Murder Came Second (20 page)

On the porch across the way, I heard a male voice say, “Aw, Terese, see how mean you were. That nice boy looks like he might cry.” A chorus of laughter went up.

Terese answered with a snort. “Smarmy little bastard!” More laughter.

Cartell continued, “Yet this reporter learned that she invited you to her hotel for drinks and dinner. And when you refused, she let it be known that your refusal was because you are gay.”

“Yeah, I heard that, too.”

Cartell leaned closer to Sonny. “Is that true? My information indicates you are not gay. Did the accusation insult you?”

“No, Ray, to both questions. I’m not gay, but I certainly wasn’t insulted that she assumed I was gay. In fact, I imagine quite a few men have pretended to be gay upon receiving that particular invitation.” Sonny gave that Peres smile again, and once again the camera faded for commercials.

It took a second for Sonny’s reply to sink in. Then the four of us looked at each other and roared. A similar burst of sound went up across the way. In the midst of it Terese jumped up, overturning her chair with a loud crack.

“I’ll have his balls for this!” she screamed.

“No, honey,” Ophelia replied. “You already tried that.”

More shrieks of laughter followed her into the house. And I thought I heard another screen door bite the dust on her exit.

Cartell was back, speaking with the Town Manager and various merchants and innkeepers, but none of us were listening.

Cindy and Lainey were freshening drinks. Cassie and I were still wiping our eyes.

Lainey patted the TV as if Sonny were somewhere inside. “Absolutely brilliant! If I weren’t gay, I think I’d marry him.”

“Not if you’re smart,” I answered. “He’s a great friend, a wonderful brother, a lousy husband.”

“Anyway.” Cindy grinned as she handed me a glass. “He may be leaving us shortly for New York and stardom. We’ve got Judge Judy and Doctor Phil. How about Lieutenant Sonny?”

Chapter 17

Tuesday morning found Provincetown basking in the bright glow of Sonny’s reflected glory. Mom and Aunt Mae were on the phone early. Other friends were close behind. Cindy left for work saying, “I feel I should be wearing a big ‘I Love Sonny’ button.”

I smiled and laughed and agreed with everyone I spoke with. Finally, I let the phone answer itself and went into my office to mat some additional photos to take over to Tellman’s Gallery, near the lighthouse up in Truro. As I worked, my grin faded, and I became less certain how Terese would react to Sonny’s humorous, but sharply cutting, put-down.

Frankly, I was concerned about what she might do. I didn’t think Terese would be swayed by a phone call from Ted Kennedy suggesting veiled repercussions, any more than one from Billy Graham asking for a little Christian mercy. I had no idea of Terese’s background, but I was pretty sure she didn’t get where she was by crying herself to sleep and then giving in to anyone. I had the feeling this next article in the A-List might be smoking.

I would be willing to bet that by noon today, Terese would know all about Sonny’s two divorces, his two kids, his gay sister, his father’s bizarre death and his mother’s . . . well . . .
dating
Noel. Her nasty little shovel might even dig up the fact that sweet Aunt Mae once went out with a man who later became a killer. And I would bet it would all be in the next edition of the
A-List
.

Furthermore, if she and her research people could gather any factual evidence about Elaine and Bobby’s background, that would make the cover headline. Not to mention, the six o’clock network news with a nice exclusive for Terese on a show like
Jerry Springer
or
Geraldo
. Elaine and Bobby would then both have good reason to go off the deep end, but dear Terese would have been telling only the truth, which, of course, would make it all perfectly okay.

I wondered what Elaine thought Hamlet might do if the whole sordid story came out. All the sympathy that would go out to him for his childhood experience would be negated by the lies he had fabricated as an adult. Did she think he would get violent? Collapse? Go off and nurse his depression? I rather opted for the last. Hamlet might yell and scream and stamp his foot, but I didn’t foresee much more.

Finally, the photos were done. I showered and dressed, and Fargo and I took off. He looked disappointed when we didn’t turn for Race Point, but I explained, “We are going to break the law, angel dog, and so we must be very careful. After we drop some photos off at Tellman’s we are going to sneak into The Beeches the back way and have a little run.” He grinned and let his tongue hang out just a little.

When we reached Tellman’s I tied him to a statue of Eros in the front yard. As I went through the door, I called back. “Don’t bite’em off.”

He gave me a dirty look as if to say, “Why not? Somebody bit mine off!” I laughed and went in, to be deluged with more talk of actors and reporters and Sonny and how handsome he looked on TV. Maybe Cindy was right. A new career might await him.

At last we drove slowly down an unpaved back road into the far reaches of the hiking area of The Beeches. “Now,” I said, “You have to be very quiet and not bark. When I blow your whistle you have to come at once. I mean at once, and then we scarper. Got it?” He looked at me with totally intelligent eyes. I would swear he knew exactly what I had said.

I quietly released the dog with a whispered, “No bark!” I sauntered innocently along the trail down which Fargo had already disappeared and settled onto a bench under a beech tree with leaves that would soon lose their dusty green patina and turn to copper, like a giant Christmas tree hung with newly minted pennies.

I would have been happy to enter by the main gate and pay the fee, but I knew this time of year, Fargo was
canis non gratis.

I heard a couple of distant barks, but figured they were too far away to be heard back at the entrance. I had a passing worry that he had met up with the alligator along the edge of the large pond, but discarded that quickly. If the gator hadn’t shown up by now, he was probably in downtown Bangor.

I had a cigarette, probably number two, then carefully put it out, field-stripped it and put the filter in my pocket. Then I stood and gave a mighty blow into the silent whistle. A couple of minutes later Fargo appeared, tongue lolling. I grabbed his collar before he could dash off again, and we jogged to the car. We drove away, not having seen another soul, our crime du jour successfully complete.

Heading back to town, I realized I was very jumpy, even after my little adventure with Fargo. I don’t know why this Terese thing was bothering me so much. Sonny was a big boy. If he wanted to bait her, that was up to him. Anything she spread about our family wouldn’t be all that bad, and nobody in town would give a hoot. They all knew it anyway. As for the rest of the world, I’m sure it could care less about the little peccadilloes of the Peres family.

As far as Elaine was concerned, I felt great sympathy for her, but there wasn’t anything I could do. I sincerely did not think my trying to talk to Terese would accomplish a single thing except to make matters worse. My connection to Sonny alone would be enough to make her hate me. And, frankly, I planned to stay as far from her as possible.

I didn’t feel like going home. I didn’t want to hear all the love songs to Sonny being sung at the Wharf Rat. The cottage would be lonely without Cindy. What to do to get out of this mood?

Suddenly I remembered I promised my mother I’d move some iris from the front yard to the back for her. I’d do that now. Maybe doing something physical and sweaty would calm me down. I made the turn onto her street.

In the driveway, I let Fargo out, and he ran immediately for the picnic table in the backyard—where sat Mom and Noel, drinking iced coffee. Jeez! This guy was turning into the old bad penny!

“Hello, darling!”

“Hi, Mom, Noel.” I gave Mom a kiss on the cheek and Noel a nod. “Well, madam, your gardener is here. Tell me what you want done with the iris, and I’ll punch in on the time clock.”

Mom gave a little grimace and pointed to the back fence, along which now ran a neat little line of iris plants. “Darling, you are so sweet to remember! But Noel was here . . . and I mentioned them . . . and, well, he did it. But I thank you a thousand times, anyway.”

“Oh, okay, just so it’s done.” I gave Noel a look that probably wasn’t terribly friendly.

“I’m sorry, Alex, I didn’t mean to do your job for you. Let me confess, I have absolutely nothing to do until tonight, when we have a run-through for lighting cues, and I am jumpy as a cricket. When Jeanne mentioned the iris, I practically ran for the garden fork, just to have something physical to do. I hope you’ll forgive me.” He sipped his coffee and looked penitent.

I laughed. “Well, I can hardly be irritated, considering that explanation. It’s why I’m here, too. I ran out of things to do and was about to jump out of my skin, when I remembered the iris. Gee, Mom, you want a well dug, or something? You’ve got two eager workers here.”

“You wouldn’t like to clean out the basement, would you?”

“No,” we chorused.

“Look, I’ve got a better idea.” Noel smiled. “Why don’t I take you two ladies to the Rat for lunch? We will speak only of pleasant things, and a glass of wine will steady our nerves. Okay?”

“Sounds good to me,” I said. “Are things that bad back at the ranch?”

“Please.” Noel groaned. “Nick is in the garage with the door closed. I can’t imagine how he’s breathing. Ophelia is on the front porch guarding her dill plant and talking to it. Hamlet is in his room pacing, and moaning from time to time. Elaine keeps going to Terese’s door and saying, ‘May I please come in, Terese? I need to speak with you.’ Terese doesn’t answer. Elaine goes away and comes back ten minutes later with the same request. Terese has had the phone tied up all morning, between talking and using her noisy little fax. It’s been lovely.”

Mother put her arm through his. “No wonder digging up iris sounded like such fun. You poor thing! Of course we’ll go and have some lunch.”

I put Fargo in the house with his bowl of water and a biscuit, and left him looking totally outraged. How quickly he forgot his run through the beeches. With Fargo it was, “So what have you done for me lately?”

The three of us strolled the couple of hundred yards to the Wharf Rat and walked into a wall of noise. The Blues Brothers were gathered at the front table and had obviously been there for some time. As I entered, Harmon bellowed at me full blast, “Hi, there, Alex. See that boy over there? Now ain’t he somethin’? I reckon he fixed that carrot-topped you know what, didn’t he?”

“I reckon he did, Harmon, indeed.” When I recovered from the beer fumes I looked over and saw my brother, sitting alone at a table for four. I turned to Mom and pointed. She nodded and we went to his table.

“Hello,” I said. “May we join you, or are you waiting for your agent?”

“Mom and Noel are welcome. I assume you can find a place at the bar.”

“Now quit it, you two, or Noel and I will find a place at the bar.” She turned to Noel. “I went through eighteen years of this. I’m not going to ruin my lunch with more of it. Now, can you two behave?”

“Yes, Mommy Dearest,” Sonny lisped.

“Yes,” I replied, cowering. “Please just don’t beat us with the coat hangers.”

“Oh, God.” Mom sat down and picked up a menu.

“Reminds me of my two,” Noel said. “They’re just not quite old enough to have any subtlety yet.”

“You call this subtlety?” Mom stared Sonny and me down, and said sweetly to Noel, “Now about that wine . . .”

Lunch really was enjoyable, except for the parade of people coming by to congratulate Sonny on shooting down Terese Segal. If he, and we, had accepted all the offered drinks, we’d have been face down for a week.

Despite his statement that we should speak only of pleasant things, Noel at one point did tell us what worried him personally about Terese’s next article.