“Oh, and thank you again, Mrs. Dixon,” Mary gave her her face of holy sympathy, “—thank you for helping me with the officer.”
Mrs. Dixon winked and closed the door.
Mary eyed the scrape in her linoleum.
“Not that she helped you any,” Zinnie said.
“Oh, hush. She means well. She hasn’t much to do now, with Mr. Dixon gone.”
Zinnie gnawed at her thumbnail. “I really feel like walking over there and giving von Lillienfeld a piece of my mind. The frustrated old bitch!”
“Now you don’t know if it was she who called,” Mary warned.
“Come on, ma. Don’t be naive!”
“I’d rather be naive than judgmental and presumptuous. Conjecture is the ignorant man’s tool.”
“Look. He poops there every day, doesn’t he? Who else would have a reason to call? And that brownie didn’t show up here without somebody calling.”
Claire looked up. “Does he really? Every day?”
Mary sniffed. Zinnie stuck her face in the fan.
“I’d better get Michaelaen’s shirts off the line.” Mary heaved herself up. “It looks like it’s ready to pour.”
“Want some coffee, Claire?” Zinnie asked when she had gone. “You look all done in.”
“I hit the bourbon last night. And you don’t look particularly fresh yourself.”
“I had a collar. Nice one. Took an uzi away from a six-foot black.”
“A coon?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What?”
“I mean calling a guy a coon.”
“Oh.” Claire felt her face redden. “I just meant … I mean there are blacks and there are coons. I was thinking more of the apparition than of the choice of words. As a matter of fact, I thought cops talked like that.”
“Maybe they do. Maybe I even used to. I mean, I did. Maybe I just grew up, you know. Like when I started living on a higher level.”
“Touché.”
“You’re welcome. Look. My partner’s black. He wouldn’t let nuthin’ happen to me. He’s a real hot shot. You understand? When it comes to backup, he’s right there. Okay?”
“Yes. And I’m sorry.”
“Hey. It’s all right. You saw the funeral, eh?”
“Mmm. I saw them put the coffin into the limo. It was white.” She looked sadly at Zinnie. “You should have seen the poor mother.”
“I wish Daddy would get back with Michaelaen. I hate to go to sleep without seeing him.”
“He’ll be back, don’t worry. People don’t die just because you love them, you know.”
“What a strange thing to say! How the hell did you realize I felt like that?”
“I don’t know. I guess because it’s the way I feel and so naturally assume you’ll feel that way, too. We may be very different, but I did have a hand at raising you when you were small, you know.”
“You keep telling me.”
“Uh-oh. Do I?”
“All the time. You make me feel like a little kid. And I’m not.”
“I wish someone would make me feel like a little kid.”
“That’s another thing you always do. Make yourself sound like a brontosaurus.”
“Hmm. The thunder lizard. Extinct American dinosaur. You know, I’m just going to prove your point by saying this, but it reminds me so much of how you used to think big animals would come in the window and eat you while you were asleep. Remember?”
“No. But I do remember you sitting up late with me and reading me stories. Judy Bolton and Nancy Drew. You remember that? And Carmela would report us?”
They smiled at each other.
“I think I’m going to take up jogging,” Claire announced. “I’m too fat.”
Zinnie looked at her through half closed lids. “You can’t jog, Claire. You smoke. Not for nothing, but the two don’t go together. Why don’t you just stop squirreling Michaelaen’s stash of Ring Dings. That might help.”
“Yeah. He’s changed his hiding spots on me, anyhow. I thought I’d give it a go, though. Cut down the smoking at the same time.”
“Give it a go, eh? Well, good luck. What brought this on?”
“Uh … Michaelaen, to tell you the truth. He told me I smell like an ashtray.”
“My son the worrying wart.”
“He wasn’t worried. He was simply stating a fact.”
“Yeah. Well. His little means are more devious than his ways.”
“As are yours.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Meaning you never said a word about the murder since it happened. You just let everybody talk and you listen. Like you’ve got some seedy ideas of your own that you won’t let on about.”
“I don’t. Honest. I wish I did. Look. Maybe it was one of those crimes that never gets solved. Happens all the time. I mean, if the guy had buried the kid, that’s what might have happened. The way I see it, though, is this: he leaves the body in the wide open like that just so people do find it. That’s what worries me.”
“Because?”
“Because if no one does find him, he’ll do it again. Maybe. Sometimes it’s some nut job just passing through. Gets off a plane at Kennedy, kills one here, one there along the way … leaving a trail of bodies from here to L.A. You never know. I’ll let you in on something if you promise not to tell anyone.”