Maximum Moxie, page 15
“You took your own sweet time about coming.”
“It’s not your wife, Mr. Wiggins.”
Collapsing back, he spun the chair around.
“Who are you? What do you want?”
“My name’s Maggie Sullivan.” I sat down, the better to be eye-to-eye with him. “And I want to know what you discussed with Frank Scott at your moonlight rendezvous in his office parking lot last week.”
Wiggins’ top lip bunched and he stared.
“What are you talking about? I haven’t been out of the house since I broke my leg tripping over that worthless, yappy mutt of my wife’s.”
As he spoke, he reached for a cushion behind him — to adjust it, I thought. Instead, he heaved it toward the door I’d just come through. I looked around in time to see a pint-sized pooch with bulging eyes take off down the hall.
“Now give me that.” Wiggins stabbed a finger toward the cushion.
I picked it up and handed it to him.
“I haven’t seen Scott since a month ago.”
“When you tried to bribe him.”
He cocked his head, looking wary now, but not particularly worried.
“I wouldn’t call it a bribe. I offered him a road to profit. What business is it of yours, anyway?”
“I’m a detective.” He didn’t need to know what kind. “Who else at C&S did you offer a road to profit?”
“Hey, what’s this about? I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“You also tried to bribe Loren Collingswood.”
“I already told you, it wasn’t— Okay, he might have misinterpreted. The man acts like he’s got a poker hanging out of his backside. Gave a spiel about loyalty and integrity.”
“And Scott?”
“Scott laughed in my face. Said he stood to make a lot more than whatever I could offer. In the way of, uh, profits, that is. From better marketing. That’s all I was trying to interest them in. They’re both owners, they got a right to sell whatever they want, don’t they?”
“Who did you try to make headway with at C&S who wasn’t an owner?”
His upper lip bunched again. A mannerism of his that said I’d lost him.
“What? Nobody.”
“What about Gil Tremain?”
Wiggins shook his head slowly.
“Sounds kind of familiar. What’s this about, anyway? If C&S are claiming I did something wrong, they better think twice. My word’s as good as theirs.”
“It’s about an employee of theirs. The engineer who made the breakthrough on the project you tried to get your hands on.” I decided to gamble. “A project of considerable interest to the War Department.”
He snorted.
“No, it ain’t. That project of theirs wouldn’t do a thing to keep planes in the air, but to some outfit wanting to mix pictures with sound, or make sound better than it is on that piece of junk radio there, it’s worth a bundle.”
The cushion sailed past me again. I heard a snarl and bark, but the dog already had vanished. Getting up, I retrieved the cushion and tossed it to Wiggins. He wasn’t exactly overcome with gratitude.
“I don’t know what your game is, girlie, but you can tell Collingswood it’s not going to work. I’m like this with my councilman.” He held up two crossed fingers. “If he or Scott tries spreading tales about me, I’ll sue them for slander. Now fix my radio on your way out.”
I walked to the console, smiled at Wiggins, and yanked the plug from the wall.
THIRTY-ONE
As if I weren’t already late enough, my gas gauge was dancing with Empty. I pulled into a station. Handing the attendant a buck, I told him to skip the oil check and window wash, just put in five gallons.
While I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, I thought about the two men who’d turned up to see Benning’s landlady. Her description of them fit what Lapinski, the blue-eyed accountant, had told me about the pair who sometime earlier had called on Benning at his place of business. I was more inclined to believe that now. There were probably several kingpins in town who ran illegal gambling operations and wouldn’t take kindly to those who didn’t pay debts. I only knew of one, a man named Nico. I didn’t know his last name, I’d only met him once, and I had no desire to repeat that experience.
The attendant closed up my gas tank. I waved thanks and drove on. When I got to Mrs. Z’s, I dashed up the steps still entertaining a small hope I might have gotten there ahead of Connelly.
It evaporated the minute I came through the door. He stood at the foot of the stairs chatting with Mrs. Z. I stared, slack-jawed with disbelief. At shoulder level Connelly’s upturned palm provided a perch for Mrs. Z’s cat, who lay there docilely, legs dangling. The vicious, sneaky wad of fur was even purring.
“Ah, here she is now.” Connelly turned with a smile. A lock of brick brown hair curled onto his forehead.
The cat looked at me and hissed.
“There, there, puss. Maggie looks meaner than she actually is.”
Swinging the cat down, he gave its ears a parting rub as he passed it to Mrs. Z. Eyes twinkling, he watched me try not to glower at the cat in front of my landlady.
“Butterball was a naughty boy,” she said fondly. “When I opened the door, he shot right past my feet. Officer Connelly was kind enough to scoop him up for me. I do believe Butterball’s taken a shine to you, Officer Connelly.”
“I have a way with cats.” Connelly’s eyes met mine. His lips twitched.
Mrs. Z disappeared back into her apartment.
“Sure you haven’t been telling fibs about that pussy cat?” he grinned when the door had closed. “It seemed friendly as all get-out to me.”
“Yeah? Well, maybe I should show you where it sunk its teeth into my ankle last night. Or maybe you should talk to Jolene and some of the others.”
I unbuttoned my coat. My intended apology for being late had evaporated.
“I won’t be long. Just let me freshen up and pour more peroxide over the bite marks.”
Connelly looked as if he might choke as I started upstairs. Gripping the newel post, he leaned around to call after me.
“Jaysus, Maggie! Tell me that’s not how you really care for a wound!”
I ignored him.
***
I skipped the hydrogen peroxide part, but after I’d washed my face and combed my hair, I did slap a fresh bandage over the teeth marks. They weren’t as bad as some the cat had given me. I shed my suit in favor of the new red dress I’d splurged on for the holidays and put on fresh lipstick. My brain was overloaded from trying to figure out where Gil Tremain was and why. I wasn’t going to think about it tonight. Although I wasn’t about to puff up Connelly’s fine opinion of himself by acknowledging it, I was looking forward to the evening.
“Don’t you look a treat,” he said when I came back down. Popping remnants of something white into his mouth, he brushed the crumbs from his lips with a fingertip. “Lovely divinity, Mrs. Z. I don’t know when I’ve tasted better.”
Mrs. Z beamed. While I was upstairs, she’d come into the hall again, bearing a plate. This time the cat was nowhere in sight.
“Never have cared much for divinity,” Connelly confided as we crossed the porch and stepped into an evening whose damp air hovered just above freezing. “Nor any sort of candy other than fudge, come to that. Why women feel some need to churn it out at Christmastime like it’s part of setting up the crèche is beyond me. But talking of that, what should St. Nick bring you?”
“Somebody’s in a good mood,” I said.
There was always a spring in his step, but tonight it was even more pronounced.
“Someone better be, the mood you looked to be in when you stomped upstairs. But yeah. Had a letter from Ma and the kids. That’s better than finding an extra ten in my pay.”
“And don’t think I haven’t noticed that you never answered my question.”
I tossed him my car keys.
“You driving or not?”
Connelly didn’t own a car, but at least half the time when we set off somewhere, he drove. He claimed to like sitting behind the wheel of something that wasn’t a cop car. For me it was a treat to be a passenger.
We decided on a place that served fried chicken, which we both liked. It was something of an indulgence, but Christmas was a time for indulgence as well as for charity. Over whiskey for him and a martini for me, he told me about the letter he’d had from Ireland. Though he always referred to “Ma and the kids”, the youngest, his baby brother, was twenty-five now, the same age I’d been when I met Connelly. I knew he missed them, probably even more at this time of year, so I asked him about the little things they did to celebrate, the cooking and get-togethers and that. Talking about it allowed him to be there, at least in his mind.
When our dinners came, we ate in silence for a minute.
“Thanks, Maggie. For listening.”
I nodded, embarrassed. To prevent the moment’s becoming overserious, I made a big show of looking around as if about to divulge the deepest of secrets.
“Has Seamus ever mentioned the law-breaking rich woman he was smitten with? It appears she reciprocated.”
Connelly halted his efficient demolition of a drumstick.
“Are you talking about the Seamus I know? White-haired gent? Bad knee? Doesn’t say half a dozen words unless you pry them out with a crowbar?”
“That’s the one.”
A grin crawled over his face and he sat back.
“Even you couldn’t make up a whopper like that. And no, I’ve never even heard him mention a woman, except for you, of course, or when he does something with Billy and Kate. I always supposed maybe he’d had a sweetheart when he was young back in Ireland, and that she’d died or married someone else after he came over. It happens often enough.”
“Did it with you?”
The instant the question was out, I regretted it. Connelly shrugged, his gaze holding mine too intently for me to break free.
“There was a girl I thought mattered. A few months after I left, I realized she hadn’t.” He bit off some chicken. “You going to tell me how you came by this gem about Seamus, or are you sworn to secrecy?”
I laughed.
“Not formally, but it might be wise not to mention it. He was so caught up in the past, I doubt he realized he was chattering like a magpie. Shy as he is, I’d hate to see him razzed — which I know you wouldn’t.”
Connelly was as fond of Seamus as I was, though he’d known him but a fraction of the time.
“Spill all, then.”
His eyes weren’t as blue as Steve Lapinski’s, but when they twinkled the way they did now, they took my breath away. And so, as we ate our chicken and mashed potatoes and carrots, I told him all about Seamus and Tabby Warren. Connelly’s baritone chuckle rumbled under my narrative like an accompaniment.
Yet all the time we laughed and enjoyed ourselves, rustling at the edge of my mind like an intruder whose identity and intentions need to be determined, was the thought that I was missing something. Some stone I hadn’t turned over. Some two-plus-two I hadn’t added. Something that could mean the difference in finding Gil Tremain alive and finding him dead.
THIRTY-TWO
When the waitress brought our coffee, what had started as a pleasant evening began to deteriorate.
“Maggie, as delicate as your skin is, you’re daft to be using peroxide on a cut,” Connelly commenced.
“It’s better than water. It foams a cut clean.”
“And who told you that? Your Da, I suppose. Well, he might have been wrong about one or two things. It’s way too strong. I’ll bet your skin turns red as anything where you pour it.”
I squirmed.
“It irritates, Maggie, and that’s just begging for infection.”
“You can be pretty irritating yourself, so quit harping. I’m not going to try dandelion fluff gathered during a waning moon and mixed with spit from a black cat.” I had a hunch that when he could, Connelly used some of the old home remedies he’d grown up with.
“Who said anything about dandelions? Use water and mild soap. Then dab on salve or Unguentine. A puncture wound from an animal bite especially wants tender handling.”
“Did I ask for advice? You’re sounding like somebody’s granny.”
“You’d be better off having a granny. She might be able to talk some sense through your thick skull.” Reaching across the table, he walked two fingertips up the back of my hand. “She might even be able to teach you how to get along with cats.”
My mouth had gone dry. The magnetic tug where our bodies connected held me motionless. Reclaiming my hand, I reached for my coffee cup.
“I get along fine with cats that are normal. So drop it. That goes for the flirting too.”
“My, my,” he said mildly. “Apart from me, what’s ruffling your feathers? Was it tangling with Freeze? Or is it because some private dick’s trying to hire you? I understand bets have been made over whether you slug him or not.”
My mouth dropped open. Too furious to speak, I snatched my napkin from my lap and threw it onto the table.
“Do you coppers sit around all day swapping gossip about me? Or does somebody pin a daily announcement about Maggie Sullivan on the bulletin board for everyone to snicker at going off shift?”
I started to rise. Connelly caught the same hand he’d teased a moment earlier, this time urging me down and restraining me. At a nearby table a young fellow with sideburns halfway to his chin was watching us with interest. Rather than entertain the entire restaurant, I sat.
“Maggie, calm down. The fellows like you. They get a kick out of how you hold your own with people. You say things to Freeze and the other brass that none of us would dare. And the talk’s not entirely focused on you, for your information. There’s a rumor Freeze may be looking at having to work with you if we go to war. Some think it would be fine entertainment watching him squirm. Me, I might feel sorrier for him than for you.”
If I’d been speechless before, I was doubly so now.
“What are you talking about?” I managed at last.
“There’s talk the department would be losing men to the draft. Detectives too. A door was ajar that shouldn’t have been a week or two back. Someone heard your name mentioned in a meeting the chief was having with Freeze and somebody else, probably the division commander.”
I shook my head.
“First I’ve heard about it.”
“And why should you unless and until something’s decided?”
I struggled to process what I’d just heard. The Selective Service sign-ups that had gone into effect a year ago didn’t include women. But surely if Freeze was forced to have a woman under his wing, it would be one who was already a cop. One working under Lulu Sollers in the Women’s Department.
“Any idea whether it’s Freeze or Chief Wurstner behind this?”
“No idea. And it could all be rumor. It’s pretty clear there’s some kind of planning going on, though. These last six months, maybe more, there’s been meeting after meeting among the command staff. So, yeah, there’s been a bit of joshing about whether you’d be more likely to say okay to Freeze or this private fellow, who appears to be about as popular as a carbuncle.”
If he was right about the scuttlebutt, it showed the same sort of looking ahead that Clem Stark was doing. Somehow that thought was odious.
A waitress had stopped and was offering to warm our coffee.
“If it cheers you any, Freeze thinks he comes away with the short straw as often as you do when you two butt heads,” Connelly said when we were alone again. “Boike says Freeze thinks you’re holding back something that could help with that woman who got shot to death a few days ago. I gather that’s connected with a case of yours?”
“Boike, huh? I didn’t realize the two of you were friends.”
“We get on. He’s not the one told me about the meetings and that, by the way.”
I sighed. “Freeze gives me too much credit for knowing things. Never to my face, I might add. As to my supposed wealth of knowledge...”
I ticked it off on my fingers.
“Either or both of the men who own the company that hired me could be responsible for the disappearance of the man they hired me to find. Thus possibly behind the shooting in question.
“One of them might likewise be the target of efforts to give him a heart attack — possibly fatal — as part of the mix. Then there’s his daughter, who nurses more than a couple of grievances and stands to inherit if anything happens to him. Nor can I overlook a young secretary who asked the missing man about equations and terms in papers she typed. A page from a missing project turned up in her desk yesterday and she got fired. I don’t believe she’s involved, but a car that followed me a couple of times is parked in back of her house.”
“All of which Freeze knows about?”
“If he’s at all competent, which to give the devil his due, Freeze is.”
It occurred to me he might not know about Pauline’s firing. The image of him spewing smoke while he browbeat the already miserable girl made me less than eager to remedy that.
“Look, Freeze turned his nose up at half a dozen leads I offered. Given what you’ve told me about all the meetings, and knowing the department’s understaffed as it is, I guess I should cut him some slack on that. But what in the name of sense does the man think I’m holding back?”
“That I can’t answer.” Connelly searched his memory for a minute. “Apparently accusations were traded between him and the men investigating an abduction attempt yesterday. That’s probably making him sore. And apparently he’s peeved at not finding even a hint what your man who vanished meant to do with the thousand dollars he took from his bank account right beforehand.”
By sheer force of will, I kept my breathing even.
“Well, I assure you I know absolutely nothing about that thousand dollars.”
