Chapter 17

I drove home in some sort of fog. I couldn’t get over Ellen saying she and Charlie accepted casual affairs as normal after being together a number of years. Charlie had been my close friend, yet she had never said a word to me about that aspect of her life. Did she think I would repeat it? No, she knew me better than that. Did she think I was that stiff-necked? God knows I had had enough affairs earlier in my own life. I just managed to have them pretty much one at a time. Did she think I would have been judgmental? Would I have been? Possibly, I had to admit. I know Ellen’s comments had not set well with me.

And all this jazz about money problems. Why would Charlie make them up where they didn’t exist? Ellen was teetering on what people euphemistically called “quite comfortable.” Spelled r-i-c-h. Charlie apparently made good money at Tellman’s, and I’m sure she kicked in all she could reasonably be expected to. So if Ellen liked a little lace on the curtains, she was apparently happy to pay for it. What made Charlie so unhappy about that? I knew Charlie would never freeload, and I was virtually certain Ellen wouldn’t be bitchy about a few extra bucks spent in their mutual behalf. I couldn’t think of any couples I knew—gay or straight—where each person made the exact same money as the other.

Cindy made more than I did. It had caused no problems about that for us, as far as I knew. And I thought I would. Cindy had teased me in the beginning that I brought some pre-Cindy assets to the relationship—already owning a house with a low mortgage rate, and the very reasonable rent Aunt Mae charged for the cottage we used as a sort of local getaway. Cindy had been gung ho on getting me set up with a SEP plan for retirement, and watched over it like a hawk. We both contributed to a household account. I don’t know. I wasn’t all that involved with our money, but things seemed fine. As Ellen had phrased it, “the bills got paid.” We were putting some away for our dotage. Once in a while we took a weekend in Boston or Maine. And we were thinking of a longer vacation next spring.

Should I inquire regarding our mutual finances? I thought for a minute. Not on your life.

I shut the door on money and moved on to Zoe’s situation. Which of course was also about money. I knew that Sonny had advised Reed, as I had, to tell the kidnappers that two hundred thousand dollars was the absolute maximum amount of cash he could raise. They, in turn, were sure to knock at least some amount off the million. Then it became simply a bargaining session.

Say they all finally agreed on four hundred thousand. I knew Choate Ellis could have that in Reed’s hands in an hour. At least some of it would be marked bills, and I would bet the sum would also include some doctored bearer bonds that could be easily tracked as well.

Then all that remained would be to set up a meeting time and point of exchange. If the kidnappers felt it too dangerous to bring Zoe along to the exchange, they could tell Reed when and possibly the general area where she would be released. Simple. Zoe is loose, and quite possibly the perps are not.

The only problem was, at this point, nobody knew when Reed was speaking to the kidnappers, or what he said to them. If he were speaking to them at all. Once the prepaid cell phones had got into the act, the calls were pretty untraceable. I found myself fearful that Reed had stalled so stubbornly for so long that the captors had by now simply killed Zoe—or worse, left her tied up someplace remote, where she would starve before she was found—and disappeared in disgust.

I pulled in the driveway and was not thrilled to see Harmon perched on the back steps. I was tired, mentally and physically. It seemed months since I had accomplished anything even vaguely productive. And I really just wanted to sit quietly and think. Or maybe just sulk. I did not feel up to hearing chapter three thousand and six of Harmon’s personal encyclopedia of Ptown drug trades.

“Hiya, Harmon. I’ll be right with you. Just let me get the animals out. Want a beer? You look hot.”

“Sounds good,” he answered and then explained, “I was in the sun, picking your ripe tomatoes and peppers before the squirrels got at ’em. I know you been busy with other things. I put them on the shelf in the garage.” I thanked him, told him to be sure and take some later for himself and went in the house.

Fargo, Wells and I exchanged happy greetings before they remembered they were mad at me for leaving them all day. Then they went out and turned their attentions to Harmon, to let me know I was an unimportant blip on their busy radar.

I got Harmon’s beer out of the fridge and concocted what I deemed a well-deserved bourbon Old Fashioned for myself. Back outside I handed Harmon a paper bag to hold his produce later, motioned him around the side of the house to the tables and chairs, and made a fuss over the fur balls, who had once again decided to love me.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Sonny’s in court, trying to get those home invasion kids who pistol-whipped that couple tried as adults.”

“Yeah? I hope he succeeds. They may be young in years, but they’re aged in meanness. Now, what else is on your agenda?”

“I stopped by his office a while ago. I got two important leads to give him in the Zoe case, and he ain’t there. But now you’re here.”

“So I am.” I laughed and sipped my drink. Already things looked better. “Okay, go ahead, what news have you got? We could use something juicy at this point. Clues have about dried up.”

“This may be the most important,” he stated firmly. “I saw them two women that was dealing drugs with that guy in the blue SUV out on the wharf a while back.” He halted and sat back, as if he had completed some important news bulletin. Film at eleven, I supposed.

Finally the penny dropped. “Oh, you mean the women in the van.”

“That’s right.” His face grew dramatically solemn. “You see, I repaired Ms. Hatcher’s driveway gates right after lunch. Then I stopped by the bank to cash her check. Much as I hate to say it, as I went in, they was walking across the main floor with none other than Choate Ellis. Ellis, with all them fancy security guards watching everybody else, walkin’ with drug dealers and patting one of them on the arm and telling her he was glad they had managed to account for most of their money. Choate Ellis of all the stuck-up people. I couldn’t hardly believe it. I almost turned around and said something right then and there, but I didn’t want to put them on the alert so they might disappear before Sonny could get to them.”

I managed not to laugh. I could just see the expression on Choate Ellis’s face if Harmon had accused him of drug dealing in the lobby of his own bank.

“Good thinking. What did the women look like?” I asked the question not from any real interest, but Harmon did try so hard to corral drug dealers, I figured the least I could do was react positively to his attempts.

“Oh, they was definitely from the New York connection. Tall, too skinny for my taste, dark hair all cough-ured. They was wearing pants, but they looked like they were expensive, maybe tailor-made. I don’t think they were even from Filene’s.”

This time I laughed aloud. “Nice going, Harmon, nobody could beat your observations.”

He grinned like a shy boy, head down. “Well, a cute description is very important, Sonny says, so I try. Oh, by the way, Ellis called the one whose arm he was patting Bessie or maybe Betsy.”

I closed my eyes for a moment. Wonderful. Harmon had tapped the super-wealthy, pillars of the town, Tellman sisters and Choate Ellis, president of the bank and vestryman of the Episcopal Church, as drug dealers. Sometimes I wondered how Sonny stood it.

Harmon was moving right along to his next triumph in crime solving. “ . . . and I decided to have a beer at the Fisherman’s Dock for a change.”

I took a healthy sip of my drink and turned what was left of my attention back to our detective extraordinaire. “You’re slumming, Harmon,” I teased.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Don’t tell Joe. But it was lucky I did. Mark Maddock was there. He’d already put away a couple, and he was layin’ it on thick to all his buddies at the bar.”

It took me a minute to realize he was referring to Harry Maddock’s father and asked, “What do you mean, laying it on thick?”

Would this day ever end? Seemingly, it was set to run forever-amen, even though I was not.

“Mark was bragging that he had twenty thousand cool ones, and he said he well deserved them and then some after all the shit—I beg your pardon, Alex—that had been handed him all his life by folks who thought they’s better than him. I put it aside as just the booze talking, but one of his friends took him up on it. He asked Mark if he’d robbed Fishermen’s Bank lately. Now Mark, he looked kinda funny at first, like he might start a fight, but then he realized it was a joke and laughed and said he’d had some good luck at the track.”

I was beginning to be intrigued. “Maddock must have had a heavy bet on the exacta or something to win that kind of money,” I said. “You don’t win twenty grand putting ten dollars on Speedo in the fourth.” I stood up. “Hold on a minute and let me freshen these glasses.”

I got no argument from Harmon.

When I returned, Harmon nodded his thanks, obviously thinking of something else. He looked up and nodded again. “Maddock wasn’t at no track. I saw him and another guy today carrying a couch into that upholstery repair place he works at.”

“Maybe he meant another day,” I offered.

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “It didn’t sound like it. Nope, I figure he has somehow got himself lined up with Choate Ellis and them two women. Maybe some nights he kinda borrows that big truck and goes into Boston or New York, lookin’ all innocent with Upholstery Repair painted all over the truck. I’m telling you, this is big-time, Alex.”

I nodded. I’d agree to anything to get some solitary quiet.

“The sad thing is, I think he’s got his boy, Harry, involved with him. While he was rambling on, bragging about his windfall, he said something about Harry was going to be proud of him for coming up with the money. I really do hope Harry ain’t in it. He is a nice boy.”

“Yes, I hope so, too.” I sipped my drink carefully. I was so tired, it wouldn’t take much to put me right up there with Maddock. So how did the high roller leave it?”

“He set the bar up with free drinks. I asked him if he wasn’t afraid he’d spend Harry’s part of the money, buying us all drinks. He said he guessed he could spare a few drinks out of twenty thousand dollars. I said I guessed he could, too, and after my drink, I just left. It looked like the rest of them was settling in to get a lesson in picking winners.” He chortled at his own wit.

“Do you think he was lying about having the money? If he wasn’t, where do you think he really got it?”

“He had a wad on him, all right, and they looked to be mostly fifties and twenties. I’d figure at least a couple of hundred. More like three. He sure didn’t have twenty grand on him. Of course, it could be at home or someplace else. He’s got to be involved in drugs in a big way, Alex. That kind of money, maybe he brings it in hidden in the stuffing they use for upholstery. So if you see Sonny before I do, you be sure and tell him about these two new important connections in town.”

“Oh, I will, Harmon. And I know he’ll be grateful.”

He stood and thanked me for the beers with his usual politeness and left, detouring obediently through the garage for his tomatoes and peppers.

I sighed. Two new drug connections. Thank you, Harmon. I wish they were all that easy.

I thought of how Sonny would love Harmon’s latest discoveries in crime and smiled as I nibbled at the orange slice I had put in my drink. There were a couple of cherries in the glass, too. In fact, if it hadn’t been embarrassing around others, I would have put in four or five. I loved them. Cindy had suggested I simply drain the juice off a bottle of them, soak them in bourbon and eat them flambé with a spoon for dessert. I was pretty sure she was kidding.

The story of the Tellman sisters and Choate Ellis was typically, outrageously Harmon. Although shipping drugs in bales of couch stuffing might not be a bad idea, at that. Occasionally our Harmon was quite creative. The rest of the Maddock story began to bother me.

For one thing, this was not a characteristic Harmon tale. Here, he had actually seen a sizeable amount of money. More than Maddock was likely to have normally at any one time. Was Maddock in some way connected to Zoe’s disappearance? I wondered if he knew Reed from years back and was acting as some sort of go-between. Or had he perhaps seen something? Or did Harry Maddock know more than he was telling about something, and had he let it slip to Mark, who then blackmailed somebody for the big money?

I brought myself back to earth. Of course, flashing a few big bills in a bar was no proof Mark actually had twenty thousand dollars. And I wondered why he had bragged that he had twenty thousand dollars, when all the gallery records indicated that slightly over twenty-five was missing. Most people who boast about money tend to brag up not down. But I rather imagined he did have some sizable amount, for the simple reason that he hinted at Harry’s college expenses.

It would have seemed more realistic to me if Mark had claimed he planned to buy a boat, a new car, even a new house or a trip. Most likely to bet it all on his lucky horse tomorrow, now that he was on a roll. And come out a millionaire . . . in his dreams. Right up to the moment when he lost the last hundred dollars. According to his wife, college was not high on Mark’s list of important expenses, hardly to be bragged about to his bar friends unless he really had it. At least for today.

I munched a cherry. Maybe Mark had felt more guilt than he had admitted about not providing at least some assistance for Harry’s education. Maybe Mark, Betsy, Jan and Choate were planning to run the Cali Cartel out of business.

I must have said the last sentence out loud, for I received a snappy reply.

“How long have you been in the sun? Or are you just drunk on cherries?”

“Not long and no. Harmon was just here. You know what that does to one’s coherent thought process. Hello, darling.”