Corpus de Crossword (31 page)

“Ahhh,” Rosco said in an attempt to slow him down, “could you hold off on that for a while? We're on our way to Taneysville right now. It's only fair to notify the Bazinne family before they hear the news on the radio or TV.”

In the silence at the other end of the line, Rosco could hear impatience and compassion vying with one another. “It's Friday afternoon. I've got only four days before the election. This information has to get—”

“Just give me a couple hours, that's all I'm asking. You'll still have time to make the evening news.”

Hoffmeyer took a few moments to answer, but eventually said, “I'll wait for your call. Just don't hang me up on this, okay?”

Rosco clicked off and slid the phone back into his jacket. “Politics isn't the nicest game in the world.”

On the drive to Taneysville, Belle and Rosco decided they should also inform the elder Hoffmeyers—a duty Rosco would handle while Belle explained the situation to Jeanne Bazinne. Pulling up in front of the general store, Belle tried for a lighthearted: “Watch out for the pork rinds,” while Rosco also attempted a pseudo-sunny:

“What you don't know won't hurt you.”

Both sallies fell flat. Then Belle turned her car toward Lonnie Tucker's gas station.

She parked, took a deep breath which was intended to banish the complex sensation of pity mingled with outrage, then stepped from the car. Gloom, sorrow, and anger walked beside her as she entered the garage office, where Lonnie greeted her in pleasant unconcern as he tallied up some figures in his accounting books. “Jeanne's in the trench working on an oil change,” he said. He seemed totally unconcerned about Belle's motives in seeking out his mechanic. As Belle began crossing the shop's gritty floor, Jeanne had just started to crawl out of a large pit that allowed her access to the underside of the car she'd been servicing.

“You here for a change?” she called out without looking to see who the visitor was.

“Change?”

“Oil change?”

“No … Actually, I came here to talk to you, Jeanne … about your father.” Jeanne stood in utter silence as myriad expressions began racing over her face.

“He's dead.” Jeanne wiped her greasy hands on a rag that was equally embedded with grime, then turned as if to resume her work. Another thought arrested her, however, and she stepped toward Belle. Her lips were tight with unspent fury. “So don't think you or that PI you're married to can accuse him of offing that girl up at Quigleys'.”

Belle paused for an infinitesimal second, enough only to wonder what private connection Jeanne had made. “That's quite a leap … What makes you imagine we'd be considering that?”

“Blaming my pop?” Jeanne snorted. “Why not? Everyone comes lookin' for us Bazinnes if there's trouble. Fire up at the old house? Frank's the bad guy. No one even bothers lookin' for the truth or pays the slightest attention to Big Otto mouthin' off in Eddie's Elbow Room … No, sir … Otto's the one playin' with matches … But it's always the same around here. You got trouble? You hunt up a Bazinne …” She threw the rag on a zinc-topped table strewn with wrenches and grease guns. “That's why I ‘imagine' you're thinkin' my dad was involved in what happened up at Quigleys'. It was only a matter of time before those goody-goodies up at the church decided he snuffed that girl … Makes it a heck of a lot easier with him bein' dead and gone, don't it?”

Belle said nothing, but neither did she back down. She simply stayed put and continued studying the angry woman who in turn seemed to grow larger and more ferocious as she stared defiantly back.

“You're not gettin' me to spill my guts about our glorious, fun-filled childhoods, if that's what you're hopin', doll. And you're not gonna catch Frank or Luke doin' it either … And they won't be near as polite as me—”

“It's you I want to talk to, Jeanne. Woman to woman.”

“Oh, lady, where are you from? The moon? You and me got nothin' in common. Absolutely nuttin'!” Again, Jeanne made as if to step back into the trench; Belle read rage in the rigid set of her shoulders—as well as some other indecipherable but equally violent emotion.

“Tell me about your aunt, Jeanne.”

“Lady, you're not listenin' to me—at all! I don't want to talk. Not to you. Not to anyone.”

Belle stood her ground. “Katie didn't desert you, Jeanne.”

“What do you call it when someone up and leaves and never looks back? Never sends her sister a birthday hello or a sympathy card when she's dying—”

“Katie didn't go to Hollywood, Jeanne. She didn't act in those—”

“She sure as heck did! She changed her name to Paula Flynn! She was a big star! She was famous. I saw her picture in all those—”

“That wasn't your aunt. That was someone who took Katie's name.”

Jeanne rounded on Belle. Beneath the caked dirt, her face was an ugly and threatening red. “You can't steal names!”

“You can if no one protests.”

Either the words themselves or the gravity of Belle's tone finally took root in Jeanne's conscious thought. Her heavy shoulders quivered ever so slightly, but the emotional change this small physical gesture revealed was immense. “What do you mean?” The voice was now hesitant and uncertain.

“I mean the actress known as Paula Flynn isn't your aunt. I met her today … Paula Flynn … She told me all about the talent contest that she and your aunt attended—”

“Before I was born—”

“That's right. In the spring of 1951. And yes, your aunt Katie won … She won the chance to go to Hollywood and take a screen test, but she wasn't there to claim her prize … She'd returned to Taneysville to pack. She never made it back to the theater in Boston.”

Jeanne's bewildered gaze fell to the floor. “But Mom said … I mean, Aunt Katie had already moved out of our house when she did that contest … She'd rented the room over Hoffmeyer's store … on accounta … on accounta … well, Mom said Pop used to
get
real mad at Katie. Didn't like her gettin' fancy ideas … didn't like her wearin' fancy clothes … showin' off to all the guys …” Jeanne's fists swiped at eyes that were suddenly brimming with tears. “But Pop wouldn't have … I don't think Pop would have … He wouldn't have hurt her like that.” She shook her large head. Belle reached out her hand, but Jeanne flinched away.

“I don't want to talk to you anymore, lady. And I don't want you talkin' to Luke or Frank either. We got enough troubles without people makin' up stories about things that happened half a century ago.”

“How did your mother die, Jeanne?”

“If you're askin' if Pop beat her up, he didn't! … She got cancer—just like other people do … And I called out to Hollywood. I tried findin' where Aunt Katie lived …”

Belle took a deep breath. She knew her next piece of news would be the hardest to bear. “It's almost certain that the body found near the Quigley house belonged to your aunt. DNA testing will prove it conclusively.”

“But Katie went to
Hollywood
. She left this dump and never once looked back—” Jeanne's face crumpled. “My pop had nothing to do with this! I swear he didn't.”

Milt Hoffmeyer Sr. hadn't been in his store when Belle had dropped off Rosco. Unable to immediately perform his part of the assignment, he'd purchased a large bag of pork rinds—“to share” he'd told the girl minding the cash register—as well as a copy of
Newsweek,
both of which he'd carried outside to the wooden bench that sat beside the store's main entrance. There, Rosco had settled down to wait.

After twenty minutes, Milt stepped onto the porch, looked down at Rosco, and said, “I guess you're waiting for me.” His heavy face looked both serious and sad, and Rosco felt some annoyance that Hoffmeyer's grandson hadn't kept his end of the bargain but had obviously called his grandparents to tell them the news.

Rosco nodded. “That's right.”

Milt also sat on the bench. “Ever since Gordon bought that property …” he began. “First John and the vestry, and then that awful fire …” The words trailed off while Rosco considered how difficult the situation was going to be for everyone in Taneysville. Whether they'd liked Jacques Bazinne or not, his children were their neighbors, and Katie had once been the town's brightest hope.

“We only put the final pieces together this morning, Milt … after a long talk with Paula Flynn—the real Paula Flynn, that is.”

“So … where do we go from here? What's the next step …?” Again Milt's words faltered. He straightened his spine, then let it sag again. He seemed old and very tired.

Rosco shrugged. “It's all up to the authorities at this point. There's no telling how they plan to proceed, but they won't let it die, you can count on that … As far as Tree's concerned, he doesn't seem anxious to have me pursue it any further.”

“No. No, I wouldn't think so … That's not going to help him.” Milt glanced at Rosco, then dropped his gaze to the aged wooden planks that stretched across the porch. “Katie was a headstrong girl. Had big dreams. When she set her mind on something, no one could stop her …”

“That's what I understand—and much too young to die. Especially the way she did.”

Milt looked at Rosco. “It was an accident; you have to believe that.”

Rosco didn't respond, so Milt repeated a more emphatic: “It was an accident …”

“Well, yes, given … the nature of the wound … I would guess that … might have been a possibility.”

Milt stood and stepped toward the edge of the porch and placed his hands in his pockets. “The moment Gordon,” he began, then stopped. “And then that damnable backhoe … Well, I'm glad the truth is finally out … I really am … Lies and secrets are just too, too …” He shook his head, and looked back at Rosco again. “I couldn't let her go. I loved her way too much … My heart would race just looking at her …”

In the utter silence that ensued, Rosco watched the last piece of the puzzle begin to fall into place. “You … You and Katie—”

“We were just kids … kids in love …” Milt's words came out in a rush. “No one knew. Not even our friends … I mean, we were so young … I was seventeen; she was a year younger; and back then, well … times were different …” He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped at one eye. “You see, Katie had moved out of her sister's house … She'd had … troubles there … My father never liked Jacques Bazinne—considered him a real bully and a brute. The classic example of how abusive some men can be … So, Dad let Katie have the room above the store, and hired her to work behind the counter after school.”

Rosco thought. “That couldn't have sat well with Bazinne.”

“No. No, it didn't. But legally, Jacques couldn't make her stay home because he had no custody over her; she was only his wife's sister … But a lot of anger surfaced because of what my dad did … Folks took sides … and Jacques's wife, she was Katie's older sister, she accused … Well, it was an upsetting time. I guess that's why everyone in town was happy to think that Katie had become Paula Flynn, the movie actress. They realized the chances of a Hollywood star coming back to Taneysville wouldn't be likely.”

Milt sat back down on the bench. He looked worn out, hunched and enfeebled by decades of secrecy. “I've been living with this heartache nearly all my life. And I'd give just about anything to change what happened.” He sighed.

“… Afterwards, after Katie was … Well, I turned kind of wild … got into a lot of scrapes … turned pretty tough and mean … It was May who saved me. It's May who keeps saving me … And now I've got to …” His head sank toward his chest. He dabbed at his eyes again. Rosco didn't speak or move.

“… It was the Friday night after that talent contest in Boston … Katie told me she'd won. We were meeting secretly—like usual. She said they were sending her out to Hollywood … told me she had to pack and return to Boston Monday morning early. I remember thinking how odd it was that she didn't seem more excited … I decided it was because she'd already left me—in her mind, anyway. And that felt even worse … like I'd been forgotten …”

“She hadn't won, Milt—at least not on Friday.”

Milt stared at Rosco for a long time. “So that was it … That's why she acted so strange.” He closed his eyes tight, seeing Katie, seeing the past. “On Saturday night we took a long walk together and ended up at the Quigleys' lane. There were no lights on so we snuck up to the house. It was unlocked—nobody locked their houses back then, not like nowadays.” Milt took a deep breath while tears began coursing down his cheeks.

“Did you go in?” Rosco asked.

“I didn't want to but Katie insisted. She wanted to … She wanted to, you know … I'd never … I'd never done it before, but she was … She was so bold, so excited about the danger of it all—thinking the Quigleys might come home at any moment … And then when it was all over, I … I don't know. I was so desperately in love with her, I couldn't bear the idea of her leaving. Not after what we'd just had together.”

“What did you do?”

“I begged her not to go away … I told her we could get married … that someday I'd be taking over my dad's store … But she only laughed at me. She said she'd rot if she stayed in Taneysville any longer … Then she marched outside—kind of mad and spiteful as if she were angry at herself as well as me. I chased after her and grabbed her shoulders. She pushed me away … And then … then we were just struggling with each other, not fighting but sort of locked together. The next thing I knew she was falling out of my grasp. She hit her head on a rock … There was so much blood … It was everywhere. All over the … There was nothing I could do.”