Agnes and the Hitman (19 page)

Shane pointed at the concrete floor. “The boy hit there.”

Xavier nodded. “Thank you, son. My concern today, though, is what happened twenty-five years ago in here.”

Fucking Joey,
Shane thought as he watched Xavier open up the tackle box. “Twenty-five years ago?”

“Long ago in the mists of time, son, your uncle ran arm in arm with the man
who owned this house, one Frankie Fortunato.” Xavier took out the can of luminol and began walking slowly around the room, spraying. “Who subsequently disappeared. As mobsters are sometimes wont to do. You do know your uncle Joey was once with the mob?”

“Yep. But he left that behind a long time ago. He’s an honest man, my uncle.”
Maybe.

Xavier laughed with genuine amusement as he sprayed. “Joey the Gent? He’s got more stories than the library. And most of them are indeed fiction, but I’m interested in the nonfiction ones.” He put the luminol can down on the old bar and reached into the kit and pulled out a bulky light, which Shane recognized as infrared. “Care to turn off the overhead?”

Shane flicked off the light as Xavier flipped on his own.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Xavier said.

No, you won’t,
Shane thought, looking at the dragged blood trail that led straight into the wall.
But Joey might well be.

Doyle said, “This lad who is now my assistant?”

“I know,” she told Doyle. “I’m grateful. And I don’t think you’ll really have to—”

“H’lo?” Lisa Livia said, her voice slurred with sleep.

“I know, I know,” Agnes said to her. “I know it’s way too early, but I thought you should know, you were right, and I was wrong, wrong, wrong.” She took down a frying pan, unwrapped the ham, and dropped the slices into it to fry, then turned back to pour more batter on the griddle, lowering her voice. “Brenda is swindling me on the house.”

“Well, duh,” Lisa Livia said around a yawn. “You couldn’t wait until noon to tell me that?”

“There’s more,” Agnes said, and then Three Wheels came back in. “Hold on.” She looked at Three Wheels. “Did you wash your hands?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Pancakes are on the table,” Agnes said. “Maple syrup’s in the pitcher. Butter’s in the dish. Ham’s coming right up. Are you allergic to nuts?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Because there are pecans in the cakes and I don’t want you swelling up and turning blue on me.”

“No, ma’am.”

“Do you swear on the Bible you washed your hands?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Eat.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Agnes turned back to the phone and began to slice more ham. “So there’s more.”

Lisa Livia said, “Tell me that wasn’t Shane you were talking to.”

“That wasn’t Shane.”

“Are those your sour cream buttermilk pancakes?”

“Yes.”

Lisa Livia stopped yawning. “I’m coming over.”

“Fine, but about Taylor. He’s in on the swindle.”

“You’re kidding me. He signed the papers, too. How dumb is he?”

“Not that dumb. He—”

“So what’s your name, me lad?” Doyle said to Three Wheels as they both helped themselves to pancakes. “Three Wheels.”

“No, it is not,” Agnes said to him, and then into the phone she said, “Hang on a minute.” She turned back to Three Wheels. “Do not say that around Detective Xavier, because he will make the connection that you’re related to Two Wheels, understand?”

Three Wheels nodded.

“That’s not the name on your birth certificate, right?” Agnes said, not sure. The Thibault clan didn’t seem to be wound real tight; it was entirely possible Three Wheels had a cousin legally christened Steel-Belted Radial.

“Nah, that’s what Two Wheels called me when I fell off’n my tricycle when I were little,” Three Wheels said, semi-morosely. “He were always makin’ fun.”

“Well, those days are over,” Agnes said. “What’s your given name?” When Three Wheels looked confused, she added, “Your real name, the one on the birth certificate?”

“Garth.”

Agnes nodded. “Garth.”

“They kept tell in’ my momma she was shameless, and that was Garth’s big hit that year plus she just really liked his music so—”

“Garth it is,” Agnes said. “How are those pancakes?”

“Grade A, Miss Agnes.”

“Excellent,” Agnes said, and went back to Lisa Livia and the cakes on the griddle, flipping them as she cradled the phone, and then moving on to turn the ham. “You still there?”

“Getting dressed,” Lisa Livia said, her voice muffled. “I’m trying not to miss any of this. Who the hell is Garth?”

“The kid who pointed a gun at me and tried to steal my dog last night.”

“What?” Doyle said, looking sharply at Garth. “I’m
real
sorry about that,” Garth said, forking up another pancake.

Agnes double-checked the cakes on the griddle, took the empty platter, and filled it again, then filled another with the ham.

More batter,
she thought, and began a second bowl. Garth must not have eaten in a week. Or he was a teenage boy.

“He tried to steal Rhett, so you’re feeding him sour cream pecan pancakes this morning,” Lisa Livia was saying. “Makes perfect sense to me. I’ve missed you.”

“Wait’ll I tell you the next part,” Agnes said. “Taylor—”

Somebody knocked on the back door, and she stepped back to see who it was.

“Morning, Miss Agnes,” Carpenter said.

“Good morning, Mr. Carpenter,” Agnes said, surprised. “Thank you for my electricity. Would you like breakfast?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and came inside, pretty much filling the kitchen.

“Have a seat,” she said. “Shane’s in the basement with Detective Xavier, but I imagine he’ll be up shortly.”

“Everything in its time.” He took a glass from her open shelf, sat down, and poured himself some milk.

“Help yourself to the cakes and ham, too,” Agnes said, and put some speed on whisking the wet ingredients for the second batch of cakes as she spoke into the phone again. “Lisa Livia?”

“Who’s this Mr. Carpenter? Did he steal your dog last night, too?”

“You really have to come out here for the unabridged version,” Agnes said. “The big news is you have—”

“How’s my little Agnes!” Joey said, breezing in from the front hall.

“Joey!” Agnes cast a cautious glance at the rest of the crowd. “Xavier’s down in the basement!”
And he thinks you did something horrible twenty-five years ago. What the hell’s going on?

“Where’s Shane?”

“He be in the basement with Detective Xavier,” Doyle said, sitting back with a cup of coffee, surveying the crowd with amusement now. “It be like a museum down there. Our Agnes should open it for the public. Get one of them fancy velvet ropes, put me in a uniform, let me decide who goes in and out.” He gestured to the door. “Step right this way, ladies and gents! See the historic basement!”

Joey faltered for a moment, and Agnes couldn’t tell if it was Doyle’s basement humor or the sight of Carpenter and Garth eating pancakes and ham, but then he kept on going toward the basement door.

“Pancakes?” Agnes said, trying to delay him as she mixed the wet ingredients into the dry with a lot less care than with the first batch. Speed, that was the ticket.

“Later,” Joey said, and slid a huge package wrapped in butcher paper across the counter to her. “Ribs.”

“Thank you,” Agnes said, hoping there were enough for everybody, since the thought of Carpenter and Garth in a smackdown over a rack of country ribs was not a pretty one. Carpenter had the edge over Garth on size and training, but Garth had youth and Thibault viciousness on his side. She shook her head and went back to the phone, turning her back on the rest of them. “Lisa Livia?”

“What’s going on over there?”

Agnes dropped her voice. “Breakfast. Now here’s the news: Your mama’s married. Taylor’s your stepfather.”

“
What?”

“I’ll see you real soon,” Agnes said, and hung up to finish the next batch of pancakes, cut more ham, start the marinade for the ribs, and then begin today’s To Do List before moving on to write her damn column.

“You be real careful down there in that museum, Joey,” Doyle called, and Joey gave him a funny look before he climbed down the ladder.

“Excellent pancakes,” Carpenter said. “The ham is particularly fine.”

“Is there more?” Garth said, holding out the empty platter, and Agnes took it back and filled it again while she thought about just what the hell was in Joey’s museum in the basement and when she should start the next batch of pancakes.

The last half hour in the basement, Shane had kept his mouth shut as he watched Xavier use more equipment from his tackle box. Sophisticated the old detective wasn’t, but efficient he was. Shane had a feeling Xavier and Carpenter would get along quite well. Old school and new school, same brain.

Xavier pointed to an aged stool between the bar and Venus. “Have a seat, old friend. I found something quite interesting here in Frankie Fortunato’s rec room.”

“One of Frankie’s fine wines?” Joey asked, glancing at the wine rack, but he went to the stool and sat down.

“Not wine,” Xavier said. “I found blood.”

“Yeah, that bum kid—” Joey began, but Xavier cut him off.

“Not from the Thibault kid. That you can clearly see. This was old blood that someone had tried to clean up. Only showed up with the luminol and the infrared light. It’s a blood trail. Leading from there, where the bottom of the stairs had been, around this bar, right up to that wine rack and ending at that wall behind the rack. Blood from a long time ago.”

Joey’s eyes had that dead look, and he was staring at the detective. Shane had a feeling he was witnessing two old warriors picking up their swords once more.

“I’m willing to bet,” Xavier said, “that blood is twenty-five years old. I’m willing to bet that it’s Frankie Fortunato’s blood type. And I’m willing to bet that when we knock down that wall right behind you, we find Frankie’s body.”

“How much you got to bet?” Joey asked. “You want me to put some action on this? Give you some kind of odds? You know Keyes, Xavier. Lots of secrets, lots of strange things going on all the time. Lots of skeletons in closets. Sure you want to go poking around?”

As denials went, Shane thought, it was pretty bad.

“In your closet, Joey? Sure.”

“This ain’t my house or my closet. How long is it going to take you to get that blood test done? I know about your little tackle box, Simon.
CSI: Las Vegas
you ain’t.”

“The blood test won’t take long at all, and I’m good enough at what I do to get a warrant to find out what’s behind that wall.”

Joey snorted. “You think so? Agnes’s got a wedding to put on here.

And Jefferson and Evie Keyes aren’t going to like you fucking around with their only son’s wedding. Maybe Jefferson calls the sheriff and they put the brakes on your little one-man show. You’re right, you’re gonna need a warrant to get behind that wall. Which means you’re gonna need the judge to sign off on it. You know, the judge who golfs with Jefferson every week. Whose wife is best friends with Evie.”

“And how are the Keyes going to know about this?” Xavier asked.

Joey gave his shark smile. “It’s a small town, Simon.”

Xavier shook his head. “I’ll find out what’s behind that wall. One way or another.” He climbed up the ladder.

“Now
I
want some answers,” Shane said.

“Everybody wants answers. I want breakfast,” Joey said, and went up the ladder right behind Xavier.

Like that’s gonna work,
Shane thought, and followed him up.