At the top of one of the census reports was a note from Jackie via Allison:
Alena gave me addresses and phone numbers.
The addresses are post-office boxes. The phone numbers go to answering machines. Alena said they conducted business entirely through back-and-forth messages. I see what you’re getting at. It pisses me off when you don’t share anything until after the fact. By the time you get this I’ll be heavily sedated. Don’t wake me up.
There was more in the envelope that might have been interesting, but I had enough. I had what I wanted.
I put my hand on Sullivan’s forearm.
“Can you just stay put for a few minutes while I go talk to Amanda? I’ll get you another beer.”
He frowned at me.
“I can get my own damn beer. Go ahead. I’ll still be here. Especially if somebody stabs me again.”
“You have a cell phone?” I asked him.
“Who doesn’t?”
“What’s the number?”
I whistled for Eddie to follow me over to Amanda’s house. Her car was in the driveway, but she wasn’t out on her chaise. I rang the bell and she answered wearing a terry cloth bathrobe.
“Well, hello,” she said. “I was about to get dressed. Should I not bother?”
“Not in front of the dog,” I said, walking past her into the house. “Actually, what I’d like is for you to take the dog and drive directly to Burton’s house. Stay there until I call. Tell him I’m with Sullivan and to keep you safe until he hears from me.”
“You’re frightening me,” she said.
“Sorry. Just a precaution.”
“Where are you going?”
“To test a theory.”
“That clears that up.”
“Can you go?”
“I guess. Just don’t wait too long to call. Burton’ll be worried. I’ll be worried. I’m worried now.”
I put my arm around her shoulders and gave a squeeze.
“What’s to worry?” I asked.
“I know the risks you take.”
“I’ve got Sullivan with me. Nobody’s stupid enough to mess with a cop.”
I left her and Eddie and went to retrieve Sullivan before Burton’s expensive beer put him to sleep. Though first I had to stop at my house to make a phone call.
A man answered the phone.
“Neville St. Clair?” I asked.
It was quiet on the other end of the line for what seemed a long time.
“Or do you prefer Hugh Boone?” I asked.
“Who is this?”
“Sam Acquillo.”
There was some more silence.
“What do you want?” he said, flatly.
“To meet. Talk about it.”
“Tell me now.”
“You’ll have to meet me.”
“Where?”
I told him to go to Appolonia’s. He didn’t need directions.
“Why now?” he asked.
“Sorry, but it’s a one-time offer. Now or never.”
It was silent again for a moment.
“So you’re saying I haven’t a choice.”
“Not really.”
He hung up the phone. I didn’t know what that meant, so I let it go at that and went out to get Sullivan. I was able to pile him into the Grand Prix and get underway before I had to tell him where we were going.
“To see the spooky lady who’s afraid of the whole world. Appolonia Eldridge.”
“Now I know why I needed the piece.”
“Not for her, it’s the housekeeper you have to worry about.”
I had an approximation of a plan, though I didn’t think it would work. Way too many variables dependent on luck. And timing I couldn’t control. Very incompatible with an engineer’s precise calculations. Though it didn’t have to work all the way. No matter what, something would happen. The fuse was already lit.
The day was getting hotter; the breeze had died off and it felt like vapor was rising from the scorched ground. Sullivan was coming to grips with the Grand Prix’s lack of air-conditioning. Luckily there was so much wind noise inside the car I didn’t have to listen to him bitch about it.
We went out to Route 27, then up Route 24 past the big white duck, the pride of Flanders, then on to the incongruous four-lane road whose original purpose was probably lost in the misty legends of the Department of Transportation. From there over to Appolonia’s barren, treeless neighborhood. We were the first to get there, assuming anyone else would show up. At least I could be reasonably sure Appolonia was there, so we’d have somebody to talk to. Before we rang the doorbell I gave Sullivan a five-minute version of what I thought could happen, and why.
“You’re telling me this now?” he asked.
“I could have left you out. I thought you should be here.”
“I’m supposed to thank you.”
“Unless I got it wrong, in which case, you’re here to arrest me, so it won’t be a total waste of time.”
“Jesus Christ,” he said, hauling his sore gut out of the Grand Prix.
Belinda answered the door, peering at us under the security chain.
“You didn’t call,” she said.
“Sorry. But we need to see Mrs. Eldridge.”
“You can’t come in unless you call.”
Sullivan held up his badge and ID.
“I’m a police officer, ma’am. We’re here to see Mrs. Eldridge. It’s important. May we come in?”
That had an impact on her, but she wasn’t ready to cave.
“I need to talk to the lawyer.”
“No, you don’t,” I said, in a voice loud enough to hear in downtown Riverhead. “You need to tell Mrs. Eldridge that we’re here, and you need to do it now.”
“Belinda, for pity’s sake, let them in,” I heard Appolonia call from the living room.
The door shut, then reopened with the chain off. Belinda backed in as she opened the door. I kept Sullivan between us. He had the gun.
Appolonia was where I’d last seen her, perched more than seated in the high-backed stuffed chair, a book open in her lap. She was wearing a light coral cashmere sweater, clasped at the neck with a tiny silver chain, and black slacks. Her feet were tucked up under her butt.
“Mr. Acquillo. And?”
“Officer Joe Sullivan. Southampton Town Police.”
She shook his outreached hand.
“Nice to meet you,” said Sullivan. “Thanks for letting us in. Nice house.”
“Sam told me about you. Said I’d like you.”
“You have a good memory,” I told her.
“Not hard when it’s so little taxed. What’s the occasion?”
“I’m sorry to just bust in on you like this, but there’re some things we have to talk about.”
“Sounds rather grave. Does that explain the reinforcements? Come, sit.”
