Then Hang All the Liars (16 page)

“No, madame. You cannot reach her today.”

“Is she in the country?”

“Yes, madame. She is in the country.”

“In the United States of America?”

“Yes, madame.”

“Excuse me for being so blunt, but
where
the hell is she?”

There was a long pause.

“I am sorry you are upset, madame. She is in Conyers, Georgia. Visiting an old friend who is there in the monastery. She cannot be disturbed.”

“Conyers is only twenty miles away!”

“Yes, madame.”

Another pause.

Then the woman added, “I never said otherwise.”

The humorist Fran Leibowitz once wrote that the French are Germans with good food. Sam meditated on that for a minute. Then she said, “When she gets back from her
journey
,
would you be so kind as to tell her that Samantha Adams called from the
Constitution
and would like to talk with her about an urgent matter?” She said her number very slowly.

“Yes, madame. To do so would be my pleasure.”

*

Sam banged out of the empty office where she'd used the phone. Jane was settling into the desk right outside Hoke's.

“You're starting right now?”

“Don't have anything else to do. I resigned my other professional position. Where are you going?”

“Out. What's it to you?”

“Jeez! Are
you
touchy. You reach Mrs. Burkett?”

“
That's
why I'm going—to take a walk and chill out. The only other option is to go over and personally wring the neck of Mrs. Burkett's maid until she is dead. Do you have any other questions, Ms. Wildwood? Or would you care to tell me what you've gotten me into here?”

Jane shrugged. “Nope.”

“Good.”

“Except…”

Sam was already almost to the elevator.

“Who's this Shirley Cahill?”

Sam's grin was slow. “The office manager. Why?”

“She's all over me. Is she for real?”

“Uh-huh. But I'm sure you'll work it out.”

Wildwood would eat the Squirrel for lunch. Watching the floor indicator on the elevator, Sam imagined the upcoming bout between those two. When the elevator hit the ground floor, she was already in a better mood.

*

From the
Constitution
offices to police headquarters was a quick five-minute walk, time enough for her to switch gears back to Randolph Percy.

“Hi, Charlie.” She'd snagged him stepping out of his office.

“Haven't I told you never to bother me at work?” he growled.

A couple of uniforms gave Charlie the eye as she took his arm and he escorted her out through the headquarters lobby, which, as always, was filled with a typical sample of the city's flotsam and jetsam.

“But, darling, I couldn't get through the day without you,” she said loud enough for the uniforms' ears.

“All right, all right. Enough funny business.” They were on the sidewalk now. “What d'ya want?”

“Come have some coffee.”

“Uh-huh. Coffee and what else?”

“You know Randolph Percy?”

“Maybe.” He folded his hands over his belly. “Cost you a jelly doughnut. For starters.”

*

The booths at Miller's Coffee Shop across the street from headquarters were exactly the same dark blue as police uniforms, both the plastic seats and the tabletops. A cop could disappear in there, which, Mrs. Miller having raised no stupid children, was the point. However, Charlie, who took the term “plainclothes” seriously, didn't meld. Miller's was actually one of the few places in town where the man in tan stood out.

Sam watched him measuring three spoonfuls of sugar and slowly stirring. He added a swirl of cream and then the coffee matched his pants and his shirt and sports jacket.

“Randolph Percy,” she said.

Charlie liked to ease into things. “So you followed up on the girls at Tight Squeeze?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And?”

“Just what you advertised. Big fishes' darling daughters.”

Charlie pointed a finger. “You be careful. This kind of thing you can get yourself hurt.”

Well, she wanted to talk about it anyway, didn't she? Here was her opener. “That's not what I'm worried about.”

“Meaning?”

“I got a list, Charlie. It wouldn't take much to nail their sweet little asses to the wall.”

“And you got cold feet.”

She stared down at her own coffee. “Yeah.”

“Well, Jesus, hon. You know I gave it to you in the first place 'cause the blues don't want to touch it. No reason
you
should bring the whole north side down on your head unless you want to.”

“It's not because I'm afraid of their daddies, Charlie.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, really. I'm not scared of them. It's more like now that I'm into it, I'm not sure what the point is. Stripping isn't illegal. Well, maybe for minors. And going home with somebody? Hell. The more I think about it, it's just scandal. Stuff for the checkout stand rags. Not that I don't think it should stop.”

“You think that because of who they are? If they were trash, would you call 'em whores?”

“Jesus! That's the same thing Jane asked me.”

“Who's Jane?”

“A girl who—it's too long to explain. I'll bring her by one day. You'll love her.”

“So this Jane got your dander up?”

“Yeah. She asked me if the girls weren't society, would I hesitate.”

“So? Would you?”

She took a long pull on her coffee. “I think so.”

She thought back to seeing Jane on that stage, her hair flopped over to hide her face. Even if she hadn't known her, would she have printed her name in the paper for having earned a few bucks horizontal? Probably not. She hoped what she'd do was try to figure out another way to bust the owners. Shut the place down.

“Why do you think they do it?” Charlie asked.

“Who?”

“The society kiddies.”

“Hell, I don't know.”

“Well, ask yourself, is smearing their names all over the front page going to make the situation any better?”

“It'll make them stop.”

“That the only way?”

“What are you, Charlie? The good fairy or a cop?”

“That's what they call me, hon. The good fucking fairy. Listen.” He put his big paw over her hand. “Just let it sit for a bit. Forget about legality. You're no virgin when it comes to that crap anyway. Let it stew. You'll do what's right.” He blew on his coffee and signaled the waitress for another doughnut. “Now what does Percy have to do with this?”

“Nothing. The Percy business is something else—for a friend.”

“With you, it's always something else.” He wiped red jelly from his chin. “Sweet old Randy Percy, huh?”

“What've you got?”

“I call the type a Dapper Dan. Ladykiller.”

“Literally?”

Like Jane Wildwood, he had an audible shrug. “Don't know. Could be. Looks like. He's a grifter, Sammy, fancy-dressed scum.”

“Been down?”

“Nah. Too slippery. He's a lawyer, you know. Those guys you can't pin anything on even with a smoking gun. It's all a game to them.”

“He hasn't practiced for years.”

Another shrug.

“So?”

“So, he makes money off little old ladies. Plays the horses, been mixed up with some pretty high rollers, and got pulled with some heavy bookies, but nothing that stuck. You know about the magic?” He went on when she nodded. “That crap's just for flash. Though over in Macon, he did a healing number once and raked in some bucks.”

“With a magic elixir?”

“Don't confuse me with big words. Hocus-pocus. Nobody in his crowd much cares as long as he doesn't scare the horses.”

“Or kill anyone.”

Charlie slurped and swallowed. “Don't know that they'd care about that either. He's a slick old bird, Sammy. I wish you luck. Go home. You're looking a little tired.”

He was right. It had been a long drive and a longer day.

“And don't worry about that girlie business.”

*

First thing the next morning she dug out the name and number in Decatur that Dan Clayton had given her—the woman who had complained about Randolph Percy romancing her mother. The line was busy for half an hour. Finally, she got lucky.

“Miss Finch?”

“Yes? What do you want?” The voice was whiny, already about to hang up.

Sam said who she was and why she was calling. “So I thought maybe I could come over and talk with you. I promise I won't take much of your time.”

“Well, I've got to get my hair done. It's Thursday, isn't it?”

“All day.”

“What?”

“Thursday, yes, it's Thursday.”

“Well. My appointment's not till this afternoon. I guess I can talk with you about Mother. It doesn't matter now anyway.”

“Pardon?”

“She's dead, you know.”

Son of a gun.

“Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that. May I ask when she passed away?”

“Three months ago.”

Just about the time he'd started with Felicity. He didn't waste time. She'd give him that.

“Miss Finch, as I said, I'm calling because a friend of mine is involved with Percy now.”

“Then I don't blame you for wanting to do something. I tried. But I couldn't do a thing.”

Sam didn't doubt that. Patsy Finch sounded flat, like she was out of air, almost too tired to hold up the phone. She decided to forget the face to face. She'd take what she could get on the phone.

“Sheriff Clayton said that his office had received your inquiry forwarded from Atlanta. What was it about Percy that made you call the police?”

“Wouldn't you be worried if out of the blue a man started buzzing around your mother like she was sixteen years old?
And
if she started turning over everything she owned to him?”

“I would indeed. What did the police say?”

“They said they'd look into it. But they didn't do a thing.”

“Did they ever get back to you?”

“Yes. But it didn't do any good.”

“What did they say? Who was the officer you talked with? Do you remember?”

“No, but I have it here somewhere.”

Sam could see Patsy Finch waving her hand around an airless room piled with things she just couldn't get to. And never would.

“And the officer said?”

“He said that they really couldn't do anything. That Mr. Percy hadn't committed any crime.”

“Pardon my asking, but did your mother have a considerable estate?”

Patsy sniffed. “My father left her very comfortable. He was a wonderful businessman and was smart about insurance. He was smart about everything. He left me some, too, of course, I'm an only child, but the bulk was Mother's.
Then
mine.”

And there was a whole other story that Sam didn't want to hear. But something else did occur to her.

“I'm looking at a pattern here, Miss Finch—was your mother pretty?”

“My mother? She was beautiful. Till the day she died she never had a gray hair. People thought we were sisters.” There was a long pause.
“
She
would have been the pretty sister.”

Yes, ma'am. You keep talking like that, Patsy, people are going to think you bumped her off.

Except she hadn't gotten all the money, had she? Wasn't that right?

“Miss Finch, do you mind my asking what your mother died of?”

“Old age, the doctor said. But I'll tell you something. I got cheated out of more than half my inheritance by that man, and I don't think the cause was natural at all.”

And there
that
was.

*

She'd barely hung up when Nicole Burkett was on the line, returning her call.

“Ms. Adams, I understand you have something of importance to discuss with me.”