The Weekend Visitor Read online

  I managed not to jump up and down and cheer. I sounded mature, understanding, cooperative. "Why, Jeanine, don't even think of giving up any lunchtime you may get. You bet, I'll do it for you, you poor dear. Just tell Mary to write out a list. I'll stop by later and pick it up . .. oh, and her keys."

  "You're a love, Alex, I owe you big time."

  I should have felt guilty, but I didn't.

  I pulled into Mary's driveway and grimaced. Her SUV was in the garage and the back door was open. Obviously, Maureen was home. I couldn't just stroll in and start searching her bookcase. I did not want a suspicious killer on my hands. The last time that happened all hell had broken loose. Well, I'd figure out something as I went along. I knocked on the door and called a cheery greeting. Maureen came, wearing her uniform shirt and trousers and a big smile.

  "Alex! What a nice surprise! Come on in."

  I entered and followed her into the living room. Sitting down on the couch, I gave the bookcase a fast glance. I wasn't close enough to read titles. Maureen was looking at me expectantly, and I quickly explained my official errand.

  "I'll be glad to give you a hand finding things. Then, unfortunately, I have to go to work. How is Mary? They wouldn't let me see her yesterday. I called John Frost and he said maybe tomorrow morning would be best."

  "I haven't seen her, either. God, she must be feeling deserted by now. Well, I'll see her in a little while. Jeanine says she seems more confused than anything else."

  "I don't doubt it." Maureen settled back on the couch, tilting nearer toward me. "Sure and we both know she's done nothing wrong."

  Sure and we both did, but did Maureen know how I knew? I hoped not. She leaned over and flicked a piece of lint or something from my shoulder, and let her fingers linger there. I looked at her more closely. She had that sexy boyish appeal that feminine women get when they wear masculine clothes. Damn! She was good looking!

  I guess I smiled. She bent forward and gently kissed me. All I could see was red hair and big blue eyes. I cleared my throat. "That's lovely, but I think it's probably not a good idea." Actually it seemed like a great idea. What the hell was it with me and homicidal women? I made myself sit up straight and blurted out a question I'd been asking myself for a long time.

  "Fess up, Maureen, what's your choice? Men or women?"

  "Yes."

  "Oh." I drew back, startled. "I see."

  "Sure it's no mystery. I enjoy . . . the company ... of both, assuming they are pleasant and fairly bright." She brushed an errant lock of hair off my forehead.

  Determined to keep my wits at least somewhere nearby, I said, "So you found both Jack and Mary . . . enjoyable."

  She shrugged. "Jack is not as great as he thinks he is, but he's good. Poor Mary doesn't have a clue."

  I held up my hand in a stop motion. "I don't need to go there."

  "And I don't intend to. All I meant was, Mary is more interested in how she imagines things to be than in how they really are. Take this baby." She pointed at her waist. "She has done everything but knit booties. She had visions of us walking in the park with a dear, sweet babe. I have two younger brothers. I know all about smelly nappies, and spit-up milk running down your neck, and temper tantrums and drippy noses. Mary would have lasted about two hours with a baby."

  Mary might not be the only one, I thought. Funny, I had cleaned up after Fargo's puppy accidents and upchucks without a second thought, but Maureen's picture did not appeal to me.

  "What Mary needs," she continued, as her arm slid back around my neck, "is someone who cares about her. A nice lady to have tea waiting when she comes home tired. Someone to fuss over her and scold her for getting her feet wet. That would mean more to Mary than a weekend with Cleopatra. Trust me, I know. I've seen women like that at home, busy doing good works, weeding a garden, brushing the cat, going for walks. Never quite sharing a bed, maybe, but actually, a very loving couple .. . lots of pats and hugs and back rubs. Mary could never keep up with me for two days. Now you, luv ..." She kissed me again, thoroughly.

  I had an extremely vivid scene of an afternoon's delight. .. followed by months, if not years, of twenty-four hour regret. I stood up. "I really can't do this, Maureen. I can't go this route. I'm sorry."

  "A fool is more like it," she snapped and put out her hand. "Do you have a list of what Mary needs? I suppose I'd better help you find the things. It's getting late for me."

  I couldn't resist. "It would seem the least you can do, after Mary bought you all those nice books." I gestured toward the wall.

  "Yes, that was lovely of her. It's part of what I was talking about before. Being thoughtful of someone."

  I handed her my now crumpled list. "How did you enjoy Marsh's Death of a Peer}" I asked innocently.

  "I thought it was quite muddled, actually. I never did figure out what all those charade things were about." She smoothed the list and ran her eyes down it.

  "Oh, yes, I remember that part now. I don't believe I ever figured them out either."

  "Well, that makes three of us," she answered absently, reading more carefully now. "Pete didn't get it either."

  "Pete?"

  "Pete Santos. I'd just finished reading it on a lunch break one day in the park by the bank. He came over to say hello and asked to borrow it. When he returned it the other day, he told Mary to tell me he just didn't get it."

  "I didn't know you knew Pete." I wondered what chance poor Pete would have had, if she'd turned her sights on him?

  "Oh, sure," she answered. "Jack and I went out with him and his girl a few times. I like him. He certainly stuck with Jack through all this."

  "Like you're sticking with Mary?"

  Maureen let the list flutter to the floor. "You'll find everything in her bureau or closet, or in the bathroom. I'm late for work." She walked out.

  I stood until I heard her pull out of the driveway. Then I located Death of a Peer and carefully wrapped it in a piece of newspaper and stuck it in the back of my jeans with my shirt hanging out over it, out of sight just in case she came back for any reason.

  As I was rearranging the books on the shelf so the lineup wouldn't show that one was missing, I thought I heard a noise and saw Fargo stand up.

  I looked around and had a nanosecond to realize we had all been terribly wrong about who had killed Grace Sanhope.

  Chapter 29

  I smiled sleepily. Fargo was licking my face with great urgency. I didn't feel like waking up, but obviously he really had to go out. I stirred slightly and felt the rug scrape my other cheek. Why on earth had I decided to nap on the floor? Had I somehow rolled off the couch? The dog whimpered.

  "Okay, okay, I'm coming." I tried to sit up and realized I had a terrible headache, with a stiff neck to make it worse. I tried again, and felt nauseous. The smell of the rug wasn't helping. It smelled like kerosene. And the air seemed smoky . .. my God, fire!

  I dragged myself up by the arm of the chair, dizzy and sick, suddenly realizing I was not at home, but in Mary Sloan's living room. I managed to stand and finally to walk to the living room door. It was closed, but behind it I could hear a roaring sound, and smoke was curling under it. The last I knew, it had been open. Probably the draft from the fire had blown it shut. When I touched it, I winced from the heat. Obviously, we could not get out that way. It felt hot enough to burn through at any moment, and if it did, whatever had been poured on the rug would go up like a Roman candle!

  That left the window. By the time I walked to it, I thought my head was literally going to explode. I was having trouble breathing and wanted to throw up. And, of course, the screen was stuck. I was beyond subtlety. I picked up the end table, sending a lamp and some other stuff crashing to the floor, and threw the table through the screen.

  "Come on, Fargo, we gotta jump." I grabbed his collar. "You have to jump, Fargo, go!" He looked up at me, confused.

  "All right, sweetheart, I'm sorry. Easy now. It's all right." I petted him for a second and lifted his front paws ont
o the windowsill. Then I grabbed his back legs and heaved him out the window. He landed off-balance, rolled, jumped up and ran a few feet, limping heavily. At least he was alive. I followed him.

  That was the last I knew until I awoke to the smell of petunias and the sight of a big yellow rubber boot near my eye.

  A deep voice said, "Okay, Les, we'll carry her away from the house and then get her on the stretcher."

  "No," I managed to gasp, "I can walk."

  "You sure?" One of the two men in fireman's regalia asked.

  "Yeah." They got their hands under my arms and heaved me up, and I tried to say they'd better carry me after all, but I couldn't get the words out, so we "walked" about ten miles down the driveway to the back of an ambulance. They sat me on a wheeled stretcher waiting in the driveway and an EMT shoved an oxygen cone under my nose.

  I took a couple of breaths and pulled it away. "Fargo, where is Fargo?"

  "Who?" One of the firemen grabbed my wrist. "My God, don't tell me someone is still in there!"

  "No. My dog, he's out, but his leg is hurt."

  "Oh. Here he is, right beside you. He's okay."

  And there he was, shivering, with a worried frown, and holding his right paw an inch off the ground. "He's not okay. I have to get him to the vet. Can you move this ambulance so I can get to my car?" I didn't think I'd mention the dizziness and the slight tendency to see two of everything.

  The EMT laughed. "Lady, you are not about to drive a car. You have a lump behind your ear the size of an orange. You aren't going anywhere except the hos-pit-tal. Now please lie down."

  "No. Not unless Fargo gets in the ambulance, too, and we drop him at Dr. Victor's on the way." Made sense to me.

  "Look." The EMT made a good try at sounding patient and reasonable. "We can't possibly do that. Let me get a cop over here to call the dog warden. He'll take the animal and everything will be fine."

  "NO WAY!" I shouted, leaned over and then threw up. "No way," I muttered weakly.

  A pleasant-looking woman in her mid-forties sat down beside me. "You're Alex Peres, aren't you?" I managed a small nod. "I'm Ann Cartwright. I know your mother. I live right next door here, and I'll be more than glad to take Fargo to the vet and tell him what happened. We'll get this nice fireman here to carry him to my car and it will all work out."

  The nice fireman gave us both a dirty look. "Does he bite?"

  "No, but I might if you don't get going. He's in pain."

  Ms. Cartwright laughed. The fireman picked up the dog. And away they went, my poor Fargo looking back at me, a great black bundle of misery against the fireman's yellow coat.

  "Alex!" It was Jeanine, trotting up the driveway, revolver and radio flapping noisily against her generous hips. "Are you all right?"

  "No, she's not," snapped the EMT. "She's got a helluva bump on her head and is probably concussed."

  "Then for heaven's sake, get her to the clinic!" Jeanine cried.

  The EMT took a deep breath and answered gently. "We've been trying to do just that for about an hour. Perhaps you can help."

  "I'll certainly try," Jeanine said earnestly. "But just one or two fast questions . .. ?"

  "Oh, no rush," the EMT responded. "It's kind of nice just standing here in the hot sun, watching the firemen put out a blaze."

  I realized that the fire was pretty well out, although poor Mary's house was not the attractive little bungalow it had been an hour ago. The smoky smell was awful. Rancid and biting, nothing reminiscent of steaks or hotdogs, but sort of dirty and sticky in my mouth and throat. Jeanine cleared her throat and spoke.

  "What happened, Alex? The fire chief says they think an accelerant was used, that this was no accident. Did Maureen do this? How did you and Fargo get stuck in there?" I was surprised to see she had a notebook out. This must be official.

  I tried to remember. "No-o-o." My mind felt so fuzzy! "No, Maureen went to work. She didn't do this." I shifted on the stretcher. Something was digging into my back. I reached around and pulled out the book I had put there earlier. I stared at it stupidly, wondering how a book had gotten into the back of my pants. Then it all came back with a rush.

  "Where's Sonny?"

  "On his way. He was down in Buzzard's Bay, checking on that waitress Jack Sanhope said would remember him."

  "Okay." I made a mighty effort to concentrate. "Look, Jeanine, hang onto this book. Be careful, it's evidence and should have Pete's fingerprints on it."

  "Yeah? Okay. Pete who?"

  "Pete Santos. He's the killer. He's the one who started the fire and knocked me out. When I came to, I could smell charcoal lighter fluid on the rug and most of the house was already ablaze. He tried to kill Fargo and me and either get hold of this book or make sure it burned."

  Jeanine gave me a long look. "Alex, sweetie, you've had a terrifying, awful experience. Are you sure about all this? I mean, Pete Santos? He's one of us, Alex. Maybe somebody looked like him? Or maybe you're a little confused. Maybe you saw him earlier today and—"

  "Jeanine." I was exasperated. "I am groggy and shaky, but I am not crazy. This book gave him the whole scenario of how to kill Grace Sanhope. Stupid me, I thought it was Maureen, but it was Pete all along. He needed to get rid of it so no one could ever prove he read it. That way, Maureen would be blamed. Now listen to me, when is Pete leaving for Europe?"

  Almost grudgingly, Jeanine answered. "I think he's getting the three forty plane to Boston."

  I looked at my watch and saw only a blur. "What time is it?"

  "Three thirty-five."

  "Oh, God. Okay, call the station. Ask them to try and have the airport hold the flight till you can get some people out there to pick him up."

  "Alex.. ."

  Jeanine's face was anguished, but I had no time to comfort her. "Dammit, just do it! And if they're already in the air, get security at Logan International to pick him up when they land. He'll be headed for Icelandic Airways. Oh, and tell them to watch his luggage carefully. I think he's got a king's ransom of jewelry in it. Now, call! If I'm wrong I'll take the heat and I'll apologize on my knees stark naked to Pete Santos at high noon in the middle of town."

  She turned away, taking her radio out of its little hammock. One of the EMTs walked to the end of the stretcher. "Santos? Pete Santos? You must have really landed on your head! I went to school with him!"

  "Yeah, well, that may account for it. You think we could go now?" My vision must have been getting worse. I could have sworn I saw him make a fist.

  I opened my eyes to see Cindy, my mother and Aunt Mae sitting on three hard-looking chairs, and Sonny leaning against the windowsill. Everyone stood, as if I had lifted a baton. They all came to the side of my bed, where Mother kissed the top of my head lightly, caressed my cheek and told me I was going to be just fine. Aunt Mae kissed my cheek, patted my hand and told me I'd be like new in no time. Cindy kissed me lightly on the mouth, patted my leg and told me I'd be home before I knew it.

  Sonny held a glass of water and a straw for me, while he advised me that I had a mild concussion, but if things went as expected I'd have no lasting problems and I'd be out by Saturday. Fargo, he continued, had a sprained ankle and would also be released on Saturday, with no serious damage.

  Then everybody began to talk at once, and I just smiled and tried not to listen. They were making my head hurt. Finally, Aunt Mae said she'd run along now, but would drop by tomorrow. Cindy said that she had to work tomorrow, but my mother would bring whatever I needed in the morning and she—Cindy—would see me around four. Mother said that since Cindy had to work, she—Mother—would come by tomorrow morning with whatever I needed and Cindy would stop by later. I gave Sonny a desperate look and he herded everybody out.

  He stuck his head back in the door. "You want to get some sleep now?"

  "No." I waved him in. "I want to know what happened. Can you get me a Diet Coke first, though? I'm dry as hell."

  "Sure."

  He was back shortly, trailing Lainey, w
ho automatically checked my pulse and then said if I'd like some dinner, she'd have a tray sent up. I nodded gratefully, said, "Ouch," and Lainey laughed and left.

  "So tell." I popped the drink and took a long swallow.

  "Well, we missed him at the airport. By seconds. Mitch should have told them to have the plane circle the airport and land back at Ptown, and we could have taken him off then and there. I would have assumed he had no weapon that might have endangered other passengers or the crew, and that we could have gotten him off quickly, with no fuss. Hopefully, you can't just stroll aboard a plane with a pistol in your pocket these days. But Dudley Bythebook left it up to Logan security to approach him by surprise."

  He pulled over a chair and sat gingerly. "You can kill yourself on these things. Anyway, Logan security was on top of it. They had the plane taxi to an area away from the terminals, boarded and got him and his luggage off without incident."

  He looked around the room. "I suppose a cigarette is not a good idea."

  I pointed to a little tube taped under my nose. "This is oxygen. I think the Ptown P.D. has given the fire department enough grief for one day." Immediately, I wished I hadn't said it. Sonny sighed and his mouth tightened into a white line. I knew his feelings must be mixed and painful, torn between anger that one of his cops had disgraced his beloved department and sadness that a friend had ruined his life.

  Sonny ignored my remark and continued. "You were right about the jewelry. It was in his bag, and he had about fifteen hundred dollars in cash and travelers' checks. That may have been Grace's money, part of it anyway. I wonder why he took the jewelry with him? He had no idea you would survive that blaze. No one would have had any idea he was the perp."

  I finished the Coke and set the can on that little table that fits over your bed. "I think I know. Amsterdam is jewelry city, I've read. So even if he popped out the stones and sold them unmounted, and sold the settings by troy weight, he'd have gotten a bundle. And by then they'd have been virtually untraceable. But, God, Sonny, did he need money that badly? And how could he have explained having it? I mean, he could hardly have come home and casually bought a Jaguar."