Part 33 (1/2)
”Have a drink with me,” Fiona said.
”My doctor has advised against it.”
”Would a little wine hurt? Come on, Mulligan. I've got a couple of things to celebrate.”
”A couple? What's the other one?”
”Rome finally weighed in on my, uh, situation.”
”And?”
”And it's politics or the church. I've been given a week to decide.”
”Aw, c.r.a.p.”
”I couldn't have put it better,” she said, and then she threw her head back and laughed.
”What are you going to do?”
Fiona drained her can of Bud and placed it on the bar. She slipped the gold band from her finger and held it before her eyes for a moment. Then she dropped the ring into the empty. She picked up the can and shook it, the ring clattering inside, and suddenly the mischievous smile I remembered from two decades ago was back. ”So whaddaya say, Mulligan? Wanna f.u.c.k?”
”Uh ... what?”
”Don't look so scared,” she said. ”I'm just kidding. Besides, you're not my type.”
”I'm not?”
”No.”
”Why is that?”
”Can you turn the governor into a pillar of salt?”
”Guess not.”
”Bring a rain of burning sulfur down on the statehouse?”
”Only metaphorically.”
”Well, there you go.” She laughed hard and long, the sound mirthful but with a hint of hysteria around the edges.
”Going to hold a press conference?” I said.
”No. I thought I'd just give you the scoop. Pull your pad out and I'll answer all your questions.”
So I did. But I already had my lead: the clink of a gold wedding ring hitting the bottom of an empty beer can.
47.
The ”Who Are You?” ringtone interrupted my breakfast.
”I'm only going to say this once,” the caller said, ”so listen up.” The voice was m.u.f.fled-a man trying to disguise his voice. The gravel in it again reminded me of Joseph, but I still couldn't be sure.
”You again,” I said.
”Shut up and write down this address: 8 Harwich Street. That's H-a-r-w-i-c-h. Got it?”
”Off Blackstone Boulevard?”
”Yeah.”
”Then you must mean Harwich Road.”
”Yeah, yeah, Harwich Road.”
”Nice neighborhood,” I said.
”f.u.c.kin' posh.”
Would Joseph say ”posh”? Would he even know what it meant?
”Do a little redecorating there, did you?” I asked.
”You'll find out when you show up. Another big story in it for you, so move your a.s.s.”
So that's what I did. I'd just pulled Secretariat out of the Mob-owned parking lot across from the newspaper when the cell started playing ”Who Let the Dogs Out?”
”Hi, Peggi.”
”Something's wrong at Dr. Wayne's house,” she said.
”What do you mean?”
”He didn't come to work this morning. Blew off an eight o'clock appointment with a big donor, which isn't like him at all. I tried his cell phone and it went to voice mail, so I called the house and a policeman answered the phone.”
”A policeman?”
”Yes.”
”What did he say?”
”That Dr. Wayne couldn't come to the phone right now. Then he asked me who I was and why I was calling.”
”Did you get his name?”
”Parisi. Captain Parisi of the Rhode Island State Police.”