Masquerade in Blue, page 6
I tried to light my own cigarette with the recalcitrant lighter. Failing, I groped in my pockets for matches. “There’s a book on the fireplace mantel,” she said.
The matches were behind one of the dozen or so photographs assembled there. Several of them featured Catherine. “I was quite a looker, wasn’t I?”
Shaking the flame from the match, I glanced at her and managed an awkward smile. What was I supposed to say? I returned my attention to the photos. “You were also quite the equestrian.” In several of the photos she was astride an impressive-looking horse. Maybe the same one. I gestured toward one of the pictures. “This guy looks like he’s got an attitude.”
Her laugh was cut short by a wince of pain. She wrapped her arms around her midriff and held on for several seconds, before slowly releasing herself. “That’s Beau James. He had every right to an attitude. One of the finest horses I ever sat. He’s gone now too.” There were other photos and I assumed some were family. One was of Catherine and Leonard. And there was one of Rebecca and a young man I guessed to be Martin. His light hair and eager smile contrasted with Rebecca’s dark, brooding look. His arm was around her, and she looked like she wanted to squirm out of the picture. I only spotted one of Amelia and that was in a family photo. As I started to move back toward the chair, Catherine said, “Bring the matches with you.”
Dropping them on the small table next to the cigarettes, I said, “Does Martin come home often?”
“Not as often as I’d like, of course. But travel from the West Coast can be expensive and he insists on paying his own way.”
“Was he was here for his dad’s funeral?”
“Of course he was.” She gave me an odd look and added, “He came out when I went into the hospital. He’s the one who told me … about Leonard.”
“Does he come by often?”
“Yes, he’s been here several times. Martin is one of the few people who seems to enjoy visiting with me.” I didn’t respond, but she continued. “You see, people only like to visit sick people who are getting well. What else can you say to a sick person besides ‘You’re looking better,’ and then catch them up on all the gossip? My friends know I’ll never look any better than this, I’ll only get worse.” She paused and swallowed, wetting her lips before she added, “So now I don’t get to hear the gossip anymore either.” Then she managed a smile. “You don’t have any good gossip, now do you?”
I shook my head. “I guess that’s what I’m after too.”
“Yes, well as you can see, you’ve come to the wrong place for it.”
“Maybe you can just help me get a picture of a few things. All the land in the Forrester family. Is it all divided between you and your sister, Amelia?”
She nodded solemnly. “We’re the only Forresters left.”
“You don’t have any children?”
She reacted as though I’d asked her if she’d ever considered walking on hot coals. “God no.” Mellowing, she added, “I was married once, briefly. It only took me three months to decide I didn’t care for the institution.” She eyed me. “Are you?”
“Not anymore.”
Nodding her approval, she continued, “Have you ever lived with a woman?”
“Yeah.”
“More than one?”
“Not at the same time.”
She laughed and winced again. Then she said, “You see. That’s what I’d have done. I’m just sorry that custom didn’t come into acceptance until it was too late to do me any good.”
I smiled, then tried to get her back on the subject. “How much land does the Forrester family own?”
Waving a hand toward the wall behind me, she said, “Look for yourself. That map shows all our holdings in the Fox Valley area.”
It was a large, black-framed map with streets and paths marked on it. There were two shaded areas, one in red and the other blue. The red area was larger, and included land north and northwest of developed Foxport. The blue area encompassed a few small sectors along the river and scattered patches due west of town. It included the wetland, standing out like a sapphire against the surrounding white of the map. “Blue is yours, right?” She murmured her assent. “Who owns the surrounding area?”
“I’m not sure. It may have more than one owner. Land around here changes hands so fast, it’s hard to keep track.”
I turned to her, not sure how to phrase the next question, but sure that she was expecting it. Finally I said, “Who are you leaving your land to?”
“I was leaving it to Leonard. He was smart. He’d know how to best develop the land. With the exception of that silly wetland, I usually agreed with him.” She paused and added, “In fact, for the past couple years, since I’ve been ill, Leonard has been handling all my property matters. Of course he’d consult me, but I let him take care of it. I trusted him.” Her eyes filled with tears. She blinked and one welled over and slid down her face. “I miss him.” She managed a smile and added, “Though, I suppose I won’t miss him for long.”
“Who will your property go to now?”
“I’m dividing it between Martin and Rebecca. I suppose I was tempted to leave it all to Martin. That just wouldn’t be fair, though.”
“Why would you want Martin to have it all?”
She chose her words carefully and proceeded with caution. “I don’t pretend to know children well at all. It’s like they’re another species. I understand they’re prone to mood swings. But as a child, Rebecca was so very moody. Quite unpleasant to be around much of the time. I can’t say she has improved much with age either. There’s a great deal of contact with the public in this business. Rebecca is the sort of person – bright but ill-natured – who would do better as a scientist, or something that doesn’t require much personality. Martin on the other hand is a people person – handsome, charming, diplomatic.”
“I noticed you didn’t include smart in those adjectives.” From the sour look she gave me, I might have put my toe over the line. “Who does the wetland go to?”
“Martin will handle that situation.” She inhaled on the cigarette, already burned most of the way down.
I was about to ask her what kind of business savvy he would bring to the situation, when the door swung open and Catherine’s nurse stepped in.
“Time for your eleven thirty pill, Cath – “ she broke off when she saw Catherine pull the cigarette away from her lips.
Catherine sat, frozen for a moment, lungs full of smoke, then finally expelled it in a large white cloud. “Damn,” she said without much emotion.
The nurse looked down at Catherine, disapproval registering in her posture and expression. Her blond hair was subdued into a thick braid and I noted again that she seemed to de-emphasize her beauty. But, because it was a natural beauty, it wasn’t easy to hide.
Now Catherine sat, jaw set and eyes straight ahead, reminding me of a child who was going to deny complicity in whatever misadventure she was about to be accused of. The nurse turned and her glare settled on me. Finally she said, “Are you a physician?”
I shook my head.
“I didn’t think so. You may think you’re doing this woman a favor by giving her cigarettes, but you have no idea the extent of her illness. You don’t know the effect those things can have on her. And secondary smoke isn’t any better.” I ventured a glance at Catherine who was still clutching the cigarette. When she caught my gaze, she rolled her eyes and turned away.
The nurse wasn’t stopping. “It’s easy to write her off, isn’t it? Well, she’s dying anyway so what difference can it make? Well, it can make a big difference in the quality of time she has left.”
Catherine was extinguishing the cigarette during the lecture. Then she held her hand up, and the nurse stopped. “It’s not Mr. McCauley’s fault, Gretchen. It was the only way he was getting me to talk.”
“Still, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. And,” she reached in front of Catherine and snatched the half-full pack from the table, “take these damned things with you.”
I pocketed them. “I’ll show myself out.”
“Mr. McCauley.” I turned back to Catherine. “Stop by again. You don’t even have to bring your cigarettes.” Then, with a sideways glance to Gretchen, she added, “Unless, of course, you want to.”
I was thinking about the chemistry in the Novotny family as I drove back into Foxport. Rebecca shut down at the mention of her brother, Martin, but apparently Amelia and Catherine thought he was right up there with Apollo. I had wanted to get a read on Catherine and Amelia’s relationship, but was given the bum’s rush before I could get at it. Still, the fact that there were no photos of the two of them suggested that they weren’t real close. And it was apparent that Catherine thought a lot of her brother-in-law. Interesting.
I was sort of enjoying the mental exercises I was doing with the Novotnys, and I probably never would have noticed the car following me if it hadn’t run a red light at the corner of Third and Main and then held back so it wasn’t right on my tail. Still I wasn’t sure. People do strange things. I was getting low on cigarettes, so I pulled into the Family Pantry to buy a pack and to see if the gray Chrysler would still show up in my rearview mirror. While I was in there, I bought a couple lottery tickets since the pot had rolled over the last couple weeks and was expected to hit forty million before the drawing. I’m one of those halfhearted players who doesn’t buy tickets if the pot is a paltry six million. Weekly players probably hate it when guys like me win. Fact is, I always get a little nervous buying a ticket. I heard somewhere that the odds of your winning the lottery are about the same as the odds of your getting hit by lightning. I buy a ticket and until I find out I lost, I feel like I’m wearing a lightning rod.
When I left the store I didn’t see anyone waiting outside for me, but I hadn’t gotten a block down the street before I saw him in my mirror again. He’d pulled out of a side street. I’d barely begun my investigation, so it didn’t seem likely that I’d stepped on too many toes yet. Unless Julia Ellison wanted to keep tabs on me. But she didn’t seem the type to care much about what anyone besides herself did. The last, and most obvious possibility, was the police. Sure. If they knew I’d seen Jeff Barlowe, they might suspect that I’d talked to the Blue Fox. They might think I’d try to talk to her again. It’s difficult to tail someone who stops for a drink or lunch, because you’ve got to be in there watching him in case there’s something going on besides lunch. I smiled and turned down Gunderson. What the hell. I was hungry.
The small lot adjacent to the Tattersall Tavern was full so I parked on Wilson and walked a half block back to the bar. It wasn’t crowded, and I had no trouble finding a table with a good view of the door. I had no idea how I was supposed to spot a tail once he got out of the car, but I’d just have to wait and see.
I ordered a turkey sandwich and a Guinness and by the time the waitress brought it, two possibilities had entered the tavern. The first was a man in his mid thirties wearing a lightweight sweater and jeans. He had dark hair and wore dark-framed glasses. He scanned the room’s occupants before taking a seat a couple tables away from me. Less than a minute later another man came in, this one probably not thirty yet, wearing a sports coat over dark slacks. He also gave the room the once-over then sat behind me at the bar. I heard the guy at the table order a cheeseburger and a beer. After a minute I glanced behind me to see what the guy at the bar was drinking. Bingo. Nobody but a cop steps into a bar for a quick Coke. Nobody.
I ate my sandwich and finished the glass of stout as I decided what to do next. Once I left I could either go on my way, watch from a distance to verify my suspicion, or wait right outside the door and watch the look on his face as he practically stepped on me. Forcing his hand might be the best way to go. I was almost certain he was a cop, but maybe I could get him to prove it. And then maybe they’d give up on tailing me. Right. Police Chief Ed Carver would never miss the opportunity to harass me legally.
I waited outside. And as the seconds turned into minutes, I began to see myself as a paranoid. Before long I’d be checking my apartment for bugs and my food for traces of arsenic. Fish would speak to me in tongues. And then it was just a matter of time before I lined the windows with foil to keep the extraterrestials out. I decided it was time to move on.
It’s funny how when something is wrong, your mind tends to come up with all kinds of outrageous explanations before hitting on the right one, which is usually unpleasant. My car is a late model Honda Accord so it’s larger than some of the older models. But as I approached it, I was struck by the fact that it really was quite a bit smaller than the two domestic cars it was parked between. Then my mind rejected that notion when I recognized the models as being in the same size range as the Accord. So my mind leaped to the conclusion that I’d parked in a dip. A sudden, rather deep dip that made my car appear shorter than the other two. Only after I’d stepped up to the car and stared at the deflated tires for several seconds did it register. I wormed between cars and moved into the street to view the damage on the other side. It was just as bad. I stood in the middle of the street for several moments, hands sunk deep in my pockets, as I fought back the urge to shake my fist at the sky.
I was about to kick one of the tires when I heard a loud popping noise, and the rear window on the passenger side shattered. I hit the ground scrambling toward my car, realized there wasn’t enough room for me to squeeze under it, and maneuvered into the space in front of it. I’d barely made the distance when I heard the squeal of tires and looked up just as a flash of gray tore past me.
Chapter 6
THE KID FROM THE gas station dropped me off at my office on the way to the garage, my car in tow. He told me he could replace the tires that afternoon, but I’d have to take the car to a glass place for the window. He offered to call one for me.
“Thanks, but no. I think the window’s going to have to wait a couple days.”
“Suit yourself.” He had a lopsided smile and a way of looking at me out of the corner of his eye as he drove, one arm draped over the steering wheel. “You know, mister, if I were you, I’d let the cops know.”
Shrugging, I said without much enthusiasm, “What for? I didn’t see anything.”
“Yeah, but,” he turned down the volume on the rock station, “somebody tried to kill you.” His tone carried a mixture of disbelief at my lack of concern and excitement at the prospect of something like that happening to a customer of his.
“I doubt it. I suspect it was just a warning. I’d have been easier to hit than the window. Bigger target.”
He dropped me off in front of the Jaded Fox, told me his name was Terry and to call him in a couple hours.
There was no message from Elaine, but one from Mary Mulkey, Novotny’s secretary. I returned her call and she told me that she remembered Leonard always went fishing up at Lake Geneva and that was probably where he’d planned to go that Saturday. She wondered if that would help me in my investigation, adding that the police didn’t seem to think it was very important and hadn’t been very polite about it. I wondered if this wasn’t the first time she’d called the police with a “clue,” but thanked her and told her I’d look into it.
Now it was almost two o’clock and I wondered what Elaine had done for lunch. I tried calling her again. No luck. Although she hadn’t checked out, there was no answer at her room. I left another message, wondering where she would go without a car. Where would I go without a car?
Sitting at my desk, forehead braced against the heel of my hand, I was drawing foxes on a yellow legal pad. The head-on sketches weren’t too hot – they looked sort of like anteaters with whiskers – but the profiles showed promise. At the same time, I was debating whether I should find a member of the Save Our Wetlands group to talk to or go looking for Elaine. There was a light rapping at the door which I didn’t have time to acknowledge before it creaked open and Louise stepped in.
After closing it behind her, she said, “Was that your car being towed past here?”
“I’m afraid so. I’ve got four flat tires and a shattered window. Apparently I’ve stepped on someone’s toes.”
“Well, if you need a car this afternoon, you’re welcome to use mine.”
“Thanks, Louise, I may take you up on that.”
She didn’t leave then, and I knew there was more coming. Finally she managed a tentative smile and said, “I know I’m being nosy, but I was just wondering how things went last night.”
I shook my head, drawing a window around one of the foxes. “Not good, Louise. Not good.”
Raising her eyebrows in disbelief, she said, “She didn’t do that to your car, did she?”
I waved off her suspicions. “No, no, that’s not Elaine’s style.” I sighed and added, “It just didn’t go anywhere near like I planned.”
“Oh,” she drew the sound out with a sympathetic inflection and sat in one of the two chairs I’d purchased at a flea market. “She seems like such a nice girl.”
I returned to my doodling and drew vertical bars on the window, didn’t care for the look of it, and dropped my pencil on the pad. Lacing my fingers behind my neck, I gave Louise my full attention. “She is.”
“Well, I wonder what happened.”
I smiled as I watched Louise’s features go into their high concentration mode. She drew her brows together, her forehead took on more wrinkles, and her mouth screwed up the way a kid’s does when working a tough math problem. Louise was well into her sixties, but her gestures and dress might have belonged to a woman at least twenty years younger. “You know,” she said, “I had the feeling … just from talking to her for a few minutes … I had the feeling that there was something troubling her.”
“No kidding. I’d just left her stranded at the airport.”
“Well, I know that.” Her tone was abrupt, chiding. “It’s just that there seemed to be something more.” I waited for her to continue. “And frankly, I’m not surprised to hear things didn’t go well for you two.”
