David Handler - The shimmering blond sister

“That’s what the state police are trying to ascertain,” Very replied.

“Thirty-six across, Mr. Berger,” Dex said suddenly, tapping the puzzle with his pencil. “The clue is ‘Actor Ray.’ The answer would be

…?”

“That depends on whether you need four letters or six. If it’s four then I’d go with Aldo Ray. You may remember him as Davie Hucko in the Tracy-Hepburn movie Pat and Mike. If it’s six letters then they’re probably referring to Ray Liotta, the star of Goodfellas.”

“Two, three, four letters…” Dex murmured. “And Aldo fits. I already have the O. Thank you, Mr. Berger.”

“My pleasure, sir.”

“I hope you haven’t forgotten my invitation. The world is full of lunatics and bores. Do stop by for some lemonade and a talk.”

“I’ll be happy to.”

“Have you had any luck with that other matter?” Maddee asked Mitch.

“Other matter?”

“Gathering up your old clothes for the Nearly New shop. So many good, hardworking folks are doing without these days. Even if your things are a bit worn the Goodwill will gratefully accept them. Shoes, too, if any of yours are getting tight. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit. The adult male’s foot can grow as much as a full size larger, you know.”

“I’ll see what I can find,” he promised her as he and the lieutenant continued down the brick path.

“Dude, is everyone in this town crazy?” Very wondered, shaking his head.

“Pretty much.”

There were a half dozen garage bays not counting Augie’s. His had yellow police tape over its locked double-wide door. Very yanked it away and punched a security code in the keypad. The automatic door promptly lifted open.

“How did you know his code?”

“Dawgie used Gina’s birth date for everything.”

Augie had a rider mower and a John Deere Gator in there. A tool bench. An old refrigerator. And, center stage, a gorgeous red, vintage Pontiac GTO.

“His pride and joy,” Very said, gazing at it. “She’s a ’65. 389 V8, four on the floor, chrome rally wheels, dual exhausts. They called that color Montero red. He always wanted one when he was a kid. Bought it for himself last year off of some rich guy in the Hamptons.”

“I never had the slightest idea, Lieutenant. I lived across the hall from Beth and Kenny for all of those years and I had no clue about her husband, her family, any of it. All I knew was that she was a nice lady.”

Very stood there nodding, nodding. “She must have been a real honey in those days, too. Hell, she still is. Vinnie has good taste, I’ll sure give him…” He frowned at Mitch. “Dude, you just got way red all of a sudden. You okay?”

“I’m fine. So kindly back off.”

“Hey, whatever.”

“You want to know something, Lieutenant? No one in this world is who or what they appear to be. That’s the second most important thing I’ve learned since I moved to Dorset.”

“What’s the most important?”

“That WASPs have no idea what a real bagel is. Tell me the truth-was Augie right? Is Beth still in the family business? Have she and Vinnie been working the casino?”

Very ran a hand through his wavy black hair. “The truth? I honestly don’t know. But I was definitely getting played just now by her and that old lady both. They’re slick operators those two. Moved me wherever they wanted to.”

“Meaning what? That they’re hiding something more?”

“Oh, absolutely. I have no idea what. But I sure would like to know.”

“How much of this do you have to share with Sergeant Snipes?”

“All of it, dude. Sorry, but this is a murder investigation.”

“Understood.”

Very pulled two pairs of white latex gloves from the back pocket of his jeans, tossing one pair to Mitch. “Never leave home without ’em,” he said, grinning at him. Then he felt around underneath the GTO’s rear bumper until he grabbed hold of a key case that was held in place under there with a magnet. He removed the key from the case and climbed the wooden stairway up to Augie’s apartment. Yanked the police tape from the door and used the key to open it.

It was warm and stuffy inside Augie’s one-room apartment, which smelled of Aqua Velva, stale beer and dirty laundry. The decor had the flavor of a hot-sheet motel room in Secaucus, New Jersey. All that was missing was the cheapo landscape painting on the wall over his unmade bed. For art, Augie had a pinup calendar from a tool catalog thumbtacked to his closet door. Miss August was a busty blonde wearing red suspenders, a tool belt and a smile. Augie had a Pullman kitchen with dirty dishes piled high in the sink. An olive green lounge chair that was set before a thirteen-inch TV. A footlocker that served as a coffee table. There was a battered old oak desk. A chest of drawers. On top of that there was a framed photograph of a pretty young woman with dark hair.

“That’s Gina,” Very said somberly. “He wanted to be buried next to her in Mineola. His plot’s all paid for. I’ll have him transported there after they release his body.”

Mitch had a look underneath the bed. Augie’s Louisville Slugger was gone, just as Very had said it would be. Mitch could definitely make out its outline in the thick layer of dust under there. “I don’t get it-if this place was locked, then how did that bat end up out there last night? Des swore Augie didn’t have it on him.”

“Obviously, she was mistaken.”

“What if she wasn’t?”

“She was. Had to be. That’s the only way it rolls. I’ll search the desk, okay? You check out the footlocker.”

There were newspapers and empty beer cans heaped on the footlocker. Mitch removed them and opened it. Inside, he found a stack of old Playboy magazines from the late sixties. Each issue had been tucked inside of a protective plastic sleeve.

“This guy was a serious collector,” he said, sifting through them. “He has Barbara McNair’s legendary nude pictorial from If He Hollers, Let Him Go. And here’s the classic Ursula Andress spread from July, ’66. Look at all of these-Julie Newmar, Pamela Tiffin, Stella Stevens…”

“Anything in there besides old time peek-a-boobage?” Very asked as he riffled through the desk drawers.

“Baseball cards. Shoe boxes full of them. Looks as if he has the complete Yankees teams from ’64 through ’72. But there’s not a thing in here that’s the least bit current.” Mitch closed the footlocker back up. “You having any luck?”

“Nada. No notepads. No nothing. Wait, here we go…” He’d found his friend’s Nikon in the bottom drawer. Checked its register before popping it open. “No film inside, damn it.” Very got up and checked out Augie’s bathroom. Poked around in the medicine chest. Then went prowling into the kitchen, flinging open cupboards and drawers and, lastly, the refrigerator. “Got something here, dude.”

“What is it, lieutenant?”

“A cold six of Ballantine. I’m totally there. You want one, too?”

“Why not?”

Mitch joined him in the tiny kitchen and accepted a tall can of Ballantine Ale. Leaned against the sink, opened it and drank some down while Very peered inside the open refrigerator. It was empty except for the Ballantine, a carton of orange juice and assorted condiments. Clearly, the man didn’t do much cooking. Very reached for the mustard jar, twisted its lid off and poked his gloved index finger inside. Then he screwed the lid back on and did the same thing to the pickle relish, the ketchup and the mayonnaise. It was a large jar of mayonnaise. And when Very plunged his finger in down deep-son of a bitch-he found a smaller jar submerged inside. He removed it from its goopy hiding place and rinsed it off in the sink. Inside of it there was a roll of 35mm Kodak film.