face like this.” Cupping her chin. “In goes the tongue. Blech. We’re talking young enough to be her kid.”
“May-December romance.”
“You could say that. Or you could say they had the hots for each other, I ain’t Dr. Ruth.”
“You saw all this because—”
“I was walking behind them from my bus stop like I always do.”
“What time of day?”
“Two, two thirty, I like to get to Arnie’s, lubricate the throat before I arrive at this gourmet palace. Only reason I noticed her was I’d seen her with Sal. Also her getup. Tight red dress, talk about advertising the goods. I said to myself,
“What happened after they kissed?”
“She pats him on his cute little butt, he leaves, she goes to Arnie’s. Soon after, Sal shows up, Blondie’s smiling at him like it’s true love. One drink and she’s bugging him to leave, he doesn’t even finish his beer, what a limp onion. So maybe he found out she was cheatin’ and got mad, huh? That’s what you’re thinking, right?”
Calling out to the young waitress behind the counter. “Guess what, Rosie, I’m a big-time detective now.”
Rosie said, “How much they payin’ you, Dorrie?”
Milo said, “How young was this other guy?”
“A lot younger than her—what was she forty, forty-five?”
“Thirty-eight.”
“I’da pegged her as older.”
“What about him?”
“Twenties—twenty-two, twenty-three.”
“Not younger?”
“That’s not young enough?”
“Could he have been a high school student?”
“To me he looked twenties,” she said, “but who knows? He dressed like one of those preppies. Nice buttondown shirt, khaki pants—but tennis shoes, kind of nerdy. Pen protector in the pocket—that I remember ’cause I thought it was real nerdy. But he didn’t look like a nerd, too cute. More like a surfer—the peroxide hair.” Grinning. “Real tight butt. I’d think he could do better than her but guys want one thing. Give it to ’em and they’re burgers on the griddle.”
“Hot?” said Milo.
“Hot and sizzly and bad for your heart.”
“Let’s talk about Sal’s money schemes.”
Doris said, “Who listened—okay, here’s one I remember because it was so stupid. I’m enjoying my drink before work, Sal comes in, sits at the other end of the bar, pretends he’s not gonna talk to me, has a beer and gives out this big sigh. All of a sudden, he’s next to me. Pretends to make small talk, then: ‘Would you believe this, Dorrie, I just got a huge commission check for some tubas’—he sells instruments, or so he claims, I never saw him do nothing but sit and drink. I say congratulations. He says, ‘Problem is it won’t clear for a week, I got a pile of bills, do me a little favor, I’ll make it worth your while.’”
Milo said, “Lemme guess: You deposit the check in your account, he withdraws some of the money and pays you interest. If the check bounces, you’re saddled with the charges.”
“Guess
“How much money we talking about, Doris?”
“Two thousand and some change, he said he’d give me a hundred for my trouble. Like I’d do it. Too good to be true always is.”
“Why would he try to scam someone at a place he frequented?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” she said. “Far as I know no one at Arnie’s ever says yes to his b.s.”
“He tries that kind of thing regularly?”
“He’s always inching up to someone with that look, like he’s carrying around the biggest secret in the world. Oh, yeah, I remember another one: He had truckloads of surplus trumpets and trombones coming in, just needed some money to ship them to Indiana or wherever it is they melt trombones down for brass. I pitch in, he’ll split the profits with me. Another time he tried to sell everyone New Jersey lottery tickets at a discount. He’s annoying but he gives up quick, not pushy and no one gets mad because he’s pathetic. I got him pegged as a spineless worm, no guts no glory. That’s why it surprises me you think he killed her.”
“We don’t, Doris—”
“Whatever. He’s at his finest after a few,” she said. “Six, seven beers and he’s creative. You really think he killed her?”
We left Fat Boy, got back into the car.
“Clumsy con man,” he said. “Yeah, I can see him getting tumescent over a big-money squeeze job on a place like Prep.”
“And correspondingly mad when Elise pulled out of the scheme. Plus, the jealousy angle just got stronger.”
“Our tutor and a young guy. She sure covered a lot of ground. Meaning there could be who-knows-how-many partners out there.” Chuckling. “She might as well have tutored biology. You got where I was going with that age question.”
“A preppie type,” I said. “If Doris’s age estimate is off Elise could’ve been sleeping with a student.”
“Pens in the pocket—maybe a math brain but he needed help in English. Be nice to get hold of some Prep yearbooks, have Doris go through the boys.”
“If Prep even has yearbooks.”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
“Mere paper and ink? I’m thinking sacred tablets.”
CHAPTER
15
Back at his closet-sized office, Milo belly-dived into the cyber-world. If Windsor Prep issued yearbooks they weren’t cataloged online and none of the pay services promising to hunt down alumni had anything on the school.
No snarky critiques on the Internet, either, just paeans to the school’s physical plant and academic standards.
I said, “Didn’t know police protection could reach that far.”
His smile devolved to an abdominal growl. “Time to subpoena Elise’s phone records. Something traces back to a student, I’m beelining for the damn school.” Rubbing his face. “That’ll be so much fun I’ll follow it up with do- it-yourself open-heart surgery using a rusty can opener.”
I drove home, cleared paper, drank two black coffees, and began my own computer search, starting with MySpace and Facebook and using
No shortage of smiling, attractive kids attending the school, along with the usual friends lists, music choices, poetic excerpts ranging from lewd to sad, some home-drawn comic strips, the occasional photo of a cat or dog.
A handful of postings about Elise Freeman, but nothing more specific than
No memorials or calls for tribute. Not a hint of rumor about sexual indiscretions.
Returning to the commercial alumni sites, I plugged Elise Freeman’s name into the U. of Maryland database. No such person. Pairing her name with
