The Lamorna Wink

“I’ve taken Seabourne for a few months. I wanted to meet you.”

“That’d make a change. Ordinarily the last person a tenant wants to meet is his landlord. Although I’m not really running the place anymore. So, is there something wrong? Not enough heat or the pipes clanging? Get in touch with that real estate person if you’ve got problems.”

“No, no. Nothing. The house is wonderful.”

“Good. So what’s the real reason?”

“You mean-”

“That you came here.” Through pursed lips, Moe Bletchley exhaled a thread of smoke.

Melrose smiled. “I met your daughter-in-law. She came to the house.”

A guttural sound, an uh, escaped Moe Bletchley’s throat. “What did she want? Karen?” His expression didn’t change.

“I don’t know, really, unless to revisit her old home.”

Moe uttered another noncommittal sound. “She came without Danny.” It wasn’t a question but a conclusion.

Melrose nodded. “Your son? Yes. She was alone. She told me about the children.” He wanted to add some appropriate word of empathy but couldn’t for the life of him think of one.

Here, Moe looked away and was silent for some moments. It was the stillness of his face in the green silence of the room that suggested to Melrose emotional upheaval.

Finally, the old man-who seemed to have grown visibly older in that silence-asked, “So what did she tell you?”

Melrose gave him as exacting an account as he could. Here was a case where the smallest of details could be important.

But Moe Bletchley looked at him as if Melrose were a news anchor, reporting yet another fatality. “That’s what she told you?”

Melrose frowned. “Yes.”

Again, that guttural uh.

Somehow, the sound was more disturbing-dismissive, perhaps-than words. Melrose took out his cigarette case once again and passed it to Bletchley, whose own cigarette had burnt down to ash in his fingers. Moe looked finally from the length of ash into Melrose’s eyes as if Melrose had worked some trick. Absently, he took another cigarette from the case but didn’t put it in his mouth. He said, “That detective fellow?”

“Commander Macalvie. He would have been a DCI then, probably.”

“Uh-huh. Sharp guy. He didn’t believe her, you know. About the strangers in the wood and the pond. Neither did I.”

Neither, thought Melrose, do I.

Moe Bletchley put the cigarette in his mouth then and took the lighter Melrose still had in hand. The lighter clicked open and snapped shut. “Why are we talking about this? Oh, yes. It apparently is the reason you came. Still, I ask why? Why are you so confounded interested?”

Sitting forward, Melrose said, “Who in God’s name wouldn’t be, Mr. Bletchley? It’s one hell of a story. It’s dreadful. But there’s another reason: there’s been a murder-”

“Over in Lamorna Cove. I know. News gets to me quick, son.” He kept clicking the Zippo’s case. “I know just about everything goes on in this place.”

“Then-”

Moe looked back through narrowed eyes. “No, I don’t know the victim. A woman with a title, they said. So I can’t help out. What I meant was, I know the people in Bletchley pretty well. Been living here for fifteen years. I’m an American, you know. I made a fortune over there with Chick’nKing; then I came over here and made another fortune. People love fast food. With good fast food-well, I figure you’re doing everybody a favor.”

“That’s very interesting, but I don’t see the relevance.”

“I’m just making a point to you: I’m not stupid.”

Raising his eyebrows, Melrose said, “I don’t doubt it for a minute. Did I give you the impression I thought you were?”

Moe looked off toward the elderly pensioners still bent over their chess pieces. “No. But it’s generally the way the world views us.” He nodded toward the old men. “Dithery, forgetful, besides not being good for anything in the world.”

“Mr. Bletchley, I doubt very much anyone in his right mind could look at you that way.”

Moe answered, “Oh, not here, maybe.”

“Not anywhere.” Melrose felt the old man had strong opinions about what had happened that he wasn’t sharing. “You don’t get on with your daughter-in-law, do you?”

Moe raised his arm, hand clasped on the arm of the wicker chair as if he meant to lever himself out of it. But he didn’t. After a moment, he asked, “You married? No, I don’t suppose so, or you’d be down here with the wife and kid. Not many men have the balls to go off on junkets by themselves.”

“No, I’m not married.”

“You’re probably fortunate, then.”

“I take it you don’t think your son is.”

He lowered his hand and picked up his cigarette, another gone to ash. “No, he isn’t.”

Melrose said nothing; he would certainly not tell Moe Bletchley that he found Karen Bletchley charming. But had he, completely? There was that one instance when he felt the silence no longer companionable but hadn’t known why the atmosphere had changed.

“You liked her, I’m sure.”

Melrose nodded.

“People do.”

Melrose considered. Speaking more to himself than his companion, he said, “Why is she here?”

“Good question.” Moe shrugged, turned evasive. “Oh, well, only Chick’nKing gets my unqualified endorsement.”

Melrose smiled. “I’ll have to try it.”

“None around here, I mean close by. Wanted to put one in Mousehole, but the city fathers said no. It’s a cute little place; I can see why they wouldn’t want a fast-food emporium in it. Thing is, people forget the huge revenues the chain generates and also the people it employs. They only think how it’s an eyesore. I think it’s pretty sporty myself. Chicken’s sure friendly-looking enough. Anyway. There’s one just outside of Truro, that’s the closest. I have them make a delivery once a week. People here really look forward to it.”

“I can imagine.” Melrose thought for a moment. “If you know the villagers, you know Chris Wells.”

He nodded. “I do. Johnny-that’s her nephew-has to make the pastry deliveries because Chris has disappeared. So what’s happened? Why all these shenanigans? Why all this misery suddenly?” As he inhaled on his cigarette, he gave Melrose a suspicious look, as if this new arrival might be responsible.

Melrose got up to leave. But then he sat back down. “Mr. Bletchley-”

“Call me Moe, sonny.”

Melrose smiled. He loved that “sonny.” “You’ll think me rude, and you don’t have to answer the question, but- who gets this vast fortune of yours?”

Moe’s expression changed, back to that particular look of misery he’d worn earlier. “That’s okay, I don’t mind answering. Who gets it now is Danny, my son. And of course a lot of bequests to charities and so forth.”

“You said now.”

“That’s right. I had to rewrite my will, of course. Who got it before was the kids.”

“The kids?”

“The kids.”

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