“Neecy? Yep. Essie was a good friend of my grandmother’s, too, outlived her by twenty years, I guess. Miss Essie died… what? Six years ago now, must be. Neecy’s still going strong. She still knows everyone in this town, what they’ve done, and when they did it.”
It struck me that I could have a profitable conversation with Miss Neecy. She’d told me of the arguments between the Zinsners when they built this house. It was that conversation that had given me the idea that there might be several hidey-holes the bodies of the Julius family could be in. That was the reason for the ground-zero search Angel and I were conducting.
“You remember when the Julius family vanished?” I asked. I picked up Susu’s empty plate and my own and carried them over to the sink, admiring my new stoneware as I did every time I looked at it. Earth tones in a southwestern pattern… why on earth I, a native Georgian, felt compelled to have southwestern dishes I do not know.
“Yes,” Susu said. “I’d just had Little Jimmy. You were working at the library, I think you’d only been there a year, right?”
“Right. Over six years ago, now.” We shook our heads simultaneously at Time’s inexorable march.
Susu looked at her watch and gave a little shriek. “Woops! Roe! I was supposed to pick up old Mrs. Newman at the beauty parlor ten minutes ago! I’m sorry, I’ve got to run! I invited myself and then I stick you with the dishes,” she wailed, and yanked her car keys out of her purse on her way out the front door.
I stuck the dishes unceremoniously in the dishwasher, started our supper pork chops marinating in honey and soy sauce and garlic, and sat down to make one of those lists that were supposed to make me much more efficient.
1. Finish measuring the house.
2. Talk to Miss Neecy about Essie Nyland, also the Zinsners-where was the boarded-up closet?
3. Possible to find the boyfriend, Harley Dimmoch?
4. See if Parnell Engle will tell me about the day he poured the concrete.
5. Ask Lynn or Arthur if I could see the file on the Julius disappearance, or if he would just tell me about it in detail.
6. See if I could worm anything out of Mrs. Totino’s lawyer, Bubba Sewell (who was incidentally my lawyer and the husband of my friend, the former Lizanne Buckley).
I was pleased. This looked as if it would keep me busy for quite a while. Right now, busy-ness was what I wanted. Maybe while I worked on the problem of the Juliuses, the problem of my husband’s secret life would sort of solve itself.
Right.
Chapter Ten
“SALLY,” I SAID QUIETLY into the telephone on Martin’s desk. “I want to have lunch with you at my place or your place soon, okay? I need to ask you some questions. You covered the Julius disappearance, didn’t you? Do you still have a file on it somewhere, of your notes you took at the time?” Sally, cohostess at my bridal shower, had worked at the
“I don’t keep my notes on fiftieth wedding anniversaries or who won the watermelon-seed-spitting contest, but I do keep my notes on major crimes.”
She sounded a little testy.
“Okay, okay!” I said hastily. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how reporters do things!”
“Yes, I have the file right here,” she said in a mollified tone. “And I can certainly understand why you’re interested. My better half-well, my other half-is attending a seminar in Augusta on interrogation techniques, so I’m footloose and fancy free for two days. What suits you?”
“What about here, tomorrow, for lunch at noon?” I asked. I knew Sally, like all of Lawrenceton, wanted to see the house.
I hung up as Martin came down the stairs, sweating and relaxed after his session with the Soloflex. He played racquetball at the Athletic Club too, but sometimes the hours didn’t suit him. He liked having the exercise equipment at home.
“I’m sweaty,” he warned me. I didn’t care since I could use a shower myself after my work in the garage that morning. Angel and I had finished our measurements later in the afternoon, and there was a four-inch question mark running down the middle of the garage, but I figured that was just where Mrs. Zinsner had demanded Mr. Zinsner make it a two-car garage. I didn’t think four inches was enough space to hide three bodies, and Angel agreed.
I hugged Martin, sliding my hands around his waist and up his back.
“Roe,” he said hesitantly.
“Um?”
“Are you mad?”
“Yes. But I’m working on it.”
“Working on it.”
“Yeah. I suppose you didn’t tell me all that before we got married in case I wouldn’t marry you if I knew it. Is that right? Or did you just hope I wouldn’t ever ask? Or did you just think I was desperate or stupid enough not to notice that there were a few holes in your story?”
“Well…”
“I’ll give you a clue, Martin. There’s only one correct answer to that.”
“I was afraid you wouldn’t marry me if you knew.”
“And that was the correct answer.”
“Good.”
“So now I have to decide how I feel about you wanting me to enter into marriage, a very serious thing, not knowing all the facts about your life. Am I flattered that you were so anxious to keep me that you wouldn’t risk it? Sure.” I traced his spine with my fingernail and felt him shiver. “Am I angry that you treated me like some fifties little woman, the less I knew the better? You bet.” I dug the fingernail in. He gasped. “Martin, you have to be honest with me. My self-respect-I can’t stand being lied to, no matter how much I love you.”
The next day, the day I was going to have Sally Allison over to lunch, Martin and I had also been invited to dinner at the home of one of Pan-Am Agra’s division chiefs. This man, Bill Anderson, was a new employee, hired by Martin’s boss and sent to Lawrenceton to evaluate and expand the plant’s safety program. So I woke with a certain sense of anticipation. Martin was shaving as I groped past him into the bathroom for a quick stop on my way downstairs to the coffeepot. We were beginning to find our routine.
He liked to be at his desk when the other Pan-Am Agra executives arrived. And Martin always looked spic and span. His clothes were all expensive and he liked his shirts taken to the laundry to be starched, which frankly suited me. I didn’t mind in the least dropping them by or picking them up. I hated ironing worse than anything in the world, and Martin, who could do a competent job of it, didn’t have the time or inclination unless there was an emergency.
Luckily, we both liked noncommunication until coffee had been consumed. He would come downstairs and make his own breakfast and pour his own coffee. By that time I would have finished the front section of the paper, which I had fetched from the end of the driveway. He would read that, then I would hand him the inside sections. Martin was not much interested in team sports, I had noted silently. One-on-one sports, now that was something he checked the scores on.
When Martin had finished the paper and his breakfast, we had a brief conversation about appointments for the day. He went upstairs to brush his teeth. I poured another cup of coffee and worked the crossword puzzle in the newspaper.
