Part 39 (1/2)
”Fred rode us hard.”
”Maybe he's mellowing.”
”Could be.”
The silence that followed was broken only by the sound of Scott doing something to a dish in the kitchen sink.
”So,” said Fieldbinder. ”The reason I'm here. I was just next door, at Mr. Costigan's. Been there since early this morning. Trying to do some inventory work, following through, item-reference, et cetera.” He looked at Slotnik. ”You did know Costigan was a client.”
”Sure, poor guy,” Slotnik said, reaching for his coffee. ”We helped him set up a little munic.i.p.al bond shelter just last year. A good, tight little shelter. The man needed protection. Poor guy'll never get to enjoy any of the advantages, now.”
”Right,” said Fieldbinder. ”Well, Alan put me on his estate.”
”Really. Well we wondered who'd be doing it. We've had a look across, over the fence, to see if we saw anybody. Fred didn't know who Estates was going to put on it.”
”Well, you're looking at him.” Fieldbinder looked at Evelyn Slotnik and smiled. She smiled back.
Then her smile turned upside down and her hand went back to her collar. ”Such an awful thing to happen to somebody,” she said. ”We were so upset. We were stunned, really, is what we were. So scary that something in a person's head can just ... pop, like a balloon, at any minute, and you're gone. Veronica Frick two houses over told me he'd never had any sort of health problem before, at all, ever. It's just so scary.” She snuggled in farther under Slotnik's arm.
”He was an old man, honey,” Slotnik said, trying to keep Evelyn's snuggling from spilling the mug of coffee in his hand. ”These things happen. How old was he, Monroe?”
”He was fifty-eight,” Fieldbinder said.
”Oh.”
”Neither of us could get over to the service,” Evelyn said. ”Donald was swamped at the office, and Scott was home sick with a sore throat. We sent flowers, though.”
”Nice of you.”
”Not at all,” Slotnik said. ”He was a good neighbor. Quiet, took care of his place, let the kids play ball in his yard. Sometimes when we were going out of town he'd offer to come over, take in the mail, water the plants. We liked him.”
”Sounds like a nice man.”
”He was,” said Evelyn.
There was a moment of silence. Slotnik cleared his throat. ”So then how's his estate?” he asked.
”Relatively trouble-free, although I'm just starting.” Fieldbinder smiled and shook his head. ”Not a problem at all, really. I'm only working on it today because I'm so behind in general, what with the house thing last week, and insurance people to deal with, fire department, red tape, et cetera.”
”Hey, listen, d.a.m.n sorry to hear about that, Monroe,” Slotnik said. ”That must have been a wrench. We didn't want to bring it up unless you did, right honey? We thought you'd be upset, tired of talking about it.”
”It was just a house,” Fieldbinder said. ”All my important papers were at the office. And lawyers tend to be insured to the hilt, as you doubtless know.” They all laughed. Fieldbinder looked at Evelyn. ”I am sorry about my bird, though.”
”You had a bird?” Slotnik said.
”Yes. A lovely one. I could feed her off my finger.”
”Too bad,” Slotnik said, scratching his neck.
”Yes.”
”Yes.”
There was more silence. Slotnik sipped coffee around Evelyn. Evelyn seemed to be looking at everything in the living room except Fieldbinder. The ducks on Slotnik's pajamas looked to be mallards.
”How are the kids?” Fieldbinder asked.
Evelyn cleared her throat. ”The kids are fine. Steven has final exams right now, along with baseball, so he's busy. Scott's had a cold, but he's better now.”
”They around?”
”Scott was up for breakfast, believe it or not,” Slotnik said. ”Scott?” he called. There was no answer. ”He must have gone out back.”
”Steve's still asleep,” Evelyn said. ”He's pitching this afternoon, Donald says.”
”d.a.m.n right,” Slotnik said. ”When your dad's the coach, and you've got an arm like that kid's got on him, you get to pitch sometimes.”
”Well, good,” Fieldbinder said.
”Right.”
”Right.”
Slotnik put down his mug. ”So you said you wanted to talk to us.”
”Yes,” Fieldbinder said. Evelyn was staring out the big living room window at the bright green front lawn.
Slotnik looked as if he would have glanced at his watch, had he been wearing one. ”So?” he said.
”So you didn't know Mr. Costigan all that well, then, is the sense I get.”
”We were neighbors. We knew him fairly well for a neighbor. We spoke over the fence. You know how it is.”
”Sure,” Fieldbinder said. He looked at his hands, in his lap. ”How about the kids. Kids know him well?”
Slotnik's forehead became a puzzled forehead.
Evelyn cleared her throat again. ”No,” she said. ”Well, not any better than we did. They played in his yard, sometimes, when things overflowed from ours. We agreed to make the fence only between the houses, not the yards. He was nice about that. He obviously liked children. The kids liked him, I know, because he gave really good Halloween treats. Giant Hershey bars, that they couldn't even eat all at once. He was nice, but he kept to himself.”
”As a good neighbor should,” Slotnik said.
”I don't think the kids knew him any better than we did.”
”Especially Steve, I'm wondering about,” Fieldbinder said.
Slotnik's forehead got worse. ”Well, no, Monroe. What exactly seems to be the problem?”
Fieldbinder sniffed and reached down and popped his briefcase latches. He brought out a large photograph and handed it over the coffee table to Evelyn, all the time looking at Slotnik.
The photo was a color shot of a boy walking up the Slotniks' brick walk, toward the front door, with a backpack over his shoulder. The boy was about thirteen, healthy, rather big and strong for the age of his face. He had short, dull-blond hair. The photo looked to have been taken from a distance. There were some maple trees in the way of the shot, partly. Fieldbinder himself could make out maple-leaf shapes.