Sharon Love Cook - Granite Cove 01 - A Nose for Hanky Panky (18 page)

“My mother tried sending me to Catholic school,” I said. “It was the only time my dad stood up to her.”

“That’s too bad. It would have benefitted you in many areas.”

Before I could ask which areas, she said, “By the way, did I thank you for being such a good sport about attending the Phipps’s party?”

In my opinion, enjoying champagne and lobster at a seaside mansion did not add up to heavy lifting. “Somebody’s gotta do it,” I said. “Speaking of the party, I had a talk with Spencer Farley that night.”

“A most attractive man, n’est pas?”

“Right. We talked about Settlers Dunes. Maybe you don’t know, but things are moving fast. The land could slip right through the town’s hands.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not surprised. This town bungles everything. For instance, when I looked into home health services for Mother, I learned they’ve cut back on senior care. Now I have to scrimp just to have a PCA five evenings a week.”

“Every department is feeling pinched,” I said, “but can we talk about Settlers Dunes for a minute? It’s our heritage. It’s where the original Granite Cove settlers built their homes. It’s also where the Native Americans put up their fishing shacks. On this sacred land Martha Farley intends to build a bunch of villas called Cormorant Cove.”

“I told you we would cover the hearings, which I understand are starting next week.”

“Good, at last we’ll get things out in the open.”

“I’ve asked Coral to cover it.”

I stared at her. “What? Coral’s a gardening columnist. Not only that, you said she’s afraid to go out at night.”

“Stewart’s going with her.”

I stood up. “Yvonne, I don’t understand. For some reason you’ve been avoiding the Settlers Dunes issue. Now you’re trying to keep me out of it. Are you afraid I’ll ruffle Martha Farley’s feathers?”

“Of course not, although it’s mandatory to maintain good relations with our advertisers.”

“Don’t you trust me to behave civilly?”

“I trust you, Rose.” She stopped and studied her bitten nails. After a moment she continued. “Maybe I’m too old for this job. I worry too much about things. Right now I’m Mother’s guardian and sole caregiver. If something were to happen to me, she’d have to go to a home.”

Her voice trailed off. It was the second time Yvonne had expressed that particular fear. “If what happened to you?” I asked. When she didn’t look at me, I said, “Does it have anything to do with Bunny Alfano?”

She closed her eyes. “A despicable man.”

“He told me you two go way back.”

“Unfortunately, we’ve had dealings in the past, newspaper related, of course. Today I go out of my way to avoid him.” She glanced at me. “You don’t know what he’s capable of. Did you hear about the call girl ring in Saugus? Bunny was involved in that. Some people claim he set up the whole operation. It got national attention because the women were local housewives earning extra money while their kids were in school. One even drove a big yellow school bus that she parked in front of the house. They were typical suburban soccer moms with car pools and mortgages.

“What happened to Bunny?”

“They had nothing on him that would stick. He’s cagey and totally immoral.”

“How do you know him?”

“I met him years ago when I lived in Dudley and was women’s editor at The Dudley Daily. It was a nice little town, not particularly prosperous. They welcomed Bunny’s generosity. When the YMCA needed a new swimming pool and the high school needed bleachers for the stadium, guess who offered to raise the funds?

“At the time, he owned a bar in town called The Nite Owl. It attracted a bad crowd and was frequently written up in the police notes for fighting and underage drinking. Weekends were like Dodge City.

“When the mayor’s nephew got beaten up outside the bar, the licensing board was pressured to do something. After issuing numerous warnings, they finally scheduled a hearing. The head of the licensing board at the time was a man named Clarence Nutting, a lovely man. He used to play Santa Claus at the nursing home’s annual Christmas party.

“The day before the hearing, Clarence appeared in town wearing a sling. He claimed he’d fallen off a ladder at home and as a result, he had to quit the licensing board. He was adamant. Then he and his wife took a long cruise. He didn’t even return for his retirement party.” She looked at me. “Do you understand why I’m reluctant to interfere in anything involving Bunny Alfano?”

“But you’re friends with his brother, the police chief.”

Her face flushed. “That’s a professional relationship. Not only that, Victor barely acknowledges Bunny.”

The way Yvonne said “Victor” told me her feelings were more than professional. Come to think of it, they made the perfect geeky pair. Too bad there was a Mrs. Alfano in the picture.

I left work early to get ready for my date with Betty Ann and Tiny. Before leaving the office, I left a message on Kevin’s answering machine saying we’d pick him up at six-thirty. I refrained from telling him to behave himself.

When Chester didn’t greet me at the door, I hurried inside and searched the downstairs. I finally found him upstairs on my bed, looking guilty. I’ve banned him from the bed. Like many old dogs—and old men—he leaks. I kissed the top of his head. “If you really like sleeping here, I’ll put the old comforter back on.”

In response, he wagged his stubby tail. Chester’s hearing was getting worse. Likewise his aging joints. Eleven in Lab years is comparable to a man in his eighties. I wondered what I’d do when Chester no longer greeted me at the door. The thought made me so depressed, I decided to fix myself a drink.

Before heading to the kitchen, I checked my messages on the answering machine. I pressed the play button and was surprised to hear the booming voice of Frank, my landlord.

“Rose, you won’t believe this. I was sitting at my bar last night talking to a nice couple from Wickford, Rhode Island. When I mentioned living in Granite Cove, they became quite animated about a murder. I confessed that the only news I read on the island is the local rag. The handful of TV stations here play nothing but reruns.

“Therefore, I was shocked to hear about Dr. Klinger, of all people. She used to speak at our Rotary meetings. I hope they’ve found the killer. Just make sure you lock the doors and windows at night, and don’t go out alone. On the other hand, knowing you, you’re probably right in the middle of it.”

Frank knew me pretty well, although his implication that I was in the middle of it was just that, an implication. My quasi-investigation could be compared to kayaking on the salt marsh. There’s no central route, just bogs that veer off. Some bogs will take you nowhere, but unless you’re familiar with the marsh, you have to navigate each until you find the one that will lead you to the source.

I knew it was going to be one of those nights when Kevin appeared outside his house wearing the chicken hat. The weather, too, was inauspicious. A slushy drizzle oozed from the sky when B.A. and Tiny picked me up at precisely six-fifteen.

“Hello, lovebirds,” I said, climbing into the back seat.

They muttered a response I couldn’t hear. Betty Ann turned to me and rolled her eyes, a telltale crease etched between her brows. Tiny backed down the driveway and shifted into drive, glumly staring straight ahead.

The atmosphere inside was so tense I would have opened a window if not for the weather. I searched for something to say and then noticed B.A.’s hair. “Did you get a perm?” The curls were tighter than a showdog poodle’s.

She groaned. “Uh huh. My regular stylist was out, so a newcomer offered to take her place. She looked like a professional, wearing a white jacket and all. I figured, what harm could she do?”

“It’ll loosen up,” I said. “Just you wait.”

B.A. grunted, and we lapsed into silence again. Kevin will lift the mood, I thought, eager to reach his house. But one glimpse of the chicken hat, and I knew it wouldn’t happen. The hat is an orange and yellow knitted affair. The chicken’s legs hang in long flaps over his ears. It’s a novelty item he wears when he sings a barnyard song. The hat and song always get a laugh from the crowd. Unfortunately, it wasn’t having that effect tonight.

He opened the passenger door, holding a can of Sam Adams. “Anyone want a roader?”

“No, thanks,” Tiny said, “I’m driving.”

“You want to drink, I’ll drive,” he offered.

“Kevin, just get in the car,” I said, yanking his sleeve.

He climbed into the back seat of the tiny car, folded his long legs and put an arm around me. “Hi, babe. You look nice.”

“Thanks.”

As we headed out, Kevin turned to me, a questioning look on his face. I shook my head. Finally Betty Ann broke the silence. “You were a big hit Monday at the nursing home, Kevin. The residents were still singing ‘Galway Bay’ when they got back to their rooms.”

“Thanks, Betty Ann. I appreciate the gig.”

“You know, you’re the only entertainer who keeps them awake.”

“Maybe I could use that on my brochure: Kevin Healey, the Mad Fiddler. He’ll keep you awake.”

“You keep the nurses awake, too,” she said.

“They like my music, do they?”

“They like you, darlin.’ It’s the only time they show their faces in the activities room,” she said.

“Tell me more, Betty Ann,” I said.

Kevin turned to me. “Are you jealous, babe?”

“It’s true,” B.A. said. “Sometimes a resident needs nursing assistance. They’re delusional and being disruptive. We call the floor and request a nurse to come down and check on their patient. They always say they’ll send someone right down, yet they never do. But when Kevin is playing, the nurses not only show up, they hang around until the show is over.”

“They always request something tough, like ‘Danny Boy,’” Kevin said.

I nudged him. “You’re getting off the subject. Betty Ann was talking about the nurses’ interest in you.”

He grinned. “You’ve got to get up before the rooster gets his pants on to fool Rosie.”

“Speaking of roosters,” I said. “I hope you’re not planning to wear that hat inside the restaurant.”

“I thought you liked it.”

“I’ve got my reputation to consider.”

Betty Ann stole a glance at Tiny hunched over the steering wheel. “Are you okay?” she asked.

He didn’t answer at first. Then he glanced at us in the rear view mirror, “I wanted to say something, but you’re all talking a mile a minute. I couldn’t get a word in.”

“You’ve got the floor, man,” Kevin said.

“I wanted to comment on the nurses,” he said.

“What about them?” B.A. asked.

“They’re a horny bunch.” With that, Betty Ann jabbed him with her elbow. “Easy, honey,” he said, laughing, “I’m talking about the ones I see while tending bar at The Sacred Cod. A group from the hospital rents the banquet room for retirement parties. I always warn the bus boys to watch out. After a couple drinks those nurses start playing grab ass. The married ones are the worst.”

“Do you know Cal’s wife, Marcie Devine?” I asked. “She works at the hospital.”

“I know Marcie. She’s the one who studies the bill at the end of the night, making sure we didn’t screw them.”

“Sounds like Marcie,” I said. “She doesn’t play grab ass, does she?”

“No way,” he said. “Marcie’s as much fun as a whoopee cushion at a funeral.”

“Hey, I like that,” Kevin said, pulling me closer. “Promise you’ll bring a whoopee cushion to my funeral?”

“What makes you think you’ll go first? You’re younger than me.”

Tiny spoke up. “Trust me, Rose. He’ll go first.”

We laughed, more from relief that Tiny had come out of his funk. When the laughter died, Betty Ann added, “Unless the murderer gets us first.”

“Lighten up, honey,” Tiny said. “You sound ghoulish.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I have a hard time accepting what’s happened. All my life I felt safe in this town. Growing up, it was one big playground. Everyone knew each other, watched out for each other. My dad used to say he didn’t need to use his car’s directional signals because everyone knew where he was heading.

“Now the downtown’s full of strangers. The newcomers arrive, stay a couple years and move on. They don’t care about saving the old granite buildings. The city council says knock ‘em down. Bringing them up to code isn’t cost-effective. Settlers Dunes is just a sign of the times, the last nail in the coffin.”

“That’d be a shame,” Tiny said. “All my old friends have stories about the place. In high school, we’d hang out at the Dunes during Senior Week. We’d drink beer, get naked and run screaming into the water.” He chuckled. “Man, it was cold. Now when I bump into those guys they tell me their kids visit the Dunes. Nothing’s changed, they say, except there’s more condoms in the parking lot and the empty beer cans are all imported.”

“Tell those guys to come back in a couple of years,” Betty Ann said, “when Settlers Dunes becomes Cormorant Cove. On second thought, they’d better stay away unless they’ve struck it rich. The hoi polloi will not be welcome.”

“It hasn’t happened yet,” Tiny said. “Maybe it won’t.”

“It will,” she said. “You know what they say, money talks and shit walks. We have to get used to it. Seems like there’s a lot we have to get used to lately, including a murderer in our midst.”

From the outside The Sacred Cod resembles the seamen’s tavern it once was at the turn of the century. Although the parking lot has been enlarged, it’s changed little over the years and thus oozes authenticity. While the day-tripping tourists may not appreciate this, the purists do. They’re not fooled by seafood restaurants that overdo the nautical theme and then seal everything in polyurethane. No, The Sacred Cod is as realistic as a Winslow Homer painting. For those reasons and more, the place is unique, upright without being upscale.

Betty Ann, Kevin and I waited outside while Tiny parked the car. I looked out at the water; it was gray and forbidding. Offshore gusts rattled the plastic tarps covering the boats nearby. Seagulls huddled on the wooden railing bordering the lot. Kevin zipped his jacket and bounced on tiptoes to keep warm. Earlier I’d convinced him to leave the chicken hat behind.

I turned to Betty Ann. “What was up with you two earlier? I felt a chill the minute I got in the car.”