tequila on the sergeant’s breath.
I tried Barbara Norton’s number. Busy. Then I spent some more money and called Fred Florentine again. I asked him if he knew anything about anyone going down to investigate the accident.
“No. But that’s not unusual, is it? Insurance companies don’t get to be big trusting their clients.”
“I’ve worked for enough of them to know that. Thanks.”
I poured myself some Scotch, nodded to the looker on the advertising calendar, and drank it off. Then I poured some more and didn’t toast anyone. I filed the bottle again and got my hat. It was heavy. They had gotten the material from a quarry and lined it with lead.
The sun was somewhere west of Southfield and shadows were clotting on the lawns of St. Clair Shores when Karen McBride met me at the top of the steps in Martha Evancek’s house. She had her nurse’s uniform on now and looked crisp and white enough to make me feel wilted and sallow. I had a head start on it. Her smile of welcome saw my face and dangled.
11
“H OW IRONIC . to survive murder-suicide and grow up to drown in water waist-deep.”
“If it’s wet you can drown in it. I could tell you stories.”
But I didn’t. Instead I closed my mouth and knocked almost half of my cigarette into a glass ashtray on the arm of the sofa. I hadn’t wanted it, my throat already felt like a chimney in need of sweeping, but it was something to do with my hands. For some reason I had told her the whole thing. I had started with what she already knew, the old lady hobbling into the office, and gone straight through what I had scraped up from Howard Mayk and the visit to the old Evancek house and everything else, finishing with Fred Florentine in Dayton. Stash Leposava fascinated her most of all. She had asked me a dozen questions about the old Cossack and sat on the edge of the upholstered straightback chair with her hands between her white linen-covered knees and her face thrust forward to hear the answers. When it got too dark to see each other she got up and snapped on a lamp and sat back down for the rest of it. Soft shadows brushed her cheeks and the hollow under her full lower lip and made her look like a little girl playing dress-up in front of an attic mirror.
“Do you want a drink?” she asked.
“I had one. Two. They didn’t help.”
She looked down at her hands. “I’ll tell Martha. She’s stronger than you’d think. She’ll handle it.”
I killed my stub, shaking my head. “That’s why I took the money. It isn’t like it hasn’t bought bad news before. I’m an old hand. If my car had a mast I’d keep black sails in the trunk and run them up at times like this like Ulysses.”
“I thought it was Jason.”
I looked at her. She shrugged an apology. “I know her better,” she said. “You can give her the details later.”
I got out the envelope and held it out.
“What’s that?” She didn’t take it.
“The second half of her five hundred, less expenses. I tied it up in one day. The time I spent checking out her story last night doesn’t count. It would have if she’d lied. I’ll type up a full report and bring it around in a few days.”
She took the envelope. “She’ll say you earned it anyway.”
“Maybe at first. The more she stewed on it the less she’d think so. In the end I’d be out a reference. I’m not nearly as noble as I look. I have to work in this town.”
She got up and put the envelope in the drawer of a sidepiece with a lace shawl on top and pushed the drawer shut. Her skirt rustled that way you can hear clear down a hospital corridor. She turned around and looked at me.
“Does that brunch offer hold for dinner?”
I said, “I thought you worked tonight.”
“It’s the middle of the week. I can get someone to cover.”
“Is it my good looks or are you sorry for me?”
Her face took on a clinical cast, studying mine. “You’d look okay, if you let your hair grow over your ears and didn’t shave
I tried Barbara Norton’s number. Busy. Then I spent some more money and called Fred Florentine again. I asked him if he knew anything about anyone going down to investigate the accident.
“No. But that’s not unusual, is it? Insurance companies don’t get to be big trusting their clients.”
“I’ve worked for enough of them to know that. Thanks.”
I poured myself some Scotch, nodded to the looker on the advertising calendar, and drank it off. Then I poured some more and didn’t toast anyone. I filed the bottle again and got my hat. It was heavy. They had gotten the material from a quarry and lined it with lead.
The sun was somewhere west of Southfield and shadows were clotting on the lawns of St. Clair Shores when Karen McBride met me at the top of the steps in Martha Evancek’s house. She had her nurse’s uniform on now and looked crisp and white enough to make me feel wilted and sallow. I had a head start on it. Her smile of welcome saw my face and dangled.
11
“H OW IRONIC . to survive murder-suicide and grow up to drown in water waist-deep.”
“If it’s wet you can drown in it. I could tell you stories.”
But I didn’t. Instead I closed my mouth and knocked almost half of my cigarette into a glass ashtray on the arm of the sofa. I hadn’t wanted it, my throat already felt like a chimney in need of sweeping, but it was something to do with my hands. For some reason I had told her the whole thing. I had started with what she already knew, the old lady hobbling into the office, and gone straight through what I had scraped up from Howard Mayk and the visit to the old Evancek house and everything else, finishing with Fred Florentine in Dayton. Stash Leposava fascinated her most of all. She had asked me a dozen questions about the old Cossack and sat on the edge of the upholstered straightback chair with her hands between her white linen-covered knees and her face thrust forward to hear the answers. When it got too dark to see each other she got up and snapped on a lamp and sat back down for the rest of it. Soft shadows brushed her cheeks and the hollow under her full lower lip and made her look like a little girl playing dress-up in front of an attic mirror.
“Do you want a drink?” she asked.
“I had one. Two. They didn’t help.”
She looked down at her hands. “I’ll tell Martha. She’s stronger than you’d think. She’ll handle it.”
I killed my stub, shaking my head. “That’s why I took the money. It isn’t like it hasn’t bought bad news before. I’m an old hand. If my car had a mast I’d keep black sails in the trunk and run them up at times like this like Ulysses.”
“I thought it was Jason.”
I looked at her. She shrugged an apology. “I know her better,” she said. “You can give her the details later.”
I got out the envelope and held it out.
“What’s that?” She didn’t take it.
“The second half of her five hundred, less expenses. I tied it up in one day. The time I spent checking out her story last night doesn’t count. It would have if she’d lied. I’ll type up a full report and bring it around in a few days.”
She took the envelope. “She’ll say you earned it anyway.”
“Maybe at first. The more she stewed on it the less she’d think so. In the end I’d be out a reference. I’m not nearly as noble as I look. I have to work in this town.”
She got up and put the envelope in the drawer of a sidepiece with a lace shawl on top and pushed the drawer shut. Her skirt rustled that way you can hear clear down a hospital corridor. She turned around and looked at me.
“Does that brunch offer hold for dinner?”
I said, “I thought you worked tonight.”
“It’s the middle of the week. I can get someone to cover.”
“Is it my good looks or are you sorry for me?”
Her face took on a clinical cast, studying mine. “You’d look okay, if you let your hair grow over your ears and didn’t shave
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