“Oh, I get it. You can come over here and tell me I’m a perfectly horrible person and you don’t want to have nothin’ to do with me but I shouldn’t make fun of you.” Claire watched as the determined upper lip she found so attractive curled inward. “I think you think the whole police force never heard of cult murders. And like it’s going to take you to tell us about them. You know what your problem is?”
“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“Your problem is that you always gotta be the one in control. The minute you feel anybody else gettin’ up there with you on your Buddha pole, you go all to pieces.”
“I truly dislike this room. Did you paint it pea green for your own amusement or was it like this when you got here? Or perhaps it’s your idea of a political statement?”
He ignored her. “You’re scared shit to give anyone power over you because poor little you could get hurt.”
“My, my,” Claire sucked the inside of her cheek. “You figured this out all by yourself, I suppose. A genuine fling into the dizzying heights of psychoanalysis.”
“Oh, come on. Anybody acts that superior has got to have some sort of complex.”
“It might surprise you to know that there’s a vast world out there just full of people who function and communicate on levels other than dese, dems, and dose, and they’re perfectly happy.” Her eyes bulged. “They’re not looking down on anybody. They’re just trying to live a gentler life.”
He burst out laughing. “I’m talking about apples and you’re talking about oranges.”
“You’re the most infuriating person I have ever met.”
“But you’re crazy about me. You know you are. Otherwise you never would’ve come here.” He settled back comfortably on a wedge of foam rubber.
That was the trouble with living on a cop’s salary. Even if you knew what was good, you’d never be able to afford it. It made her so mad she could spit. “You haven’t heard a single word I’ve said!” she shouted at him.
“I heard you. What do you think, I’m sleeping? I only ought to follow my brain instead of my heart. You’d be my prime suspect if I didn’t keep making excuses for you inside of my head.”
She bolted upright. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. None of this started happening until you got back to town did it?”
Claire was speechless. She stared, paralyzed, into a framed picture of Johnny Walker Black as if it might tell her something.
He squashed his cigarette into a dirty pie plate and looked at his watch. “You could have done them both as far as a jury would be concerned.”
“But my cameras,” she whispered.
He shrugged. “You could have got rid of them yourself. Throw suspicion in another direction. Could easily have been a woman who did it. Not a trace of semen to be found. And sweetheart. While I got your attention, let me tell you something. You’re just the type some jury would love to hang. Expatriate. Member of a weird Indian cult—”
“Cult?! that was an ashram … of a very respected guru! And the other an extremely high lama!”
“Try telling that one to a jury. You know what the Post would make outa you? With a past like you got? Growin’ weird magical herbs in your kitchen? Mincemeat, that’s what.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“No, I ain’t outa my mind. And I didn’t say you did it. Alls I’m sayin is you coulda done it. Wandering around in the middle a the night like you do. Talking to yourself. I’ve seen you talking to yourself. Wacky broad.” He shook his head. “Shit!” He sprang up suddenly. “Hang on a second.” He jumped from the couch to the window, picked up a pair of binoculars and studied the racetrack through them. He wrote something down on a piece of paper, smiled, and picked up the phone. While it was ringing he looked at her and winked. “Eddie? Yeah. Johnny. Gimmie Four Leaf Clover thirty times in the fifth. That’s all. Yeah. Statta bene.” He hung up the phone and rubbed both hands together.
“You have someone at the track passing you signals!”
“That’s right.”
“That’s illegal!”
“So’s the grass you got growin in your mother’s backyard.”
Claire stood up slowly. She walked to the back door and fiddled clumsily with the lock.
“Just flip the top part to the right,” he said.
She waited till the Mayor was beside her, then walked into the bright sunlight and looked into the startled eyes of a golden horse. She hadn’t even gotten to the part about the near electrocution. The door slammed tight behind her.
CHAPTER 10
Carmela was ready for her, pacing the porch when she got back home. She was livid. “What the hell do you think you’re doing with my car? You don’t even have a license!”
“Here are the keys. I have such a headache. I’m sorry. I won’t take your stupid car anymore.”
“That’s right, you won’t. You’ve got a lot of nerve.” She snatched the keys and went back into the house. Claire went in, too. Mary was sitting at the kitchen table and Zinnie was sprawled across the countertop. The Mayor, for one, was glad to be home before supper.
“My God!” Claire cried. “You’ve cut your hair!”
Mary looked up, frightened. She snatched apologetically at her neck. “Yes,” she whispered. “And your father hasn’t seen me yet.”