Paid in Full, page 9
I put my hand on her shoulder and after a couple seconds, she slumped into me. I held her while she cried, careful not to cross the line between friendly support and an embrace—one arm as opposed to two. Her head fit under my chin and I could feel her ragged breathing. I also noticed that her hair smelled like clover and her arm was slightly damp.
After a minute or so, she drew back slightly. “God, I’m all out of tears.” I really thought that was going to be it. Even though my majority wanted more, my head was on tight enough to nix that notion. But then she tilted her chin up, looking into my eyes for strength or something I could give her. I kissed her forehead, thinking that would defuse the moment.
“I’m sorry …” I began, not sure how to finish.
“Don’t be.” Closing her fists on my collar, she pulled my mouth down to meet hers.
She was small-boned and seemed to meld into my embrace. I wasn’t sure where the line was, but I was definitely crossing it.
Then she was unbuttoning my shirt. Her hands felt like a small, edgy animal on my chest.
“Gina,” I said, “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”
“Oh God,” she gasped, drawing away. She covered her mouth with her hands. “What am I doing? I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I don’t know … Jesus. What’s wrong with me? It just seemed …”
“You’re upset. Look, I’d better go.”
“Yes. Yes. I guess so.”
Just as she put her hand on my arm, the doorbell rang—a three-note chime that echoed through the house.
“Shit,” she said. “Who the hell is that?” She used the edge of her shirt to wipe her face, then raked her fingers through her hair, pushing it back. Though her hair looked less ruffled, it drew attention to her flushed face and reddened eyes.
“Do I look presentable?”
“Incredibly,” I said.
That got a small smile out of her. “I hope to God this is someone I can tell to get lost.”
The bell rang again and she said, “Maybe I won’t answer it.”
“I think you’d better.”
“You’re right. Wait here.”
Where was I going? Good question. I decided the interruption was probably a godsend. Although the situation had been defused, I couldn’t deny the fact that this woman woke up parts of me I’d been anesthetizing for a while.
I couldn’t hear what was going on, so I didn’t realize the police had arrived until I saw the guy in a blue uniform Gina led out to the porch. He was average height with a bit of a gut and a ruddy complexion, made ruddier by the thick, red hair surrounding it. A rather prominent chin seemed to lead him into the room.
“Quint, this is Officer Hinkley with the New Berne police. This is Quint McCauley. He’s a … friend.”
When we shook hands, Hinkley gave me the once over—his gaze lingering as it dropped below my neck. When he looked up at me again, I saw a flicker of something—suspicion?—as he narrowed his eyes. “Quint McCauley is it?”
“That’s right.”
That was when I realized I’d forgotten about the two buttons Gina’s deft little fingers had unfastened. Rather than tending to them, I figured maybe if I ignored them, this guy might think it was a personal preference.
“Officer Hinkley was just telling me it looks as though that blood in the cottage was Kurt’s blood type. They’re doing more tests.” She slipped the fingers of her right hand under her glasses and rubbed her eye.
“How much blood was there?” I asked Hinkley.
“Looks like he lost at least a couple pints,” Hinkley said, then pointed his jaw at me. “You know Mr. Wicklow?”
“Did some work for him.”
“What kind of work?”
“Surveillance. I’m a private detective.”
“What kind of surveillance?”
“It involved a personal injury lawsuit.”
Not sure whether my presence would be a help or a hindrance, I decided to let Gina decide. I turned to her. “You want me to stay?”
She shook her head. “That’s all right. You’ve been a help already. Thanks so much.”
“I’ll find my way out,” I said. I’ve always thought that phrase made the act of negotiating the interior of a house sound like you were hacking your way out of the jungle, but it was a convenient phrase for one in a hurry to get the hell out of a place.
“I’ll call you,” Gina said as I left the room. I had the feeling from the look Hinkley gave me, that he’d be in touch as well.
Chapter 11
“Ed’s really upset,” Elaine said as she leaned on a glass display case, arms folded and head bowed. Summer weekends were usually busy for Foxport’s merchants, but this summer’s heat had taken its toll, thinning out the tourist population. Who wanted to dash from shop to shop in the blistering heat when there were climate-controlled malls to satisfy those urges? At Elaine’s urging, Louise had gone home. Elaine, on the other hand, was trying to avoid going home. Not only did she miss her cat, but her remaining roommate was being less communicative than usual.
“I can’t talk to him. He, you know, closes himself off. Won’t let me near—emotionally.” She hooked a lock of hair behind her ear. The afternoon sun caught her in a patch of light, sprinkling gold in the red of her hair. The spark of color was in sharp contrast to her face which looked drawn and pale.
“And that surprises you?”
Frowning, she gave it a moment. “No.” She looked up at me. “But it disappoints me. I thought we’d made some progress.”
“This is a tough test,” I offered. “He might need some time to work it out on his own.” When she didn’t respond, I added, “Sounds like he and Brewster were pretty good friends.”
“That’s the thing. He hadn’t seen him in years. Never even mentioned him to me.”
“But, he is an old friend.”
“I guess.” She shrugged.
From the way she clasped her hands under her chin and leveled her gaze at me, I knew she was about to ask another favor. “I wondered if you could talk to him.”
“Me?” I couldn’t have been more shocked if she suggested I negotiate an Arab/Israeli settlement. “You think I can make him feel better?”
“No,” she said quickly. “But I do think he may talk to you about it. There’s more to this than losing a friend. Something else is bothering him.” She paused. “The night before last, Ed and Brewster were up late talking. They weren’t laughing either. Serious tones. I think Ed was either angry or upset. Maybe both. When he came to bed I asked him what was going on. He said it was nothing; they were just reminiscing about college.” She shook her head, rejecting his response. “I never went to college, so I’m no authority, but don’t you think two guys talking about the good old days should be laughing some?”
I tried to picture Ed and Brewster having a serious exchange regarding the courses they flunked and the women they scored with. “You may be right. But no one can force him to talk.”
“I know. But, Ed’s old fashioned in some ways. He tries to protect me.”
“He should know you better.” I’d always admired Elaine’s strength and I felt sorry for Ed if he hadn’t recognized it.
Acknowledging the compliment with a wan smile, she pulled her hair over one shoulder and gathered it in her hand. “I know you two don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, but he does respect you, you know.”
I was reminded of Brewster’s words last night about his respect for Ed. Wasn’t that nice? We all respected each other so goddamned much and now one of us was dead. “I can’t promise anything.”
“I know. Thanks.”
“When did he hear about Brewster’s death?”
“Late this morning when he came back from taking Dee to stay with his folks up in Crystal Lake.” She paused. “He came home depressed. Sometimes it’s hard for him to be with the kids. I mean, he loves the time he’s got with them, but it’s hard for him to leave them. Even with his folks.” She wiped at a smudge on the glass case, making it worse. “You know, that surprised me about Ed. I think it surprised him, too. Those kids mean everything to him. Just about. Maybe it’s got to do with losing so much. What you’ve got left becomes precious.”
While searching for something profound to say regarding Ed, I must have looked as perplexed as I felt because Elaine patted my hand. “That’s all right. You don’t have to say anything.”
“Thank you.”
Then she gave me kind of an odd look and said, “I heard you had a few beers with Brewster last night.”
“Ran into him up at the Tattersall. Who told you?”
“Jeff was in earlier. Wanted to know if there was any way I could get him a quote from Ed.”
“Did you ask him if he thought the temperature might drop below freezing in the next twenty-four hours?” As deserving as Jeff Barlowe might be of respect, Ed wasn’t going to cut him any. He rated reporters right up there with ambulance-chasing lawyers.
“I said something to that effect.”
“Actually, I left Jeff with Brewster. Did he say how long Brewster stayed?”
“Until around ten. Brewster said he was going back to the Foxhole.”
She opened the back of the glass case and rearranged a necklace chain. “Jeff said that Brewster seemed to be feeling no pain when he left.”
I thought she was going somewhere with this but I wasn’t used to evasive tactics from Elaine. Finally, she closed and locked the case and, looking up at me, said, “You know, he was funny. Entertaining. Easy going. Seemed like the nicest guy in the world. But, sometimes it was like he’d forget himself and he’d get this really cold look in his eyes.”
I’d noticed that too, but had written it off to the early stages of intoxication. Trying to keep a room in focus can raise hell with your sense of humor.
“I don’t know,” she continued, “my opinion of him may be influenced by his occupation.”
“I assume you mean the bounty hunter part.”
“Isn’t that something?”
“Was he here on business?”
She waved her hands in a “Who knows?” gesture. “Said he was taking some time off. Don’t know if I believe him.” She paused. “I know Ed is under a lot of stress right now. He’s been looking for a job and he’s got some possibilities but nothing definite.” She hesitated, then continued as though giving voice to a dire thought for the first time. “I wonder if Brewster was trying to talk Ed into going into business with him.”
“Ed Carver as a bounty hunter? No way.” I shook my head. “Ed’s Mr. Law and Order. He needs rules. Those guys don’t have any. No. I can’t see it.”
“You’re right,” she sighed, obviously relieved. “I guess it’s a moot point anyway. He’s just so closed off right now. There’s this big wall and I just can’t get past it.”
“And you think I can?”
“It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”
My visit with Ed Carver went just about as well as I expected it would. He greeted me at the door with a scowl and a hearty, “What do you want?”
“Just wanted to say I’m sorry to hear about Brewster.” I paused, stumbling. “Actually, I was at the scene. So I didn’t exactly hear about it.”
His eyebrows drew together in a question. “You were there?”
I nodded. “I was out running. Another guy found his body, but I happened along right after that.”
After a second, he asked, “Did it look like he hit his head on something? Fell in?”
He sounded almost hopeful; I hated to ruin it. “I don’t know. It looked more like he’d been hit with something.” Carver lowered his gaze to the floor. “I guess an autopsy will have to verify that.” Then I added, “But, even if he did hit his head, how’d he manage to get himself burned?”
Carver’s head shot up so fast, I thought he’d give himself whiplash. “Burned?”
I nodded, slowly. “That’s what it looked like. I noticed it on one arm. The skin was charred, peeling.”
His eyes narrowed as he looked past me, as though reading something over my shoulder.
“Why?” I asked.
After a long moment, he said, “Nothing. Just weird.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he turned away and walked into the living room. I closed the door behind me and followed him.
While he stared out the window, hands in his pockets, I didn’t think he was even aware of my presence. I waited. Initially, Elaine’s idea of my talking to Ed had seemed ludicrous. I couldn’t understand her reasoning. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was probably an effort on her part to get us to develop some rapport. Probably a lost cause, but Elaine tended to be an optimist and sometimes they deserved extra effort.
When he finally spoke, I wasn’t sure he was addressing me or the space between us. “Hard to believe it happens so fast. One second you’re there, being yourself, going about the business of living, the next—bang—you’re gone. Empty.”
Ed wasn’t prone to the philosophical. I was beginning to understand Elaine’s concern.
“Elaine said you were bothered about something.”
As he turned toward me, I saw his anger bubbling to the surface. “She told you to come?”
“No.” I had to cover for her. “I was wondering if you could tell me why Brewster went up to New Berne to see Kurt Wicklow.”
He stared at me without answering.
“I saw him pull out of the road to Wicklow’s place.”
“What were you doing up there?”
“Wicklow owed me money,” I told him. “Why was Brewster there?”
Carver shook his head. “I don’t know.”
I don’t believe you, I thought. But I didn’t challenge him because that was when I noticed the fifth of Dewar’s and an empty glass on the coffee table. Next to it was a folded newspaper which had a circle around what appeared to be a classified ad. I assumed it had something to do with Carver’s job search. That kind of pressure on top of everything else can make booze an attractive option. The thing was, Carver didn’t drink. I’d never seen him imbibe so much as a beer. He wasn’t vocal about it. In fact, he kept the stuff. But his drink of preference was definitely coffee. And while I hadn’t smelled any liquor on his breath, he’d surely been thinking about it.
“Any luck with the job search?”
He glanced at the paper on the table for a second before answering. “Nah. Nothing.”
“Brewster told me he was a bounty hunter.”
“Brewster was crazy that way.”
“Not something you’re thinking about going into?” I tried to keep my delivery light.
“Are you kidding? I might as well go into your line of work.” He almost laughed. “Yeah, right.”
I was more relieved than insulted.
“Well,” I said, feeling awkward, like there was something I still needed to say but couldn’t think of it, “I’d better go.”
“Good idea.”
The way his stubbornness showed when his jaw hardened reminded me of what I wanted to say. “You know, I’m the last person who thought I’d be giving advice where Elaine’s concerned. And I don’t guess you’re real open to it. But just let me say this. Don’t underestimate her. She’s a strong person. Real strong. And if you don’t let her be that for you, then not only are you missing out, but you’re liable to lose her to someone who will let her be strong.”
I left before he had a chance to tell me to go to hell.
Frustrated, I drove around for a while. I got to thinking I should tell both the New Berne and the Foxport cops that I saw Brewster leaving Wicklow’s place yesterday. Of course, that begged the question: “What the hell took you so long?”
But I had a few questions of my own. Brewster didn’t like Ellie Carver. He spent part of our talk last night saying as much. I wondered what Ellie’s opinion of Brewster was. From past experience, I knew a good way to get people to open up was to tell them what someone else had said about them. Ellie might be interested to learn that Brewster had tried to visit Wicklow. Then I’d go to the cops. I’d waited this long; an hour more wouldn’t make much difference.
It was almost four-thirty when I got to Ellie’s house. I didn’t know what hours she worked at the hospital, and was relieved to see her Skyhawk parked in the drive. I did wonder who owned the Grand Prix parked behind it.
As I walked up to the porch, a tall, gangly woman dressed in a white tunic and pants peered at me through the screen. If she wasn’t a nurse, she was a wannabe. She looked uncertain as she clung to the strap of a black purse which hung from her shoulder. I opened the porch door and she backed up a foot.
I stopped. “You a friend of Ellie’s?”
“I work with her.” She glanced at her watch, an oversized model I could almost read from where I stood. “She was supposed to be at work an hour and a half ago. We called a couple times. Got a little worried.”
“Sure.” I introduced myself. “I’m a friend of the family.”
She nodded, expectant. Then, “Oh. I’m Linda O’Brian.” Her smile deepened the lines around her mouth. She had a round face and large eyes. Her gray-framed glasses were tinted.
“Did you check out in back?” I asked. “No. I just got here.” She glanced over her shoulder at the closed door.
“I’ll look back there,” I offered. “Maybe she fell asleep or something.”
“Good idea.” Some of the tenseness left her shoulders.
I had the feeling she was relieved to get rid of me for a minute or two so she could decide whether she had to worry about me or not.
The yard was shaggy with grass and weeds. A half-hearted attempt at a small garden had died beneath the summer’s brutal heat. A lounge chair was spread open in the middle of the yard and a glass sat on a yellow plastic table beside it. The glass was half empty (or half full, depending on your take on life), warm, and smelled like watered-down gin. A curl of lime floated on the surface like a dead guppy.
The back door was locked, and I wondered what made Ellie forget about her drink. That seemed out of character. I knocked and waited. Of course, Ellie might have walked to a neighbor’s, but with her being late for work, that didn’t make much sense. Unless there’d been an emergency. I knocked again, and called her name. No response. Curtains prevented me from seeing inside.
