The Blood Red Indian Summer (17 page)

“On it, Loo. Anything else?”

“We need a guest list.”

“Talk to Clarence,” Des advised. “It was by invite only—until the girls’ father, Calvin, let in pretty much anyone who showed up with a hottie. That’s what Trooper Olsen told me. He was on the gate to keep the media at bay. Clarence and Calvin both have priors, by the way. Got their sheets in my ride.”

“Reach out to the media people,” Yolie told Toni. “The tabloid outlets won’t cooperate but the local TV news channels will. You need a look at their footage of who went in and out. Run the license plates of anybody and everybody who was parked nearby. And if you’re able to download a photo of this Lonnie, run it past Trooper Olsen. Maybe he’ll remember seeing him.”

“You got it, Loo. Is he cute?”

“Is
who
cute?”

“Trooper Olsen.”

Yolie glared at her. “I’m sorry, did I just wander into a slumber party?”

“Come on, it’s just us girls. Can’t we vibe? My sisters are married. My cousins are married. They’re into babies. I’m into violent crimes.”

“That’s the job. If you don’t like it, get out now.”

“I love it, Loo. But I’m a first-of. There’s never, ever been a Tedone woman doing what I’m doing. I have no one to talk to. Sure, my cousin Rico counsels me—”

“Um, okay, this is scary on so many different levels,” Des said.

“What do you mean by that?” Toni wondered, filing, filing.

“Oh, nothing. I used to be the one who counseled him. You saying that makes me feel old, that’s all.”

“He really admires you. Thinks you’re the smartest person he ever worked with.” Toni glanced at Yolie and said, “You he’s just plain afraid of.”

Yolie watched Toni file her nails. “Do you
have
to do that right now?”

“It helps me think.”

“It’s driving me crazy.”

Toni made a face. “Whatever. I’m going outside for a shmoke. Feel free to talk about me behind my back.” She got up and marched out of the cafeteria.

Yolie heaved a sigh. “I fantasized for years about making lieutenant. I finally make it. And what do they do? They give me a Tedone with ta-tas.”

“Yeah, I noticed them. Couldn’t help it.”

“They call her Toni the Tiger at the headmaster’s house. I’m supposed to be seasoning her.”

“She’s not a complete idiot.”

“Not a slacker either,” Yolie had to admit. “She does the donkey work and then some. What, you think I should go easier on her?”

“No, no. Do what you have to do. Although you could talk to her about that blouse.”

Yolie let out a laugh. “You hate the Brass City mob even more than I do. Are you getting soft on me?”

“Not a chance. But I know what it’s like to be a woman on this job.”

“And I don’t?”

“She’s one of us, Yolie.”

“She’s not one of us. She’s a Tedone.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say.”

Yolie sipped her coffee in brooding silence for a moment. “
Something
has been happening to that little cutie upstairs. That doesn’t mean we can build a case out of it. But I’m with you. I’ll chalk it up as a teaching tool if my captain reams me. Who else should we be looking at?”

“Tyrone likes Stewart Plotka for it.”

“The cat who’s suing him for that Dave & Buster’s beat down?”

Des nodded. “Plotka claims that Tyrone raped his girlfriend, Katie. Could be that raping Kinitra is his idea of payback. He
is
a sniveling creep. And he’s been grabbing pub outside the Grantham place lately.
And
we found a hole in Tyrone’s brand new fence. Plotka could have snuck in last night and attacked her. It does play. You’ll want to establish his whereabouts down to the minute. He and his high-priced lawyer have rooms at the Saybrook Point Inn.”

“Who else?”

“Tyrone has had problems with his next door neighbor, Justy Bond.”

“As in ‘Just Ask Justy?’”

“That’s him. He has been nothing but pissed off ever since Tyrone moved in. Hates his fence, his dock, his boat, his music…”

“Let me guess—his pigment, too?”

Des smiled at her. “There’s definite animosity there. I’m also hearing that Justy beats up on his women. His son, June, keeps a sailboat tied up at Justy’s dock. Sleeps out on the thing. Maybe June heard something down there last night. I can sound him out. Or stay out of it. Whatever you want.”

“Girl, I’m partnered with a rug rat. What do
you
think I want?”

Des also told her about the beating that Clarence had given Winston Lash for biting Asia’s booty. And how it was Winston who’d tipped off Mitch to the hole in the fence.

“Let’s hear more about this Winston. Could
he
be our attacker?”

“He’s a seventy-two-year-old dementia patient. Kinitra’s on the small side but she’s still a strong, healthy girl. She could have handled him.”

“You sure about that?”

“I’m not sure about anything,” Des replied. “Except that Toni isn’t wrong. Tyrone himself has to be considered the prime suspect. It fits his profile.”

Yolie studied Des across the table. “You like him for it or not?”

“That all depends on which
him
you’re talking about. He told me he’s trying to change his badass ways. And he’s plenty persuasive—right up until he loses his temper. Once that happens anything’s possible.”

“Who else lives there with him?”

“Rondell, his kid brother. He takes care of the man’s financial affairs. Also worships the ground Kinitra walks on.”

“Maybe he’s been doing more than worship it. He have a sheet, too?”

“No, Rondell’s a real straight arrow. Has an MBA from Wharton. Plus he’s on the twerpy side. The boys’ mother, Chantal, lives there, too. She’s a former working girl and crackhead. Heavily into the Lord now. Or doing a pretty fair imitation of it. A slow girl named Monique helps her around the place. That’s everybody.”

Toni returned to their table now, reeking of cigarette smoke.

Yolie glanced up at her. “Ready to get some honest work done now, Sergeant?”

“You bet, Loo.”

“Then let’s ride. Oh, and, sergeant?…”

“Yeah, Loo?”

“Button your damned blouse up, will you? This is the Major Crime Squad, not Hooters.”

C
HAPTER
10

M
ITCH HAD ALREADY DEVOURED
his fourth biscotti by the time he turned off Old Shore Road and started his way through the Nature Preserve. Pressured. He was feeling unusually pressured. He absolutely had to send his Halloween Scare-a-Palooza column off to Lacy this afternoon. And clean his house from top to bottom for tonight’s quasi-monumental dinner party. And go for a three-mile run so as to work off the truly alarming number of calories he’d been mainlining over the past seventy-two hours. And try on every single pair of pants he owned so as to determine if any of them were creeping northward toward his armpits. Plus he felt an overwhelming urge to take a long, hot shower after his little chat with Stewart Plotka and Andrea Halperin. He was positive that Plotka had spit shrimp salad on him. Andrea? She’d just made him feel soiled.

As Mitch neared the barricade to the Big Sister causeway, he came upon a gleaming blue Porsche Carrera convertible parked there with its top down. Rondell Grantham stood leaning against it, neatly dressed in a white button-down shirt and tan slacks. He was a very serious, professional-looking little guy—aside from the half-empty fifth of Grey Goose vodka he was chug-a-lugging. He seemed to have been weeping. His eyes were red and swollen behind his gold-framed spectacles.

“Can I help you?” Mitch asked him through the Studey’s open window.

“Yes, sir, you can,” he answered thickly. Wasted. Rondell was totally wasted. “Are you … Mr. Berger?”

“I am.”

“I am sorry to bother you but my family has suffered a terrible experience. My brother’s wife … Her sister washed up on your beach.”

“I know. I’m the one who found her. And I know
you
, Rondell. We met last night at the party. I was with Resident Trooper Mitry. I escorted Mr. Lash home, remember?”

Rondell peered at him, his gaze unfocused. “Of course. Please forgive me. I’m a little … upset.” He took a big gulp of the vodka, holding the bottle out to Mitch. “Care for some?”

“No, thanks. It’s a little early for me.”

“I hardly ever drink. Maybe a glass of champagne at New Year’s.”

“Rondell, was that bottle full when you started in on it?”

“Yes, I believe it was. I opened it. Needed a drink.” He took another gulp, wavering as he stood there. “Has Resident Trooper Mitry … told you anything?”

“I know Kinitra’s pregnant, if that’s what you mean.”

Rondell let out a grief-stricken sob. “Who would
do
such a thing to her?”

“Rondell, would you like to come out for a cup of coffee?”

“Actually, I was wondering … I would very much like to see the spot where you found her.”

“What for?”

“Because I almost lost her. Want to see where she was found. That make any sense?”

“Sure, it does. I’ll be happy to show you. Nice car you have, by the way.”

“Thank you. It was a birthday present from my brother.”

“Why don’t you leave it here? We can take my truck, okay?”

Rondell was certainly an agreeable drunk. He opened the Studey’s passenger door and climbed right in, bottle in hand. “This truck is very much an antique type of truck, is it not?”

“It is an antique type of truck, yes.”

“Most interesting.”

“Glad you think so.”

Mitch steered it across the wooden causeway and pulled up outside his cottage.

Rondell squinted at it through the windshield. “This is very much an antique type of house, too. Rather modest in scale. I thought it would be much grander.”

“It’s plenty big enough for me. I live by myself.”

“Really? I personally have never lived by myself. Wouldn’t even know how. I’ve always lived with my brother. Or a-a succession of college roommates. None of them liked me very much. Do you like me, Mitch?”

“Sure, I like you fine. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because most people do not. They consider me to be a drippy, dweeby sort of individual. I never spent much time with my roommates. I was always at the library studying. I had to be. I couldn’t let Tyrone find out my secret.” He drank down some more vodka, hiccoughing slightly. “Would you like to know my secret?”

“Okay.”

“I’m not very smart.”

“Who are you kidding? You don’t get an MBA from Wharton by being a dummy.”

“No, listen to what I’m saying.
Listen
. The others were
so
much smarter. I had to play catch up at the library every single night. Cram and cram and…” Rondell noticed the groceries that were piled on the seat between them. “You do your own cooking?”

“I do.”

“You’re an accomplished type of person, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m what they call a renaissance schlub.”

Rondell blinked at him. “May I see the inside of your home?”

“Absolutely.”

Mitch stowed the dinner groceries in the fridge while Rondell flopped down on the love seat with his vodka bottle, gazing around at the living room.

“Very nice home, Mitch,” he observed.

“Just do me a favor and don’t call it sa-weet.”

“Wasn’t going to. I would be very happy in such a house. It’s exceedingly atmospheric. You play the guitar?”

“I make some noise.”

“Kinitra plays the piano.”

“Yes, I know.”

Rondell set the bottle down sharply on the coffee table. “I would like to see where you found her.”

Mitch led him down the path toward the beach. Rondell walked slowly and carefully, one foot in front of the other as if he were on a tightrope. It was still warm and muggy out. The sky was a hazy summer sky. And yet Mitch could feel a slight change in the air. A breeze was starting to pick up. A few sailboats were out there trying to catch hold of it.

Rondell peered out at them. “Tyrone has a cigarette boat.”

“I’ve seen it. And heard it.”

“I hate the thing. It’s so childish.”

“We’re all children inside.”

“Very true, Mitch. You are a profoundly deep individual.”

“That’s me, all right. I was voted North America’s Deepest Critic at the Cannes Film Festival last year.”

“Were you really?”

“That was a joke, Rondell.”

He nodded sagely. “Another reason why nobody likes me—I have no sense of humor whatsoever.”

“I can give you some homework if you want. A thorough grounding in the films of Preston Sturges ought to help. Plus a steady diet of Abbott and Costello, The Three Stooges, Daffy Duck … Tell you what, I’ll put together a list.”

“I would appreciate that very much.”

Mitch had left an orange safety cone where they’d found her. The tide had gone out since then. The cone stood well back from the water’s edge.

As he approached the cone Rondell began to cry. He fell to his knees and flattened his hands against the sand, holding them there as if he were trying to soak up Kinitra’s aura. “She … was naked when you found her?”

“She had on a white sleeveless T-shirt and panties.”

“But you could see through them.”

“Well, yeah. They were soaking wet.”

He looked up at Mitch accusingly. “You saw her private bits.”

“I’m not the only one who did.”

“Shut your filthy mouth!” Rondell staggered to his feet and threw a wild roundhouse right at Mitch, who ducked it easily and stuck out his leg, tripping him. Rondell sat down hard on the sand, gulped and then proceeded to gaack up that bottle of Grey Goose along with, seemingly, everything he’d eaten in the past three days.

“Feel better now?” Mitch asked him when he was all done.

“I suppose,” he replied weakly, kicking sand over the mess.

“I wasn’t disrespecting her, Rondell. All I meant was that my parents were with me when I found her. They saw her, too. So did the Jewett girls.”

“I understand. Absolutely, totally my mistake. I apologize. Would you care to hug it out?”

“Not necessary. We’re good.”

“I love her so much that it hurts,” he confessed. “It physically hurts, Mitch. Right here in my chest. Kinitra’s my angel. You should hear her sing. You should be around her. She’s … so beautiful. All I ever dream about is the day we will be together.”