Losers, Weepers Page 8

  “My God, he could have killed you.”

  “I think the safety was on. Anyway, I don’t think actual murder was on his mind. I think he is just totally distraught and frustrated that everything went wrong. Imagine thinking you’re going to meet some people to whom you will give money in exchange for the safe return of your beloved daughter, and all you see is two-thirds of the Ptown police force laughing it up over coffee and doughnuts. It’s not a smile maker.”

  “Well,” she said indignantly, “He didn’t have to take it out on you.”

  I laughed. “My headache is better. His will be with him awhile. And his nose has definitely lost its virginity. I traded fatigue, stress and hunger for a whopping hangover. I’m still ahead of poor Reed.”

  “Yes,” she poured us more coffee. “That’s a terrible thing . . . a kidnapping. I can’t even imagine the fear and anger they must feel.”

  “It must be ghastly,” I agreed, “and add to that a bunch of very different people trying to deal with it. A man who’s never been a hands-on father. A new stepmother of dubious character. A grandmother who blatantly much preferred her first daughter-in-law to this one. Two teenage boys trying to be adult, but frightened, motherless and antagonistic toward the new wife. It must be a barrel of fun around there even when nothing serious is wrong.”

  “God. Who did it?”

  “I don’t know.” I poured another cup of coffee. I was slowly returning to life. “The two young men actually did it, of course, and that could be all there is to it. But I cannot imagine myself overhearing some kids fantasizing about how to get some money, and publicly offering my services to commit a capital crime for a mere five thousand dollars.”

  “You mean someone else may have hired them first . . . to kidnap Zoe for a lion’s share of the money or for a reason we don’t know.”

  “Right.”

  “There’s Reed,” Cindy said thoughtfully.

  “Why Reed?” I was surprised at her choice. “How would he profit? Other than possibly getting rid of a sometimes troublesome daughter? And placating his wife.”

  “Oh, one very good way. Suppose he’s been over billing clients, saying he’s built their structures to certain top-notch specifications, when actually he’s been using very inferior materials and shoddy workmen. Maybe everything is literally about to fall in on him. This is a fine way to liquidate all his assets in a hurry and even get some hefty loans without rousing suspicion. Everyone is busy raising money for the poor panic-stricken father.”

  She gave a wicked grin. “Reed’s next communication might have been a postcard from Brazil if the cops had picked another place for their picnic last night.” Suddenly she sobered. “My God, Choate may have the bank in this up to his neck without even knowing it.”

  “It’s difficult to believe,” I said. “Reed’s had a good reputation for years around here.”

  “He’s got a new wife who sounds high maintenance. And he’s facing college with three kids.”

  “Yeah. There’s that. I guess you’ll want to call Choate and give him a heads-up. And call Sonny. He may not have thought of this. I need to talk to him, too, when you finish. Please,” I added.

  Cindy moved immediately for the kitchen phone, and I could hear her voice, fast and urgent, as she spoke with her boss.

  I lit the first cigarette of the day and let my thoughts move on to my favorite villain. The attractive, sexy, bitchy, rapacious, social climbing Merrilou. Gee, was there something I disliked about her? Well, yes. Upset or not, you don’t go around slapping old ladies. And you don’t threaten young girls with going to hell because they’re gay.

  The way Merrilou handled the first call was suspicious. But her reluctance to involve the police was not unusual with the families of kidnap victims. However, I didn’t think Merrilou’s disinclination stemmed from fear for Zoe’s safety. If it were not indicative of her involvement with the plot itself, it was simply that she wanted no scandal to make her entry into Cape Cod society more difficult than it already was. If they had called the police and the “kidnapping” had proved to be just another way to say, “Hey, Dad, all I needed was a loan,” the media would have had a field day.

  Actually, I had to admit, nothing Merrilou had done was particularly dubious. Cold, self-serving, unforgivable if anything happened to Zoe, but not criminal. I was probably letting my dislike run away with me.

  On the other hand, what about her friend Emily? Emily Bartles came into daily contact with unemployed, broke young men whose morals might be of dubious strength. Five thousand dollars would look like a fortune to most of them. The Bartles drove a beat-up, noisy, off-white van with numerous dents and scratches, as well as remnants of past colors, which might prove interesting. Obviously, Emily had access to it.

  If you figured that Reed had somehow added twenty thousand to the hundred and eighty thousand Choate Ellis had brought, that made two hundred thousand. Ten to the two young perps left one ninety. If Merrilou gave Emily, say, fifty thousand, that left a hundred and forty for her. And everybody had a loverly nest egg.

  In some of my contacts with Larry Bartles in the past, he had let slip that his marriage was not the happiest. Maybe Emily was building up some getaway funds.

  Why did Merrilou feel she needed money? She had a wealthy, obviously doting husband. Or was he as dumb as he seemed? I wondered if there had been a prenuptial agreement Merrilou disliked. I wondered how Reed’s will read. I wondered how much Rob knew. I would find out.

  Of the family, I figured Rob and Martin were non-starters for being the kidnappers. So that left Grandma, and somehow I couldn’t see her having anything to do with Tweedledee and Tweedledum. She’d be more likely to brush up their manners and their long division than to stage a kidnapping, even if she could use the money. And I imagined she was not buying day-old bread. So that took care of my current cast of characters.

  Cindy came in with the walk-around phone. “Here’s Sonny.” She went back in the kitchen and I heard sounds of a beginning clean-up operation. Bless her neat little heart.

  “Hi, Sonny.”

  “Hi. I hear you had quite an encounter with Reed last night. Are you okay?”

  “The kitchen and Reed are the casualties. I’m fine. How’s Reed?”

  “Tape on his nose, bear grease on the balding spot/cum lump on his head. Very subdued and apologetic. If you can believe him, and I’m not at all sure I do. But seriously, Alex, the prosecutor wants to know what you plan to do about this.”

  “Nothing. I realize the gun might have somehow gone off, but he wasn’t here to hurt me. He’s a little crazed, I guess, but I think he needs tranquilizers more than jail time. Get him for the unregistered pistol and forget the rest. Doesn’t he have any men friends to help him through this?”

  “Choate, John Frost. That’s about it.”

  John Frost was a lawyer here in town—bright, sardonic and certainly a loyal friend. “Are they spending time with him?”

  Sonny cleared his throat. “Merrilou doesn’t like them.”

  “Screw Merrilou.”

  “No, thanks. Fortunately, she does not like me, either. But me, she can’t throw out. Look, we’ve got all the tapes set up again, but have had no calls. We’re watching for the van with the blue paint. I got your message from Marcia last night. At least that narrows it down. We’re already checking empty buildings all over town. Any other ideas?”

  “Not really.” But I couldn’t resist. I told him my thoughts about Merrilou and Emily.

  He said, “Hmm,” which meant he didn’t think I was nuts, but he wasn’t excited, either. “Those are possibilities. We’ll nose around, check the colors on that derelict van.”

  “Look, Sonny, I gotta go help Cindy rebuild the kitchen. Keep in touch, okay?”

  “You got it.”

  Actually, Cindy had the kitchen about done, to my great relief. It was too late to take the dog to the beach . . . too many people still around. So I put on his lead and took him with me to get
the Sunday papers. It was a legitimate excuse for an exit. If you didn’t get there fairly early, they ran out of the New York Times

  Chapter 10

  I figured that jeans and an old sweatshirt really wouldn’t do, so I changed into light wool tan slacks, a pale green blouse and dark green blazer. Cindy wasn’t thrilled that I’d accepted Dana’s last-minute invitation to lunch, but it really was business—I assumed—and could be important. Surely, Cindy didn’t think I was interested in the girl. In thirty years, I might be chasing eighteen-year-olds, but not yet.

  Dana met me at the door, and I was glad I had changed clothes. She was in a blue dress that complemented her coloring, and I thought had been chosen to make her look older. From the beginning, she was the gracious hostess. From the beginning, I was amused.

  We went immediately to the large dining room, where places were set at the head of the table and the first seat on the right. Cozy. But it also meant we wouldn’t have to speak loudly down the table length. At the tinkle of a bell, the maid served a luscious fruit cup of mango, pineapple and avocado with sesame seed dressing. It was followed by a thick slice of cold roast beef with Stilton cheese, beet salad with all the trimmings plus warm French bread. In her most adult voice Dana said, “We have most anything you want to drink, but I find a good dry beer goes best. At least that’s what I’m having.” She glanced at me quickly, judging whether I would make some reference to her age. I didn’t give her the satisfaction of making what I am sure would have been a clever retort.

  “Beer suits me fine,” I agreed. Dana nodded to the maid who disappeared quickly and returned shortly with chilled glasses and two bottles of Lee’s Manchester Beer, which I’d never heard of. I assumed it was English. The maid poured my glass and got it just right with a head that would have measured exactly a half-inch with a ruler.

  After she poured Dana’s, I lifted mine and said, “To Zoe.”

  “To Zoe,” she replied, and I noticed her hand shook a little.

  If I ever get rich, Manchester Beer will be in my larder. Somehow the beer, the beef, the beets with enormous black olives, capers and celery on Boston lettuce, and the warm crusty bread came together perfectly.

  I complimented Dana on her menu and she demurred sweetly. “It was mostly the cook’s idea—except for the beer. And Dad swears she and Nana drink a lot of that.” She laughed. “By the way, Nana sends her regrets that she isn’t here to join us. She’s in Boston for the day.”

  I just smiled. It sounded pretty handy to me. I wondered if Grandma even knew I was here or remembered who I was in the first place.

  Dana looked a lot better than she had a couple of nights ago. The dress sleeves concealed the scrapes, an Ace bandage had replaced the soft cast on her ankle, and lightly tinted glasses pretty well covered the black eye.

  “I invited you to luncheon mainly to apologize for my behavior Friday. I was taking pain pills, and I think they must have made me a little crazy. Not that it’s any excuse. I really behaved badly, and I really do love Zoe dearly, although it certainly didn’t sound it.”

  She looked at me closely. “Do you think we are too young to really be in love? I adore being with her. We talk seriously about all kinds of things, and we also laugh a lot and, of course, other things.” She blushed slightly, the first genuine gesture I had noticed, and it was inadvertent.

  “I think you are just the right age to be deeply in lust. That always comes first, you know. If you are lucky, love arrives a little later. Even if it doesn’t, you’ve had a helluva good ride. Some people fall in love at sixteen, and it’s life-long. Others are thirty. I know one lady who fell really in love for the first time in her fifties. Who knows?”

  “Oh, dear, I hope I don’t have to wait that long.”

  “I think that’s probably a bit unusual. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  She turned serious again. “What I worry about is Zoe. I mean, as well as this kidnapping thing going wrong. I think she is maybe too intense. About us. Insisting I should rearrange my life and cause an uproar with my dad over changing schools, just so I can be in New York all the time with her. Anyway, she will probably be living in Fairfield in Connecticut—a half hour from Yale. And this whole kidnapping thing, I know, I went along with it, but it need never have happened. It’s not even halfway sensible, even if nothing terrible happens. But anytime I brought up objections to anything she wanted, like what made her think she could just walk onto a stage and be an instant star, she’d cry and say I didn’t love her.”

  I finished my beer, and a new one miraculously appeared and was poured into a fresh glass. “Slow down, Dana. You’re beginning to babble. I have the picture. I’ve thought from the beginning Zoe sounded pretty spoiled. But so are you—in a different way. Face it, kids with your kind of money and Zoe’s are used to getting most of what they want. Now the two of you want some important different things, so it’s causing problems.” I paused for a moment to sip this beer of the gods.

  I wiped my lips and continued. “I met some quite successful actors last summer, and I can tell you, Zoe has a long, tough way to go before she even gets a role with twelve lines. And you can add in the fact that Zoe seems a bit immature to boot. The time to have thought up the kidnap plot—as it originally stood—was when she was thirteen, not seventeen.”

  “I never thought of that. You’re right. And Harry fits right in. He thinks all the world spins around a hockey puck. His grades are iffy. Unless he gets into a school with big-time sports, he’ll never get a scholarship. He’ll be lucky to pay his way into some college. But with Zoe picking up the tab, he could live in New York and maybe get on some second-rate hockey team. He is good at that. But that worries me, too.”

  Dessert arrived: Italian ice, some marvelously delicate cookies that melted on your tongue and good strong coffee.

  Dana clarified her last statement. “Zoe sort of looks upon Harry as her mission in life. I think they both know if he doesn’t play hockey, he’ll pump gas. A large part of this is for him. God, I hope he’s not the one who got us all involved with those two creeps.”

  Startled, I almost spilled my coffee. “Why the hell would you say that?”

  “A lot of not-so-nice people hang around athletes. Harry has been approached to throw games, although he says he never has. And I believe him. But he would know where to find the type of people who would know how to set up this kidnap thing. You know, make it for real, take Zoe God knows where, toss me casually out of a car, hold out for a bigger cut . . . or just disappear with all of it. Minus a nice amount for Harry, maybe.”

  “He seemed genuinely upset the other day,” I answered rather weakly.

  “Yes. He would be. It’s out of his hands now and he’s afraid of what he’s gone and done.” She dabbed her eyes with her napkin. “Or maybe I’m just being bitchy again.” She tried to smile. “What can I blame it on this time? The beer?”

  “Maybe we’d better just take a closer look at Harry. This beer is too good to blame anything on, except maybe greed.”

  We chatted about beers in general for a few minutes, graduated briefly to the weather and the tourist exodus. Then I thanked her for lunch, she thanked me for listening, and we parted with a cool, brief hug.

  As I got to the end of the driveway from Dana’s castle, I pulled over and took my cell phone from the glove compartment. Okay, it wasn’t on my person, but at least it was with me, not home in last night’s dirty shirt. Fortunately, Rob picked up and agreed to meet me at Mickey’s in a few minutes.

  I got there first and managed to secure one of the few indoor tables. It was clouding over and the breeze felt like rain was due any minute. When Rob came in a few minutes after I did, I noticed a few scattered raindrops on his jacket. I was pretty good at predicting weather. Why couldn’t I apply that to kidnappings? The only thing I seemed to do was add suspects, when the whole idea of an investigation was to eliminate all but the one who was guilty.

  We ordered coffee—a little rough and
ready after the smooth cup I had just consumed. I casually mentioned the idea of Harry Maddock’s being involved criminally in Zoe’s kidnapping, and was answered by a deep, genuine laugh.

  “Harry? Involved in this kidnapping as some sort of mastermind? Alex, you may have noticed the Catlett family does not own a dog. Harry is Zoe’s. He adores her and is content with the occasional pat on the head. She takes care of him. You might call him her mission. Trying to get him onto some hockey club is just one part of it. If he doesn’t go through life carrying a hockey stick, believe me, he’ll be carrying a waiter’s tray. Harry is not the brightest light on the tree.”

  The vote was beginning to seem unanimous.

  “Okay,” I shrugged. “Moving right along. Rob, do you, by any chance, know anything about a prenuptial agreement or your father’s will? Anything that you’d be willing to share?”

  He thought a moment. “As long as you leave Grandma out of this, yes.”

  “Unless she’s criminally involved somehow in the kidnapping, I can’t imagine why she would be of any interest. That said, anything about her stays private, I promise you.”

  “Okay. Her first. There’s a trust fund in case she ever needs it. She can draw on it with the approval of the executor, John Frost. Whatever she doesn’t use reverts equally to me, Zoe and Marvin on her death.”

  “Nothing unusual there. What about Merrilou?”

  His mouth tightened. “All the whipped cream. She gets the house here in Ptown, which she’ll have us evicted from in an hour. All the furnishings except a few specified things Mom wanted us kids to have. Insurance policies, stocks, bonds go to sweet M. We get money for education, including post grad if our grades are good. We get the little house of Mom’s down in the Poconos—though I wonder how we’re supposed to pay for its upkeep. And we each get a trust fund we can’t touch till each of us reaches thirty—and it ain’t no giant, anyway.”