The Goodbye Body (30 page)

A blurry photograph of Dolly’s Mercedes dominated the front page, but the factual information in the story was sparse. The identity of the victim could not be released, pending notification of the next of kin. The officers at the scene, and specifically Lieutenant Peter Rosen, had deferred questions about the cause of death to the medical examiner, who’d had no comment. In that the car provided a link to my discovery of the body in the freezer, that story was rehashed. Petti’s name had been discovered, perhaps from a garrulous orderly, but all the story could relate was that Petrolli Mordella was a retired building consultant from Brooklyn. That was adequate, in the eyes of the reporter, to make him seem sinister, although justification for the implicit accusation was noticeably absent.

I tried to immerse myself in the rest of the newspaper, but I felt as though the sword of Damocles, currently incarnated as a blond woman with a good heart and a penchant for lies, was dangling above my head in both a figurative and literal fashion. The phone was only a few steps away. Peter was undoubtedly in his office, making futile calls and abusing a computer keyboard for further information. If I ratted out Dolly, she would be held as a material witness (despite not having witnessed anything), and possibly torn to tatters in the ensuing custody war. Six hours ago, I’d been perversely pleased that she’d returned; now I found myself wishing she’d taken the next flight from Miami to Anchorage.

I was skimming the business section when Dolly appeared, dressed in a plush terry-cloth robe I’d seen in the closet of the bedroom in which I’d been sleeping. I’d encountered such robes in hotel closets, but had been too intimidated to wear them for fear I’d be charged as an imposter. Her hair was impeccable, as was her makeup. I ran my fingers through my damp, limp curls and said, “There’s fresh coffee.”

“How thoughtful,” she murmured. “Why don’t I see what I can find in the refrigerator and whip up a souffle? I do so love Sunday mornings. Bibi used to make the most divine blueberry muffins and cinnamon rolls, and we’d spend hours reading the
New York Times
and slaving over the crossword puzzle. Shall we have mimosas on the patio with breakfast?”

“A lovely idea. I’ll invite the two police officers parked out front to join us. They must be starving.”

“I think not, dear.” She took eggs, mushrooms, peppers, and various other items from the refrigerator and set them on the counter next to the sink. “Has anyone called?”

“If you’re worried that I called Peter, the answer is no. I’m still considering it, though. I’m in an even worse position than I was yesterday. Are you sure that no one knows you’re here? What if this Velocchio person followed you from the airport?”

Dolly smiled. “I used a false driver’s license and wore a gray wig. My limp was so pronounced that the clerk at the car rental agency expedited the paperwork and walked me to the car. No one could have recognized me, including Bibi.”

“What if the police find the rental car?” I persisted.

“I left it in the Ferncliffs’ driveway. Lucille mentioned a few weeks earlier that they were going on an extended tour of Asia. It won’t be noticed.” She found a bowl and a whisk, and began to crack eggs. “Will Caron and Inez be joining us?”

I stared at her fuzzy white back. “Eventually.”

“I’m looking forward to finding out why they’ve become interested in the tango. So few teenagers appreciate ballroom dancing these days. They’d rather gyrate at each other from several feet away rather than luxuriate in physical contact. When they condescend to slow dancing, all they seem to do is drape themselves over each other and shuffle their feet. There’s no passion in that, no exuberance, no drama, no joie de vivre.”

While I was searching for a response, and admittedly having no success whatsoever, Inez came into the kitchen. She spotted Dolly, who was chopping mushrooms, then blinked at me as if I were entertaining a mutant life form or a Hollywood celebrity.

“Is that… ?” she gurgled.

“Good morning, Inez,” Dolly said cheerfully. “I suppose you’re too young for coffee. Would you like a glass of orange juice? Will Caron be along soon? I’m almost ready to put the souffle in the oven. Once it’s done, it waits for no one.”

Inez positioned herself behind me in case the mad woman with the whisk threatened to attack. “Caron’s in the shower.”

“Then we’re in good shape” Dolly continued. “I’ll just beat the egg whites, pop the souffle in the oven, and see what I can find upstairs to wear. I noticed that you and Caron are staying in my bedroom. Do you think she’ll mind if I tiptoe in and look through the dresser?”

I felt Inez’s fingernails digging into my shoulder. I removed her hand before she drew blood, then said, “Of course not, Dolly. It is your room, after all. Inez, you go with her and let Caron know what’s going on. The souffle can wait until the three of you have a nice, long conversation about past and current events. I’ll wait here.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” Dolly said, putting down the whisk. “Come along, Inez. We have issues to discuss, but I’m confident we can negotiate an agreement.”

Too dumbfounded to protest, Inez followed her out of the kitchen. I suppose I should have accompanied them, but I hadn’t yet decided whether or not to call Peter. I opted to pour myself another cup of coffee rather than give serious consideration to the moral dilemma that had plopped into my lap. I could throw Dolly to the hyenas, or trust her despite her noticeably poor record thus far.

I was still musing when the telephone rang. I went into the hall, punched the obligatory button, and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Ms. Malloy, this is Nick, Nick Lambert, from Manny’s PerfectPools. Remember me?”

“If you’re calling about the pool, it’s still perfect.”

“No, it’s not about the pool, although I would like to say I take pride in my work. I heard you went by the office yesterday, and I think we should talk about it. Would it cause you undue inconvenience if I was to come over?”

“Did Miss Groggin tell you I was there?” I asked.

“Miss Groggin is a suspicious woman. After you left, she began to wonder if you had taken what little cash there was in the drawer or availed yourself of cleaning supplies on your departure. She felt that you were behaving in an odd manner and took it upon herself to call me. Normally, I would have paid no attention to her, but then I learned that you had engaged in an enlightening conversation with Gary Billings. That is what I desire to discuss with you. If you do not object, I can be there in ten minutes.”

I sat down on the bottom step. “I do object, Nick. What’s this about?”

“It would be better if we had this discussion in person, Ms. Malloy.”

I had no idea how long it would take Dolly to convince the girls that they should accept her proposition. Caron had received a poor grade in her sophomore debate class, primarily because of her tenacity despite whatever contrary evidence was presented. I certainly didn’t want to add Nick to the convoluted equation. On the other hand, I was more than a little intrigued by his reference to Gary.

“You can’t come here,” I said, “and I’m not going to meet you at the so-called office in that desolate wasteland of warehouses.”

“I understand, Ms. Malloy. There’s some sort of organic restaurant very close to your bookstore. I should think we can have a private conversation in a back booth. Is that acceptable?”

“I guess so,” I said, not attempting to disguise my lack of enthusiasm. “This afternoon?”

He cleared his throat. “I am thinking of more like fifteen minutes. I’m worried about you, Ms. Malloy. I do not think you realize how much danger you’re in right now. Gary Billings is not who he says he is.”

“Who is he?”

“Fifteen minutes, then. Please don’t let anyone know about this, including Lieutenant Rosen. If I so much as sense that he or any of his detectives are present, then you and I will discuss chlorine, pump maintenance, and the wisdom of draining pools in the winter. Am I clear?”

He hung up without waiting for a reply. I replaced the receiver, then sat back down and tried to think. At this point, I’d dug such a deep hole for myself that I could barely see a patch of blue above me. And it was a cloudy patch, at best. I’d left my watch upstairs, but I could hear the minutes ticking away.

I concluded that I would be in no danger at Sally’s restaurant on a sunny Sunday morning. I wrote a note stating I would be back shortly, and left it on the island. The two police officers looked up as I walked past their car. I said something to the effect that I was going out to get a copy of the
New York Times,
then drove to the Book Depot and parked behind the building. As I entered the restaurant, I saw Nick in the back booth. Ignoring Sally, which is harder than one would think, I sat down across from Nick and said, “Please explain.”

“Would you care for coffee and a muffin?”

In that Sally was bearing down on us, I nodded and kept my eyes averted as he ordered. Once she had moved out of earshot, I said, “What do you know about Gary Billings? Are you going to claim he’s not an FBI agent?”

“He was suspended last month. I do not know the details, but I do know he’s not on active duty.”

“How do you know this?” I demanded.

Nick paused as Sally put down coffee mugs and muffins. She seemed inclined to linger, but we remained silent until she reluctantly went to another booth to take an order. “My supervisor told me,” he said in a low voice. “Billings made a serious mistake that weakened the government’s case against the Velocchio family. His excuses were not satisfactory.”

I dumped a spoonful of brownish-gray granules in my coffee. “Are you telling me that you’re an FBI agent? And Sebastian, too? I find that hard to believe. Why don’t you show me your badge, Nick?”

“I am undercover, Ms. Malloy, and I do not carry my badge unless I anticipate the need to produce it. Sebastian is just a guy who works for Manny.”

“No, he’s not,” I said. “Miss Groggin told me you hired him.”

Nick sucked on his lower lip for a moment. “Sebastian is not a regular employee. On account of some trouble he incurred in the past, he prefers to be paid in cash. Miss Grog-gin would not have gone along with this, so Manny never told her. Since all I know about swimming pools is how to jump into them, I need Sebastian’s expertise, limited as it may be. He is not what you would consider a prime candidate for cloning. He just grunted when I told him that Manny asked me to run the business for a few weeks.”

“And why did Manny do that?”

Nick gazed at me. “He is a very accommodating fellow.”

While I thought, I tried the coffee, which tasted as though it had been made from roots and berries. “For starters, Nick, why should I believe you? Gary has a badge, as well as a somewhat credible explanation for being here.”

“He also has ties to the Velocchio family. I do not suppose he mentioned that.”

“How do I know you’re not the one with ties to the Velocchio family?” I countered coolly, praying he wouldn’t hear the faint tremor in my voice. “Does the FBI have a toll-free number I can call to verify your story?”

“Like I said, Ms. Malloy, I’m undercover. Remember that show called
Mission: Impossible?
The man on the recording always said the secretary-general or whatever would disavow any knowledge. We have the same policy.”

“So I just take your word? I don’t think so.”

He took a sip of the coffee and wrinkled his nose. “I have never tasted horse piss, but I imagine it would be similar to this. But to return to the problem, I agree that you have no reason to believe me. That cannot be helped. All I can do is warn you not to believe Gary Billings, either. It is probable that he is responsible for Petrolli Mordella’s death, and the girl’s, too. It is imperative to him that he find Doris Barlucci, currently known as Dolly Goforth, before we do. Obviously, we cannot let that happen.”

“Why does he have to find her? Better yet, why do you have to find her? She’s not going to testify at the grand jury investigation next week. During one of our conversations on the telephone, she made it clear that she has no incriminating evidence. She wants to put Bibi’s death and his association with the Velocchio family behind her. Why this sudden urgency to find her?”

“It’s safer for you and your daughter if you don’t know,” said Nick.

“I’ve heard that too many times.”

“In this case, the truth really is stranger than fiction, Ms. Malloy. You should heed all these well-intentioned warnings. Look at what happened to Mr. Mordella and Miss Santini. I do not want something like that to happen to you and your daughter.”

I stared at him. “Is that a threat?”

He held up his hands. “In no way should you interpret that as a threat. The FBI does not threaten law-abiding citizens. The Velocchios, on the other hand, have a different philosophy. Once they’re satisfied that you’ve told them everything you can, they do not leave witnesses, including members of their own family whom they no longer trust. That is why it’s taken us so many years to even attempt to get grand jury indictments. It is most unfortunate that you are now perceived as a key player. If you wish, I can make a few calls and have you and your daughter relocated within hours.”

“Temporarily?”

He shrugged. “That will depend on your degree of complicity. Even if the head of the family and his trusted captains are imprisoned, others may feel a moral obligation to make an example of you. The federal marshals will choose a random location, offer limited assistance, and give you fresh identities. This way, no one, including your closest friends and relatives, will be able to inadvertently give away any information. It will be difficult, but at least you’ll be safe.”

“Will they find me a job as a library aide or a custodian? Pay Caron’s college tuition? Send Christmas cards on my behalf?”

“This is not a joke, Ms. Malloy,” said Nick. He leaned forward, his hands clutched on the stained tabletop, his voice low and intense. “You will remain in danger until we find Dolly and take her into protective custody. Those sent here by the Velocchio family are convinced that you know where she is. They know, as do we, that she continues to call you every few days, and now they suspect that she is much closer to home than Miami. They will not leave you standing in their way. Think of it as a dog race. The rabbit, a mindless machine, goes around the track, while the dogs pound after it, jostling each other, snarling, determined to catch it and rip it to shreds. This rabbit made of scraps of metal and artificial fur lacks the capacity to be afraid. A real rabbit would dive into the nearest burrow and stay there until the race is over.”