important?”
“Life expectancy. You’d be surprised what the actuarial tables demonstrate. If everybody read them, nobody would smoke.”
“Well, I smoked like a smudge pot for forty-nine years, and I’m still here.”
“Some of us are lucky,” Carver said, “or have the right parents.” He smiled. “You look like you come from good stock, Mrs. Fain.”
She returned the smile. Still no teeth. “Dutch-Irish,” she said.
“Oh-ho,” Carver said, as if that meant something. “What about Miss Cloy’s lifestyle?”
“Lifestyle?”
“Yes. For instance, does she seem to entertain a lot?”
“Hardly ever, near as I can tell. And my kitchen sink’s got a window over it looks out on our backyards, so I can see her house. She seems a good woman that minds her own business.”
“Good woman?”
“I never saw any wild goings-on, if you catch my meaning.”
“Uh-huh.” Another smile for Mrs. Fain. Carver was beginning to enjoy this. “No men coming and going at all hours?” He winked. “Nothing that would delight the devil and displease the Lord?” Too much? he wondered. Naw, this was Florida, the excess reach of the Bible Belt dangling south from the buckle to form a peninsula.
“Heavens, no! She keeps pretty much to herself. Works at home, I think. Said she was some kind of writer, is my recollection.”
“That’s what she gave as her occupation,” Carver confirmed.
“Humpf! Can’t be much money in that.”
“Probably not. Is there any one man in particular you’ve seen visiting Marla Cloy?”
“Nope. You seem stuck on that. I told you, she didn’t have men coming and going.”
“That’s right, you did. How long has she lived there? Just approximately?”
“ ’Bout three months, maybe a little less, I’d say. Said she moved here from Orlando.”
“Does she own?”
“Nope, that house is a rental. Had several people move in and out the last few years. Man who repaired computers lived in it before Marla Cloy. He got into some kinda trouble, I hear, had to move away in a hurry. Something to do with child molestation in Seattle followed him here because of his ex-wife’s accusations. Bitter divorce. He abused her and the woman wanted to get even, though she did get the house and full custody of the two children, and all he got was the family car, his computer tools, and some personal possessions. Don’t know much else about him, though. Got little time for gossip or keeping tabs on the neighbors.”
“More people should think that way. Did anyone help Marla Cloy move in, or did she hire a mover?”
“Hired a mover, but there wasn’t much big and heavy to move. Then she drove back and forth in that old car of hers, with loads of boxes and clothes on hangers. She don’t have much that looked like good furniture or expensive clothes. But young people don’t these days. Things are hard for them.”
“Would you describe her as a woman of moderate habits? I mean, she doesn’t drive crazily or drink to excess. . that sort of thing.”
“Seems to drive like everybody else. As to drink, that I wouldn’t know about one way or the other. Never seen her take a drink when she was out in the yard or visible through her windows. Wouldn’t mean much anyways. Drinking’s no sin. Bit of alcohol every day’s good for the nerves and heart.”
Carver was beginning to suspect that Mildred Fain had a secret life. But then, everyone did. “You have a sensible slant on things, Mrs. Fain.”
She grinned. “Never believed in life insurance, either.”
Carver put on a serious expression. “Oh, Mrs. Fain, you’re making a big mistake there.”
“Mistake I’d be making, Mr. Carter, would be standing here letting you talk me into buying some. You seem like a pretty good salesman.”
“I’m really more of a field agent than a salesman,” Carver said.
“Well, then the company oughta be utilizing your real talents. Been nice talking to you.” She started to close the door.
Carver thought for a second about sticking his foot between it and the doorjamb. But surely insurance agents didn’t do that anymore, did they? Certainly not field agents who weren’t salesmen.
He thanked Mildred Fain and let the door close all the way. A dead bolt clicked into place. A chain lock rattled faintly.
He was standing alone in the heat again, watching the bees intent on collecting nectar, the job for which they were by ability and instinct ideally suited.
Probably Mildred Fain was observing him through her window. On the way back to his car, he suddenly paused in the middle of the sun-washed street, as if jotting something in his notepad before he forgot it.
Faking it with conviction.
Utilizing his real talents.
7
Marla went out for lunch that day. McDonald’s again. Carver followed her, but this time instead of going inside he went up to the drive-through and got a Big Mac and a vanilla shake, then found a parking space where he could sit in his car and eat and keep an eye on her Toyota.
She must have read several chapters of the Rendell book while eating. It was over an hour before she came out and walked across the parking lot toward her car. She had her purse strap slung diagonally across her body in the same cautious manner. Today she had on a sleeveless gray SEA WORLD sweatshirt, jeans, and white jogging shoes with what looked like red lightning streaks on the sides.
Her luck held. Nobody attacked her or tried to snatch her purse on the way to her car. She unlocked and opened the driver’s side door, unhitched the purse from around her and tossed it over onto the passenger seat. She glanced around, but not in his direction, then got into the battered little maroon car. Carver started the Olds and followed her out onto Shell Avenue.
She stopped at the drugstore where he’d bought his note pad that morning and went inside. He didn’t follow her. One of the disadvantages of a man with a cane was that he was especially memorable. Carver could risk being seen by Marla only so often before recollection might kick in.
She emerged from the drugstore within fifteen minutes carrying a paper bag. As she was juggling the bag and her purse and trying to open her car door, the bag dropped to the pavement and split open. A large plastic bottle of Pepsi-Cola rolled beneath the car.
Marla stood with her hands on her hips for a moment, then she stooped and picked up the other items that had been in the bag: A package of notebook or typing paper, a bag of potato chips, a box of tampons, and a new paperback book. She placed them inside the Toyota behind the seat, then bent low and groped beneath the car with her hand. It took her a while to find and get a grip on the errant bottle. When she had it, she stood up and held it out at arm’s length to examine it, as if it were a fish she’d just caught. It wasn’t a keeper. After locking her car, she carried the apparently leaking bottle back inside the drugstore.
A few minutes later she came back outside with another bottle wedged beneath her arm, got into her car, and drove away. Carver followed, thinking the protective way she carried her purse and was always locking and unlocking doors suggested that maybe she really was fearful of attack. Beth would no doubt interpret it that way.
After she’d driven home and gone inside, Carver parked on Jacaranda Lane, figuring he’d be there for a while.
But half an hour later Marla was back in her car and on the move again. She’d changed to a red blouse, black slacks, and high heels, and she had her hair pulled back and fixed with a bright red ribbon or barrette. She was carrying her purse and a small blue canvas carry-on or attache case.
Carver followed her to the Holiday Inn on Magellan, about half a mile from his office. It was a newer luxury hotel that backed onto the sea. Marla parked near the entrance to the cocktail lounge and strode inside, still
