Jan Burke - Goodnight, Irene

I nodded. I had been thinking about doing it anyway. It was the only way I could learn more than I already knew about the things O’Connor was working on. Working with Wrigley would be hell on earth, but if I knew him at all, he had already started to worry about what he was going to do with the mayor’s story. I was also pretty sure I could manage getting my job back without too much groveling. Wrigley had already made overtures, which until now I had turned down.

One of the workers made his way back to say they were finished, and I went inside to pay them. I thanked them and closed and bolted the front door after they left.

“Okay,” I said to Frank as I came out back again, “I’m with you as far as the paper goes.”

“Great. I’m afraid the next item involves telling you something that’s not going to make you happy.”

I waited. What could make this day any worse?

“Williams came by a little while ago,” he said. “He told me that Kenny had not checked into the Vista del Mar. He asked the lady across the street from you about the Corvette, she said she saw Kenny pull up and park; shortly after that a tall redhead that she’s seen over here before pulled up behind him; said she thought the woman was your sister.”

“Barbara?!”

“I couldn’t remember if your sister was a redhead from back when you used to talk to me about her. So you think it’s her?”

I nodded.

“Your neighbor said the woman acted like she was going to come to your front door but that the man stopped her, and then they got into her car and drove off.”

I was stunned. Kenny had gone middle-aged-crazy at forty, bought the Corvette and started hopping from bed to bed like crab lice. When Barbara was finally forced to confront him about it, he gave her the “It’s all your fault” baloney and worse. He said things to her that boys in a high school locker room would blush to hear.

“Jesus, Frank. I’ve heard of gluttons for punishment, but this is like volunteering for the Spanish Inquisition. How can my own sister have such low self-esteem? I’m calling her. I’m calling her right now.”

“Hold it, Irene. Barbara’s not a child. Your older sister, as I recall. She can see anybody she wants to.”

“It won’t work. God, he is such a user! She’ll mother him.”

He didn’t say anything.

“You’re right,” I said, calming down a little. “You’re right. I’ve got to stay out of it.”

“Well, actually, what I had in mind was a little different. I need you to be sympathetic to her. We’ve got to find out what, if anything, would make someone want to kill Kenny.”

“You’d better arrest me.”

“You know what I mean. From what I can tell at this point, all three of you may be targets. Kenny must be pretty sure he’s a target, or he wouldn’t have left his car here. He may not have wanted to leave it in an unfamiliar neighborhood, or maybe he was trying to draw attention to you, I don’t know. Anyway, I’m going to have it towed in, so you should have some satisfaction.”

I must admit it cheered me to imagine Kenny’s face when he found his most prized possession missing.

“Meanwhile,” Frank went on, “for obvious reasons, I don’t think you should stay here. At least not until we get a better handle on things. They probably won’t come around here again until they’re sure cops aren’t going to keep dropping by, but you need to watch your back. Anybody you can stay with?”

I thought about it. It wasn’t a problem of being willing to leave-I wasn’t really feeling comfortable in the house, and even the nuisance of living away from it for a few days didn’t seem like much compared to being on edge in my own home. Barbara’s house was out of the question. There was a limit to what I could stand in the way of watching her sacrifice herself to Kenny.

“Let me try Lydia Ames. We’ve been friends since grade school.”

I called Lydia, and angel that she is, when I explained what had happened, she urged me to bring Cody along.

I lured Cody out of hiding with a piece of chicken, then felt very mean as I stuffed him into the cat carrier. He yowled his protests while I packed a few things. Frank went around latching my remaining windows. I gave Lydia’s number to Frank, and he gave me his work and home numbers.

“I’ll follow you over there,” he said. “I just want to make sure you’re not tailed.”

I didn’t object. I stuffed the cat carrier and my other belongings into the front seat of my Karmann Ghia.

“I can’t believe you still have this car,” Frank said.

I smiled at that and climbed into my faded-blue, ’71 ragtop. The odometer had flipped more times than a circus acrobat, and the defroster didn’t work right, but the old car was still reliable transportation.

TWENTY MINUTES LATER we were on the other side of town, in front of Lydia’s place. Frank got out of his car and helped me carry Cody up to the door. I looked at his tired face and realized that he probably still had to go in and write up reports tonight.

I took his hand. “Thanks, Frank. Thanks for-well, thanks for lots of things.”

“Goodnight, Irene. I’ve been thinking about getting back in touch with you again, just sorry it had to be under these circumstances.”

We shook hands awkwardly, then he walked back to his car. He stood waiting for me to get safely inside. I rang the bell, then waved good-bye to him as Lydia let me in.

LYDIA WAS SOLICITOUS in the extreme. I was all for it at that point. After letting Cody out of his carrier to slink around exploring his new environs, she asked me if I was hungry. It dawned on me that I hadn’t eaten all day, and that I was quite hungry indeed. She sat me down at her kitchen counter and mixed a nice stiff Myers’s and OJ for me, then set about warming up some homemade lasagna, making garlic bread and tossing a salad. I offered to help.

“Oh, no, you just relax, kiddo. You’ve had a terrible day. You leave everything to me.”

The room was soon redolent with the aroma of honest-to-God Italian cooking. She still went by her ex-husband’s last name, but Lydia’s maiden name had been Pastorini. Mr. Ames had not left her because of her cooking.

I downed the drink a little faster than was probably advisable, and soon was feeling a slight buzz, my empty stomach transporting the good news straight to my brain.

Lydia paused in her salad-making dervish and looked up at me. “You know, Irene, this is the first time in a long time that you’ve let me do anything for you. I mean, I’ve done things for you, but you never turn to me when you need somebody. It makes me feel good that you called.”

I thought about this. It was probably true. O’Connor had long been my refuge.

“Well, Lydia, then I just didn’t know what I was missing. You’re the first friend who came to mind.”

She seemed immensely pleased by this. She cheerfully put a place setting before me and served the salad. It was a great mixture of vegetables-cucumbers, carrots, radishes, sprouts, romaine lettuce, tomatoes, green peppers and more. Once again I was reminded that Lydia never did anything halfway. She poured a couple of glasses of a wonderful dry red wine and then pulled up a chair next to me and sat down.

“Glad to see you settle for a minute.”

She laughed. “Oh, I’m turning into my mother. You hardly get Cody out of his cat carrier and I’m telling you, ‘Mangia!’”

“No complaints here.”

We clinked wineglasses in an unspoken toast to one another and drank a few sips in silence.

A few minutes later I was eating as if I still thought I’d grow taller. I paused just long enough between mouthfuls to ask Lydia how her own day had been.