Part 4 (1/2)
”It's all a part of my master plan, Darlin'. You know I'll do whatever it takes to get those trousers off you.” Margo winked at him across her coffee cup, and John blushed to the roots of his hair. After a year of marriage, he still squirmed uncomfortably at Margo's lascivious repartee.
”Is there anywhere in the world you can go these days to escape people yapping on their cell phones?” Strutter helped him out by changing the subject as a particularly obnoxious ringtone sounded in the booth across the aisle from us. The matron to whom it belonged dug furiously in her purse for several seconds and finally produced the thing.
”h.e.l.lO, PHYLLIS? YES, I CAN HEAR YOU NOW. CAN YOU HEAR ME?” she yelled into it. We all cringed.
”Well, we can sure as h.e.l.l hear you, as can most of the people sittin' in this restaurant tryin' to enjoy their breakfasts,” Margo sighed.
”I'M HAVING BREAKFAST WITH GINNIE AT THE DINER BEFORE WE GET ON THE ROAD. NO, THE DINER, THE DINER! D-I-N-E-R. YOU KNOW, THE ONE AT EXIT 24 OFF THE HIGHWAY WHERE WE HAD LUNCH THAT TIME YOU AND HARRY VISITED. THE COFFEE WAS SO GOOD THAT HARRY DRANK TOO MUCH, AND YOU HAD TO STOP THREE TIMES ON THE WAY HOME SO HE COULD PEE.” She brayed with laughter at her naughty story and started to cough. Her companion looked embarra.s.sed and slapped her on the back rather harder than was necessary, I noted.
”Why do they always have to yell?” I wondered aloud. ”If Phyllis was here at the diner with her, she'd speak to her in a normal tone of voice, but you hand someone a cell phone, and the volume triples.” I glared at the offender across the aisle. ”It's very annoying.”
John had been silent, but now he chimed in. ”I've noticed that a lot of places have started putting signs up at the entrance asking patrons to turn off their cell phones while they're inside. I think it's a good idea. Why don't you suggest it to the owners here? The three of you eat here all the time. I'm sure they wouldn't mind a constructive comment.”
”I'll do it on the way out today,” I promised.
Two cell phones rang simultaneously in our booth. Strutter rolled her eyes as John and I looked at each other in embarra.s.sment. He began slapping his pockets, and I fumbled for my purse beneath the table. Margo snorted into her coffee cup, that inelegant response she had when something struck her as amusing. John slid out of the booth and headed for the exit, his phone to his ear, while I slapped at Strutter's legs underneath the table. She cackled with glee as I struggled to retrieve my purse.
”It's your fault,” I hissed. ”I never have the d.a.m.ned thing on except when we're supposed to meet somewhere.”
”Read my lips,” she responded serenely. ”Vibrate.”
I s.n.a.t.c.hed the offending device out of my purse and flipped it open. ”If this is a telemarketer, boy, did you get a wrong number.”
I was horrified to hear Mary O'Halloran's voice, which trembled with tears. Her obvious agony stabbed me to the heart. ”I'm so sorry. I didn't know who else to call. It's been more than forty-eight hours now, and the police haven't come up with a single lead.”
I flapped a hand at Margo and Strutter to stop their giggling. ”Mary O'Halloran,” I mouthed silently.
”It's fine, Mary. I was just being stupid. Did you tell the police all the things you and I talked about on Friday? What about Joseph? Have they been able to locate him?”
”Oh, G.o.d, I talked to them for hours and hours,” Mary moaned. ”They know as much as I do about James' family, friends, educational background, hobbies, old girlfriends, bank accounts, everything. They wanted to know if he's addicted to anything, Kate, or if I think he might be cheating on me. Cheating on me.” She blew her nose. ”As for Joseph, it's as if he never existed. He hasn't been at the last address we have for him in California for more than a year, and the cell phone number he gave me goes right to voice mail. I'm at the end of my rope, Kate.”
John returned to the table looking somber. He motioned to me to hang up.
”Mary, listen. I have to go right now, but I'll call you back in just a few minutes, okay? I'm sure we'll know more very soon. Hang in there just a little longer.”
”Kate?” It was as if Mary, too, sensed that important information was about to be forthcoming. ”If you learn anything, anything at all, please tell me. It's been long enough now that the news probably won't be good, but I can take it. Anything is better than this not knowing. Promise me.”
I a.s.sessed John's grim expression before answering her, but she had a point. Not knowing had to be the absolute worst.
”I promise,” I a.s.sured her and ended the call. Across the aisle, Ginnie and her companion stared curiously. John eased his lanky frame back into the booth beside Margo and turned his back on them. He spoke quietly.
”A body just washed up in Wethersfield Cove.”
”James O'Halloran?” I blurted, wanting him to deny it.
”The odds are good, I'm afraid. It's a middle-aged man wearing a Santa Claus suit.”
Six.
”What's the address?” Margo asked, and I realized that I didn't know.
”I'll drive. I sold them their house, remember.” Strutter led the way to her gray Lexus, a dignified vehicle that seemed to fit the circ.u.mstances.
I had relayed to Mary as gently as possible what John had told me about James' body was.h.i.+ng up in the Cove. I explained that the coroner would be asking her to come in and identify the remains at some point and offered to accompany her.
”Oh, please, please!” she begged in a ragged voice. ”Let me see him now. I can't sit here waiting for an official call. If you won't come and get me, I'm going to drive myself to the Cove this minute. There has to be an end to this.”
”Not a good idea,” John p.r.o.nounced. ”No telling what condition the body is in after days in the water. At least let the coroner's crew get him cleaned up a little before she has to view the remains.”
”If we don't bring her, John, she'll drive herself. She knows where he is.”
John shot Margo a ”Help me!” look.
”It will be terrible for Mary wherever she has to do this, Darlin',” she reminded him softly. ”The images are already in her mind. At least this way, she won't have to drive herself, and we'll be there to support her.”
He gave up. ”It's a public place. If she shows up against my advice, there's nothing I can do about it.”
”Will the police at the scene allow her to see him?” Strutter put in.
”They will if John tells them to. In any event, they won't be able to stop her,” I predicted, ”even if she has to climb over the crime scene tape and take down a couple of officers to do it.”
Mary was waiting for us at the door of the cozy, gray-s.h.i.+ngled Cape Cod house on Wolcott Hill Road. She wore slacks and a sweater in decorous gray and a camelhair coat. Her make-up was subdued but in place. She accepted the front pa.s.senger seat, and Margo joined me in the back.
”Thank you for doing this, all of you,” she offered in a voice that was perfectly composed.
Strutter looked at us in the rearview mirror. This woman is on the ragged edge, she telegraphed before putting the Lexus into reverse, as if we had any doubts. We were all silent on the short trip. Wethersfield Cove is a natural inlet on the Connecticut River. It lies on the far side of the historic district where Old Main Street runs out at the bottom of a long grade. The parking lot extends all the way to the water's edge.
A recent rain had swelled the river and raised the water level in the Cove. Two police cruisers, a black sedan, and an ambulance were cl.u.s.tered near a small knot of official personnel at the water's edge that included John Harkness. Strutter pulled up next to the black sedan, and we all got out. John spoke briefly to one of the young officers and came to join us.
Mary's composure was becoming downright eerie. ”May I please see my husband, Lieutenant?”
”It's not too bad,” John said to us all, but mostly to Mary. ”The water is cold at this time of year, so ...” he didn't finish. He didn't have to.
The men at the scene had obviously been forewarned of Mary's arrival and had done what they could to soften the appearance of the body without interfering with the work of the coroner. James lay face down in the sand in his sodden, garish Santa Claus garb. His head was turned to the left, the skin blue and the lips pale. His left hand was raised above his head. A blanket covered most of his torso, which must have been grotesquely bloated.
Mary approached the little tableau calmly with Margo and me on either side of her. Strutter brought up the rear, averting her eyes. The men stepped aside, their faces displaying professional sympathy, and allowed us to stand only a few feet from the remains. For a few seconds, Mary gazed almost tenderly at the body before us. Then she stiffened. Margo and I each grabbed an arm, not knowing what to expect.
”It's not James,” Mary said finally. ”Oh my G.o.d, it's not my husband.” With that, she dropped to her knees in the sand and collapsed into tears.
Strutter, the natural mother of our group, knelt beside Mary to comfort her. Margo and I reluctantly stepped closer to the body for a better look.
”That's James,” I told her and John. ”His gla.s.ses are gone, but I saw him several times before Thursday night. I sat across from him at a meeting, and that's him. Look, there's his bald spot. I remember seeing it when I was behind him in the crowd Thursday night. He was on his way to the Education Office to change into the very suit he's wearing now. Poor Mary,” I finished up. ”She simply can't face the truth.”
”Who can blame her?” said Margo, hugging John's arm. ”I'd be in complete denial, too.”
”No!” Mary wailed. ”No, no, no!” She broke free of Strutter's restraining arms and scrambled to her feet. ”He's not wearing a wedding ring. James hasn't taken off his wedding band since the day we were married.”