Mr. Mercedes (Bill Hodges Trilogy, #1)(71)
“Do you want me to come?”
“Of course, but I don’t know how I’d explain you to them. I can’t very well introduce you as the man I hopped into bed with almost as soon as I met him, and if I tell them I hired you to investigate Ollie’s death, it’s apt to show up on one of Uncle Henry’s kids’ Facebook pages before midnight. When it comes to gossip, Uncle Henry’s worse than Aunt Charlotte, but neither one of them is exactly a model of discretion. At least Holly’s just weird.” She takes a deep, watery breath. “God, I could sure use a friendly face right now. I haven’t seen Charlotte and Henry in years, neither of them showed up at Ollie’s funeral, and they sure haven’t made any effort to keep up with my life.”
Hodges thinks it over and says, “I’m a friend, that’s all. I used to work for the Vigilant security company in Sugar Heights. You met me when you came back to inventory your sister’s things and take care of the will with the lawyer. Chum.”
“Schron.” She takes a deep, watery breath. “That could work.”
It will. When it comes to spinning stories, no one can do it with a straighter face than a cop. “I’m on my way.”
“But . . . don’t you have things to take care of in the city? To investigate?”
“Nothing that won’t wait. It’ll take me an hour to get there. With Saturday traffic, maybe even less.”
“Thank you, Bill. With all my heart. If I’m not in the lobby—”
“I’ll find you, I’m a trained detective.” He’s slipping into his shoes.
“I think if you’re coming, you better bring a change of clothes. I’ve rented three rooms in the Holiday Inn down the street. I’ll rent one for you as well. The advantages of having money. Not to mention an Amex Platinum Card.”
“Janey, it’s an easy drive back to the city.”
“Sure, but she might die. If it happens today or tonight, I’m really going to need a friend. For the . . . you know, the . . .”
Tears catch her and she can’t finish. Hodges doesn’t need her to, because he knows what she means. For the arrangements.
Ten minutes later he’s on the road, headed east toward Sunny Acres and Warsaw County Memorial. He expects to find Janey in the ICU waiting room, but she’s outside, sitting on the bumper of a parked ambulance. She gets into his Toyota when he pulls up beside her, and one look at her drawn face and socketed eyes tells him everything he needs to know.
She holds together until he parks in the visitors’ lot, then breaks down. Hodges takes her in his arms. She tells him that Elizabeth Wharton passed from the world at quarter past three, central daylight time.
About the same time I was putting on my shoes, Hodges thinks, and hugs her tighter.
23
Little League season is in full swing, and Brady spends that sunny Saturday afternoon at McGinnis Park, where a full slate of games is being played on three fields. The afternoon is warm and business is brisk. Lots of tweenybop girls have come to watch their little brothers do battle, and as they stand in line waiting for their ice cream, the only thing they seem to be talking about (the only thing Brady hears them talking about, anyway) is the upcoming ’Round Here concert at the MAC. It seems they are all going. Brady has decided that he will go, too. He just needs to dope out a way to get in wearing his special vest—the one loaded with the ball bearings and blocks of plastic explosive.
My final bow, he thinks. A headline for the ages.
The thought improves his mood. So does selling out his entire truckload of goodies—even the JuCee Stix are gone by four o’clock. Back at the ice cream factory, he hands the keys over to Shirley Orton (who never seems to leave) and asks if he can switch with Rudy Stanhope, who’s down for the Sunday afternoon shift. Sundays—always assuming the weather cooperates—are busy days, with Loeb’s three trucks working not just McGinnis but the city’s other four large parks. He accompanies his request with the boyishly winning smile Shirley is a sucker for.
“In other words,” Shirley says, “you want two afternoons off in a row.”
“You got it.” He explains that his mother wants to visit her brother, which means at least one overnight and possibly two. There is no brother, of course, and when it comes to trips, the only one his mother is interested in making these days is the scenic tour that takes her from the couch to the liquor cabinet and back to the couch.
“I’m sure Rudy will say okay. Don’t you want to call him yourself?”
“If the request comes from you, it’s a done deal.”
The bitch giggles, which puts acres of flesh in rather disturbing motion. She makes the call while Brady’s changing into his street clothes. Rudy is happy to give up his Sunday shift and take Brady’s on Tuesday. This gives Brady two free afternoons to stake out Zoney’s GoMart, and two should be enough. If the girl doesn’t show up with the dog on either day, he’ll call in sick on Wednesday. If he has to, but he doesn’t think it will take that long.
After leaving Loeb’s, Brady does a little Krogering of his own. He picks up half a dozen items they need—staples like eggs, milk, butter, and Cocoa Puffs—then swings by the meat counter and picks up a pound of hamburger. Ninety percent lean. Nothing but the best for Odell’s last meal.