Эд Горман: Fools Rush In

She put her hand to her forehead. Tears gleamed on her cheeks now. “He didn’t have any money. He just had his salary from the city council. He never even took a stipend from the church. He had to clean out all his savings to keep paying them. And then when he couldn’t get any more money—”

I reached over and touched her hand. She jerked it away.

“You know the rest, McCain. He killed himself.”

“And then you went looking for the Nevilles. One time you set their house on fire in the middle of the night but they got out all right. And two different times you shot at them. But they got away from that, too. They couldn’t go to the police because they were blackmailers. And you didn’t want to go to the police. You wanted your own vengeance.”

She took the napkin from her side of the table and dabbed it against her eyes. “I didn’t get Will. That’s my only regret.” She was composed again. She scanned my face. “I’m glad it’s over.”

“How’d you find them here in Black River Falls?”

“I hired a private investigator to find them. He tracked them to Black River Falls. I came here to kill them. I found Richie first. Unfortunately, David Leeds tried to stop me and I accidentally killed him. But then I realized if I was going to stay here I needed a reason so people wouldn’t get suspicious — a Negro woman in this town sticks out — so I pretended to be David’s sister. There was plenty of information about him on the news the next morning here and from Chicago, so it wasn’t hard to fake.”

“I’m sorry about your father.”

“You didn’t even know him.”

“I’m sure he was every bit the man you said he was.”

“Don’t patronize me. That’s the worst thing of all.”

“I want to get you a lawyer.”

A cold smile. “You don’t want to represent me yourself?”

“I want to get you a better lawyer than I am. I haven’t had any experience in murder trials.”

“You let me worry about my lawyer. I don’t need anything from you. Or from anybody.”

“Is there anybody you want me to call?”

Her eyes shone again with tears. “I never thought of it before. I’m going to spend the rest of my life in Iowa. In prison. In Iowa.” She touched a slender ebony finger to her cheek. “I was the one everybody thought would be such a success. Just wait till this gets on the news.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, Diane.”

She smiled. “If ‘sorrys’ were worth anything, McCain, I’d be a rich woman.”

She sat at the counter sipping coffee and smoking a cigarette, an air of isolation about her that old Edward Hopper would have appreciated. It had begun to drizzle, big hot drops dancing on the pavement, but the dampness felt good on my skin and so I stood across the street from the diner just watching her. She was a Sinatra song from just before the war, “Haunted Heart” or “Saturday Night Is the Loneliest Night of the Week” maybe, that sort of sad urban dignity right here in our little town of Black River Falls.

Except for the night man and Jane, the place was empty now. She raised her cup and he filled it for her. Then he went back to scraping the grill.

The rain started abruptly, as if some cosmic hand had flipped a switch. She turned at the sound of rumbling thunder. And saw me. She didn’t acknowledge me in any way, not even a tiny tip of the head.

Then she was grabbing her umbrella and her briefcase and dropping a dollar bill on the countertop and walking toward the door.

Standing beneath the overhang of the place, she opened her umbrella and then came walking toward me across the empty street.

She didn’t say anything even when she reached me, just tugged me close beneath the shelter of her umbrella. I was gallant enough to relieve her of her briefcase.

We were getting wet, of course, because now the rain was such that not even a dozen umbrellas could keep feet and legs dry. Sewers ran with water; rivers formed at intersections.

But I didn’t mind the rain at all. I was pretty sure I was going to get a real good kiss for all this trouble.