Part 47 (1/2)
”Maybe he's out of town,” I suggested.
”He said he'd be back Sunday night or early Monday.”
”That's only a couple of days.”
”I have this dreadful feeling something's wrong,” she said, then after a moment of thought, added, ”Maybe I should start from the beginning.”
”That would help.”
”Tony's been in trouble before.”
”Oh?”
”Three years ago. He and this friend of his, who's a shrimper, were caught smuggling marijuana.”
”How much?”
”A lot. Two or three hundred pounds.”
”That's a lot.”
”He was sentenced to two to five years. It could have been worse, but it was his first offense.”
”How much time did he do?”
”Almost a year.”
”Has he been clean since then?”
”Clean?”
”Out of trouble?”
She nodded.
”Why did he do it? I mean, was there anything other than the money?”
She toyed with her coffee, thinking about the question.
”He wanted something he couldn't afford,” she said finally. ”All the money in the world couldn't buy it.”
”Doe Findley?”
”Raines.”
”Right, Raines.”
”So you know about that?”
”That's all I know.”
”It was the same with Tony and Doe as it was with you and me, except you never gave me a second look. I was always the caretaker's ugly little kid.”
”You don't know that,” I said. ”I happen to be a one-woman man.”
”Still?” It was a gentle pa.s.s and I pa.s.sed it gently.
”Still.”
”That was my ego talking. Anyway, I think Tony's been in love with Doe since the first time he ever saw her. I don't blame her for what happened. Harry Raines was busy running around the state politicking for the gambling laws. She was lonely and Tony was always around. It just happened.”
”So he decided to make a quick killing and take her away from all that?”
”No, it was over before he got in trouble. But in his mind, I think Tony feels if he has a decent car and money in the bank . . . oh, I don't know. Maybe he was just rebelling against the whole system, getting even for things he never had. He never really talked about it. When he went to prison, all he said was that he was glad Dad died before it happened.”
”And you think he's mixed up in dope again?”
”That's what I'm afraid of. He left Sat.u.r.day morning. We went to dinner Friday night and he told me he had this job to do, that it was absolutely safe. 'Not to worry,' he told me, 'I'll be back for Sunday brunch.' I haven't heard from him since.”
”He didn't say what the job was?”
She shook her head. ”Things have been rough for him this past year. I offered to help, but he turned me down. I think he was desperate.”
”Did he say anything about narcotics?”
”All he said was 'After this, we'll be as good as the rest of them.' He wouldn't say any more.”
”Did he drive when he left?”
She nodded. ”A white Mustang. I think it's a '79. But it looks brand-new.”
”How about the license?”
”I'll get it for you.”
She got up and rooted through a large mahogany desk, leafing through papers until she found a duplicate of the car registration. She handed it to me, along with a photograph from her wallet. It was a color Polaroid of a tallish, dark man, handsome, but a bit too intense, who looked to be in his early thirties and was built like a lifeguard. He was sitting on the edge of a swimming pool with his legs in the water.
”I remember him now,” I said.
”I thought perhaps you might check around. Maybe somebody knows or has heard something,” she said. ”I don't want to do anything official. Do you understand?” It was more of a plea than a request.
I nodded. ”Sure, I can do that. Is that all?”
”I'd just like to know he isn't . . . ”
She didn't finish the sentence. She began to tremble. I moved over beside her and put an arm around her. The more she tried to stop trembling, the worse it got.