike Rosler, telling him about the article that had appeared in Newsline, pretending to ask for advice, he'd found he was unable to come right out and accuse Mark of the murders. In fact, he told himself he was crazy to think Mark could do something like that. But later in the conversation, when he'd begun complaining a bit about the job, Mike offered something that made Colin suspicious all over again.

Mike said, "Tell you the truth, Colly, I don't know how you can work for the guy."

"Why do you say that?"

"I know I haven't seen Mark for a few years, but last time we had lunch all he could talk about was some chick he was balling. Christ, it was boring. It was like the guy was obsessed, you know what I'm saying?" "Amy?" "Huh?"

"The woman, was her name Amy?"

"Amy? Lemme think ... no, not Amy. I can't think what it was." "Try," Colin urged.

"Why? What difference does it make what her name was?" "I just want to know, Mike."

"Hell, I don't know. Lemme see. It started with a G, I think. Yeah, G. An old-fashioned name, too, It wasn't Gertrude. Or Greta. Grace! Yeah, that was it, Grace." "When was this?"

Mike said, "What's up with you? First you're calling me about some Indian symbols and now you want to know the name of some broad Mark had a couple of years ago. What the hell's going on?

“Hey, does this have anything to do with the murders? Mark's chick, I mean."

"No. Do you remember when this was, Mike?"

"A couple of years ago, I told you."

"Since he lived out here?"

"No, before, when they were living in Philly."

With Colin refusing to tell Mike why he cared who Mark was having an affair with a few years ago, the rest of the conversation deteriorated quickly and they'd hung up on a somewhat sour note.

Learning about Grace further convinced Colin that he really didn't know Mark at all. Adultery and murder were two very different things, but it was Mark's deceit that was so cunning, making Colin feel that anything was possible.

After Colin had come back from the library he'd spent the day lying on his bed, looking through old magazines, smoking. It was seven o'clock when he faced the fact that he wasn't going to Annie's and he wasn't going to call. He couldn't drag her into this. If he called she'd say she wanted to see him. She was that kind of woman. It was best to do nothing, let her off the hook. So when there was a knock on his door at eight he thought it was Mark again. Still, he was cautious and asked who it was.

"Annie," she said.

He was in an old sweat suit and socks that had holes.

"Colin? Are you there?"

There was no choice. He opened the door. "What're you doing here?"

"Say, that's a terrific opening gambit!"

He laughed, "I'm sorry."

"Are you going to let me in?"

"Of course." He locked the door behind her. "You shouldn't be here."

"Why not?"

"Aren't you the one who told me people talk, know where everybody is at any given moment?"

"It's only five after eight."

"It's not the hour I'm worried about. It's you being here at all, with me." He ran a hand through his black hair trying to finger- comb it. "Sorry I'm such a mess."

Annie said softly, "You look good to me, Colin."

He felt it in his gut. Their eyes met, held. He wondered if it was possible that she hadn't seen the article. "Annie, you know about me, don't you?"

"You mean the story in
Newsline
? Yes, I know."

He put his hands on her shoulders. "And you came here anyway."

"I've missed you," she said.

He smiled. "I've missed you, too." He moved nearer and wrapped her in his arms. "You're lovely," he whispered.

"So are you."

"Especially tonight," he quipped.

"Especially." She smiled.

He brushed her eyelids with his lips, then took a step back, held her hands. "It's no good for you to be here, Annie."

"Isn't that for me to decide?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure. Maybe you think you ought to be here, the proper minister doing good works."

"I thought of that."

"And?"

"I rejected it as a motive."

"Then why?"

"I wanted to see you. I understood why you didn't show up, didn't call." She touched his cheek. "I'm so sorry about your family, Colin."

He caught her hand near his chin, kissed the fingertips. "I couldn't tell you."

"I understand. And I know you had nothing to do with it." She brought his hand to her mouth, kissed his palm.

He felt it to his toes.

She said, "I'm here because I want to be here—with you."

He placed his hands on either side of her face, met her lips with his. And then he felt her leaning into him. His hands fell away from her face as they embraced, mouths searching, exploring. When they finally broke the kiss, Colin said, "Will you come upstairs with me?"

"Yes," she said.

He led her slowly up the stairs to his room. She faced him, her back to the bed as he began to undo the buttons of her blouse. When they were both naked he gently eased her down on the bed, lay next to her, one leg across hers, his fingers tracing her nipples.

"You're beautiful," he said. "I knew you would be."

Trembling, she slid an arm around his neck.

"Are you afraid?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Listen," he said, "we don't have to."

She said, "Oh, yes, we do," and pulled him to her.

----

Hallock was furious. He couldn't get Colin on the phone and he couldn't get a plane out of Miami Beach. The weather, since the morning, had turned bad and planes weren't taking off. They were calling this one David. Hallock decided he liked it better when hurricanes had girls' names. He thought of Julia Dorman and laughed. That would have pissed her off. Good. Maybe he'd write her a letter to that effect, say girls too, not women.

The trip had been a bust. The meeting with the Conways had failed to turn up anything useful. And now he was going to have to spend another night in the motel. He couldn't really afford it. But what the hell, one more night wasn't going to make or break him.

He'd seen a McDonald's a few blocks away and thought he'd give it a whirl. Before he left the room he tried Maguire again. No dice. Then he found himself punching out his own number, listening to it ring.

Fran said, "Hello."

He hung up not knowing what to say. He felt like hell.

----

Annie lay in the crook of Colin's arm, facing him. She ran a finger down his nose, across his mustache.

"Tell me about when you lived here as a child," he said, gently biting the tip of her finger.

"What do you want to know?"

"How you happened to come here, why you left."

"My father's a musician; he plays the trumpet. He was with the Dorsey band for awhile."

"No kidding."

"Not for long. Dad had some personality problems. Still does. He has trouble with authority. Big bands didn't have to put up with that."

He kissed her earlobe. "So he played with little bands?"

"Tickles," she said, squirming, grinning at him.

"You don't like it?"

"I didn't say that." She kissed his lips.

"Go on with your story."

"He played with combos, mostly. Anyway, one time when he was out of work and things were tight for us, he heard about this club out here. Musicians are very tight—they have an old boy network all their own. This combo needed a trumpet player so Dad auditioned, got the job, and we moved out to Seaville for the summer."

"And you loved it."

"I did." She took a beat, then said silkily. "I really loved it."

They were looking into each other's eyes.

Colin said, "Did you?"

"Yes. I loved it," she whispered.

He pulled her to him and began to make love to her again, knowing this time would be different from the first. they were too hungry then to go slow, explore each other inch by inch. But this time they would take it easy, make it last.

----

Hallock had picked up a paperback at an all night drugstore. Lying on the motel bed he opened the book. It was one of Ed McBain's 87th Precinct stories. He loved them. McBain knew his stuff, he thought. This one was called Heat. Fitting. Except that since the rain started it had cooled off some. It was still sticky, though.

When he turned the page he realized he hadn't absorbed a word. His mind was with Fran. It was ten-thirty. He laid the book on his belly, reached for the phone, and punched out the number. This time when she answered he said hello right away so he wouldn't hang up again.

"Where are you, Waldo?" She sounded angry.

"Florida."

"Florida? Aren't they having hurricanes and whatnot down there?"

"That's why I'm still here."

"What are you doing there in the first place?"

"I'm working on something. How are you, Fran?"

"What are you working on?"

"Can't go into it on the phone. You okay?"

"I'm okay but I'm damn mad."

"Why's that?"

"Because I didn't know how to find you. And Liz Wood didn't know where you were either.'

"How'd you know I was staying at Woods'? She call you?"

"No, she didn't call me."

"So how'd you know?"

"Oh, Waldo, don't be dumb. Everybody on the Fork knows where everybody is every minute. You ought to know that better than anyone."

"What'd you want to find me for?"

"Your child got hit in the face with a baseball and needed ten stitches."

"John?"

"Cynthia."

"Cynthia? What was she doing playing baseball? I thought she hated sports."

"She does, but her boyfriend plays. She was watching a game when she got hit."

"Boyfriend? What boyfriend?"

"Oh, Waldo," she said, exasperated.

"She's only a little girl, what's she doing with a boyfriend?"

"She's fifteen and she's doing what everybody else is doing.Having fun. Something you never even heard of."

He ignored her remark. "Is Cyn okay now?"

"She's fine. A little pain, that's all."

"Can I talk to her?"

"She's sleeping."

"Oh."

They were silent for a few moments.

Fran said, "You're not going to get into any trouble, are you? I mean, being in Florida?"

"No. No trouble."

"When are you coming home?"

"Soon as I can get a plane out."

"Where are you staying, in case I need you?"

He told her. He thought of saying he wished she were with him

but didn't. "Everything okay in Seaville?" he asked timidly.

"If you mean has there been another murder, the answer's no. But a story broke in
Newsline
today about your friend down at the paper, Colin Maguire."

"What story?"

"I've got it here." She read it to him.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," he said. "Poor bastard. No wonder I couldn't get him on the phone."

Fran said, "I never did like that Babe Parkinson."

"Yeah. Fran, you think you could go over to Colin's, ask him to

call me?"

"Tonight?"

"Well..."

"Why should I do your dirty work? You walked out, so take the consequences."

He couldn't see what his walking out had to do with this. "It's not dirty work, Fran."

"Why'd you call, Waldo?"

There it was. Why had he called? Because he missed her. He couldn't say so. "I just thought I'd check in."

"Thanks a bunch."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong with it, Waldo, that's not the point."

"What d'you mean?"

He heard a sigh. "If you don't know then I'm not going to tell you."

"Well, I don't know."

"That's a pity," she said.

He couldn't think of anything to say.

"So long, Waldo."

"Fran?" He put the phone back in the cradle, laid his head on the skimpy pillow and closed his eyes. She must be really mad at him to do that, he thought. In all their years of marriage she'd never hung up on him. He toyed with the idea of calling her back, knew it would be useless. She was too mad. He'd wait until she cooled off some. And then something she'd said made him open his eyes as if he'd been stuck with a needle.