All the Beautiful Lies(41)
Still, Harry stared at this particular line from Dylan for another minute. It was the last thing his father had ever written. Then Harry flipped back a page. There was another quote, this one with an attribution:
“That’s the worst thing about democracy: there have to be two opinions about every issue.”
—Ross Macdonald, Black Money
And before that quote was one of his father’s lists. This one was titled: A REVISED list of Ross Macdonald’s Lew Archer novels, ranked in order of preference.
He didn’t hear the front door open, but Alice’s voice was suddenly in the house. “Anybody home?”
Harry startled, then stood up, putting the notebook down, and stepping out into the hallway. Alice was there, between Detective Dixon, wearing what looked like the same tan suit he’d had on the first time Harry had met him, and another man, much shorter, in a dark suit. Strange scenarios were passing through Harry’s mind. Was Alice being arrested? Was there more bad news?
But then Detective Dixon, in a calm voice, said, “Hello, Harry. Alice came by the station this morning, and I thought I’d bring her home. She’s a little upset.”
“Is everything okay?”
Alice turned and entered the living room. Detective Dixon stepped forward. “Harry, this is my colleague, Detective Vogel.”
Harry nodded in the other detective’s direction. He had a wide face and thick, dark eyebrows that almost touched above the bridge of a squat nose. “What’s going on?” Harry asked.
“Sam, why don’t you sit with Mrs. Ackerson a moment while I talk with Harry.”
Detective Vogel nodded and followed Alice into the living room while Dixon grasped Harry’s shoulder in one of his big hands and said in a lowered voice: “Alice came to the station today with some new information. She said your father was involved with a young woman here in town. Do you know anything about that?”
“What do you mean, ‘involved’?” Harry asked.
“Does the name Annie Callahan mean anything to you?”
Harry, completely expecting the detective to say Grace’s name, said nothing for a moment. “You knew her?” the detective asked.
“No, sorry, I didn’t. I don’t. Who is she?”
“Are you sure? She worked briefly at your father’s bookstore?”
“Up here? In Maine?”
“Uh-huh.”
“No, I didn’t know her.”
“What about the name Lou Callahan? Ever heard that name?”
Harry shook his head.
“Okay, thanks. That’s all I needed to know. Your stepmother told us today that your father had been involved, romantically, with an employee at the store. That’s Annie Callahan. She thinks either she or her husband might have had something to do with your father’s death.”
“Why is she just telling you this now?”
“Partly because of you, Harry. That’s what she said, that she wanted to protect you from finding out that information. She’s pretty upset.” Just as Detective Dixon was saying those words, the other detective—Harry had already forgotten his name—reappeared in the doorway to the living room, and said, “She’s asking to see Harry. You all set here?”
“We’re all set,” the detective said, placing his hand on Harry’s shoulder and leading him toward Alice.
Chapter 17
Now
In the living room, Alice was on the couch, her knees up tight to her chest. Her head was angled down, her eyes squeezed shut, and she was emitting low, eerie groans. Her wet cheeks made it clear that she’d been crying. Harry was paralyzed with inaction for one brief moment, then slid next to her and placed an arm over her shoulders. She instantly adjusted herself, moving closer to him, pressing her damp face against his shirt. He could hear and feel the ragged breath entering and exiting her body. Both detectives stayed standing, but Detective Dixon said, “Alice, I’m going to go talk with this Annie Callahan, okay? And then maybe with her husband.”
Harry didn’t think she was going to react, but then she shifted her body, turning to face the detective, wiping at her face. There was a damp spot on Harry’s shirt where her face had been. The detective pulled at his suit pants above the knees and crouched. “You going to be okay here with Harry?” he asked.
Alice slid her legs off the couch and put her feet back on the floor. She nodded her head, while drawing a wet breath in through her nostrils. Harry kept one hand on her back, nervous about moving it. She was wearing a wraparound dress, and the front had slid open a little so that Harry had a brief view of one of her breasts barely covered by the white cup of a bra. She shifted again, fixing the dress, and Harry moved his hand.
“I don’t know if . . .”
“You don’t know if what, Mrs. Ackerson?”
“I don’t know for a fact if Annie . . . or if her husband . . . had anything to do with what happened to my husband.”
“No, of course not. But it’s information we should have. We’ll check it out.” He stood and nodded toward his partner. Harry took the opportunity to get off the sofa and walk them to the door. “We’ll let you know if we find anything out. In the meantime, if Alice mentions anything that she didn’t mention to us, then . . . you have my card?”