Murder in the Hearse Degree (36 page)

“He’s nuts,” she said at last. “Hitch, he is just . . .” She trailed off and turned to the window.

Twenty minutes later I pulled up in front of Libby and Mike’s house.

“That’s his car,” Libby said. “He’s home.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go in with you?” I asked. Libby had asserted on the way down that she would prefer to speak with Mike on her own. I wasn’t thrilled with the idea.

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “If you come in with me it’s only bound to enflame him.”

“Libby, I have to remind you that we don’t know for certain whether Mike had something to do with Sophie’s death.”

“I’m aware of that.” She shoved the door to open it. “But I need to talk this out with him, Hitch. This is our
daughter
. You can’t be a part of this. Mike has some very serious explaining to do and I’m going to make him do it. He’s threatening our family. I won’t have it. If anyone is going to need protecting, it’s going to be Mike.”

I started to protest, but she stopped me.

“He’s not going to hurt me, Hitch. I can take care of myself, believe me.”

She scooted along the seat and planted a sharp kiss on my cheek, then she scooted back out of the car.

I sat behind the wheel and waited until she was inside the house. I waited an extra minute. No one came flying through the plate-glass windows. Of course Libby was right. This wasn’t my fight. I pushed the R button and backed out of the driveway.

When I reached the main road I pulled over and called my home phone. Neophyte that I am, I wasn’t sure how much juice was left on Paula’s phone. The connection seemed especially burbly. There was a message from Lee on my machine.

I drove into town and parked near the George Washington Inn. Faith wasn’t in. I was told that she had worked the brunch rush and was off for the rest of the day. Standing at the front door of the inn I spotted a bar across the street. There was nobody there who could tell me if anyone matching Pete’s description had been in the night before. I walked over to the Swan. The same bartender from the night before was there, but when I described Pete for him he said he couldn’t recall anyone fitting that description. I came back out onto the street, looked left and looked right . . . and went right, back where I’d come from. I continued on past the George Washington Inn and down to the end of Main Street to McGarvey’s, where I had talked with Tom Cushman the week before. I had better luck there. The bartender recognized my description of Pete.

“Oh, he was here all right,” the bartender said. “Must’ve been around midnight we threw him out.”

“And I’m sure you had good reason?”

“If you want to fight, I say take it outside.”

“Who was he fighting?”

“Pretty much anyone who got close to him,” the bartender said. “That dude was in one foul mood, let me tell you. He was putting them away. He almost took a piece out of me when I suggested he slow down a little.”

“So did he actually take a swing at anybody?” I asked.

“There’s a guy named Dave who comes in here,” the bartender said. “Dave’s a big guy. Close to three hundred pounds and most of it muscle. Your friend got on Dave’s case. I don’t know what it was about. It’s usually about nothing that makes sense if you’re sober. Your friend sure wasn’t sober. Unfortunately for him, neither was Dave.”

“What happened?”

“Your friend took it right in the face. I think Dave probably broke his nose for him. At the very least he rearranged it a little. Luckily there was a bunch here from the fire department and they hustled the both of them out onto the street. I couldn’t tell you what happened after that. I’m not too worried about Dave. Dave can take care of himself.”

I thanked him for the information and left the bar. At that point I wondered if I should be checking the hospitals but I decided there was no point. Even if Pete had steered himself toward a hospital he certainly wouldn’t still be there. I considered checking in at the police station. Maybe Munger had napped in the drunk tank overnight. But it was the same thing. Even if he had, they’d have booted him out by now. I can’t say that I exactly relished the idea of crossing his path. This was the second time in a week that I had brought him down to Annapolis and abandoned him. The first time at least he had ended up smooching with Lee in the front seat of her car. But not this time . . . this time he had found a way to get his nose mangled by a minor giant. I’ve seen Pete when he enters into his ultra-surly phase. It was my guess that wherever he was, he wasn’t sitting around thinking kind thoughts about his good buddy Hitch. He probably wanted my head on a platter.

I headed back up the street. It was noticeably colder. A wicked wind had kicked up, coming off the water and shooting directly up Main Street. I was still in my funeral suit and was wearing my long coat, but the wind didn’t really have a whole lot of respect for my thin gabardine. I popped into a gift shop halfway up Main Street and bought a Navy baseball cap and a blue scarf that reached nearly to my toes.

I continued up the street and found my car. Atop the trees a few blocks off, the deep blue dome of the Naval Academy chapel rose up against the lighter blue sky. I thought, If only Sophie had never met midshipman Bradley Hansen. . .I didn’t bother to finish the thought. Ultimately, these are so pointless, these speculations. I used to spend a lot more of my energy than I do now seeking after the elusive starting point of events. The fact is it can’t be done. Had everything really started down its inevitable path as a result of Sophie Potts sleeping with Bradley Hansen? To some extent, yes. Without her having gotten pregnant Sophie would not have been steered toward the Larues. But then without Cindy’s having quit her job as the Gellmans’ nanny in the first place, Sophie would never have even entered the scene. And Cindy told me that she had quit as a result of the tension after she extorted the thousand dollars from Mike Gellman. The unnaturalness that Libby had sensed between the two had nothing whatsoever to do with them sleeping together. Cindy told me that she had not slept with Mike and I was perfectly willing to believe her. The tension came from the knowledge that Cindy had. But then
that
knowledge came from her overhearing Mike’s conversation with Owen Cutler. If anyone was responsible for the chain of events that had led to Sophie’s death, Owen Cutler was certainly as fine a candidate as anyone else.

I got into my car and drove the mile or so to Faith’s little house. Faith met me at the door wearing a blue smock and a pink smile.

“You look like something out of a fairy tale,” I told her.

She laughed. “Well, the big bad wolf is here. Come in.”

Faith had company. Her company was sitting at the kitchen table when Faith showed me in. Her company had a blue jaw from needing a shave and red eyes from needing a better sleep than the night had apparently provided. Her company also had a nose that looked like an overbaked mushroom. Her company was huddled over a steaming mug of coffee, and when I entered the kitchen he looked up at me with dark bleary eyes.

“Well, if it’s not handsome Pete,” I said. “What a teeny tiny world we live in.”

“Don’t start,” Pete said in a low growl.

His nose was larger on the left side than it was on the right. Either that or the entire thing had simply shifted a few centimeters off to the side.

“I heard about your encounter with a moose last night.”

Pete gingerly touched his nose. “I should pick on someone my own size.”

“How did you manage to wash up on these shores?” I asked.

Faith answered for him. “Pete showed up at the inn last night just about when I was getting off. He was asking for you. Loudly. He, um, didn’t look real great. Lee was still in the middle of a set. I suggested that maybe he shouldn’t go downstairs.”

“Sounds like a good call,” I said. “Pete, the broken-nose, blood-on-the-shirt look . . . women aren’t going for that anymore. It’s a whole new era.”

“I see you’ve got a new look yourself, hotshot,” Pete said.

I had forgotten about Cindy’s well-wrought signature on my head.

“The lady wore heels,” I said.

“Looks like she was walking in a funny place. Or was your head on the ground?”

“My head was where it’s supposed to be,” I said. “She reached.”

“You two seem to have trouble getting along with people,” Faith noted.

“I didn’t used to be this way,” I said to her. “I was once such a man of peace.”

“You’re a man of bullshit is what you are,” Pete said.

I asked Faith, “So how did you end up hosting the galoot anyway?”

“Jason and I—he’s one of my cooks—we got him out to my car. I was thinking of driving him up to Baltimore but I just decided to come on home.”

“He slept here?”

“I wish,” Pete said.

“He was passed out in the front seat by the time we got here,” Faith said. “I didn’t even want to try to wake him. And there was no way I could carry him in.”

“Him so heavy. You but a sprite.” I turned to Pete. “So you slept in the car? What a coincidence. I did the same thing last night.”

I glanced up at Faith’s wall clock. It was nearing four o’clock. “For Christ’s sake, so when did you finally get up?”

Pete took a slow gulp of coffee. “I got up around noon. Faith left me a note. The door was unlocked. I came in here and went right out on the couch.”

“I had to work this morning,” Faith said. “I just got back from the inn a few hours ago. Sleeping Beauty had finally stirred.”

“I thought he was the big bad wolf,” I said.

Faith shrugged. “That too.”

Faith made a fresh pot of coffee and I joined the party. I pulled up a seat across from Pete and told him that Lee had left me a message, that she was concerned about him.

“Do you want to tell me what happened between the two of you?” I asked.

Pete wagged his head. “Nope. I don’t.”

“Fair enough. It’s not really any of my business.”

Pete managed a chuckle. “Now you say that.”

Faith excused herself. “I have to make a call.” She left the kitchen. Munger lofted an eyebrow.

“She’s a good kid,” Pete said. “Does she know that you’re nothing but an opportunistic scoundrel?”

“You misjudge me.”

Pete smiled. “Well, if you hurt her I might just have to kill you.”

“Sounds like she certainly saved your sorry carcass.”

“She did. I barely even remember the end of the night, but I’m sure I was making an ass of myself. Good thing Lee didn’t have to see it.” He took up his coffee mug in both his hands. “So let’s hear it. I’m guessing from that knot on the side of your head that you located Cindy.”

“I did. She was up in Baltimore, sponging off the brother of her roommate.”

“I take it Miss Cindy did not want to be found.”

“Miss Cindy did not want to be found.” I told him the story. Faith came back into the kitchen about midway through. I told Pete about Jack Barton’s history of dalliance with Sugar Larue, about her abortions and then about her apparently carrying a baby to term. I explained how Owen Cutler had arranged for Sugar’s baby to go to Mike and Libby.

“Now five years later, good old Owen is at it again. This time it’s Larue who wants a kid. And Sophie just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time and pregnant to boot. I think Gellman was telling it to me straight in my office yesterday. Except for the part where he said he didn’t tell Libby about Sophie for Sophie’s sake. I mean maybe she did ask him not to tell her. But it’s pretty clear to me that Gellman didn’t want his wife knowing that he was working with Cutler a second time in this damn baby-placing routine. Especially since Larue was again involved. Libby hadn’t known where her daughter had come from and she assumed Mike didn’t either.”

“Not to mention that Gellman’s climbing into hot tubs with Larue’s wife,” Pete added.

“Not to mention.”

“So we’ve got Sophie caught up in the middle of something she probably knew nothing about.”

I agreed, “That’s what it looks like.”

“So who killed her?” Faith asked.

Pete and I swapped a look. “Who do you think can answer that question?” I asked.

“I think we both have the same man in mind,” Pete said. He set his coffee mug down on the table. “Uncle Owen. Let’s go.”

I used Faith’s phone to call D.C. information and tracked down an address for Owen Cutler. At the door Munger made some very gracious thank-yous to Faith before we left. Faith and I played a pretty serious eye game (to a draw), then I headed out to the car.

“She’s a good kid,” Pete said to me as I slid in behind the wheel.

“You said that already.”

“I’m just trying to drum it into your head.”

“Are you starting to become a meddler, Pete?” I asked.

I turned the ignition and
vroom-vroomed
my V-8. Faith, who was still standing in the door, put her hands to her cheeks and made a face like Edvard Munch’s
Scream
.

Pete turned from the window and pulled out a cigarette.

“She’s young enough to be my daughter. You know how old that makes me feel?”

“Around fifty?”

Munger interrupted the lighting of his cigarette to give me the finger.

I told Pete I wanted to swing by Libby and Mike’s house before we headed over to D.C. I tried using Paula’s cell phone to call Libby’s house but the batteries had finally died. Pete told me he thought I was nuts for leaving Libby off at her home in the first place. He was right. I really hadn’t been thinking. I cut a few corners getting over to the house and when I pulled into the driveway I could see that Mike’s car was no longer there.