relief until they get back on their feet. They might even get a better job, or pick up a night job. But Sterling's old man was a self-made success, and Sterling went to Harvard and played football and was in Hasty Pudding, and drives a Lexus and rents himself a corner office and thinks all those things are important.'
'So he doesn't do the only thing that makes any sense,' Quirk said. 'He does something stupid.'
'He does something stupid,' I said. 'And now he's involved with people like Cony Brown.'
Quirk nodded. We both drank coffee again. Pearl lingered near my desk, in case I might eat another scone. Quirk got up and went to the side table and poured himself more coffee. He put in a careful measure of milk and two sugars. He took another dog biscuit from the canister and came over and gave it to Pearl and went back and sat down. Pearl ate the biscuit and resumed her scone watch.
'And,' Quirk said, 'there was Galapalooza, grossing all that dough.'
'Ah yes,' I said.
'So where's Gavin fit?' Quirk said.
'Don't know yet.'
'And what is Gavin's connection to Carla Quagliozzi?'
'Don't know yet.'
'And if you had been married to a guy and could call yourself Carla Sterling, why would you go with Quagliozzi?'
'Might be pride in heritage,' I said.
'Yeah, that's probably it,' Quirk said.
'Or it might tell you how she felt about Sterling.'
'And what the hell has all this got to do with the Ronan lawsuit?'
'I don't know,' I said. 'Got a guess?'
'Maybe nothing,' Quirk said. 'Maybe it's got nothing to do with it.'
chapter thirty-one
JEANETTE RONAN WANTED to meet me at ten A.M. in the food court at the Northshore Shopping Center in Peabody. Public and anonymous. I got there early and cruised the place to make sure I wasn't walking into a setup. She might have leveled with her husband, and the good jurist, officer of the court be damned, was dangerous. Other than the dangers inherent if you actually ate there, the food court looked safe enough. I got a cup of coffee and sat at one of the small tables and looked at the mall rats.
The Northshore Shopping Center had opened for business late in 1957 with a Filene's being the first. Since then it had divided and multiplied and roofed over and become a vast enclosed warren indistinguishable from a mall in Buffalo, Boise, or San Bernardino. It was someplace to go for young mothers with unhappy children, and old people on whom the walls had begun to close. It provided an indoor place with security, food, bathrooms, and other people. If all else failed, you could buy something. I was in my business suit: running shoes, jeans, a tee shirt, leather jacket, and accessorized with a short Smith & Wesson and some iridescent Oakley shades. I could see my reflection in the plate glass window of the bookstore opposite and I was everything the haute monde gum shoe was supposed to be. Maybe more.
Jeannette Ronan arrived about 10:10, which would have been right on the button for Susan, so I hadn't begun to think she was late yet. Her blonde hair was below her shoulders and gleamed of a thousand brush strokes. She wore a dark lavender suit with a short skirt, and no stockings. Her legs were very smooth and tanned the color of caramel candy. When she sat down she gave off the gentle aura of good perfume.
'Coffee?' I said.
She shook her head. Brusque. She reached into her matching purse and took out a checkbook and a big gold fountain pen.
'How much?' she said.
'To spend the night with me?' I said. 'I usually get one thousand.'
'Don't be coarse,' she said. 'How much for the photographs.'
'Oh, those are free,' I said. 'You want the one with my body oiled, or the all-natural one?'
She spoke as if the hinges of her jaw were sore. 'I will pay you for the pictures of me,' she said. 'How much do you want?'
She was working her tail off to be icy. But she wasn't old enough or smart enough or tough enough. She barely managed sullen.
'Jeanette,' I said. 'I'm not here to sell you pictures. The Polaroid stuff was just to get you here. We need to talk.'
She stared at me.
'Besides, nobody will give you back blackmail items in return for a check, for heaven's sake. Next thing you'll be asking if I accept Visa or MasterCard.'
She continued to stare. She held onto the checkbook and pen as if they would fend me off. Looking like she did and having money was all the defense she would ever have, if she needed one. Smart wasn't going to be part of it.
'Do you demand cash?' she said.
'No.'
'Why wouldn't you take a check?'
