There’s a Mennonite restaurant on Main, a small one, open mostly for breakfast and lunch to serve the downtown office workers, city government people and professionals-doctors, lawyers, therapists-in the area. The food was cheap, plentiful and, if you didn’t mind the prayers in the menu, bright and cheerful.
When I finished, I left a good tip and headed for my office-home thinking about what Ann had said and about what I had said, thinking about a Joker with a box of red secrets.
I walked down to 301 and then the three blocks or so to the DQ parking lot. Dave was behind the open porthole serving customers, and the Geo was sitting where I had parked it. I checked it out. The file on Adele wasn’t there. Either the police had it or left in my office when they had copied it or someone else had it.
I went up to my office. The drapes were closed and so was the door, but it wasn’t locked. I went in. The contrast between sun and semidarkness took a few seconds to get used to. I started to reach for the cord to open the drapes and stopped. My eyes were getting used to the dim shadows.
In those dim shadows, I could see Beryl Tree sitting where I had left her body. She had one of my files open on her lap and she was looking up at me.
9
My hand was shaking but I reached for the drapes.
“No,” she said. “Just turn on the light.”
It wasn’t Beryl Tree’s voice. My hand was shaking a little less when I flicked the switch and the overhead tinkled on.
The resemblance to Beryl Tree disappeared. She was much younger, much better looking, and her dark green dress was much more stylish than anything Beryl Tree had worn in her life.
“You know who I am?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
There was a floppy sun hat and a pair of sunglasses on my desk. The blood had been cleaned up. I moved behind my desk and sat looking at Melanie Sebastian. I knew two reasons why Carl Sebastian might want her back. She was as beautiful in person as she was in her photographs and the painting in his apartment. She also had a mellow voice that promised the possibility of music.
She closed the folder in her lap and handed it to me.
“You read in the dark?” I asked.
“There was enough light if I tilted it just a bit toward the window.”
“And?”
“When I picked it up, I thought it was about me,” she said. “Then I found the one about me. It wasn’t very interesting so I went back to this one on Adele Tree.”
“And this one is interesting?”
“And… there are really people like her father out there,” she said. “You really think he-he sexually abused her?”
“Yes.”
“The world can be a truly awful place,” she said.
“Worse than that,” I said. “It can be a low level of hell. Beryl Tree is dead, murdered right where you’re sitting, probably by her husband. And Adele has been sold by her father to a high-class pimp named John Pirannes. You’ve heard of him?”
“No,” she said. “You’re joking.”
“No.”
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“You were reading the file. You seem interested.”
“There are too many Beryl Trees. Too many Adeles. And far, far too many Dwight Handfords,” she said. “I’ve seen them. I’ve… is Adele strong? Can she…?”
“She’s strong. Why are you here?”
“My husband is looking for me. He hired you to find me. You talked to one of my friends, who told me. I don’t want you to find me, not yet. When the time comes…”
“Not yet? You’re going to let me find you?”
“When I’m ready,” she said.
“Look, all I’m interested in is telling you your husband wants to talk to you, try to make things right,” I said.
“I need a few days,” she said. “I’ve spent a lifetime taking care of people. At least that’s how it feels to me. I’ve taken care of my mother and father, children like Adele, my husband. I don’t think many people can be saved and I certainly don’t think I’m the person to save them. I don’t know if you can understand or if I’m making myself clear.”
“I understand,” I said. “But you won’t talk to your husband at this point?”
“I’ll make that decision in a few days,” she said. “I’m not ready. I just want some time for myself. I… Go find Adele Tree. When you do, then come looking for me. If you’re good, you’ll find me. I have a feeling you’re good. I’ve left a trail.”
“So,” I said. “This is a rich lady’s game with her husband and the dope he hired to find you.”
“No,” she said earnestly. “This is no game and I don’t think you’re stupid.”
She meant it. I could tell that she meant it. I could feel it. I had questions.
“Just tell me-”
“No,” she said, still sitting. “I can do a much better job of hiding than I’m doing now if I wish to. I can leave Florida. I’ll stay if you promise to give me a few days.”
“Is my promise worth anything to you?”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes.”
“Okay. I promise. You have Caroline Wilkerson’s driver’s license. Did she give it to you?”
“No, I took it when she was busy. Anything else?”
“Not now. What now?”
“Now I get up and step into the other room,” she said, rising. She was tall. “When I’m in there, you open the drapes, stand there as if you’re thinking and then you take the files on me and Adele and leave, locking the door behind you.”
“It’s broken,” I said.
She was in the other room now. I was way beyond caring about-how my cubbyhole and bed looked to this beautiful, rich runaway.
“Then just go. Stay away at least an hour.”
“You think someone is following you,” I said, moving to the window.
“No, Mr. Fonesca,” she said. “Someone is following you.”
Folders under my arm, I went back out into the sun and down the stairs, trying not to look around for whoever might be following me. The most logical explanation was that either the lovely Mrs. Sebastian had lost her mind or she was into some very heavy duty drugs. How could she know if I were being followed? And why would anyone want to follow me? Dwight? He knew where to find me, and if he had killed Beryl he probably wouldn’t be within three or four miles of the DQ.
I didn’t see anyone, didn’t see any suspicious cars with tinted windows. I wanted to talk to Dave, but it had been clear that Melanie Sebastian wanted me to get some distance between me and my office.
I got in the car and drove to the Walgreen on Bahia Vista and 41. I made two calls. The first was to Sally. She wasn’t in the office. I got her voice mail and said I’d get back to her soon. The police had copied my file on Adele. They might find Sally the way I had. I thought it would be better if the news of Beryl Tree’s murder came from me. I was trying to protect Sally Porovsky, though it wasn’t really my responsibility. I didn’t think about it.
Then I called Carl Sebastian.
“Carl Sebastian,” he said.
