Sweet Dreams, Irene ik-2 Read online

  “What kind of rumors?”

  “Oh, nothing of importance. Petty, really. I was told he gets around in the limo because he doesn’t know how to drive. Spends a tremendous amount of time on a yacht, when he doesn’t know how to swim or sail. He has an able crew around him, though, so I suppose it doesn’t matter. Same is true in business. He knows how to use the talents of others to get where he’s going.” He frowned for a moment, then shrugged. “As for the funeral, who knows? Maybe he was there to gloat.”

  “Over a murder victim?”

  “Hmm. No, you’re right. Well, sorry, I can’t help you out there.”

  “Well, I’ve learned a lot anyway. Thanks, Murray.”

  As I turned to leave, I heard him chuckle softly.

  “I knew they’d never keep your nose out of crime stories.”

  I turned back to face him. “Murray, please—”

  He crossed his heart and put a finger to his lips. But this was a newspaper after all, full of people who couldn’t resist telling the news about one another as much as anything else. I walked off feeling certain that John Walters would be chewing me out by the next morning.

  I made my way down to the lobby. Outside in the darkness, rain was beginning to fall again. Voter turnout was bound to be low. I wasn’t sure who that would help out — Montgomery, probably.

  By the time I drove over to Cliffside Hotel, it was pouring. I realized I had left my umbrella in the Karmann Ghia. By the time I made the dash into the hotel, I was fairly drenched. Frank was standing in the lobby, equally wet. We took one look at each other and started laughing.

  “Well, at least we know you’re no witch. You didn’t melt.”

  “We witches fool everybody with that old trick, Frank.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “And curious.”

  “So what’s new. I’ll tell you about the will over dinner.”

  The Cliffside has a classy restaurant. We ate in a candlelit room overlooking the ocean. The room was paneled in beautiful dark wood, and the chairs were comfy and high-backed. It was too dark and rainy to make much of the view that night, but it was still a romantic place to share a meal. There was a big fireplace at one end of the room, and espying our wet hair, the maître’d seated us near it. We ordered a scotch for Frank and a Myers’s and o. j. for me, which arrived posthaste, and we settled back to admire one another for a while.

  “So tell me what happened after I left,” I said.

  He shifted around in his chair a little. “Mrs. Fremont changed her will about a month ago. The lawyer was not subtle about his unhappiness with the new one. She gave a lot of money to the foundation that supports the shelter and other charities. She left Paul enough to finish college. She gave Jack all of her beach properties, and she gave me some mountain property — a cabin and some land with a couple of weekend rentals on it.”

  “Jack got all of the beach property?”

  “Yeah, I suppose she figured Paul would get it someday and that in the meantime Jack would fight against getting it developed.”

  “Pete tell you about Malcolm Gannet?”

  “Yeah, something’s not right there. I don’t know. Something’s not right about any of it. It bothers me. I wish Bredloe would let me in on it.”

  “It sounds like Pete’s keeping you informed.”

  “But he gets everything secondhand, so by the time it gets to me, I can’t ask the questions I want to ask.”

  “Such as?”

  He took a long sip of scotch, then sat forward. “Okay. Why no signs of forced entry? No struggle? Beyond finding the pentagram and the drawing on the door, why blame a cult? I think about what happened at your house last night, and that seems like something Satanists would do. You’ve been nosing around about someone who might have been in a satanic group, or who at least might have knowledge of one. And they leave a calling card — a human heart. But when Mrs. Fremont was killed, it was fairly straightforward, as murders go. Just one blow to the head. And why would Mrs. Fremont be a target for Satanists?”

  “She was connected to the shelter,” I said. “Maybe she knew as much as Sammy. Or suspected something. Maybe they didn’t have time to do more at Mrs. Fremont’s house. Maybe something scared them off. Maybe they heard us drive up.”

  “Maybe. But how did they get inside in the first place?”

  “Don’t you think the people assigned to the case will ask those questions?”

  “Yeah.” He stared into the fire.

  “So tell me about this mountain property.”

  “Huh? Oh. Well, it’s up near Pine Valley Lake, off by itself. A place called Pine Summit. Overlooks the valley and the lake. Very peaceful. She used to give me the keys and tell me to go up there whenever the job was getting to me.”

  “Are you happy about it?”

  He shook his head. “No. I didn’t want anything from her. Must make her family feel bad.”

  “Did Jack or Paul seem upset?”

  “Not at all. They were very gracious about it. Paul said he had some things up at one of the rentals and I told him to take his time picking them up. I’ve never used the rentals, so I don’t care if he uses one of them.” He drained the last of his scotch. “It was still damned awkward.”

  I took his hand. “It was a place she knew was special to you. She didn’t know this was going to happen this way. She was in good health. She thought of you and wanted to give you a place where you could be happy.”

  He shrugged.

  The waiter arrived again and took our order, and we accepted his offer to bring us another round. Frank sat looking into the fire. When dinner came, he looked over at me and gave a little smile.

  “Quit worrying about me,” he said. “I’m just trying to sort things out.”

  “Can’t help but worry about you, Detective Harriman.”

  “‘Mister’ or ‘sir’ will do. And I’m okay.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I could get used to the sound of that.”

  “It would be a shame if you did, because it would mean you’d found another woman.”

  “Don’t want one. Got all I can handle now.”

  We chatted about lighter subjects through dinner, which was excellent. When the last plate was taken away, he ordered a couple of brandies.

  “Hey, take it easy. I’m not driving for a while, but I am working.”

  “Mind if I hang around again tonight?”

  “No, so long as you promise not to flirt with Stacee.”

  I should have known that would get a laugh from him.

  “Easiest promise I’ve ever had to make.”

  “We’ll see.”

  The brandy came and we raised a silent toast to one another. It was smooth stuff.

  “Irene?”

  “Hmm.”

  “Move in with me.”

  “What?” Smooth stuff or no, I choked on it.

  “Live with me.”

  “In sin?”

  He laughed. “What would the Pope have to say about what we’ve been doing so far?”

  “Easy thing for an Episcopalian to ask.”

  “Well?”

  “I don’t know, Frank.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve just always been able to go back to some place of my own if I needed to. And as I recall, you wanted your key back from me not forty-eight hours ago.”

  He looked down. “I recall being told I was a lousy liar — even at the time, you knew I didn’t mean that. I want to be with you.”

  “What if you change your mind about that?”

  “You think I’m not committed to you? That I’m not serious?”

  “No. It’s not that.”

  “So?”

  “You are persistent.”

  “You want to keep living where you are now?”

  Throughout the day, in idle moments at work, I had been thinking about this a lot. “No, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to feel safe there again. It makes me
madder than hell that it’s come to this, but when I think of being there by myself for even a few minutes — well, anyway, no, I don’t. I’m probably giving up too easily. But it’s just something I don’t want to struggle with. I need to feel safe in my own home.”

  “Do you feel safe with me?”

  “From everybody but you, and that’s a kind of danger I can live with.”

  “You can bring your grandfather’s chair and Cody’s scratching post.”

  I laughed. “I’ll think about it. I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Say yes.”

  “Maybe. And don’t press your luck.”

  He grinned.

  I knew that meant he thought he had won. He probably had. But I wasn’t going to let him know that right away.

  WE FINISHED our brandies and went into the room where the Montgomery campaign was holding its victory party. Of course, at this point, they were all victory parties. A band played old standards but no one danced. Not many people had shown up yet — still early in the evening.

  Gradually, tired campaigners came through the door. I thought Frank would be bored, but being an observer by nature, he kept himself busy watching the various characters and their interactions.

  Something about Frank attracts women who are over seventy. I had noticed this before. I suppose they thought he was a gentleman — well, where they were concerned, he certainly was. His manner toward them was always polite and attentive. That night, there were never less than three of them paying court at one time. While he was cornered, I picked up comments from Brady Scott and other members of the campaign.

  I called the office every so often and found out that the race was running very close. It was going to be a long night. Why didn’t I pick the races that were decided by eleven o’clock? I looked across the room and saw Julie Montgomery. Well, yes, this campaign was far more interesting than the sure things. I walked over to her.

  “How are you doing, Julie?”

  “Fine, thank you, Miss Kelly. Glad you’re still speaking to me. I thought everyone on the Express would hate me.”

  “Well, I’m not crazy about your tactics, but I think I understand why you did what you did.”

  “Sorry if I got you in trouble.”

  “I’m always in trouble anyway. You might want to give Mark Baker a call, though. As for me, don’t worry about it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Your dad feel confident about tonight?”

  “No. And he’s blaming me. I think I’m going to go home before he finds out one way or the other.”

  “I envy you. I’m here or at Henderson’s for the duration.”

  “Good night, Miss Kelly. And if you see Jacob, will you please say hello for me?”

  “Will do.”

  I FINALLY FOUND Monty Montgomery and got an all-purpose quote or two from him. I had a feeling that no one would be conceding in time for the morning edition.

  Frank was leaning back in a chair, looking like it was all he could do to stay awake. I sat down next to him.

  “Why don’t you go home? At least one of us can get some sleep.”

  “Don’t want to leave you wandering around at night by yourself.”

  “Sooner or later, Frank, I’ll have to be out at night by myself.”

  “Not yet. I’ll get some coffee.”

  “Tell you what. Follow me over to the Lafayette. That’s where the Henderson campaign is.” Knowing Frank’s long legs don’t fit very comfortably into the Karmann Ghia, I exchanged keys with him.

  The Lafayette is one of the grand old hotels that were built when Las Piernas was a thriving resort. Although the hotel itself is very posh, the neighborhood around it is struggling. The last time I was at the Lafayette, I parked on the street and my car was vandalized. I’m still too cheap to go the valet route, but this time I decided to spring for a space in the hotel parking lot.

  We arrived there just before midnight. As I suspected, no one was conceding anything. The tally was too close. We walked up to Stacee, who made goo-goo eyes at Frank, but he walked over to the coffeepot after sparing her only a polite hello. Of course, as I watched him over her shoulder, I saw him make a little halo over his head with his hands. I put two fingers up behind my own head, making Stacee look between us like we were nuts.

  “What do we do if it isn’t decided by late deadline and no one concedes?” she asked, covering up a yawn.

  “I phone in a noncommittal story with a couple of quotes from the candidates. It’s looking like that’s the way it’s going to be anyway. Why don’t you go on home?”

  “Thanks, I think I will.” She gathered her things together, went over some notes with me, and left.

  She was back five minutes later. Frank and I were sharing a cup of coffee when she walked up to us, soaked to the bone.

  “My car won’t start.”

  Frank looked at me.

  “I’m sure Detective Harriman would be happy to help you.”

  As he started to get up, I leaned over and whispered, “Don’t forget your halo.”

  Jacob spotted me a few minutes later and walked over. “Hi, Miss Kelly. Long night, huh?”

  “Yes. Julie says ‘hello,’ by the way. She was headed home for the night.”

  “How is she?”

  “I don’t know. I think things will be rough for her for a while yet. But you’ll be there for her, right?”

  “Yeah. I just wish there was something I could do for her. She’s done so much for me.”

  We were interrupted by the return of Frank. A sopping wet Frank. He looked like he had fallen into a river. I introduced him to Jacob, who didn’t seem sure what to make of him. He asked Jacob to excuse us for a moment, and led me out to a balcony. The rain was falling in loud torrents, but the balcony was covered, so I stayed dry.

  “Her battery has been stolen. That’s why her car won’t start.”

  “Take her home then.”

  “I don’t want to leave you here.”

  “I’m okay. In another hour I’ll be so close to the last chance to make tomorrow’s paper, I’ll have to turn something in and come home anyway.”

  “But Stacee—”

  “I trust you. I was kidding before. Sort of.”

  He laughed and took me into his drenched arms and gave me a long kiss. “Come straight home.”

  “Home, huh? Okay. Now get going before I leave Stacee here to drown.”

  “Straight home,” he said again, “as soon as possible.”

  “As soon as possible,” I said.

  LATER, when I had a long time to consider this conversation, I thought about how, for once in my life, I should have done what someone told me to do. I also thought about how “as soon as possible” could be a very long time.

  22

  I CALLED THE OFFICE and got an update — the storm had caused some power outages, and the registrar’s computers had been down for a while. They were counting some precincts by hand. I read off a “no declared winner” paragraph and told them I’d hang around for another hour just in case something changed.

  Not long after that, Jacob came over to talk to me again. He asked me about newspapers and reporting and told me more about his school paper. I enjoyed his enthusiasm.

  At about 12:30 or so, a pimply faced young man in a hotel uniform came up to me and asked if I was Irene Kelly. I didn’t think a process server would go that far, so I said yes.

  He said he had an urgent phone message for me and handed me a folded note. I tipped him and opened the paper. Jacob read over my shoulder — a sign that he would make a good reporter.

  Miss Kelly,

  Please meet me at the corner of Falcon and Briarcrest. I need your help.

  Will wait until 1:00.

  Sammy

  “I’m going with you.”

  “Jacob, your father would never forgive me.”

  “Detective Harriman wouldn’t like it if I let you go there alone.”

  “Ask your dad.”

&n
bsp; I waited while he walked over to Brian Henderson, who listened to him then waved and nodded “yes” to me. I grabbed my coat and Jacob left with me. Later, when I thought about it, I suspected Jacob had said something like, “Can Miss Kelly take me home, since it’s a school night?” to his dad, but I was in too much of a hurry and lacking too much sleep to question it at the time. In all honesty, when I was a teenager, I had pulled the same kind of stunt myself. More than once.

  I looked up the intersection of Falcon and Briarcrest in my map book. It was in a residential area of Las Piernas, a few miles from the hotel. At one time, its stately wood frame homes made it the most elite neighborhood in town. But it had fairly gone to seed in the last twenty years, being too far from the water to attract the kind of money that could afford the upkeep — especially the kind of dollars needed to restore such large houses.

  The wind picked up, drumming the rain loudly against the cloth top of the Karmann Ghia. The defroster wasn’t working right, and I could barely see out the windshield.

  “Open the glove compartment,” I said to Jacob. “Try to read the map by the lamp.”

  As he opened it, a couple of white business cards with detective shields embossed on them spilled out. Jacob picked them up. “Detective Frank Harriman,” he read aloud, “Robbery Homicide Division… why do you have these in your car?”

  “Uh, Frank must have left them there. He borrowed my car today.”

  When it comes to looking skeptical, teenagers have it all over adults.

  “Okay,” I admitted, resisting an urge to tug at my collar. “If I’m pulled over for speeding in Las Piernas, I make sure I have one of those next to my registration or my driver’s license. Do not — repeat — do not tell your father about this.”

  The look I got for even suggesting that he would break a confidence was far more scathing than skepticism. But after a moment he asked, “Does it work?”

  “Not with the Highway Patrol,” I said glumly, but noticed he discreetly pocketed one of the cards.

  He called out directions, checking the map by the dim glow of the glove compartment light.