Robert Parker - Family Honor

I handed them out, along with my detective license. The cop was quite cute, with little crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He was very young. Was he too young for me? Hideous thought.

“I’m working an undercover thing with the Boston Police,” I said. “You can call Sergeant Brian Kelly, District 6 detectives, and ask him.”

“What might that undercover thing be?” he said.

“We’re suspicious of one of your residents, but it may not pan out, and we don’t want to hurt anyone’s reputation until we know.”

“Wait here, please.”

He walked back to the cruiser and was on the radio for a long time. I didn’t mind waiting. I was waiting anyway. Eventually the young cop strolled back from his cruiser to my car and handed my papers back to me.

“Took awhile to get Kelly,” he said. “But we did and he vouches for you. Talked to my chief, too. He says you can stay here long as we don’t get any complaints. But you annoy somebody or we get too many calls about you hanging around the neighborhood, we’re going to have to respond.”

“Sure,” I said.

“Boston cops hiring a lot of private eyes these days?”

“Just happens that our interests coincide on this case.”

“Well, you need some help, give us a call,” he said.

He turned and strolled back to his cruiser, the way cops do, sort of sauntering as if they had all the time in the world. I watched him as he went. He backed up carefully, and pulled out around me and waved and drove away. Young... but not impossible.

I sat some more. It was full-out autumn now. A lot of the trees were bare. The leaves that had fallen littered the road and packed drably along the sides of the road. The leaves that hadn’t fallen were bright gold with some splashes here and there of red. After another hour and a half, a small red Ford Escort came down the street that ran past the Pattons’ house and turned right, onto my street. The driver was a good-looking black woman. I’d seen her twice now when I called on her employers, and, being a trained observer, I recognized her as the Patton’s maid. When she drove past, I slid out behind her and trailed along after her as she turned right in South Natick Center and drove along Route 16 through Wellesley and parked in the lot beside Bread & Circus.

She went in. I went in behind her. Turned left where she had turned right, went down an aisle and came up to her as if by accident.

“Hello,” I said. “Small world.”

She looked at me uncertainly.

“Sunny Randall,” I said. “I’m doing some work for the Pattons.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am, how nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you. Do you have a minute so I could buy you a cup of coffee?”

“Well, I really need to shop, Ms. Randall, and get back for supper.”

“It won’t take long. I need to talk to you a little about Millicent.”

“My Millicent?”

“Millicent Patton,” I said.

She was very good-looking, with big dark eyes and smooth skin. She was wearing a nice perfume. In jeans and a white tee shirt she might have been a Wellesley College senior, though if you looked closely you could see a little more age than that at the corners of her eyes and mouth. She looked regretfully at her carriage, which, so far, had accumulated a head of broccoli.

“There’s a place next door,” she said finally.

“Good, thank you.”

When we were seated and had our coffee, I said, “I don’t know your name.”

“My real name is Elinor, but everyone calls me Billie.”

“Last name?”

“Otis.”

“My real name’s Sonya,” I said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Please call me Sunny. Could you tell me a little about Millicent.”

Her eyes were steady as she looked at me.

“We don’t talk about our employers,” Billie said.

“You being who?”

“My husband and I.”

“Your husband is the butler?”

“Yes.”

“His name?”

“John.”

“John Otis?”

“Yes.”

I drank some coffee.

“I understand,” I said, “and I admire, your reticence. But I need help. She’s in bigger trouble than any fifteen-year-old kid ought to be, and I can only help her by understanding her and her family.”

“You know where she is?” Billie said.

“Yes.”

“She all right?”

“She’s not hurt, and for the moment she’s safe,” I said. “I understand that you used to drive her to counseling twice a week.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Billie, we’re both employees. No need to ma’am me. My name is Sunny.”

Billie nodded.

“You drove her to therapy.”

“Yes.”

“Her parents ever drive her?”

“No.”

“Too busy?”

“I guess.”

“You and she ever talk about things when you were driving her back and forth.”

“Some.”

“What did you talk about?”

Billie looked straight at me for a moment, her big dark eyes full of the knowledge of things I’d never encountered. “This is a good job, Miss Randall. Good money. John and I get to work together. We get most weekends off together. Lot of couples work domestic, they never get time off together.”

“You like Millicent?” I said.

“I feel bad for her,” Billie said.

“Because?”

“Because she’s so alone. Got nobody to talk to.”

“Except you?”

Billie didn’t answer.

“Billie, she needs us to help her.”

“You first,” Billie said. “What kind of trouble is she in?”

“There are men trying to find her. Men with guns. I had to kill one.”

Billie’s face never changed.

“There’s something going on involving her mother,” I said, “maybe her father, and I think it’s why these men are after her. I think it’s why she ran away.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Billie said.

“You know a man named Cathal Kragan?”

She picked her coffee cup up in both hands and drank some and put the cup back down and sat back in the wooden booth.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“If I tell you things, will it help Millicent?”

“It might,” I said. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t lie, do you?” Billie said.

“Actually I do,” I said. “But this didn’t seem the time.”

“He’s been to the house,” Billie said. “It’s not a name you forget.”

“Has he been alone?”

“Sometimes alone. Once with another man.”

“What was the other man’s name?”

“I don’t remember; he only came once.”

“What did he look like?”

“He was so out of place. French cuffs, spread collar, silk tie, alligator shoes — the shoes had lifts in them, you could tell. His nails were manicured.”

“Old, young, middle-aged?”

“Middle-aged. And the other funny thing, he was the boss.”

“How do you know?”

“The way he was. The way the other man was, the Kragan man.”

“Did they come to see Mr. or Mrs.?” I said.

“Both. I brought them into the study, where I brought you, and Mr. and Mrs. Patton were both in there.”

“Did they say anything?”

“No.”

“When Kragan came to visit alone did he always call on them both?”

“Usually. Except once, he just wanted to see Mrs. Patton.”

“Which was the day Millicent ran away.”

“I guess so.”

“Did they love their daughter?” I said.

“I don’t... how can I say?”

“You’re not testifying in court, Billie,” I said. “What do you think? Do you think they loved her?”

She sat with her coffee cup in her hands and looked at me. I waited. The small movement in the coffee shop seemed far away. She began to shake her head, and as she shook it, her eyes dampened.