The Cin Fin-Lathen Mysteries 1-3 (51 page)

Flying
along the road in my BMW with the evening sun just starting to set, I sang
along with the radio.  Tonight was the first practice of the Coconut Palm
Community Band after our forced hiatus.  The serial murders of the conductor,
theater manager and several players by two of our own bassoon players, Manfred
and Tobias, had brought the band to a grinding halt.  Although, Bernice had
said that all the remaining season tickets were snapped up.  Press, even bad
press, sold tickets.

I
had prepared for this rehearsal by actually practicing scales and etudes,
instead of my norm of just thinking about it.  My alto clarinet was in great
working order as it had just returned from a spruce up with the genius that
maintained my woodwind instruments.

Instrumentally,
I was in great condition.  Physically, I was still mending.  Outwardly, I
looked pretty good, having lost a few pounds.  It’s really surprising what
running after, and away from, murderers does for one’s thighs.  True, I still
had scars courtesy of Ivana Penny, but they were tiny and hidden - with the
help of a great cover-up that I got at the mall - though for its hefty price
you’d think it should grow new skin.  But hey, it worked so I wouldn’t have to
be self-conscious and answer a lot of questions.

The
racket that greeted me wasn’t exactly music to my ears, but it was a comfort of
sorts.  Musicians were warming up and playing scales, while the less talented
were showing off with ear-piercing blasts.  I rolled my eyes at the conductor
as I passed him on my way to my seat.  Bernice was already sitting down,
playing court to her admirers.  She raised a hand and mouthed that she would
like to talk to me at break.  I sat down and was assembling my instrument when
a tall form cut the light from above.  I looked up to see Dwayne, one of the
Baritone players, standing, holding a stack of papers.

I
put my hand out expecting to be presented with a new set of rules for the band
and was surprised by a flyer requesting toys for a holiday toy drive. 

“Already? 
It’s October isn’t it?”  I questioned the paper, not expecting it to answer.

“Starting
early, I lost my partner on this drive, so I thought I would seed the waters
early,” Dwayne replied, still in earshot.

“Don’t
you mean, chum the waters?”

“You
chum for sharks.  I want toys.”

I
was still trying to figure out what seeds had to do with toys when the
conductor tapped his stand for us to begin.

~

“So,
Harry thinks you both should be gumshoes?”  Bernice commented as we walked over
to the refreshment table for coffee.  I had filled her in on my day, and she
was trying to help me sort things out.  “Your children and ex-husband wouldn’t
like it.  I don’t think the kids would sleep nights knowing you and Harry were
out in the mist following suspects.”

“You
make it sound like a Bogart movie,” I said, handing her a Styrofoam cup filled
with coffee.  “I know Harry has a knack for deduction.”

“You’ve
the knack.”

“No,
I fall into things.  Not the same thing.  So I told him he should become a
police officer.  They could train him and...”

“He
could be safe,” Bernice finished.  “Harry isn’t going to be safe if he
surrounded himself with bubble wrap.”

“What
I’m saying is that I don’t want the responsibility.  I want to be free to do
whatever I want.  I don’t want to have any more worry.”

“A
bit boring though,” Bernice mused.

“What? 
Are you on his side?  I never saw it coming.”

“What
I’m saying is what are you going to do with yourself?  Your children are both
away at university and you’re divorced.  Even though Luke is living in your
pool house, he is gone most of the time.”

“I
have band.”

“It’s
one night a week.”

“I’ll
garden like you do.”

“Remember
last year when you pulled that vine and...”

“Yes,
poison ivy.  Stop.  Okay, I can’t garden, but wait a minute,” I said, spying
the toy drive flyer on the stand.  “Dwayne is looking for volunteers for the
toy drive.  That’s it!  I’ll help him out with the toys.  That should keep me
out of trouble.”  I relaxed and drank my coffee, comforted that I had a plan. 
I like plans. I winced as several images of past plans that had gone awry
flooded my thoughts.  “Ouch.”  When they work out of course, I like plans.

~

On
the drive home, my mind was filled with the information I had gotten from
Dwayne about the group of children his toy drive was for.  I daydreamed about
being able to convince the local businesses to donate.  I saw myself as Ms.
Claus gowned in a red outfit and passing out toys to the little tots who
clustered around me.  I was filled with such a warm feeling, not unlike a hot
flash but better, by the time I pulled into the driveway.  Suddenly everything
went cold.  There standing in my driveway tapping her foot was Father Michael's
aunt Diane.

I
pulled my car into the garage, trying to ignore what surely was a figment of my
guilty imagination.  The figment pulled open my car door and started shouting
at me.

"Where
the hell is my nephew?  How dare you!"

At
this point everything went blah blah blah as my son Alex would say.  The
trombone wha wha wha of Charlie Brown's teacher, I could ignore, but unfortunately,
Aunt Diane's voice was more of a shrill piccolo running up and down some minor
scale.  I didn't look at her and busied myself with undoing my seatbelt. 

I
got out of the car and shut the door gently.  She was still going on about me
hiding him away in a love nest somewhere, and how I would burn in hell for
tempting a priest.  I caught a movement on the sidewalk just beyond my yard
where several strolling couples stopped, and even if I wasn't listening, they
were.

"Excuse
me.  Would you like to come in and explain what you're talking about?"  I
said calmly. 

She
frowned.  "You don't really know?"

"Know
what?"  I turned around and glared at the crowd that was forming.  I loved
this neighborhood, but it was a gossipy one.  Here it was, ten o'clock at
night, and the evening strollers had quickly spread the news that something was
up at the Lathen house.  "No, I don't.  Let's go inside."  I shut the
garage door, much to the disappointment of my fans, picked up my instrument and
walked into the house with a now quiet Aunt Diane.

“I
have to admit that I was quite terrifi... surprised to see you in my
driveway," I said as I guided her around a stack of books that I had left
in the middle of the living room floor.  "I didn't see a car, did you take
a cab?"

She
sat down as only the perfectly toned individuals can.  She swept one firm leg
over the other as she prepared to take control of the conversation.  "Your
assistant picked me up at the airport."

"My
what?"

"Your
assistant Harrison," she said calmly.  "He must be around
somewhere."

"Harrison,
my assistant."  I whirled around and called, "Harry, you son of a
bitch, get in here!"  There was only the sound of the cabana door closing
and retreating footsteps to indicate he had heard me.  I sat across from Diane
and started to explain.  "Harrison/Harry is not my assistant.  What he is
an assistant of, I have yet to determine.  Let's start again.  You said
something about Father Michael being missing?"

"As
I explained this morning on the phone to Harry, my nephew indicated that he
would be seeing you while he was in Palm Beach.  That was weeks ago, he hasn’t
come back."

"Ah,
Aunt, ah, Ms." I was struggling with what to call this woman.  One
couldn't call another aunt if one wasn't a relation.

"Diane
is fine."

"Okay,
Diane, I haven't heard or seen Father Michael since the flight back from
England."

"That's
what your assistant thought.  He did say it may be best if I came down myself
to talk to you."

"He
did, did he?" I growled.

"Very
professional.  He was there at the airport, and although the jeep was a bit
breezy, it was a pleasant trip."

"Where
are you staying?"

"Here."

I
now know what a stroke feels like, bright lights, head exploding and nausea.  With
difficultly I formed words that sounded normal. "Excuse me a moment.  I
need to find Harry and get straightened out on a couple of details.  Can I
bring you a drink, coke, herb tea?"

"Whatever
you're having."

I
was going to have Harry's head on a plate.  I guess I could share, plenty of
ego to go around.  I headed into the kitchen and put the kettle on and measured
some herbal tea into the pot.  I put on the patio lights and found Harry
circling the pool, waiting for me to cool down.  I motioned for him to come
inside.  He shook his head no.  I pulled an imaginary knife across my neck.  He
shuddered and slowly walked towards the door.  I left him to make his way in as
I started brewing tea.  The English are right about the calming effect making
tea brings about.  By the time I blew the dust out of a mismatched set of
teacups, dropped a couple of cookies on a plate and returned to the living
room, I was at least breathing normally.

Diane
was thumbing through a mail order catalog that I must have left out.  She
accepted her tea graciously.

"Harry
will be in soon.  Let me recap.  You’re staying with us."  Lord, I hoped
the guest room was clean.  "You’re looking for Father Michael." 
Where the hell was he?  "You're here talking to me because..."

"I
do hate having to repeat myself,” her voice took on a southern society matronly
tone, “but I see some people aren't very quick."  She took a sip of her
tea, pinky out and all, and placed the cup back in the saucer.  "My nephew
is quite fond of you.  I naturally assumed that he left the Church and was
shacked up with you."

I
almost choked on my tea.  She was serious, the poor dear.  What kind of
impression did I give?  I searched my brain, but a sober brain has great
difficulty in accessing the previously pickled memories.

"Hold
on."  I took a deep breath.  "First, your nephew and I have an oil
and water friendship.  He irritates me, and I piss him off.  I’m not
interested, and he is a priest for God's sake.  He and I?  Nope, never,
nada."

"Very
well, I guess I may have been wrong about him."

I
noticed she didn't say wrong about me, but I let it go.

She
waved her hand.  "Anyway, the facts are that he is still missing, and I’m
worried."

"Was
he down on business-business or church business?"

"I'm
really not sure."

"But
you know he came down here?"

"He
said he was."

"Diane,
let me speak frankly.  You're not giving me a lot to go on.  Was it a
conversation or did he leave you a post-it on the refrigerator?"

"We
were having dinner in my house in Savannah.  Michael was in good spirits.  He
was back at work.  You know he does research for the Jesuits.  I assumed that
he was doing some kind of research down here in Palm Beach."  She took
another sip of tea and sat back and closed her eyes.  Her face showed stress
and emotional pain.

"I'm
sorry he isn't here."

"Find
him.”

"I
don't know how I can."

"You
do that don't you?  Find people.  You found my brother."

"No,
your brother found me."  I felt a chill as I remembered being pulled from
the bog, the corpse of Donald Williams, Diane's missing brother, entwined in my
legs.

"Poor
Donald."  She shook her head as to remove the recent memory.  "Ms.
Fin-Lathen, I’m asking you to find Michael.  Your assistant Harrison assures me
that you and he could do this.  He said you were freelance consultants.  Said
the police used you to capture two serial murderers here not long ago.  And you
certainly were a necessary element in recovering the Copland composition."

Harry
is dead, he is deader than dead.  I was going to say no.  I prepared myself.

"You
know Michael far better than anyone else."

Say
no, I said to myself, now is your chance.

"I’m
a rich woman, I can afford it."

I
was just about to open my mouth when Harry stepped into the room.  I was
forming the en with my tongue when Harry said, “Of course she'll do it.  Didn't
Father Michael save her life?  Expenses are fine, and we'll be reasonable about
the fee, after all, we're family."  He gave her such a smile.  The same
type of phony smile my con artist son Alex uses. 

I
jumped to my feet to protest, but Harry stepped in front of me.  "Aunt
Diane, let me show you to your room.  You must be exhausted."

They
left the room, and I sat down stunned.  Holy shit, what an end run the kid did
around me.  I was set up from the start.  Harry O'Rourke had some explaining to
do.  I drained my cup and poured another.  I drained that, ignoring that it was
rather hot.  I guess I was waiting for the oblivion that whiskey would have
given me.  But, alas, it was tea, herb tea.  The worse it would do was make me
have to pee all night. 

"Er,
Cin?"

I
looked up, and there was Harry standing there ready to face the music.  I
squinted my eyes as in pain.  "Sit."

He
sat at the edge of the chair, ready to bolt at the first sign of violence. 
"All I’m asking is for you to listen to me."

"So
speak."

"Okay,
that is two words, an improvement."  He sat back in the chair.  "I
think we can help here.  You know this guy, and we know this area.  I mean, how
hard could it be?"  He knew better than to smile at me.  He didn't quite
meet my eyes.  This reminded me of my late dog Honey when she really wanted to
lick the remains of the ice cream bowl but knew that I didn't want her to.  So
she would lay there and look at me, but not directly, until I gave in.  I gave
in a lot, so my dog was pretty fat.

"It's
going to be very hard.  Do you know why he’s here?"  I didn't wait for his
answer.  "No. So it means going back to the beginning, which means finding
out who he works for, and, Harry, I don't have any connections with the Catholic
Church, let alone the Jesuits.  What if he’s into something dangerous?  Did you
think of that?  Maybe he doesn't want to be found?"

"But
we can't just sit by and do nothing."

"No! 
Don't even play that card.  You and I know that you aren't interested in being
a good guy as much as being a guy with prestige and money.  And!  And you’ve
this sick idea that you’re a private eye.  We were damn lucky.  Lucky!  And
luck runs out.  Ask any gambler.  Luck runs out."  I got up.  "Since
you’re my assistant, you clean up and, this is a very big
and,
you're in
charge of the comfort of our guest.  That means meals, clean bathrooms and
chauffeuring her wherever she wants to go."  I walked towards my bedroom
door. I stopped and turned around.

"Harry,
I'm going to sleep on this, if I can sleep tonight, and tomorrow we will figure
out a way for me to do this without ending up arrested, maimed or dead.  I owe
Father Michael, and I take that seriously.  That's the only reason I'm doing
this, so put your dreams of grandeur out of your head.  Good night."  I
didn't give him any opportunity to respond.  I walked into my room and shut the
door.  I locked the inside door and the patio door.  It wasn't because I didn't
want to be disturbed as much as I didn't feel safe anymore, and I had a feeling
I wouldn't for a long time to come.