P. Parrish - The Little Death

“Oh, futz, I have fitting at Martha’s, and I am going to be late.” She staggered to the door, the pug tucked under her arm like a hairy football. “Franklin!” she yelled.

She turned back to Louis. “You’ll have to forgive me, dear, but I am going to have to get a wiggle on. We’ll do breakfast another time, okay?”

Franklin materialized, along with the other dogs, yapping and bouncing. But Margery didn’t seem to notice. She had gone back to the lounge, where she deposited the football dog on a cushion. She gathered all of the newspapers up and stuffed them into a Saks bag. She hesitated, then picked up the small black book that Franklin had brought in earlier with the scrapbook.

She came back to Louis. “Take these,” she said, thrusting the bag at him. “This is a month’s worth of the Shiny .”

“Ma’am?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, dear, it’s time you called me Margery, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “The Shiny, the Palm Beach Daily News . We call it the Shiny . Think of it as your road map.”

Apparently, she had forgiven him.

Margery held out the black book. “And you’ll need this, too,” she said.

“What’s this?” Louis asked, taking the book.

“The Sears catalogue, dear!” When she saw his puzzled look, she added, “It’s the Social Register. But we call it the Sears catalogue because nowadays the most awful people can get in it.”

She put a firm hand on his arm and started leading him to the door. “But that’s a story for another day. I must fly now. Franklin!”

“Here, madame,” the old gent said.

Margery blinked, trying to focus on him. “Oh, there you are, you utter ghost of a man. Show Mr. Kincaid out, Franklin.”

Franklin shuffled toward the door, Louis following, carrying the Saks bag.

“One more thing!”

He turned back to Margery.

She waggled a red fingernail in his direction. “I don’t like being pushed up against the wall, but I think you mean well, and I think you will be able to help my Reggie. I’ll just have to trust my instincts with you, and, like I said, you seem like a right gee.”

“Mrs. Laroche, I need those names.”

But she didn’t seem to hear what he said. The red mouth widened into a smile. “Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

And with that, she was gone through one of the archways, the pugs in her wake.

Louis followed Franklin to the front door. It was only after he was outside in the rain that he realized Margery had called him “Loo-EE.”

It was just after noon when Louis saw the cruiser swing into the parking lot of the Palm Beach PD. He had spent the last half hour sitting under the awning of an art gallery, watching the rain and thinking about Margery’s Fernando Lamas murder fantasy. It was probably the most far-fetched lead he had ever pursued, chasing down a lawn guy based on a five-year-old rumor that he had been caught in some woman’s bedroom.

But what else did he have right now?

Swann exited the cruiser, jogging through the rain toward the station entrance. He was working his arms into his navy blazer and didn’t see Louis until he was only a few feet from him.

Swann stopped abruptly under the entrance’s overhang. “Mr. Kincaid,” he said. “Are you waiting for me?”

“Yeah, I need your help.”

Swann pulled a Tic-Tac dispenser from his pocket and popped one into his mouth. “I’ve already given you all the help I could. Reggie Kent’s fate is in Detective Barberry’s hands.”

“Yeah, we met.”

“I take it he blew you off?”

Something in Swann’s voice made Louis realize that Barberry had done the same to Swann. He wondered if Swann had more of an interest in Reggie Kent’s case than he had led them to believe.

“Yeah, he blew me off, more or less.”

Swann nodded. “Well, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really need to go, Mr. Kincaid.”

Louis thought about asking Swann to go across the street to Hamburger Heaven. God knew he needed something in his stomach besides Margery’s champagne. But he realized there was probably no place on the island where Swann would not feel the curious eyes of the people he was expected to shield from the outside world.

“Look, Lieutenant,” Louis said, “I’ve learned something about Mark Durand that I think you need to know. And you need to know it before Barberry does.”

Something sparked in Swann’s eyes. “I know all I need to know about Mark Durand,” he said. “I know it would take more than an Armani suit and capped teeth to get him entree into these people’s living rooms.”

“I don’t know about living rooms,” Louis said. “But it got him into some pretty exclusive bedrooms.”

Swann’s jaws stopped working the Tic-Tac. “What exactly are you saying?”

“Mark Durand was not just a walker. He was screwing wealthy women for money and gifts.”

“Who told you this?”

“Reggie Kent,” Louis said.

“It’s obviously a lie to deflect suspicion from himself,” Swann said. “Even if it were true, why didn’t he tell Detective Barberry this the first time we spoke to him? It would certainly add a multitude of suspects to the list.”

“He was embarrassed that his protégé had sunk so low.”

Swann cocked an eyebrow.

“I also think he wanted to protect his lady friends,” Louis said. “Strangely, he still seems to think more of them than they do of him.”

That seemed to register with Swann. He ran a hand across his mouth. “Could Mr. Kent provide any proof?” he asked. “Any names?”

“He says he doesn’t have names.”

“Then why should I be concerned?”

“Because Kent’s scared shitless,” Louis said. “And if Barberry presses him, he’ll spill his guts. Barberry will dig up everything he can, and he won’t give a rat’s ass about being discreet. Within days, you’ll have an army of reporters crawling over the tops of your nice fifteen-foot hedges, trying to take pictures of horny old widows.”

Swann looked down at the sidewalk, arms crossed, jaw working the Tic-Tac like crazy. He might be the island’s gatekeeper, Louis thought, but his department was no different from any other-the shit rolled downhill.

“We need to make Kent feel safe,” Louis said.

“How?”

“We need to let him know that between you and me, we can keep him out of Barberry’s sights.”

Swann rubbed his brow. “I can’t help Mr. Kent,” he said. “I’ve been told to stand aside and let the county investigation take its course.”

“In other words, turn a blind eye to an innocent man going to jail.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Swann said. “These are powerful people who will do anything to protect their privacy. Anything.”

“Including taking this cushy little job of yours away, right?” Louis asked.

Swann stuck a finger in Louis’s face. “Screw you.”

Louis pushed Swann’s hand away. “Look,” he said. “You’re not part of their world. You’re a cop, for crissakes, and whether you believe it or not, that makes you better than them.”

Swann had taken a step to go inside, but he stopped and turned back. His cheeks held a rush of color, and his eyes were snapping, but Louis didn’t think it was from anger. It was something closer to a wounding. Louis gave the feeling a few seconds to settle in before he spoke again.

“All I need is some information,” Louis said.

“What kind?”

“You ran my plate and name when I came on the island,” Louis said. “I’m guessing you guys also keep track of the service people who work here. Maids, gardeners, people like that.”