The Goodbye Body (25 page)

“Since we don’t know what name she’s using, it’s a bit tricky. She hasn’t called again, has she?”

“I would have mentioned it,” I said mildly, resisting the urge to pelt him with a mushroom or two. “Do you want onions and sun-dried tomatoes in the omelet, or just cheese, mushrooms, and a few herbs?” I began to open more cabinets. “If I can find the herbs, that is. How do you feel about anchovies?”

Peter glanced up at me. “Scrambled eggs, toast, and pro-sciutto masquerading as bacon will be fine. Did you get any sleep?”

“More than you did, obviously. Did you stand guard outside the morgue all night?”

“Lieutenants don’t have to do that sort of thing. We stayed at the scene most of the night, looking for the weapon, the car keys, and her purse. I went back to the department, did the paperwork, made all the calls I mentioned, and came here. I feel as though I waded in that damn pond with a rake, but lieutenants don’t do that, either. Do I smell dreadful?”

I quit pretending I was Julia Child and went over to wrap my arms around his neck. “Yes, you do. Why don’t you sneak upstairs and take a quick shower? I can’t offer any clean clothes, though.” I hesitated for a moment. “And if Caron should come out into the hall and catch you, you’re on your own.”

“We wouldn’t have this problem if we were married.”

“The prosciutto’s sizzling,” I said. “You’d better hurry.”

After Peter had gone upstairs, I pondered his comment for a minute, then took my coffee cup and went into the dining room. The snapdragons were not snapping, nor the birds-of-paradise flapping. I needed to tell him about Cal, but it could wait until he ate breakfast. His initial response would be predictable, but for once I could state in all innocence that there’d been nothing to connect the flowers with the murders until I’d called the florist shop—and the phone number Cal had given me. And why had he given me that particular number? If he’d been aware of Petti’s comings and goings, he must have known that sooner or later the Fritz Motel was bound to come into the picture. Had Dolly not made the telltale call, the police would have shown their grisly photos and made inquiries at all the local motels. They might have started at the higher end of the spectrum (there were very few), but eventually would have worked their way down to less glamorous establishments, where shakers of flea powder were kept in the bathroom for the convenience of the guests.

When Peter came back into the kitchen, rumpled but less redolent, I allowed him to finish eating before I said, “I have an idea.”

“But you didn’t leave me a note and drive away to look into it by yourself? You must have a concussion, after all.”

I politely overlooked his remark. “You have photos of Petti, both mug shots and those taken at the morgue. What’s occurred to me is that you can also have a photo of Bibi and Dolly lifted from the videotape of the tango competition. It’s more than ten years old, so Bibi might have had a few more liver spots and a little less hair when he died. It shouldn’t be a problem, though.”

Peter lifted his eyebrows. “Well, it’s good to know I can make a scrapbook after this is resolved. Maybe I’ll use the one of you that was in the newspaper, along with the crime scene shots.”

“What you can do with the photo of Bibi and Dolly,” I said, “is send it to the police department in Brooklyn. If they were friends of Petti, then someone in his neighborhood might recognize them. Santini or Hayes—I don’t remember which one—said they had an old house. It could have been next door to Petti’s, or in the same block. At least you’d have their real names.”

“Where’s the tape?”

“I’ll get it,” I said, struggling not to sound too smug as I imagined three grumpy old men (aka the mayor, the prosecuting attorney, and the police chief) finding themselves in the most uncomfortable position of having to thank me for breaking the case. I went into the den and knelt down to look for the videotape on the bottom shelf. It was not tucked behind the how-to-tango cassettes, which were, in fact, on the coffee table amid some exercise cassettes. I finally found it on top of the VCR and took it back to the kitchen. “You’ve got the photo of Dolly from the social page. No one was exchanging partners, so you shouldn’t have any trouble recognizing the two of them. He’s the one in the tux.”

Peter failed to express his gratitude. “We need to have a serious discussion about your safety. You keep insisting that this has nothing to do with you, but clearly someone thinks otherwise. Petti Mordella may not have been killed here, but there’s obviously some connection. Madison and Sara Louise showed up shortly afterwards. Now one of them is missing and the other’s been killed. We know the three of them are associated with the Velocchio family, and they came looking for Dolly Goforth. I think we can rightly assume they did so because of the impending grand jury investigation. For all we know, the two girls came with the intention of killing her.”

“But she’s long gone, and I’ve made it clear numerous times that I have no idea how to get in touch with her,” I said. “I suppose they may have thought that she’d call and give me an address, which I would mindlessly share with everyone who asked. And pretty much everyone has asked, with the exception of the yardman and the tyrannical cleaning service. I feel as if I should paint a banner proclaiming my ignorance and nail it across the front of the house. Well, maybe not ignorance. Lack of specific knowledge.”

“I don’t think the three of you should stay here,” he said flatly.

“Do you think Sergeant Jorgeson or Corporal McTeer will fool Dolly when she calls? She does keep calling me, as you must have noticed. I don’t know why, but it’s not just to express sympathy. If Richard Hayes and Christopher Santini wanted to talk to you, they would have. You can track them down eventually, but neither of them is likely to enlighten you. Even if you can get past their housekeepers, receptionists, secretaries, personal assistants, and so forth, all you’ll hear is how Madison and Sara Louise came down to surprise Dolly. Santini will probably make arrangements for Sara Louise from his own corner office with its view of the East River. As long as they continue to underestimate me, they may say something indiscreet.”

“Your safety is my first priority.”

I told him what Caron and Inez had said, and we discussed it over another round of coffee. He finally agreed to station someone outside the house for at least the next twenty-four hours. After he’d taken the videotape and left, I put the dishes in the sink and rinsed out the coffeepot.

It was hard not to notice how badly my hands were shaking.

I was flipping through the channels on the TV set in the den, looking for something more stimulating than cartoons but less stupefying than pundits discoursing on free-trade policies, when the telephone rang. I pushed what I hoped was the button to record the call, then picked up the receiver and murmured my name.

“Oh, thank goodness,” said Dolly. “I was so afraid you and the girls might have moved to a hotel. I wouldn’t have blamed you one bit. First that man in the freezer, and now Sara Louise. I am so appalled with myself for putting you in this horrible situation! Is it an absolute media circus in front of the house?”

“Just a patrol car for now, but elephants may come tromp-ing up the hill any minute. How do you know about Sara Louise?”

“Well,” she said, “I called Jan Burfield to remind her to pick up the brochures for the children’s art show reception next week, and she was beside herself. She’d heard that my car was found last night at the country club and that a young woman’s body had been discovered in it, apparently murdered. She called her nephew, who’s a resident at the hospital, and he told her they identified—”

“Sara Louise Santini,” I said coldly. “One of Bibi’s beloved nieces, except from what I’ve been told, not related. He was an old family friend, the family being the Velocchios of New York City.”

“Velocchios?”

“Let’s not play any more games, Dolly. Where are you? What’s going on? Should Caron, Inez, and I be hunkered down in the Fritz Motel, expecting machine-gun fire to erupt in the parking lot?”

“Anything else?”

I took the receiver into the kitchen and sat down on a stool. “Why don’t you stop asking questions and offer a few answers? Let’s start with why Petti Mordella came to Farberville. Did he come here to tell you about the grand jury subpoenas? Is that why you left so abruptly?”

“You seem to know quite a bit about all this.”

“Then why don’t you fill me in on the rest of it? Dolly Goforth is not your real name, and Bibi didn’t die in Illinois last year. You and he lived in New York, right? Did he work for the Velocchio family?”

“I’d like to tell you everything,” she said with a sigh, “but the line’s surely tapped. You’re correct in saying that Dolly Goforth is not my real name and that Bibi and I lived in New York. After he died, I wanted to start a new life, to go forth, if you will, and Farberville sounded ideal. Rather than making a commitment, I leased the house to make sure I liked the town and the people. When I found out that certain, ah, acquaintances from the past had located me, it seemed wise to leave town for a short while. I assumed the aforementioned acquaintances would return to New York.”

I tried to hide my irritation. “If you’d wanted to make it known you were gone, all you had to do was close the house and let the newspapers accumulate in the driveway. Instead, you invited us to stay here, and offered your car to Caron.”

“I thought it might be prudent to allow myself an extra day or two before they realized I was gone. You have to believe me when I say that I truly thought that would be the end of it. I realized you might be asked a few questions about my whereabouts, but that was all.”

“Unless your acquaintances decide to chop off my fingers one by one until I blurt out the pertinent information,” I said. “Or harm Caron, or burn down my bookstore. Did that occur to you?”

“That’s a bit melodramatic, Claire. Have you been watching those old gangster movies?”

“I’ve been too busy watching my back, as well as finding bodies in the freezer and wondering who might be hiding in the backyard. We have twenty-four-hour police protection now, but it’s about five days late. Did Petti Mordella come to Farberville to warn you about these acquaintances? Did he tell you that Sara Louise and Madison were on their way here?”

After a moment of silence, she said, “He didn’t know anything about the two girls, and neither did I. There are some other people involved. I suppose you already know that—and I can assure you that they’re not the sort to chop off fingers or leave a horse’s head on your pillow. Most of them, anyway.”

“Most of them?” I said. “Is that what you said?”

“It was a joke. In any case, this will all be over with soon. My lease is good for another month, and you’re welcome to stay in the house. Perhaps you can persuade your landlord to do more remodeling. If he’s agreed to put in tile countertops, he might consider doing the floor as well.”

If she’d been within reach, I would have grabbed her shoulders and shaken the truth out of her. She wasn’t, however, and I needed to get as much as I could from her before she terminated the call. “Let’s talk about the Velocchio family,” I suggested brightly, as if I hadn’t been gnawing my knuckles since my conversation with Peter. “Why are they so determined to find you? You aren’t subpoenaed to testify next week. Bibi would have been, I guess, but that’s irrelevant now. Are they afraid you have damning information about their illegal operations?”

“They know I don’t. What Bibi did was incredibly complicated. He used to describe it as juggling handfuls of sand on a beach, and keeping track of each grain. Only people with extensive training and a special aptitude for numbers could begin to understand what he did all day. He was a different person away from his office. He loved to cook elaborate meals and have dinner parties. Sometimes we’d take off for a weekend and find a country inn, where we could browse in antique shops or have a picnic. You’ve already heard how much we loved ballroom dancing, especially the tango. Bibi used to say it made his Latin blood simmer as if he were a teenager.”

“It must have been very romantic,” I said, “but I need to know about the Velocchio family. Exactly who are these other acquaintances in town and why are they so anxious to find you? Two people have been murdered, Dolly. We can talk about country inns and the tango another time. This line is not tapped; a specialist from the police department made sure of it only yesterday.”

Dolly made a small noise under her breath. “The technol ogy these days may be too sophisticated for a local police in vestigator. And it’s not just the Velocchios who are involved “

“What are you talking about?” I demanded.

“I can’t say any more. There is someone there who can explain better than I, but if I give you his name, I’ll be putting him in danger.”

“So you’re putting Caron, Inez, and me in danger instead?”

“You’re not in danger as long as you don’t know anything, so let’s change the subject. Has anything come in the mail for me?”

“More invitations, flyers, a few bills,” I said. “I gather you’re not planning to return to Farberville. Shall I cancel your dentist appointment?”

“Oh, Claire, I know you must feel very bitter toward me. I’ve admitted that I used you and the girls as a distraction, and for that I’m terribly sorry. I never dreamed it would get so far out of hand. I’d come home and try to intervene, but it really would make things much worse than you could imagine. I’ll call again when I have a chance.”

She hung up. I put down the receiver and sorted through what she’d admitted—and what she hadn’t denied. She’d managed to avoid telling me Bibi’s last name, but Peter would eventually find out from the Brooklyn detectives, Richard Hayes, or Christopher Santini. He’d been an accountant for the Velocchio family, so the FBI ought to have a file on him. And it seemed to me, a mere civilian unversed in the intricacies of the judicial system, that the FBI would have to become involved if Petti had been among those subpoenaed. Intimidating a federal witness was a felony of some class or another, and putting a bullet in his head was among the more extreme forms of intimidation.

Dolly had said there was someone who could explain better than she what was going on, but then refused to identify him. Assuming she had used the pronoun in a gender-specific sense, rather than the awkward
he/she,
she’d referred to a male who was currently in Farberville. Who might be dying to explain, but not willing to die in order to explain.

I realized the black box was still whirring, and went to the hall and punched buttons until the green light went off. Feeling virtuous, I called the PD and asked to speak to Peter. He was out of the office, I was told, so I asked for Jorgeson. He was minimally impressed that I’d figured out how to record the conversation with Dolly, but said he’d send someone to fetch the tape.

“Let me ask you something,” I said before he could hang up. “Dolly assumed the line is tapped. The detective who hooked up the box said it isn’t. Could he be wrong?”

Jorgeson thought about it for a moment. “I don’t want to alarm you, Ms. Malloy, but yes, he could be wrong. His detection devices are fairly new; I think the department purchased them last fall. Thing is, once they hit the market, they’re obsolete. The intelligence agencies have teams of scientists dedicated solely to coming up with new ways to thwart the current technology, with the focus these days on computers. The other side counters with its experts in the field. Someone in a house across the street from you can track your every step with heat and motion sensors, and listen to every word uttered in your house. That’s not to say you should get all paranoid. The toys I’ve been talking about are expensive, and usually reserved for big-time espionage cases. If we need to maintain surveillance on a residence we suspect of, say, significant drug deals, we use binoculars and a telescope, and try to get into the house under an innocent pretext to plant some bugs.”

“Have you interviewed the people in the nearby houses?” I asked in what might have been a somewhat shrill voice.

“Yes, Ms. Malloy, and they’re all respectable, longtime neighborhood residents. Not a mobster among them.”

“Would the Velocchio family have these expensive toys?”

“I wouldn’t think so. Mobsters are more sophisticated than they used to be back when money was stuffed in suitcases and buried under rosebushes. Nowadays, the money’s laundered through a maze of legitimate operations and ultimately tucked away in foreign countries with lax banking regulations and a disregard for extradition agreements. But at the same time, they still rely on the old-fashioned way of silencing those who break the code of honor or imperil their source of income. They’ve got their CPAs—and they’ve got their hitmen.”

I was not comforted by his last remark. “So Petti Mordella and Sara Louise were victims of a professional hitman?”

“That’s what we’d like to know,” Jorgeson said. “I’ll send someone to get the tape shortly. The lieutenant went home to grab a couple of hours of sleep. He’ll probably want to talk to you later today. You and the girls okay about staying there?”

“Why, Jorgeson, I didn’t know you cared. I’m touched.”

“If it weren’t for you, Ms. Malloy, I’d retire and take up catfish farming. Somehow or another, whenever you’re involved, the case is never cut-and-dried. It’s like a pile of spaghetti that has to be unraveled one strand at a time.”

“I am flattered to hear that, and honored that I alone stand between your career in the department and the specter of you planting catfish in tidy rows.”

“Goodbye, Ms. Malloy.”

“Have a nice day, Sergeant Jorgeson.”

Caron and Inez came into the kitchen. Both looked tired, which was not surprising since they’d started watching a movie when I’d toddled off to bed. For all I knew, they’d lasted through a sequel or two. Sequels were not a factor with the old gangster movies, since all the bad guys were dead when the final credits rolled.

“Do they know who killed Sara Louise?” asked Caron as she took a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator.

“I’m glad to see you’re not overwhelmed by the proximity of death.”

“I’d be overwhelmed by the proximity of a cement mixer bearing down on me,” she said. “As for death, well, I
have
had a tumultuous adolescence thus far.” She sat down across from me and gazed out the window. “But an interesting one. I can hardly wait to fill out the section on the college applications where they ask about extracurricular activities.”

Inez brought over toast and jam. “Were there any other witnesses last night?”

“Only the young woman who discovered the body,” I said, “and that happened a couple of hours later. I’m sure there are detectives at the country club now, interviewing everyone who works there or was in the clubhouse.”

“Or rents a condo, like those weird people,” Caron said, more interested in selecting the perfect jam than psychological profiling.

I was not in the mood to be judgmental. “They’re just busybodies. He wants to look at retirement properties, and she wants to meddle. She seems to think her life’s work will be done if I fall madly in love with the man who’s in the condo next to theirs.”

“Why?” mumbled Inez through a mouthful of toast.

“I have no idea. He’s the one who dropped by yesterday afternoon for a few minutes.”

“And rescued you from that smelly old hippie at the bookstore?” said Caron, smirking. “He’s not bad looking— the guy, not the hippie—but isn’t he a little young for you?”

I smiled sweetly at her. “I thought you’d be delighted with a stepfather who can escort you to the prom.”