He hunkered down beside her and rubbed her back, offering consolation, which he knew was falling on deaf ears. “Hey. Look at me.”
He waited until she managed to get control of herself. She breathed deeply. She patted herself on the chest and looked at him.
Joey snagged a tissue from the box on the end table and held it out. She took it gratefully and blew her nose.
Joey went on. “We didn’t do anything. We’re in this together. We didn’t know he was dead until this morning’s paper. Isn’t that the truth?”
She nodded.
“We go to them and then what? They don’t have any reason to think we’re involved. There’s nothing that ties us to Yellowweed. Margaret will vouch for us and it’s the truth. If we admit to the blackmail, all we’ve done is expose ourselves to scrutiny.”
He studied her face, which had the haunted look of the doomed.
Iris finally nodded, calmer but still anxious. She twisted the soggy tissue in her hands. “What if they figure it out?”
“What if they don’t?”
“How is it going to look if they find out we sent the note and the tape? What if you left fingerprints—”
“I didn’t. I was too smart for that,” he said. “Anyway, if we have to, we’ll admit that much and say we didn’t follow up. We dropped the whole thing because we knew we’d made a mistake. What’s the worst that could happen?”
She shook her head mutely, imagining hideous possibilities that she didn’t dare verbalize.
“The worst is if we pipe up and confess, which would make it look like we’re guilty when we’re not. We backed away. Remember that? Okay, so we’re guilty of threats, but that’s not against the law. Well, it is against the law, but shit. We didn’t kill anyone. You gotta trust me. You trust me?”
Iris nodded, miserable.
Joey placed his hands over hers. “Here’s the deal. We go about our business like nothing’s wrong. Anybody asks us, we read about it in the paper, and of course we’re devastated. He’s a friend of ours and we feel terrible, but that’s all.”
“I don’t want to go to work. I can call in sick—”
“No. Out of the question. That would not look good.”
“I can tell Karen I’m upset because my friend was killed. She’d understand.”
Joey shook his head. “We do what we always do. Business as usual and it’s nothing to worry about. We’ll see how the day plays out and we’ll talk about it again tonight. Can you manage that?”
Iris nodded, her eyes pinned on his like a pup in obedience training.
? ? ?
Joey dropped her off downtown and she opened the shop. She put her purse under the counter and turned to the mirror on the wall behind her, leaning close so she could assess her reflection. She looked bad: no makeup, her eyes swollen from weeping, her hair straying out of the combs she wore. She paused to rearrange two combs and a barrette, which helped a bit. She sniffed. She took a big breath and let it out, emitting a soft sound . . . leftover grief, not for Fritz but for the trouble they were in. How could the authorities find out? She and Joey hadn’t done anything. Okay, a note demanding money, which for all anyone knew could have been a joke.
She heard the bell jingle over the front door.
The man who entered was in his late fifties. He wore a dark sport coat with a red polo shirt under it. He looked like an aging athlete . . . tennis or golf . . . because the outdoor activity had tanned his skin to a warm brown. Receding hairline, his forehead speckled with irregular spots of sun damage. The fringe of gray hair that remained was cut close. He reminded her of her Uncle Jerry, same age, same build. She was her uncle’s favorite.
He let his gaze travel around the store, taking in the racks of vintage clothing, the glass showcases filled with additional merchandise. She knew the air in the shop had a distinct scent to it. He wandered in her direction, in no particular hurry. When he was close enough, she saw that his dark lashes were so long it looked like he’d bought them at a drugstore and glued them into place. His lips were thin and formed a wavy line that suggested he was capable of smiling though she saw no other evidence of it. Maybe he was buying something for his wife. She checked his left hand. No wedding ring, but old guys didn’t always wear them.
“May I help you?”
“You’re Iris Lehmann?”
She thought, Shit, not this again. Instantly, her smile became flat and fake, which she hoped wasn’t obvious.
He removed a leather case and exhibited his badge: a star with seven points and a circle in the center. A banner read “Lieutenant” with “Deputy Sheriff’ on the top half of the curve and “Santa Teresa County” on the lower half. There was some sort of raised image in the center, but he tucked it away before she could determine what it was. He said, “Detective Burgess. County sheriff’s office.”
Her stomach sank. If he was here to ask about Fritz, the blackmail scheme was bound to come up. Her mind went blank. Her lips felt like they were stuck together. How would she react if she had no direct knowledge?
“May I help you?”
She winced. She’d just asked the same inane question.
“Hope so. We’re contacting friends of Fritz McCabe . . .”
“I read about him in the paper. It’s horrible what happened. I was shocked.”
“Sad to lose someone so young,” he said. “I can imagine what you must be feeling.” He watched her as though he imagined many other things as well, none of them favorable to her. She realized he’d taken out a pocket-size spiral-bound notebook. She watched him flip to the first blank page. “We’re trying to piece together his actions in the days before his death. Do you remember the last contact you had with him?”
“Well, mm, let’s see . . .” She looked up as though trying to recall their last conversation. “I believe we spoke to him last week. By phone. We didn’t see him. This is my fiancé and me. We live together so when Fritz called, Joey talked to him.”
“What day was that?”
Iris shook her head in the negative and then decided it would be more realistic if she added a detail. “I’d say Wednesday or Thursday. Toward the end of the week. I don’t think it was Friday Joey took the call.”
“You have any idea what they talked about?”
“I don’t. Maybe you could ask Joey. Or I can ask and get back to you.”
“He didn’t fill you in on the subject of the conversation?”
“I had to get to work so there wasn’t time.”
He flipped back a page or two as though to refresh his memory. “You know about the blackmail business,” he said, stating it as a given.
She hesitated. “I knew a little bit about it, but not a lot. I mean, not the details.”
His frown was barely perceptible. “I was under the impression Fritz broadcast the information to all his friends. I’m surprised he’d leave you out.”