Joe decided he liked Brad better that night. He was willing to throw his weight Leslie’s way when it came to the burial for the woman in the basement at Hastings House. He was also irritated that Laymon wasn’t more considerate regarding Leslie’s health.
Laymon didn’t even seem to realize he was there until they got to dessert.
“You don’t write?” he asked.
“No, Matt was the journalist.”
“You were a cop?”
“For a few years.”
Joe never felt the need to explain himself. He certainly wasn’t going to do so now.
He was surprised when Brad chose to do it for him.
“Joe has a degree from Columbia in criminology. Police departments all over the country fly him in when they hit a dead end.”
“Oh?” Laymon looked at him with a new respect.
Joe lifted a hand. “Fresh eyes see new things sometimes,” he said.
“Don’t let him fool you. He solved a big cocaine thing out in Vegas recently. The casinos didn’t know how the dealers were getting the goods through their private security systems. They were doing it with coffee cups,” Joe said.
“Thanks,” he told Brad. “But don’t go being too impressed. To tell you the truth, I got the idea because of a plot I’d seen on a television show once. They’d probably seen it, too, so there you go.”
Laymon stared at Leslie. “Well, I guess it doesn’t much matter where an inspiration comes from when it pans out, hmm?”
Delicate little Italian cookies arrived at the table just then, along with Laymon’s espresso, Leslie’s cappuccino, and the plain old coffee he and Brad had ordered.
“I understand you’re convinced that the explosion at Hastings House was no accident,” Laymon said, his eyes surprisingly sharp as they met Joe’s.
“Hey, Matt was my cousin. Can’t blame me if I question what happened,” Joe said lightly.
“Where did you get the idea that Joe was still investigating the house?” Leslie asked.
“Well, hell.” Laymon was clearly annoyed at being asked to explain himself. “Brad and Ken have gotten to be drinking buddies. Ken knows what you’re up to.”
“I’m not exactly ‘up to’ anything,” Joe said.
“How are you doing on your quest for that young woman?” Laymon demanded.
“Hopefully, I’m getting a little closer every day.”
“Does it matter now?” Laymon asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“She’s been gone a long time. She’s undoubtedly dead.”
“One way or the other, I’ll find her,” Joe said. He wasn’t sure why, but the tension was growing around the table.
“Pass a cookie, Brad, please?” Leslie said lightly. Joe lowered his head. She was always determined to defuse a tense situation. Smart. He should have held his temper better with Hank Smith that afternoon. He didn’t want to find himself persona non grata at the site or anywhere else Leslie might be.
“It’s sad,” Laymon murmured. “The aunt—Eileen Brideswell—she’s a major contributor to the Historical Society.”
“I imagine she’s a major contributor to many charities,” Leslie said.
Laymon nodded, leaning back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Strange woman, Eileen. She still loves all the musty little pubs of her youth. But, I’ll tell you one thing. Genevieve O’Brien’s grandfather was a tough old hickory stick. He wouldn’t have approved much of Genevieve. He didn’t feel that a bum in the street—or a prostitute—should ever be helped with a red cent. He gave to charities, all right, but he picked them carefully. He wasn’t about to give a dime to anyone he felt wasn’t helping themselves. The old fellow is long dead and gone, or else I’d say there was a good chance he’d walled his own niece up somewhere himself.”
“But he is dead. Long dead, as you say,” Joe said.
Laymon shrugged. “Funny thing, I’d see the girl now and then. She loved to come and look at the house.”
“She appreciated history?” Brad said.
“I guess. But it was strange. She’d walk around and around it. It was as if…it was as if she wasn’t looking at the house, exactly, but at something more.”
“Why didn’t she come to the gala?” Joe asked. “I mean, you knew her, knew she was interested in the place. You could have given her an invitation.”
“It never occurred to me,” Laymon said with a shrug. “All she had to do was ask her aunt if she wanted to go.”
But she wouldn’t have done that, Joe thought.
“You don’t think Genevieve O’Brien blew the place up out of some kind of bitterness, do you?” Brad asked.
“No,” Joe said.
“Then she must have known something about the house that intrigued her,” Leslie mused.
“Suspected, anyway,” Joe said.
“Don’t you think this is all getting a bit farfetched?” Laymon said. “The blast was over a year ago.” He looked at Joe. “Genevieve has been missing…what? About two months?”
“Right around that,” Joe agreed.