They took Mitch’s truck.
Very rode shotgun, his head nodding up and down like a bobble-head doll as he took in the sights of the Historic District. “So how did a city kid like you end up in this colonial theme park?” he wanted to know.
“My wife passed away. I needed to make a change, meet new people. Besides, it’s not a theme park-as your friend Augie would be only too happy to attest to.”
“I hear you,” Very said, his jaw muscles clenching. “How about you and the master sergeant? Any problems with the color thing?”
“That’s for other people to think about. We don’t.”
“I’ve never gone there. I got pretty serious with a Korean woman when I was just out of the academy, but her family didn’t want her dating a round eye. Plus she was into Renaissance fairs, which make me totally-”
“Ootsie?”
“I was going to say hurl.”
“Sorry, my bad.”
“She couldn’t handle her parents’ disapproval so she broke it off. But I still think about her sometimes. I’m just so damned tired of being by myself. Know what I’m saying?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Don’t get me wrong-I do okay when it comes to hookups. But the right woman? Someone who I can be me with? No fear? That’s rare.”
“Rare,” agreed Mitch, who was wondering just exactly how he’d managed to wander into Lieutenant Very’s personal eHarmony commercial.
“Talk to me about Yolie Snipes. What’s up with her?”
Mitch smiled to himself. So much for wondering. “She’s a rising star. Real smart. Comes with a lot of hard bark on her but she’s honest and loyal. Des is real fond of Yolie. Me, too. But I’m kind of partial.”
“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”
“She saved my life once.”
“She got a steady man in her life?”
“No man at all.”
“Get out! A gorgeous sister like that?”
“I don’t think anyone has the nerve to ask her out. She can be a bit intimidating.”
“I know. It’s kind of a turn-on.”
“So take a shot. Worst thing that can happen is she’ll…”
“Just say no?”
“I was going to say beat the crap out of you.”
Very’s face lit up. “I can think of worse ways to spend an evening.”
“Okay, Lieutenant, this is way too much information.”
Maple Lane was cordoned off. A pair of cruisers were there to keep gawkers away. Also a mobile news van from one of the Connecticut TV stations.
Mitch pulled up in front of the Captain Chadwick House and parked. “Augie’s apartment is around in back.”
“We’ll brace Beth Breslauer first,” Very informed him.
“She may not be home.”
“We’ll find out.”
“We could have called to let her know we were coming.”
“Not how it’s done, dude. You always drop in unannounced. Question a suspect before she has a chance to prepare her responses.”
“So Beth’s a suspect?”
“Everyone’s a suspect.”
Beth was home. And she could not have been more poised or polite when Mitch introduced her to Lieutenant Romaine Very of the NYPD. Not a trace of uneasiness. Not a frosted blond hair out of place. She was totally together. “This is such a nice surprise, Mitch,” she exclaimed as she showed them in. “But I’m afraid Kenny’s at the beach with Kimberly.”
“Actually, we’re here to see you.”
“I have a few questions, Mrs. Breslauer,” Very explained. “I’m not here in an official capacity. You’re totally free to decline.”
Beth tilted her head at him. “Questions regarding…?”
“Augie Donatelli. He was like a father to me.”
“I’m so sorry, Lieutenant.”
“I understand he’d taken a personal interest in you. I’d like to talk to you about that, if you don’t mind.”
Beth glanced at the file folder that was tucked under Very’s arm. “Certainly. May I offer you gentlemen a glass of iced tea? I was just having some out on the porch with my neighbor Bertha Peck. I’ll ask her to excuse us.”
“No need,” Very said. “In fact, it’d be great if she stayed.”
Beth’s gaze narrowed slightly. “Whatever you say.”
She fetched two tall glasses from the kitchen and led them out onto the porch. Bertha Peck sat on the white wicker love seat, wearing a trimly tailored linen summer dress and round, oversized glasses. She was a tiny, somewhat scary-looking old lady. Nearly ninety, but with glossy, coal black hair and big blue eyes that were slightly protuberant and more than slightly piercing. She sat very erect, hands folded in her lap. Her legs, as Bitsy Peck had advised Mitch, were still splendid indeed. Slender and finely shaped.
“Bertha, this is Kenny’s friend, Mitch Berger,” Beth said as she filled their glasses from the pitcher on the table.
“You’re that movie critic who lives out on Big Sister.” Bertha looked him over with keen-eyed disapproval. “The one who’s been sleeping with our resident trooper.”
“We’re good friends.”
“You’re a lot more than that, young man,” Bertha said sternly. “But I’d never make you two for a match. Not in a million years.” Now she turned her gaze on Very. “And who is this handsome devil?”
“He’s Lieutenant Very of the NYPD,” Beth said. “A friend of Mr. Donatelli’s.”
“What does he want?”
“We’re about to find out, Bertha.”
Beth handed them their iced teas. They sat in the wicker chairs facing the love seat. Beth settled next to Bertha, who took a thirsty gulp of her own iced tea, smacking her lips. Mitch suspected hers was high octane. She liked her vodka, word had it.
Very jumped right in: “Mrs. Breslauer, has Sergeant Snipes questioned you yet about your whereabouts at the time of the murder?”
Beth blinked at him. “Why, no. Why would she?”
“Because she knows that you slipped out of here on foot shortly before it happened. You’re unaccounted for, ma’am.”
Beth shot a sharp glance at Mitch before she turned back to Very, stiffening slightly. “You said you’re not here in an official capacity.”
“Correct.”
“So I’m under no obligation to answer you.”
“Also correct. But if I were you, I’d be straight with me. It’s the smart move.”
“Why is that, Lieutenant Very?”
“Because whatever you say to her will become part of an official state police investigation. If you talk to me I may be able to keep it under wraps.”
“You make it sound as if I have something to keep under wraps.”
“Only because you do. You and I both know Dawgie wasn’t stalking you. He was tailing you.” Very opened the file folder and spread Augie’s surveillance photos out on the coffee table before her. “You and your boy Vinnie.”
Beth studied the photos, swallowing. “So…?”
“So were you and Vinnie together last evening? Is that why you slipped out?”
Beth took a dainty sip of her iced tea. A blue vein pulsed slightly in her forehead. Otherwise, she gave every outward appearance of being calm. “Vincent picked me up down the block at nine o’clock. We caught Linda Ronstadt’s second show at the Mohegan Sun. Ate a late supper at the Lobster Shack. Gambled a bit, then went up to our room. We left there at about four a.m. Vincent dropped me off here and kept on going so he could attend morning mass with his family in Great Neck.”
Very flipped through some notes in the file. “According to Dawgie, Vinnie never spends the night here. He’s never even been here.”
“That was at my suggestion,” Bertha interjected. “People in Dorset can be obsessively nosy when it comes to the love lives of their neighbors. Particularly when those neighbors are attractive single women. Maddee Farrell, for one, is a consummate busybody. I told Beth that if she wished to have any privacy, she would have to behave discreetly. So if you wish to blame anyone for her ‘slipping out,’ as you put it, then blame me.”
“Why are we talking about ‘blame’ here, Bertha?” Beth’s voice had an edge of defiance in it now. “I don’t owe this man or anyone else an explanation for how I choose to live my life. Frankly, I resent the fact that we’re even having this conversation.”
Very said nothing to that. Just barreled in. “Does Kenny know about Vinnie? Or have you been hiding your affair from him, too?”
Beth stared at him coldly. “You’re not a very nice person, are you?”
Very said nothing to that either. Just stared right back at her. The man was no lamb chop-not that Mitch had thought for one second that he was.
“It so happens that Kenny doesn’t know about Vincent,” she conceded, exhaling slowly. “I was married to Irwin when we first became involved. I wasn’t particularly proud of myself. But I couldn’t help it. I was in love with Vincent. I still am. We’re incredibly happy together.”
“Just to be clear about this-were you two an item back when Kenny’s father was in prison?”
Beth lowered her eyes. “So you know about Sy.”
“I know all about your grandfather, too.” Very turned his gaze on Bertha. “I believe you were acquainted with Saul Pincus, weren’t you, Mrs. Peck?”
Bertha took another thirsty gulp of her iced tea. “You believe right, young man. I was all of nineteen years old. Still had stars in my eyes. And, God, I was mad for Saul,” she recalled, her small, wrinkled face glowing. “Our lovemaking was so intense I would nearly faint. It was never, ever like that with anyone else. Certainly not with my husband, Guy. But our love… Saul and I weren’t meant to be. He died so young. It was very sudden.”
“Yeah, he got suddenly shot in Lindy’s.”
“The poor dear was an innocent bystander to some awful gang squabble. He was just sitting there over a bowl of soup, minding his own business, when a stray bullet caught him right in the forehead.” Bertha shook her head sadly. “The city was a dangerous place in those days.”
Very let out a laugh. “Who do you think you’re fooling, Mrs. Peck? Saul Pincus was rubbed out. The man was a big-time racketeer.”
“That is a load of hooey,” she said indignantly. “Saul was in the fur trade.”
“I see. And what about the police case files and newspaper stories-are you telling me they’re nothing but lies?”
“All lies. You shouldn’t go by what the police or the papers say, young man. They never know the real truth about anything. Remember that in the future-assuming you have a future. You’re awfully darned mouthy,” she pointed out, her big blue eyes glittering at him. “Although you’re obviously accustomed to getting away with it. You good lookers with your thick, wavy hair and bedroom eyes always do, don’t you?”
Very shifted in his chair, looking slightly queasy. Evidently he wasn’t used to getting hit on by a babe who was pushing ninety. The man was new to Dorset, after all. He turned his attention back to Beth now. “Mrs. Breslauer, have you ever heard of the Seven Sisters?”
Beth smiled at him indulgently. “Don’t tell me you came here to talk about that old fairy tale.”
“So it’s a fairy tale?”
“More of an urban legend, like those stories you hear about werewolves living in the subway tunnels.”
“In that case, why don’t you tell me a little bit about your family?”
“Certainly. My mom and dad were fabric wholesalers in the garment district for more than thirty years. They’re both gone now, I’m sorry to say. Mom’s sister, Sadie, was a seamstress. And her husband, my Uncle Izzy, repaired transmissions at a garage in Long Island City. Dad’s brother, my Uncle Nathan, drove a cab…”
“Are you having a good time with this, Mrs. Breslauer?” Very glowered across the coffee table at her. “Your mother, Estelle, served two separate sentences for receiving stolen property. And your father, Sam, was a bookmaker. Not a big-time operator like his father, Saul, but he served time. So did your Uncle Nathan, your Uncle Izzy and your Aunt Sadie. I have their criminal histories right here. So stop disrespecting me, will you?”
Beth sat quite still for a moment, her plump lips pursed, manicured hands folded primly in her lap. Then she glanced at Mitch, smiling faintly, before she said, “They didn’t want that life for me. I was the pretty princess. Special. And so smart. I graduated magna cum laude from Hunter College. Went to work at an ad agency on Madison Avenue. Married a reputable, hardworking young man. Sy was holding down a nine-to-five job in an office supplies store and going to accounting school at night. He got his accounting degree, too. We had plans. We had dreams. We had such a wonderful future all…” She broke off, her dark eyes puddling with tears. “Except it turned out I wasn’t so smart. It wasn’t until months after Kenny was born that I found out Sy was mixed up in my Uncle Izzy’s bookmaking operation. I can’t begin to tell you what a body blow that was. I was so ashamed. When Sy got arrested I hid the truth from Kenny. I didn’t want him to know. I was terrified that he’d get drawn into that life himself. It has its allure, believe me. Particularly when you’re young.” Beth reached for her iced tea and took a sip. “I married Irwin to get Kenny away from it once and for all. Irwin never knew a thing about it. And Kenny still doesn’t have a clue.” She gazed down into her glass, breathing in and out. “But I must say, Lieutenant Very, that you’re making my family out to be much more diabolical than they actually were. All of that fanciful nonsense about an organized underworld cabal called the Seven Sisters. It wasn’t like that.”
“So what was it like?”
“My people were Jewish immigrants who arrived at Ellis Island with nothing more than the clothes on their backs. They struggled and fought and did whatever they had to do to get by-even if that meant skirting the law now and then.”
“Times were hard in those days,” Bertha chimed in. “Believe me, I know. My father was a dumb Polack who worked himself to death in the steel mills before he was forty. You’re talking about poor people. Uneducated people who barely spoke the language. You’re talking about the Great Depression and two world wars. Rough neighborhoods. Rough justice. Nobody looking out for you but your own kind. Everybody’s family had to fight to survive.”
“Mine ran small neighborhood businesses on the Lower East Side,” Beth said. “Did they buy merchandise off of the black market? Yes. They did business with thieves of the lowest sort. Did they take bets and run numbers? Sure they did. If you owned any kind of a business-a candy store, a corner bar-that was expected of you. Did they get involved with loan sharks? You bet. There was no such thing as a fancy savings and loan for those people. Just an underground economy that operated by its own rules. Same as it still does to this day. You’ve been in one of those neighborhood bodegas in Harlem, haven’t you, Lieutenant?”
“A million,” Very grunted.
“Where do you think they get their cigarettes and razor blades-from reputable wholesalers? They buy them on the cheap from people who steal them for a living. Does that make them a part of a vast criminal conspiracy? No. They’re just trying to get by-and hoping for a better life for their children. Just like I wanted for Kenny. After Sy got sent to prison I filed for a divorce. Went to work at Bloomingdale’s because it paid better than the ad agency did. I met Irwin on a blind date. We used to joke about that-meeting an eye doctor on a blind date. Irwin was no George Clooney. But he was kind and decent and he came home every night. We were happy together.”
“Meanwhile,” Very put in, “you were shtupping Vinnie behind his back.”
“You still have a lot to learn about life, young man,” Bertha said reproachfully. “It’s much, much more of a trade-off than you realize. Just look at my situation. I was married to the dullest man on earth for forty-four years. Guy Peck was also a perfectly dreadful lover. He had zero appreciation of my needs. The Human Broomstick, I used to call him. And yet he gave me everything else I could ever want. So I was a good, dutiful wife to him-even though not a day went by when I didn’t think about Saul. I still do. I still remember the cologne Saul wore. If I get the slightest whiff of anything even remotely like it I get weak in the knees. And that man has been dead for seventy years.”
Beth studied Romaine Very curiously. “Why are you here, Lieutenant?”
“Augie Donatelli was my friend. I told you.”
“So you did. But there’s more to it than that. Why are you so interested in my family’s history?”
“I have a long-standing personal interest in the Seven Sisters. That’s why Dawgie kept me filled in about you.”
“What sort of a long-standing personal interest?”
The lieutenant cleared his throat. “It has to do with my dad, okay? He shortened his last name when he struck out on his own. That’s how it came to be Very.”
“What was it originally?”
“Verichenko,” he answered, gazing at her.
Beth’s eyes widened. “Thelma Kudlach married a Verichenko. Manny, I believe. So that makes you…”
“Thelma’s great-great-grandson. You and I are cousins, Mrs. Breslauer. I’m one of the family. And I know the real deal. I know that my grandmother started working the boardwalk in Atlantic City when she was five years old. And my grandfather picked pockets for a living-when he wasn’t in jail. So don’t try to tell me your family was just like everyone else’s. And don’t tell me the Seven Sisters is some urban legend. I know better, got it?”
Beth didn’t say a word. No one did. There was only stunned silence.
Until Mitch said, “Beth, how did you and Bertha happen to hook up?”
Beth didn’t respond. Just reached for her iced tea and took a sip, her hand trembling slightly.
“It was my idea,” Bertha spoke up. “My attorney tracked her down for me. I wanted to meet her. Her grandfather was the great love of my life, after all. We got together for lunch in the city one day and became friends. Went shopping together. Took in the occasional matinee. I still enjoy a good musical-not that these girls today can dance. They’re as graceful as Clydesdales. After Beth sold her place in Scarsdale she was looking to buy a condo out this way. I let her know when a unit became available here.”
Very leafed through Augie’s file once more. “Before he died, Mrs. Breslauer, your late husband lost a ton of money in the subprime housing meltdown. You were forced to sell that house in Scarsdale for significantly less than what it had been assessed at two years earlier.”
“I wasn’t forced to sell it.” Beth was growing testy now. “I chose to. I got nearly two million dollars for the place, free and clear. And Irwin’s investment portfolio still amounted to more than a half-million in good, solid stocks and bonds. And he’d taken out a substantial life insurance policy. My investment advisor has set me up so that I can live very comfortably without touching so much as one penny of the principal. Take it from me, Lieutenant. I don’t need to pick anyone’s pockets.”
“Would it surprise you if I said Dawgie thought otherwise?”
“Nothing you can say about that man would surprise me.”
“He tailed you and Vinnie to the Mohegan Sun. Were you aware of that?”
Beth made a face. “Of course. I spotted him right off.”
“And how did you feel about it?”
“I was annoyed, naturally. But Augie liked to annoy me. Took delight in it, in fact.”
“He thought you and Vinnie were working the place,” Very explained. “Lifting handbags, jewelry and the like.”
“Don’t be absurd. We frequent the Mohegan Sun because Vincent enjoys the blackjack tables. Gambling happens to be legal there, you know. I get a spa treatment. We have a nice meal together. Go upstairs to our room and make love. He likes to keep the lights on. I like to be on top. Would you care for any more dirty details, Lieutenant Very?”
“No,” he answered abruptly. “No, I wouldn’t.”
“Then kindly tell me why my personal life is any of your damned business.”
“Because Dawgie was following you and now he’s dead.”
“You sound as if you believe there’s a connection.”
“Maybe there is. Vinnie does know people.”
“You’re thinking he put out a contract on Augie? Don’t make me laugh. Vincent runs a hair salon. He’s a family man.”
“Yeah, the Albanese family. I’ve got your boy’s criminal arrest record right here.” Very stabbed the file folder with his finger. “Vinnie’s been in the system since he boosted his first car when he was sixteen. He took a pop for breaking and entering one year later. Followed by armed assault. Followed by attempted extortion. Followed by… should I go on?”
“That’s not necessary…” Beth answered faintly.
“I’ll have to talk to him as soon I get back to the city. Hear his version of where you two were last night.”
“Go right ahead. At his salon, if you please. Not his home. He’ll confirm everything I’ve said. Everything.” Brave words. Except Beth didn’t come off sounding brave. She sounded deflated. And her color wasn’t very good all of a sudden. It was gray like putty. “May I pour you more iced tea, Lieutenant?”
“No, thanks. We’re done here.”
She managed a smile at Mitch. “I’ll tell Kenny that you stopped by. He’ll be sorry he missed you.”
“Likewise. Could you give him a message for me?”
“Of course, dear. What is it?”
“Tell him I said: ‘Chance is but a fool’s name for fate.’ ”
“What the hell’s that mean?” Very demanded as they started down the hallway toward the back door of the Captain Chadwick House. “ ‘Chance is but a fool’s name for fate?’ That some kind of a code?”
“It’s a line from a Fred Astaire-Ginger Rogers movie called The Gay Divorcee. Not that Kenny will guess it in a million years. We’ve been playing the same movie game since we were kids,” Mitch explained. “Kind of like you’ve been playing games with me.”
“Dude, I don’t know where you’re going with that.”
“Yeah, you do. You told me you became a cop for family reasons. Yet you were purposely vague. Now I know why.”
“My dad took a job with the Port Authority of New York after he got out of Fordham. The man hated what he knew about the family. And he made sure I grew up hating it, too.”
“You became a cop so you could right your family’s wrongs, is that it?”
“Yeah, that’s me-the gen-next righteous avenger.” Very narrowed his eyes at Mitch. “Why, you got a problem with that?”
“You should have told me that you and Beth were related.”
“You’re right, I should have,” he acknowledged. “Are we good now?”
“I don’t know what we are, Lieutenant. But we’re not good.”
The back door of the building opened onto a brick path that led out to the garages. A precious dozen or so of those lush, flowering Captain Chadwick Blush Noisette rosebushes lined both sides of the path. Maddee Farrell was pruning one of them back, a pair of garden gloves on her hands to protect against the thorns. Unlike Bitsy Peck, who tended her garden with a contented glow on her face, Maddee worked with feverish tenacity, every muscle taut, her jaw clenched. For her, that rosebush wasn’t a pleasant diversion. It was a crusade. Dex was seated beside her on a folding canvas chair working on the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle.
“Your roses look very nice, Mrs. Farrrell,” Mitch observed.
“Why, thank you.” Maddee flashed a tight smile at him. “It’s not easy keeping them healthy, you know, what with the insects and diseases and ball-playing louts.”
Mitch nodded politely, although he was unaware of any Captain Chadwick House resident who played any kind of ball, loutish or otherwise. “Mrs. Farrell, this is Lieutenant Very. He’s a police officer from New York City.”
Very nodded at her. “How are you, ma’am?”
“Rather alarmed, now that you ask,” Maddee replied loftily. “We both are. Isn’t that right, Dex?”
Dex didn’t respond. Didn’t look up from his puzzle. Didn’t so much as acknowledge their presence.
“A man has been beaten to death in the middle of the Historic District, Lieutenant. This sort of behavior is simply not Dorset, I assure you. Why would anyone do such a horrible thing?”
“That’s what the state police are trying to ascertain,” Very replied.
“Thirty-six across, Mr. Berger,” Dex said suddenly, tapping the puzzle with his pencil. “The clue is ‘Actor Ray.’ The answer would be
…?”
“That depends on whether you need four letters or six. If it’s four then I’d go with Aldo Ray. You may remember him as Davie Hucko in the Tracy-Hepburn movie Pat and Mike. If it’s six letters then they’re probably referring to Ray Liotta, the star of Goodfellas.”
“Two, three, four letters…” Dex murmured. “And Aldo fits. I already have the O. Thank you, Mr. Berger.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
“I hope you haven’t forgotten my invitation. The world is full of lunatics and bores. Do stop by for some lemonade and a talk.”
“I’ll be happy to.”
“Have you had any luck with that other matter?” Maddee asked Mitch.
“Other matter?”
“Gathering up your old clothes for the Nearly New shop. So many good, hardworking folks are doing without these days. Even if your things are a bit worn the Goodwill will gratefully accept them. Shoes, too, if any of yours are getting tight. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit. The adult male’s foot can grow as much as a full size larger, you know.”
“I’ll see what I can find,” he promised her as he and the lieutenant continued down the brick path.
“Dude, is everyone in this town crazy?” Very wondered, shaking his head.
“Pretty much.”
There were a half dozen garage bays not counting Augie’s. His had yellow police tape over its locked double-wide door. Very yanked it away and punched a security code in the keypad. The automatic door promptly lifted open.
“How did you know his code?”
“Dawgie used Gina’s birth date for everything.”
Augie had a rider mower and a John Deere Gator in there. A tool bench. An old refrigerator. And, center stage, a gorgeous red, vintage Pontiac GTO.
“His pride and joy,” Very said, gazing at it. “She’s a ’65. 389 V8, four on the floor, chrome rally wheels, dual exhausts. They called that color Montero red. He always wanted one when he was a kid. Bought it for himself last year off of some rich guy in the Hamptons.”
“I never had the slightest idea, Lieutenant. I lived across the hall from Beth and Kenny for all of those years and I had no clue about her husband, her family, any of it. All I knew was that she was a nice lady.”
Very stood there nodding, nodding. “She must have been a real honey in those days, too. Hell, she still is. Vinnie has good taste, I’ll sure give him…” He frowned at Mitch. “Dude, you just got way red all of a sudden. You okay?”
“I’m fine. So kindly back off.”
“Hey, whatever.”
“You want to know something, Lieutenant? No one in this world is who or what they appear to be. That’s the second most important thing I’ve learned since I moved to Dorset.”
“What’s the most important?”
“That WASPs have no idea what a real bagel is. Tell me the truth-was Augie right? Is Beth still in the family business? Have she and Vinnie been working the casino?”
Very ran a hand through his wavy black hair. “The truth? I honestly don’t know. But I was definitely getting played just now by her and that old lady both. They’re slick operators those two. Moved me wherever they wanted to.”
“Meaning what? That they’re hiding something more?”
“Oh, absolutely. I have no idea what. But I sure would like to know.”
“How much of this do you have to share with Sergeant Snipes?”
“All of it, dude. Sorry, but this is a murder investigation.”
“Understood.”
Very pulled two pairs of white latex gloves from the back pocket of his jeans, tossing one pair to Mitch. “Never leave home without ’em,” he said, grinning at him. Then he felt around underneath the GTO’s rear bumper until he grabbed hold of a key case that was held in place under there with a magnet. He removed the key from the case and climbed the wooden stairway up to Augie’s apartment. Yanked the police tape from the door and used the key to open it.
It was warm and stuffy inside Augie’s one-room apartment, which smelled of Aqua Velva, stale beer and dirty laundry. The decor had the flavor of a hot-sheet motel room in Secaucus, New Jersey. All that was missing was the cheapo landscape painting on the wall over his unmade bed. For art, Augie had a pinup calendar from a tool catalog thumbtacked to his closet door. Miss August was a busty blonde wearing red suspenders, a tool belt and a smile. Augie had a Pullman kitchen with dirty dishes piled high in the sink. An olive green lounge chair that was set before a thirteen-inch TV. A footlocker that served as a coffee table. There was a battered old oak desk. A chest of drawers. On top of that there was a framed photograph of a pretty young woman with dark hair.
“That’s Gina,” Very said somberly. “He wanted to be buried next to her in Mineola. His plot’s all paid for. I’ll have him transported there after they release his body.”
Mitch had a look underneath the bed. Augie’s Louisville Slugger was gone, just as Very had said it would be. Mitch could definitely make out its outline in the thick layer of dust under there. “I don’t get it-if this place was locked, then how did that bat end up out there last night? Des swore Augie didn’t have it on him.”
“Obviously, she was mistaken.”
“What if she wasn’t?”
“She was. Had to be. That’s the only way it rolls. I’ll search the desk, okay? You check out the footlocker.”
There were newspapers and empty beer cans heaped on the footlocker. Mitch removed them and opened it. Inside, he found a stack of old Playboy magazines from the late sixties. Each issue had been tucked inside of a protective plastic sleeve.
“This guy was a serious collector,” he said, sifting through them. “He has Barbara McNair’s legendary nude pictorial from If He Hollers, Let Him Go. And here’s the classic Ursula Andress spread from July, ’66. Look at all of these-Julie Newmar, Pamela Tiffin, Stella Stevens…”
“Anything in there besides old time peek-a-boobage?” Very asked as he riffled through the desk drawers.
“Baseball cards. Shoe boxes full of them. Looks as if he has the complete Yankees teams from ’64 through ’72. But there’s not a thing in here that’s the least bit current.” Mitch closed the footlocker back up. “You having any luck?”
“Nada. No notepads. No nothing. Wait, here we go…” He’d found his friend’s Nikon in the bottom drawer. Checked its register before popping it open. “No film inside, damn it.” Very got up and checked out Augie’s bathroom. Poked around in the medicine chest. Then went prowling into the kitchen, flinging open cupboards and drawers and, lastly, the refrigerator. “Got something here, dude.”
“What is it, lieutenant?”
“A cold six of Ballantine. I’m totally there. You want one, too?”
“Why not?”
Mitch joined him in the tiny kitchen and accepted a tall can of Ballantine Ale. Leaned against the sink, opened it and drank some down while Very peered inside the open refrigerator. It was empty except for the Ballantine, a carton of orange juice and assorted condiments. Clearly, the man didn’t do much cooking. Very reached for the mustard jar, twisted its lid off and poked his gloved index finger inside. Then he screwed the lid back on and did the same thing to the pickle relish, the ketchup and the mayonnaise. It was a large jar of mayonnaise. And when Very plunged his finger in down deep-son of a bitch-he found a smaller jar submerged inside. He removed it from its goopy hiding place and rinsed it off in the sink. Inside of it there was a roll of 35mm Kodak film.
“Knew I’d find it eventually,” he said with quiet satisfaction.
“I’m surprised that the crime scene investigators didn’t.”
“Had no reason to, dude. They weren’t looking for it.”
“What do you think is on it, Lieutenant?”
“Dawgie’s last batch of surveillance photos, I’m hoping. That roll he FedExed me of you and Beth having smoothies together-when did he take those?”
“Friday afternoon.”
“These must be from Friday night. Or maybe some time during the day on Saturday.”
“Why didn’t he get them developed? Why did he hide them?”
“No idea. But we’ve got to find out what’s on this roll right away. Is there a place here in town that’s open on Sunday?”
“No, but there’s a quickie photo center over in Old Saybrook. It’s in the shopping center across from the bowling alley.”
“You telling me that’s what people do out here to launch their payload? They bowl?”
“I can drive you over there.”
“Not necessary. I’m on it. Just need you to run me back to your island for my bike.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. I’ve got other business to attend to. Still have to find myself a place to stay tonight, for one thing.”
“If you run into any trouble with that let me know. My neighbor, Bitsy Peck, has at least eight spare bedrooms and loves company. And why don’t you come out for dinner later? If you don’t get a better offer, I mean.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that.” Very sipped his Ballantine, gazing around at his dead friend’s dreary little apartment. “Not much to leave behind when you’re gone, is it, dude?”
“No, Lieutenant,” Mitch said softly. “It’s not.”