The Widow's Mate (25 page)

“For crying out loud.”

“I wonder whose it was.”

“Go dig it up and find out!”

Not a bad idea. Agnes did get up then. He followed her through the door. There was a very large girl behind the counter now. She looked at Agnes, seemingly wondering how she had got into the inner office.

“I have to leave, Myrtle,” Looney told her. “Everything's under control. Call my cell phone if anything comes up.”

“Yes, Frank.”

Ah, the devoted receptionist, spending her days behind these dusty windows, entertaining fantasies about the moment her boss would look at her as if for the first time, and … Well, she would be difficult not to notice, size-wise.

Frank Looney pushed through the door and outside. Belatedly he thought to hold it open for Agnes. He stood for a moment, looking around, surveying his little kingdom. He turned to her and tried to smile. “This hits me pretty hard, you know.”

“Good news is like that.”

He thought about it, then nodded, skipped down the steps, and headed for a dusty car.

Agnes watched him go, then went back inside. “How long have you worked here, Myrtle?”

“What business is that of yours?”

Again she got out her ID.

“Ten years.”

“Wow. You must have worked for Luke Flanagan.”

“He hired me, yes. Frank kept me on when he took over.”

“I didn't realize he hadn't heard about his cousin.”

Neither had Myrtle. She listened, her blue eyes sparkling in their pouches.

“No wonder he's upset.”

“How so?”

“He has the job Luke wanted his son to have. But Wally thumbed his nose at the idea, and Luke let him, made him a rich man.”

Did she think that Wally had returned to take over Flanagan Concrete? “So you've been here ten years.”

“It's a job.”

“Is Frank married?”

“Sure, to the business.” She pursed her mouth.

“You must have been here when that body was found in the mixer.”

She rolled her eyes. “To think it wasn't Wally after all.”

“I wonder who it was.”

“I don't. There are some things it's wise not to wonder about.”

“Did the Pianone deal fall through?”

“Deal? There was no deal.”

“Luke quashed it?”

“Thank God. I'm not sure I would have stayed here if there was any connection between that family and Flanagan Concrete.”

“I wonder if there wasn't already a connection.”

5

Marco just looked at her stone-faced when he heard about Wally Flanagan.

“I didn't think he'd dare to come back,” Sylvia said. She studied the photograph that was captioned
THE BEARDED PRODIGAL
. “I like the beard.”

Well, with her blond crew cut, Wally would find her different, too. Northern Minnesota was so long ago now that Sylvia could remember only the good part. At first it had been a vacation in a strangely beautiful place, the trees, the lake, the enormous sky above at night. Television reception was lousy, but that hadn't mattered, at first. Wally was content to fish and read, and Sylvia just took it easy. There wasn't much to do in the town where Sylvia did the shopping. For any excitement, you had to drive to Bemidji. Wally hadn't wanted excitement. Besides, he didn't want to run the risk of someone recognizing him, improbable as that was. Sylvia wondered if anyone else from the Chicago area was dumb enough to bury themselves in the woods of northern Minnesota.

Sylvia had made a lot of shopping trips to town, just to get away. There was a bar, the Rainbow, on the road that ran along the lakefront; it was the local favorite, always full of people, lots of fun. She could be gone for hours, and when she came back Wally seemed hardly to have noticed she'd been away.

“We're not staying for the winter, are we?”

“Sylvia, this is home now.”

“Ask someone what winter is like here.”

“It can't be any nicer than the other seasons.”

“Wally, they have snow up to their gazoo. We'll be stranded here.”

If she had thought it was temporary, he clearly regarded it as permanent. It became a constant theme.

“God, how I nagged him.”

*   *   *

Marco grunted. “I told you it wouldn't work.”

“You did not. You never say a word.”

“You might do likewise.”

“Whose body was it?”

“Don't ask.”

*   *   *

The afternoon she met Greg Packer in the Rainbow, winter had come and gone too many times. He squeezed in next to her. “Hi.”

“I've never seen you here before.”

“I just got here.”

“From where?”

“How's Wally?”

“Who's Wally?” Her first thought was
Now we'll have to get out of here. Someone knows who he is
.

“We grew up together.”

They moved to a table. He was a good-looking guy, but he didn't seem as old as Wally. Boyish. How had he known where Wally was?

“We came up here one summer when we were kids. Well, eighteen, nineteen. Hitchhiked all the way. It's where I would have headed if I wanted to disappear.”

So she took him back to the cabin, leading the way, keeping an eye on him in the rearview mirror to make sure he made the turns. At the cabin, she waited beside her car until he got out of his, then led him inside.

“Surprise!”

Wally was in his Barcalounger in what he called the supine position, a book on his belly. He didn't seem at all surprised. “Greg.” He put out his hand. “Welcome to the woods.”

There were times when Sylvia wondered how accidental Greg's arrival was. She could imagine Wally summoning his old friend to take her off his hands. If that was the plan, it worked. With Greg settled in at the cabin, Sylvia had someone to do things with.

When Wally left, it wasn't jealousy; he was as tired of Greg as he was of her. They were like kids after he left and had a whee of a time. Once there was nothing to prevent her from getting out of the woods, she found herself liking it there, or at least not hating it as she had. It was later, when she and Greg had returned to Fox River, that it became clear that Wally's departure had been part of an agreement. Greg was curious about her money, no doubt about that, but he had money, too. From Wally.

“I promised to do him a favor.”

The favor was to provide proof positive that Wally Flanagan was no more. The question was how to do that. The agreement had not been specific.

Packing to leave the cabin, she had found the wedding band in the drawer of a bedside table. She looked at it and then dropped it into her purse. When she told Greg, he lit up. “Let me see it.” He turned it over and over with a thoughtful look. “You know, I was best man at their wedding.”

The idea was to slip the wedding band on some dead man's finger and have him identified as Wally.

Sylvia thought it was a crazy scheme. “His wife would have to identify the body.”

“You're right.”

They had both grown up in Fox River, so, of course, their thoughts turned to the Pianones. They would know how to arrange something like this.

6

Wally Flanagan's mention of Sylvia provided a spoor that Agnes decided to follow, and that was how she found out that the woman was back in Fox River and hooked up with Marco Pianone. Agnes was in the lobby, talking with Ferret, when Sylvia swooshed out of the elevator and glided toward the front door.

“Sylvia!” Agnes called, and the gliding stopped. She looked at Agnes, who was not in uniform, puzzled. Her eyes switched to Ferret, who lifted his arms in a protest of innocence. Sylvia pushed through the revolving door, and Agnes followed.

“Where can we talk?” Agnes demanded.

“Who are you?”

“Do you want to see my police ID, right here in front of everybody?”

They went to the Starbucks in the next block. Agnes identified herself. “How's Marco?”

“That goddam doorman.”

“Once they start talking, they can't stop.”

It helped that Sylvia thought she knew more than she did. Getting the conversation onto Wally Flanagan proved to be a good move.

“He mentioned me?”

“That's why we're talking.”

“What did he say?”

“About you?” Agnes smiled mysteriously. “Life in the woods sounded pretty nice.”

“Oh, he loved it. And it was nice. Not much happening, you understand, but peaceful.”

“So why did he leave?”

Sylvia made a face and sighed. “Men.”

“In the plural?”

Sylvia stared at her for a moment. “He mentioned Greg?”

“Tell me about that.”

It was a strange story. Sylvia seemed able to transfer her affection easily from one man to another and still retain the thought that she was true blue.

“And now Greg is dead.”

Sylvia became wary. For the first time, she seemed to realize that she was blabbermouthing to a cop. She pursed her lips.

“We're worried that you could be next.”

“What!”

“You must pose as much of a threat as Greg Packer did.”

Her widened eyes were full of the sequence of thoughts Agnes's remark had caused. After a minute of silence, she said, “Where could I hide?”

“Don't worry about that. We'll protect you.”

“That's a laugh.”

“You're not laughing.”

It took twenty minutes to convince her that she had to get out of the apartment. No need to mention Marco. Who knew Marco better than she did?

Agnes went to the apartment with her and helped her pack. One huge suitcase and a garment bag did it. Then Sylvia stood, looking around wistfully.

“The furniture yours?”

“Who knows? Let's go.”

In the lobby, Ferret was all eyes, but only Agnes looked at him. He didn't seem all that broken up about losing this tenant.

*   *   *

Back in Fox River, in an interrogation room, Sylvia sang like a bird, but she kept coming back to Wally, wanting to know what he had said about her.

“You make an indelible impression,” Agnes said.

“Sometimes I wished we had just stayed there, in Minnesota.”

“Tell me about Marco and Greg.”

“I had no part in it. It was a deal Greg had made with Wally, and when he found out about me and Marco, he saw a way to do it.”

What she did know was that Greg had talked with Marco and later a body identified as Wally's had been found, in pieces, in one of the Flanagan cement mixers.

“Where can I go?”

She had mentioned Brenda Kelly, and Agnes wondered if Sylvia's old friend might not be the temporary solution to Sylvia's problem.

Cy Horvath, who had been monitoring the interrogation through the one-way mirror, said he would talk to Brenda. “Good work, Agnes.” Still, he seemed less than happy about what she had discovered.

The unhappiness was general. Phil Keegan scowled and shook his head. “The Pianones.”

The only Pianone Agnes knew was Peanuts, and she did not share the assumption that the Pianones were untouchable. Regardless, the decision was to keep quiet about what they had learned and wait on events.

“What events?”

“We'll see what Marco does when he learns he has lost his bimbo.”

Days went by, and Marco did nothing. Meanwhile, Agnes got to know Ferret better.

“Where'd she go?” the doorman asked.

“Who?”

“Come on. You moved her out of here.”

“What was she like?”

“Don't ask me. She never talked to me.” He began to talk about Sandra Bochenski. There was a real lady. She always stopped to talk to Ferret. “Even after her run.”

“She runs?”

“Every day.”

Jogging on the streets of Chicago among all the exhaust fumes did not seem the road to longevity to Agnes, even with that big lake blowing fresh air into the mix. Agnes was with Ferret when Sandra Bochenski, in street clothes, stopped by to ask why Sylvia didn't answer her phone. Ferret looked at Agnes.

“She moved,” Agnes said.

“Who are you?”

Ferret answered. “A Fox River detective.”

Sandra took a closer look. “I recognize you.”

Agnes had sat in when Cy interrogated Sandra.

“Any other old girlfrends of Wally Flanagan's in the building?”

This was meant to annoy, but it didn't. “When are you going to find out who killed Greg Packer?”

“Any suggestions?”

“It wasn't Mr. Flanagan.”

“That's good to hear.”

Sandra had talked with Luke at the retirement home where he and her father and Maud lived.

“Have you talked with Wally?”

She thought about it. “I don't want to. I'm going back to California.”

Ferret groaned, and Sandra patted his arm, causing the little guy to beam.

Marco never showed up. The man who did went through the lobby as if he knew where he was going. He took the elevator to the floor of Sylvia's apartment. He came down again in fifteen minutes. He started toward Ferret, looked at Agnes, then turned toward the door. No doubt he would take Marco Pianone the news of Sylvia's departure.

“So what are we waiting for?” Agnes asked, standing in front of Captain Keegan's desk.

“With the Pianones you never know.”

“You mean we'll do nothing?”

“What would you suggest.”

“Bring in Marco.”

“Not yet.”

Meaning not ever. Agnes left the office, mad. She ran into Peanuts and said, “How's your cousin?”

“Which one?”

“How many you got?”

“I'd have to count.”

Did he know how?

Along came Tuttle. He doffed his tweed hat and asked, “What's up?”

“She's asking about my cousin.”

Tuttle's expression changed. “Got to run,” he said, and he did.