The Mayor watched them fondly from the floor. It had been a grand meal. The finest whittle of garlic roast pork and Mary’s special spinach baked in white sauce and laced with Gruyère. Ah, you couldn’t beat that Mary once she got started in the kitchen. There was no match. No wonder Stan had married her.
Claire was thinking, all right, if he’s on nights, he’ll just be waking up. Any minute now the phone will ring. He would certainly want to know if she remembered anything new from the missing photographs. Or if Carmela had lost sight of Stefan at the party. Carmela had said no, but then you never knew with Carmela. She might think of an absence as a desertion to her femininity. She certainly sat there looking cool and polished, although Claire knew she wasn’t. Her perfect nose had the start of a shine and she kept turning, looking nonchalantly out the window.
Michaelaen jangled Mary’s change purse between his knees. There was rock ‘n’ roll between those coins. All at once he jumped up and shrieked. Freddy was at the back door with a cherry cheesecake. They were always glad to see Freddy. Even Stan, despite himself. You couldn’t stay mad at Freddy for very long.
“What news from the front?” Zinnie asked when they’d divided up the cake and settled down to a second dessert. Freddy took his time and licked the fork with a big red tongue. He loved to have the floor. Claire looked away. “It hasn’t been easy,” he said finally. “I guess you all know by now that I’ve been interrogated?”
“What?” they all said.
“Yes, indeedy. And not with kid gloves, let me tell you. After they solve the murder, Carmela, you ought to do a story on the underhanded methods of harassing innocent suspects by the police.”
“You weren’t a suspect?!” Mary’s arm went protectively, instinctively around Michaelaen.
“Well, maybe not a suspect,” Freddy didn’t want to go tipping the wheel of credibility and ruin his story. “Not exactly. But they sure put me through the third degree. They most certainly did. And you’d think they think we’ve never watched a ‘Kojak’ in our lives the way they do that old one buddy, one enemy routine.” He looked to Zinnie who was studying her sneakers. “They roughed me up. I’ve had an awful week. First the opening and now this.”
“What? This?”
“They’ve got some flibbertigibbet insect from the stationhouse posing as a bartender. As if the killer is going to walk into my place and announce himself. It’s just too much. Somebody asked him for a Harvey Wallbanger and he gives the guy a Rob Roy. A Rob Roy!”
“An honest mistake,” Stan defended the cop.
Freddy ignored him. “And I’m almost positive this undercover dick is on drugs. Cocaine. I’m sure he is.”
“Talk about unfounded accusations,” Zinnie sneered.
“Well, he’s wired on something. You should see him.” Freddy gave his cruel and dumb-faced imitation of a space cadet. They couldn’t help but laugh.
“Maybe he’ll improve with experience,” suggested Mary.
“Barely plausible,” Freddy shook his head.
“He’s probably wasted from working too many hours overtime,” Zinnie said. “There’s a lot of pressure on the 102 right now.”
“I wonder what ever happened to those license plate numbers?” Claire asked suddenly, but no one was interested in that now. Freddy still had lots to tell. He rubbed his hands together.
“Shall I make another pot of coffee?” Mary stood.
“And I’ve got this other bartender,” Freddy nodded yes, “who is so good that I’d give him a raise if I wasn’t afraid that he’d realize how good he is and take off on me for the city.”
Nothing if not honest, thought Claire.
“Or the airport. They’re paying big bucks down there in inebriated tips. But this kid’s a redhead,” he rumbled Michaelaen’s hair. “Curious tribe. No tribe at all when you think about it. There’s one in every large family. Stubborn bunch.”
“Yeah, so what about the guy?” Carmela was terse.
“Oh. The redhead. If he left I’d be really in trouble. Unbelievable. He must be ambidextrous. I don’t know how he does it.”
And I bet he does it with a drop of the eyelids and a purse of the lips, Zinnie hummed inside her head. She gritted her teeth. She knew who that redhead was. His lover, that’s who. He couldn’t even resist referring to him in front of his son’s family. Such was his enthusiasm. Sometimes Freddy was a real canker sore.
“See that’s the thing. I don’t need another bartender right now. He’s just taking tips away from the others is all he’s doing. He’s just in the way. Plus he looks so unaesthetic with his big walrus moustache. In this day and age when a Ronald Coleman is the thing—”
“Hoy Jesus,” sputtered Stan.