Robert Parker: Death in Paradise

He liked the library. It was one of those nineteenth-century brick-and-brownstone buildings that could just as easily have been a fire station or a jail. The research librarian smiled at him as he went by the desk. She didn't seem like a librarian. She had a good body. She wore tight clothes. And she always looked at him as if they were sharing a private joke.

He sat at a table and looked up Norman Shaw in Who's Who . He had been born in Bronxville, NY, August 26, 1945 s. Samuel G and Andrea (Vogal) L; m. Cheryl Anne Masters, June 5, 1975 (div. 1979); m. Arlene Marie Greene, April 21, 1980 (div. 1985); m. Felicia Jane Feinman, Oct. 16, 1989 (div. 1996); m. Joan Harriet Roth, May 21, 1999.

No book for Felicia? Or a dedication to his lawyer?

Jesse copied the Shaw entry and took it back with him across the street to his office. He handed the sheet to Molly.

"Do your phone magic," he said. "See if you can come up with one or more of the ex-wives."

"In between times," Molly said. "When I'm not running the department."

"That would be good," Jesse said.

"Are you still seeing Dix?" Jenn asked.

They were on the footbridge over Storrow Drive, near the Hatch shell, walking toward the river.

"I am," Jesse said.

"And?"

Jesse shrugged.

"And I'm talking with him."

"Do you feel you're making progress?" Jenn said.

"I might be," Jesse said.

"Can you tell me about it?"

"No, I don't think I can."

"It's all right," Jenn said. "Therapy's a private thing."

"I don't mind you knowing," Jesse said. "It's simply that I don't know how to talk about it. Something's happening in there, but I'm not sure what."

"Do you like Dix?"

"It sort of doesn't matter," Jesse said. "He's a lot more than an alcohol counselor."

"Yes," Jenn said.

"You knew that when you sent me to him," Jesse said.

"Yes."

"Manipulative," Jesse said.

"Absolutely."

They went down off the bridge and started west on the esplanade along the river. College-aged kids were sunning themselves near the water, dogs chased Frisbees, small sailboats moved on the surface where the river widened into a basin.

"Are you talking about us?" Jenn said.

"Of course."

"How is that going?"

Jesse shrugged.

"It seems to me sometimes that everything I know, I learned from you," she said.

"But we're divorced and seeing other people."

"I know," Jenn said.

They crossed the lagoon on a small barrel-arched footbridge. Jesse stopped at the top of the arch and leaned his forearms on the railing. Jenn stopped beside him and leaned back.

"The other night I really wanted to drink," Jesse said. "And I didn't."

"Why not?"

"I'm not sure. But I didn't. Almost always before when I felt that way, I did."

"One robin doesn't mean it's spring," Jenn said.

"I think you got the quote wrong," Jesse said.

"You know what I mean."

"Day at a time," Jesse said.

"Easy does it," Jenn said.

They both laughed.

"Friend of Bill's?" Jenn said.

Below the bridge on the lagoon three ducks with brown feathers slid along the water.

"Friend of Jenn," Jesse said.

Felicia Feinman Shaw had remarried. Her current name was Felicia Teitler and she agreed to have tea with Jesse at the Four Seasons Hotel. Jesse wore a coat and tie, his gun well back on his hip so it wouldn't show if he unbuttoned his jacket. The hostess escorted Jesse to the table. Felicia Teitler was already there.

"I'm Jesse Stone, Mrs. Teitler."

"Please, sit down," she said.

Jesse sat.

"Thank you for agreeing to talk," Jesse said.

"Actually I was rather curious," she said, "to see what aberration he's guilty of this time."

The language was elegant, but the accent wasn't. Money can buy the language , Jesse thought, but the accent is harder .

" He being Norman Shaw?" Jesse said.

"Of course," she said. "What other aberrant jerk would we be here to discuss?"

"Tell me about some of his aberrations," Jesse said.

Mrs. Teitler was looking at her menu. The waitress hovered.

"I'm going to have the full tea," she said.

The waitress looked at Jesse.

Jesse said, "I'll have that, too."

He wasn't entirely sure what a full tea was. Mrs. Teitler put the menu down and smiled at him. She looked to be about fifty. She was very well made up, but small lines showed around her eyes and the corners of her mouth. Her hair was too blond. Her skin was too tan. But what Jesse could see of her body still looked good. Her teeth were very white. Her beige suit fit her well. On her left hand she wore an enormous diamond ring. She had a small pony of what appeared to be sherry.

"And what kind of tea for you, sir?" the waitress said.

"Are you allowed to have coffee?"

"Of course, sir."

"I'll have some," Jesse said.

Mrs. Teitler took a little sherry.

"So what did you wish to know about Norman Shaw?" she said.

"Whatever you can tell me," Jesse said. "We're just doing background."

"He's done something," Mrs. Teitler said. "You wouldn't track me down and arrange to meet me, just for background."

"You were his third wife," Jesse said.

"Yes."

The waitress brought Jesse a small silver pot of coffee. She poured some in his cup.

"Why did you divorce him?"

"Maybe he divorced me," she said.

Jesse shook his head.

"We checked," he said. "You brought suit against him."

"Well, aren't you thorough."

"And got a dandy settlement," Jesse said.

"I earned it," she said.

"The basis for the divorce was adultery," Jesse said.

"Whores."

"Only?"

"He marries the good girls," Mrs. Teitler said, "but whores were his passion. My therapist said probably it was about ownership."

"The more he paid for them," Jesse said, "the more valuable they were?"

"I think he liked them young, too."

"Younger than you?"

"Apparently."

Jesse smiled.

"Do you know any of the whores?" he said.

She shook her head. The waitress brought small sandwiches and assorted pastries and set them out. Tea was a bigger deal than Jesse had realized. He took a cucumber sandwich. Mrs. Teitler carefully put strawberry jam on a small scone and added a dollop of clotted cream.

"I preferred not to meet them," she said. "My attorney employed a private detective and he got affidavits from four of them that Norman had paid them for sex."

She popped the little scone into her mouth and chewed. Jesse poured himself some more coffee.

"There were pictures, too," Mrs. Teitler said. "Norman agreed not to contest the divorce."

"Did you see the pictures?"

"I preferred not to," she said.

"I'm sorry," Jesse said. "This is, ah, indelicate but I need to ask. How was he at home, sexually?"

"Christ!" Mrs. Teitler said. "A cop who says 'indelicate.' In bed Norman was, oh, adequate."

"Any dysfunction?"

"You mean like he couldn't get it up?"

"Or odd sexual practices?"

Mrs. Teitler laughed. "Sometimes I think they're all odd," she said. "But no. He was not a maiden's dream, but he was, ah, sufficient… when he was sober."

Jesse nodded.

"Which was often?"

"Less so as time went on," Mrs. Teitler said. "You get any kicks out of asking these questions?"

"Depends on the answers," Jesse said. "Can you give me the name of the private detective you hired?"

"My attorney hired him. Mark Hillenbrand on State Street. Hillenbrand and Doherty."

Jesse wrote it down in his little notebook. He smiled at her.

"How's the second marriage?" he said.

She shook her head.

"Two-time loser," she said. "You like older women?"