The Wolfe Widow (A Book Collector Mystery) (18 page)

“What happened to your face? And what does the other guy look like?”

I was getting used to questions about my bruises. If this was the price of information, so be it. I whipped out the photos of the Rileys. “They look like this.”

Phyllis pursed her lips. “It figures.”

“You knew them?”

“I knew the father. He was a hell-raiser in school.”

“Did you teach him?”

“He didn’t last that long. But he was always a bit of a thug. Had a few brushes with the law. Not a nice man, and as they say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“I’m looking for information about either of them. I know they were driving a truck that hit me. That’s why I have a bruised face and it’s lucky for me that I’m not dead. The one witness is afraid to come forward.”

“Yes. If they’d hit you with a truck, what else would they do? Be careful who you talk to about them in this town.”

“But what can I do? I need to find out about them.”

“You can offer to help me a bit more.”

“Done. I only have a few minutes now, but I’ll give you whatever time I have before Thanksgiving.”

“Good. Now help me move those boxes. They weigh a ton. You’d think we could get a few men to help around here.”

I had an idea that she’d driven some volunteers away, but thanks to Vera, I was used to ignoring the rudeness of grumpy people. It just rolled right off. You had to see the person underneath. In this case it was a grumpy person knocking herself out to provide food for people who needed help.

“Will do,” I said, “But I do need a favor.”

“Make it good. You’re interrupting my work.”

“It is important.”

“Fine. Don’t waste time. Out with it.”

“I am looking for someone who might have been on the staff at Harrison Falls High School when Vera Van Alst went there.” I had already decided that I wasn’t going to toss Muriel’s name around because I knew the hard way that could lead to trouble. Of course, I trusted Phyllis, but who knew who she’d talk to.

“Why? Is it about Frank Riley again?”

“No, it’s someone else. It’s . . . I need to find out something. It’s important.”

“Then why don’t you just ask the Van Alst woman herself?”

This was my opportunity to say that I couldn’t because I’d been fired, but I didn’t think that would help my case. “It’s a surprise.” That was true. If I found out any useful information and used it to liberate the Van Alst legacy, that would be a very nice surprise.

“A surprise?”

“Yes.” I put on my most honest look; after all, I am going straight. “Trust me. She’ll be very happy.”

“If you say so. I never taught her.”

“Of course not. You’re not old enough. I thought you might know some of the older teachers who were there back in the seventies.”

“Are you trying to get on my good side? Because it will take a lot more than that.” She pushed the round black-framed glasses back up her nose for the third time.

“I’m sorry. I . . .”

She glowered.

I finally got it. “You mean you
were
there?” Apparently, Phyllis was older than I thought. I’d put her in her late sixties and in good shape at that.

“Don’t look so surprised. It was easier to get a job then. I was a young graduate and thought I’d give teaching a try. I started at Harrison Falls High and I ended up retiring from there thirty-five years later.”

“Wow. I mean, that’s great.”

“Not really. I didn’t have the adventures I might have had if I’d gone further afield or continued my education.”

“But you made a difference for a lot of kids.”

“If you say so.”

Oh boy. Vera liked to use the same expression. I gave my usual answer. “I do say so.”

I thought I saw a small twitch at the corner of Phyllis’s mouth. “So do you remember Vera as a student?”

She rolled her eyes. “What do you think?

“Um, right. Hard to forget even then?”

“Oh, nothing like she is now, of course.”

“Have you seen her recently?”

“No. We don’t move in the same social circles.”

“Well, Vera doesn’t really move in any social circles. She stays home. She’s stuck in that wheelchair and her interactions are either with the staff or with people selling or buying books.”

“Sounds dreary.”

“It works for her. It’s kind of fascinating. I must say I like the book collecting world too. But anyway, you haven’t been in touch for a long time.”

“Can we hurry this up? I have a lot to do. Boxes to move and all that.”

“I am helping you. Just let me make sure the dogs don’t escape. So, back to Vera, what do you remember about her?”

“Very intelligent and way ahead of the others academically. Socially? An awkward girl. They wasted their money on that Swiss finishing school if you ask me. She had trouble fitting in. Of course, people hated the family like poison.”

“No big surprise. That must have been tough. Do you remember if she had a friend called Muriel? Muriel Delgado?”

Phyllis paused and put down the box she’d picked up and glared. I found myself rubbing my forehead as her eyes bored into my head. But I didn’t want to give up. “Do you remember Muriel?”

“Another one that you couldn’t forget if you tried.”

That was still true. However, I wasn’t sure that Muriel would have had a profile like the prow of a ship, eyes like a hawk and the power to intimidate back then. I doubted she’d swanned through high school in a swirl of black garments, sowing fear in her wake. “What do you remember about her?”

“Not that she was a friend of Vera’s. That’s for sure because—” She stopped abruptly and said, “That’s really enough.”

“Enough? Why enough? What bothered you about her?”

“It’s none of your business, that’s what. It was all just rumors. I can’t be bothered with rumors.”

Phyllis always was one to play it straight. As much as I admired that about her, I found it inconvenient in this case.

“Did you actually teach Muriel?”

“I didn’t. She was Murphy’s cross to bear.” She snapped her lips together in a straight line. Not a word would escape. She narrowed her eyes at me, knowing I’d caused that to slip out.
Murphy’s cross to bear.

I smiled.

“At any rate. Enough about all that. I’ll see if I can drum up some more volunteers, but everyone I know seems to have pressing business elsewhere. I’ll be at your disposal all day on Thanksgiving.”

Her eyes were still narrowed. “Why are you standing at an angle?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re . . .”

It was hard to hear her because my head was spinning. With a thump, I found myself sitting on the dusty floor. Phyllis was bending over me. Concern had replaced suspicion and disapproval.

“Not to worry,” I said. “Like I said, I was hit by a truck and there are some, um, lingering aftereffects. They’ve been telling me to take it easy, but I got horribly bored. And I was feeling pretty good.”

“I understand that. I had the same reaction after my heart attack.”

“Oh. Heart attack? I’m sorry. Should you be doing all this?” I didn’t know much about heart attacks. Although most of my family should be prime candidates, to my knowledge there’s no history of them in the Kellys. I’d always thought of heart attacks as being fatal. Apparently, Phyllis didn’t share my view on this.

“I’m right as rain now. Quadruple bypass made all the difference. And may I remind you that I’m not the one who collapsed on the floor.”

“Point taken,” I said.

Walter licked my ears and Cobain laid his head in my lap. I found myself perking up immediately. I said, “That’s quite something to recover from.”

“It was a hurdle,” she said.

“Did you have lots of help and support? Relatives nearby?”

“I have no relatives, but my friends were there for me.”

Somehow I hadn’t thought of Phyllis as a person with a lot of friends.

She must have read my mind. “The Retired Teachers’ Club is a great source of friendship. Do you think I spent my time alone here because I don’t have a friend in the world?”

“What? No. I just wondered. Maybe because my own support system seems to have evaporated. Not that I want to sound whiny. I had a dizzy spell. You had a quadruple bypass.”

She snorted. “Well, my friends were great. We meet every Sunday for brunch at George’s Diner. They’ll be there now. I’m too busy this month, but I’ll be back to it as soon as Thanksgiving’s over. And most of them will help with the dinner, before, after or during.”

That was excellent. I’d be on my way.

“Can I drive you home?” she said. Underneath the crisp and crusty manner, she was a softie who didn’t want the world to know it.

“Thank you, but I really need the exercise to clear my head. And there are the dogs. I’m looking forward to Thanksgiving now. I wasn’t before. I realize that I am lucky in so many ways.”

I took my time walking home, with the detour to George’s Diner. It was one of those old-fashioned types, with good predictable food and servers who have been there for thirty years and know your name. I have a soft spot for establishments with bright neon signs on the windows.

Dogs weren’t allowed in, of course, so I hitched my two to the bench right outside and told them to behave.

Flo was the server. Flo was somewhere in her midfifties, but she wasn’t taking those years lying down. Her hair was an unlikely bright copper and she still had the wings and mall bangs and two swoops of glittery eye shadow in a style she’d probably been wearing for decades. It didn’t look remotely natural, but it suited her. She was a naturally pretty woman with an air of kindness. Sure enough, Flo didn’t know my name yet but was pleased to help anyway.

“I’m looking for the retired teachers,” I said. “I need to speak to Miss Murphy.”

She pointed to the left-hand side of the restaurant, where raucous laughter rose from a long table at the end. “I think you might mean
Mr.
Murphy, hon,” she said. “Unless our Ed’s been keeping secrets.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “I don’t know him. Just assumed I was looking for a woman. Would you mind telling him I need to speak to him?”

She hesitated. “I don’t want to interrupt. They’re vicious if you interfere with their fun.”

I liked Flo. “Well, it’s a matter of life or death, if that makes a difference.”

“Wait here.”

A minute later a man in his seventies made his way toward me, guided by Flo. He was pleasant looking and must have been handsome in a Kennedy-like way in his younger years. He could still turn heads and the cane didn’t seem to make a difference.

He looked at me quizzically. “Life or death?” He raised his eyebrows. “You seem a bit young for that.”

“It’s not my life that’s at stake. And it’s a bit tricky too. I hope you can help.”

He nodded. “You have my attention and my curiosity.”

“I am investigating”—I put a slight emphasis on the word “investigating”—“a situation between Vera Van Alst and Muriel Delgado.” His head jerked. He knew them both, no question, and he was uneasy as soon as he heard their names.

I plowed on. “The situation is taking on dangerous aspects and I need to ask you some questions.”

Mr. Murphy turned to where Flo was standing, quite obviously listening to our conversation. He cleared his throat and Flo must have suddenly remembered that the salt and pepper shakers on the neighboring tables needed to be filled. She skittered away.

“I can’t speak about either of them,” he said.

“Why not?”

“They were minors. I was a teacher. It would not be ethical.”

“But there was something serious that happened. I can tell by looking at you.”

“It’s a long time ago. It’s not my affair.”

“Well, it’s mine. Muriel has moved in with Vera Van Alst. She has separated her from her friends and employees. Does that concern you? I am probably the person who cares most for Vera Van Alst except for her cook. I have been fired. Vera is in bad health and vulnerable.”

He blinked. And I knew it did concern him. He shook his head. “I can’t help you. If this is true and you are worried, I advise you to go straight to the police.”

Did he emphasize “true” just slightly? I didn’t want to say that the police had been useless. In retrospect, maybe I should have. I also didn’t mention my hit-and-run. He didn’t comment on my bruised face.

Mr. Murphy turned and walked back toward his laughing colleagues. I stepped up behind him and said, “As long as it’s not on your conscience.”

He stopped, his back stiffened. Then he kept walking.

I probably slumped as he continued without looking back.

Flo drifted over, brimming with sympathy, her blue eyes bright. She glanced back toward where Mr. Murphy was taking his seat. He wasn’t smiling.

“He won’t tell you. He’s a by-the-book guy. Straight as an arrow.”

I stared at her. Of course. She was the right age. And she was very interested in our conversation. If there’s one thing I know it’s that nosy people can be great sources of information. I learned that at my uncles’ knees.

Speaking of uncles, mine might have been conspicuously absent but they still could come in handy. After all, the ladies loved them and this was exactly their kind of place. Hot chicken sandwiches. Mmmm.

“By any chance,” I said, leaning forward in a friendly manner, “do you know my uncle? I’m sure he’s mentioned you.”

Her hand shot to her copper wings. A small smile hovered around her mouth. “Who’s your uncle?”

“Mick. Mick Kelly. Michael J. Kelly is the official title, but everyone calls him Mick.” Except the police, of course, but I didn’t want to dwell on that.

“Oh, Mick! Of course, I know him. He mentioned me, hon?”

“Sure, that’s why I came here.”

“You said you were looking for—”

“Mr. Murphy, yes.”

“Actually, you said Miss Murphy.”

Caught. Oh well. “I might as well be straight with you. It was just because I need to get some information about two women and I heard that one of them was, and I quote, ‘Murphy’s cross to bear.’ I just assumed Murphy was a female teacher.”

Flo snorted. “Sounds like Phyllis Zelman with a remark like that. She always calls him Murphy.”

I said, “But of course, he couldn’t answer my questions. Confidentiality and all that. I have to respect it, but it leaves me in a bit of a tough spot.”