Dead Guy's Stuff (12 page)

"So why would anyone want to blackmail you?"

"Same old, same old, don't you think?" Nellie asked Don.

"I suppose," he said, with a long sigh.

"Will you please explain this to me," Jane shouted, "before I go nuts!"

"It's nothing. Gus had been blackmailing your dad and me for years. Not much money. We just made it part of expenses. Like a mortgage. It was no big deal," Nellie said. "Sounds like somebody just took over the business, that's all."

"At least the money's the same," Don said. "Thank god for small favors."

Jane felt dizzy. She knew she'd get it out of them eventually, if she could just keep at it, but her endurance was wearing thin. They had said they were discussing blackmail, but it would sound to any outsider like they were discussing car insurance rates or the price of barrels of draft beer. And Jane was rapidly feeling like the most outside of the outsiders.

"One more thing, Mom?" Jane asked.

Nellie stopped sweeping and looked at Jane.

"What did you tell Duncan you were going to cut off?"

"What do you think, for Christ's sake? His…" Nellie, who had never hidden from Jane the most grisly details of any news story, whose description of the facts of life could make your hair stand on end, hesitated, then said, "His manhood, of course."

Jane smiled with overwhelming relief. She, in fact, laughed, only half listening, as her mother went on to describe exactly what she'd said she'd do with said "manhood," her plan involving a sack and the Doberman next door. It was almost a pleasure to hear her mother wax poetic about her violent intentions as long as the "cutting off" she mentioned didn't have anything to do with Gus Duncan's finger.

14

Bruce Oh agreed with Jane Wheel that there was now a motive for someone to kill Gus Duncan. He was a blackmailer. Oh also felt it was only right to point out to Jane that it was her parents, Don and Nellie, who had the motive. Jane had thought of that but seemed untroubled.

"Duncan owned at least five buildings, probably more. Maybe there were other tenants he was blackmailing. Maybe one of them— or maybe more than one— decided that they weren't going to pay rent
or
the little extra he had been charging every month," Jane had said when she phoned.

Oh agreed with Jane Wheel about that as well. When he spoke with her, he found himself swept along in her investigative fervor, although now, as he made tea and prepared to read a student's paper on DNA evidence—
why were all of them obsessed with the same topic?
— he realized it might be more helpful for Jane if he had disagreed with her.

There was, after all, no real investigation. Munson had done everything he was supposed to do and had found no reason to call Gus Duncan's death anything other than heart failure. He might be interested in the blackmail, but so far, Jane couldn't get her parents to agree to report it.

"Why would we report blackmail? So everyone would know what we paid Gus not to tell?" Nellie had said, shaking her head, muttering about money wasted on fancy college educations for children who didn't seem to have the sense they were born with.

"We have things under control, honey. You forget about it. Some of us did something stupid years ago, and we deserve to pay something for it," Don had said, somewhat kinder, but just as firm.

"Your father's exact words, Mrs. Wheel?" Oh asked.

"I think so. Under control, that's what he said. But he didn't mean anything ominous by that. My father couldn't…"

"I was thinking about the 'some of us' part," said Oh. "Who are 'some'? What group would he put himself in?"

"My dad's a joiner. He's an Elk and a Kiwani, I think." Jane realized she didn't even know what those groups meant or signified. "He has a golf league that operates out of the EZ Way Inn. And he sponsors bowling teams," Jane said. "Is that what you mean?"

"Anything else? Did he have friends with whom he invested money? Did he own property with a group? Did your parents travel?" Oh asked.

"Why? I mean they didn't, but why would that matter?" Jane asked.

"Perhaps they were in a group and witnessed a crime; perhaps one person in the group made a mistake, and all agreed to keep the secret?" Oh said. "I'm just throwing these out and seeing if anything sticks, as my colleagues used to say."

Jane had hesitated then. Oh had heard her breathe in sharply, but knew the breath was not coming out as quickly. She had remembered something. She had an idea.

"Yes, Mrs. Wheel?"

Then Oh had heard a sound that was one of the several banes of this modern existence. A click had sounded, meaning Mrs. Wheel had another call. She had asked him to hold, had come back on the line and begged him to forgive her, but she had to take it. Now he had to wait until she called back. He had to think about her little breathing noise and sit here and drink his tea, and most disturbing of all, he had to read his student's paper.

* * *

Jane hadn't wanted to cut off Detective Oh, especially since she had just remembered the conversation with her mother at the EZ Way as they looked at the Shangri-La stuff together. Nellie, who never reflected, never waxed nostalgic, never romanticized had been lost in the past as they sat at the bar together. A lot of people had been hurt, she had said. Some of their friends. What did she say had hurt them? But she felt she had to take this call.

"Mary, how are you?"

"I've been better, doll," Mary said. "The girls gave me your number. Hope you don't mind me calling you during work."

Jane smiled. A business card with your cell phone number on it did wonders for your career. People assumed you had an office, an income, a professional life.

Jane assured her that she wasn't interrupting a thing. Mary told her that she had talked to her granddaughter, and Susie would be interested in the photographs if Jane wouldn't mind. They'd be happy to reimburse her, give her whatever she had paid the house sale team.

"I couldn't begin to tell you what they cost. They were just part of the room, so don't worry about money," Jane said. "I'm delighted to know that they'll be where they belong."

"Part of the room?"

"I bought everything in the room where the Shangri-La stuff was boxed up. All the barware and ashtrays and cards and euchre boards and cribbage boards and…"

"The whole room?" Mary asked, interrupting Jane's inventory.

"Yes."

There was silence on Mary's end, and Jane debated with herself. Now was the time to bring up Bateman's finger. Mary was thinking hard. The silence was what thinking sounded like. Was she remembering that Bateman had left his finger in a jar, and Mary had packed it away in a box with the Shangri-La glassware?

"How about the other rooms? Did you buy them, too?" Mary asked, sounding more amused than concerned.

"No, I picked up a few things here and there, but when I saw the tavern stuff, I forgot about the rest of the house."

"Why?"

Jane had been waiting for that question. If Mary asked her directly, she knew she could tell her about the EZ Way Inn. As long as it wasn't Jane who brought it up— that she was the daughter of tavern owners— she could talk about it. She had been afraid, she realized, because Mary had lost her own daughter; and Jane would be a glaring reminder that while someone you loved died, someone else lived. She wanted to be friends with Mary, she wanted Mary to like her, not think of her as just another one of the scavengers who descended on a dead guy's stuff like flies on a dead guy. Jane wasn't sure why it made her more of a vulture to be a tavern owner's daughter, but somehow it did.

"My parents own a place called the EZ Way Inn…" Jane began, then heard a click. She had another call, and she had always promised Nick that she'd pick up. No matter what. No matter if she was in the middle of a tug of war over a box of vintage linens, hand embroidered, signed and dated, even if she'd lose a box of canning jars that had one rare amber-tinted quarter pint under a sea of the ordinary green full pints. No matter what, she had promised her son, she would always answer the call-waiting. "Can you hang on a minute, Mary? I'll be right back."

"Jane, it's an emergency, can you meet me at the shanties? We've got a doozy on our hands," Tim said, sounding high as a kite. Gus must have a boatload of good stuff under the garbage.

"Hang on, I'll be right back," Jane said, clicking back to Mary, but she heard only silence. She had either disconnected her, or Mary had hung up.

"Tim, I have to make a few calls before I…" Jane said. She could hear Tim singing when she came back on the line. She had to remind him not to make fun of her giddiness over a good sale. He was obviously over the moon.

"What is it, Tim?" Jane asked.

"Honey, I'm not sure I should care, but we have the whole history of Kankakee here. Newspapers and junk, but mostly photographs. You wouldn't believe. Group photos in big old wood frames, you know the kind you love. I'm guessing Gus bought a building that had a photographer's studio in it or something. And we got your Bakelite, baby. Boxes of unopened button cards, jewelry, drawer pulls, the works. Looks like the inventory from a dime store, circa1932. Right up your alley. This is the most unbelievable stash. I feel like Ali fucking Baba and I just open-sesameed the cave."

Jane felt her heart race, her pulse pound, her hackles raise, her flesh creep, and all the other cliched but true visceral reactions to Tim's news. He— and she— because he was letting her in— had struck gold. They would be the first ones to see it all, to catalogue it, to price it, to sell it. Or to buy it? Could she do that? Or did the T & T Sales policy prevent her from buying the objects she was supposed to sell?

"Do I get first dibs, Timmy?"

"We'll cross that ethic when we come to it. Listen to this. I opened this wooden crate that was nailed shut and…"

The phone clicked. Yes, she had said to Nick, even if I am reaching for a red, carved Bakelite bracelet, two inches wide, and if answering the phone means one of the damned book guys gets it instead, she had promised Nick, even then, I will answer my call-waiting.

"Hang on, Tim," said Jane. "Hello?"

"Yeah?"

"You called
me,
Mom. You're supposed to say hello," said Jane.

"Yeah, hello. Are you driving? Because I don't want you in a car and on the phone," said Nellie.

"No, I'm not driving but I'm on the other line," said Jane. "Hang on."

"Pull over," said Nellie.

"I'm not driving. Hang on a minute," said Jane. "Tim, it's my mother. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Where are you?" asked Tim.

"Parking lot of the Jewel. I stopped for some orange juice and decided to call Oh from here."

"From the Jewel parking lot?" asked Tim, confused.

"Instead of from my parents' house," said Jane.

"Oh, yeah, I get it," said Tim. "Detective talk. Private."

Jane clicked back to her mother who was talking to someone else, yelling at someone.

"Mom, I'm back. Quit yelling at Dad," said Jane.

"Dad's not here. Get off the lawn, you kids. There's a park down the block. Play ball there."

"Mom, Halloween's coming up. You're going to get your windows soaped," Jane warned.

"Yeah, let 'em try something like that. They got no business being in other people's…"

"What did you call about, Mom?"

"Your brother called," said Nellie.

"Okay," said Jane.

"From California."

"Mom, speak up, there are cars next to me and I can't hear," said Jane.

"Stop driving. I'm hanging up," said Nellie.

"I'm parked in a parking lot!" Jane screamed. "There are cars around me. Moving cars. What did Michael say?"

"He's coming home for Thanksgiving."

"Okay," said Jane. "That's good."

"So I didn't want you making any other plans."

"Mom, I'm five minutes away at the Jewel," said Jane. "And it's September. Who would I make Thanksgiving plans with? The produce man?"

"I told Michael I'd make sure… What's that noise?"

"I've got another call," Jane said, grateful for the first time that call-waiting had been invented.

"Janie, I've been thinking about this whole blackmail thing," Don said.

"Hang on, Dad, let me get off my other call," Jane said. "Mom, I'll call you back."

"… because I can't lift the damn pan," her mother was saying, and Jane realized her mother had been talking the whole time she had been answering the other call.

"I'll call you back," Jane yelled into the phone.

"… don't know who I'm paying, and I didn't like that brick business," her father was saying. Don hadn't stopped talking either while she was finishing up with Nellie.

"Dad, wait. I didn't hear the first part. Will you tell… goddamn it," she screamed as she heard another click. "Daddy, I have another call and I have to get it because Nick made me promise…"

"Jane?" It was Ollie. "I'm so sorry to bother you during work."

"No problem at all, Ollie," Jane said, pleased that Ollie imagined her sitting behind a big desk instead of hunched over the steering wheel, trying to open a carton of orange juice.

"Mary called me and asked if I'd drive her to your office to pick up the photographs, and I realized your card didn't have an address on it," Ollie said.

"This is my cell phone. I work out of my car a lot," Jane said.

"Out of your car?" Ollie asked.

"On the road, you know, visiting clients and all. I'm in Kankakee right now, working on that Flea Market Show House I told you about," Jane said.

"That's in Kankakee?"

"Yes, where I'm from. Where I grew up," Jane said. "Didn't I tell you about doing the house?"

"I don't believe you mentioned Kankakee."

"Do you know it?"

"Oh, yes. We've bowled there and visited and all. Used to play ball there. Sure, Mary's got…"

Call-waiting clicked, and Jane banged her head on the steering wheel.

"Please hang on, Ollie, I'll be right back on the line," said Jane, nearly weeping.

"Hello, Jane, Tim gave me your number. This is Lilly."

Jane asked Lilly to hang on but felt certain that Ollie wouldn't be there when she went back to her. She wasn't.

"Yes, Lilly?" Jane said.

"My brother, Bobby, said maybe we should talk to you. He heard from his friend at the police department that you went back to Duncan's and met with Munson," Lilly said, "that Munson was going back over the place."

"Yes?" Jane was going to tell her that Munson still didn't think anyone murdered Gus, but she stopped herself. She had learned from Oh that if you don't say anything, someone will try to fill in the silence. She was trying hard not to be the someone.