“Seems to be a problem.”
Zinnie kicked her head to one side. “Leave it to me. C’mon.” She led Johnny back out to the porch where Claire was on hands and knees under the hammock, carefully retrieving the last of the slides.
“Man wants to talk to you,” Zinnie took a long swig of her drink and smacked her lips.
Claire looked up at her. They traded telepathic messages, the final one being Zinnie’s no-nonsense reminder that this was a murder here, not a parking ticket. Claire wobbled to her feet. Johnny just stood there, looking. And he was nice and comfortable in his own skin, a thing she rarely was. He made her feel … unreal. She cleared her throat.
Johnny leaned on the railing. Claire grasped his arm with both hands and transported him a few feet to the left. “You were backing into the spider’s web,” she mumbled.
“Thank you,” he said, misunderstanding her concern for the spider as concern for him.
They were both going to be civil.
“You take pictures?”
“Mostly just old people up in the park.”
“My sister shoots Jews.” Zinnie curtsied and left.
“Now about this car …”
Claire put the slides down. “I woke up for no reason. Maybe the sun woke me up. Or the Mayor.”
“The dog.”
“Yes, the dog. And a big, old gold Plymouth was coming down from the park, see, right down there …”
Plymouth. He was writing this down. He wasn’t going to let her catch him looking at those legs.
“Plymuth?” she frowned at his notes. “So you can’t spell.”
“No,” he feigned nonchalance, “I can’t spell.”
“Uh … anyway, I wasn’t thinking about anything. I didn’t see who was in the car. But it was a man. A medium-build man. Not dark, really. I was looking at the license number and thinking that it was Buddha’s year. It distracted me. And then I went back to sleep.”
“Buddha?”
“Yes.”
Johnny clicked his eyes into place. Was she kidding?
“And those are the two sets of numbers your father gave the desk clerk?”
“563 or 473. Yes.”
“And you don’t know which?”
“No, I really don’t,” she answered cooly. “The year of ascension or of birth. They’re the only two I know. I tend to think it was 473. I feel more comfortable with that number.”
Freddy, Zinnie, and Carmela came out the front door together, toodle-ooed and off they went in their separate directions. Johnny watched Claire distribute her goodbyes. She really thought who the hell she was, didn’t she? Buddha. Himalayas. Spelling.
She turned to him with puppy dog eyes. “Then you weren’t with those playboys out in front of the pizza place?”
“No. Look, would you come with me down—”
“I don’t date policemen,” she interrupted him.
Johnny laughed. “I wasn’t asking you out on a date. I was asking you to come down to the precinct and look at some mug shots.”
“Mug shots?” Claire felt the blood rush to her cheeks. “But I never saw anybody!”
“Miss Breslinsky, you told me you had the impression of a man. Maybe you could look at some pictures and just eliminate … just give us an idea what kind of—”
“But I didn’t see anybody! I have no idea who was in that car!”
He snapped his notebook shut. “Right. Thank you very much for your help, Miss Breslinsky.”
“You need not use sarcasm, detective. I really can’t help you.”
“No,” Johnny narrowed his eyes and spoke directly to her ankles. “You really can’t.” He started to take his dramatic leave but was stopped in his tracks by the sight of two stocky ladies trotting up the street with matching whale-sized handbags flailing. One of them, Errol Flynn, had taken the lead and was fencing the air with a turquoise umbrella.
“My mother,” Claire explained.
“Whoosh,” Mrs. Dixon dashed ahead of Mrs. Breslinsky up to the porch. “It’s like a jungle!”
Mrs. Breslinsky, breathing swiftly, sank onto the top step.
“Aha! Another!” Mrs. Dixon broke lance with the web on the railing.
“Now why did you have to do that?” Claire asked her.
“Well, now, what do you mean, dear?” She wiped her umbrella with a hanky. “I thought you’d be pleased.”
Mary’s eyes blazed. “We got a good ten of them on the way home. Well, Mrs. Dixon did. Good evening, young man.”
“Mother, this is Detective Benedetto. Detective, my mother, Mary Breslinsky, and Mrs. Dixon.”
“Are you coming inside?” Mary smiled hopefully at him. “It’s cooler in there. Didn’t anyone offer you a lemonade? Or a Coke?”
“I was just taking off,” Johnny thanked her.
Claire looked over at the von Lillienfeld house. Now there were no lights on.
“Isn’t it a grand evening?” Mary sighed. “So tropical!”
Claire watched her Milky Ways ooze into neatly wrapped puddles. Grand evening? What was she talking about? It was so sweltering that she could feel her head begin to ache. It was awful. Why didn’t he leave?
“Hello,” said Michaelaen from inside.