A block ahead, a dark green Chevy pulled out of a Dunkin' Donuts parking lot.
"There they are," said M. J.
Adam shook his head in amazement. "You were right."
"First rule of escape: Never move in a straight line. See? She's heading north. I bet she'll circle back towards town. The long way around."
The light turned green. M. J. turned north, in pursuit of the Chevy. She kept her distance, with two cars between them. A half mile along, the Chevy turned east. As she'd predicted, her quarry was moving in a wide circle, taking secondary roads back to town.
"Is this why you went to the burial?" asked Adam.
"The same reason the cops went. To see who'd turn up to pay their last respects. I figured someone would. The same anonymous person who slipped Greenwood Mortuary the cash for that coffin. It was just bottom-of-the-line plywood and veneer, but it was paid for. Our mystery lady in that Chevy must've been the one."
"Did you get a look at her?"
"Just a glimpse. Late twenties, maybe. And a kid about six years old."
They followed the Chevy to the Stanhope district, a bluecollar suburb of single family homes lined up ticky-tack on postage-stamp lots. From a block away, they saw the Chevy pull into a driveway. The woman got out and helped the child from the car, and together they climbed the porch steps into a house. It was a pink stucco box, irredeemably ugly, with cast-iron bars on the windows and a TV antenna the size of an oil rig on the roof.
M. J. parked. For a moment they sat studying the house. "What do you think?" she said.
"It's like approaching a trapped animal. She could be dangerous. Why don't we just call the police?"
"No, I think she's afraid of the police. Otherwise she'd have called them."
After a pause, he nodded. "All right, we can try talking to her. But the first sign of trouble and we're out of there. Is that clear?"
They got out of the car and she smiled across the roof at him. "Absolutely."
They could hear the sound of the TV as they approached the front door. Some kids' show-cartoon voices, twinkly music. M. J. stood off to the side of the porch, and Adam knocked.
A little girl appeared at the screen door.
Adam flashed his million-dollar smile. "Can I talk to your mommy?" he said.
"She's not here."
"Can you call her, then?"
"She's not here."
"Well, is she in another room or something?"
"No." The voice wavered, dropped to a whisper. "She went away to heaven."
Adam stared at her pityingly. "I'm sorry."
There was a silence, then the girl said. "You wanna talk to my Auntie Lila?"
"Missy? Who's out there?" called a voice.
"Just a man," said the girl.
Bare feet slapped across the floor and a woman came to the screen door. She peered out blankly at Adam. Then her gaze shifted and she caught sight of M. J., standing off to the side. The woman froze in recognition.
"It's all right," said M. J. "My name's Dr. Novak. I'm with the medical examiner-"
"It was you. At the cemetery…"
"I've been trying to find someone who knew Peggy Sue Barnett."
"My mommy?" said the child.
The woman looked down at the girl. "Go on, honey. Go watch TV."
"But she's talking about my mommy."
"Just grownup stuff. Listen! I think Ducktales is on! Go on, you watch it."
The girl, faced with the choice of adult conversation or her favorite cartoon, chose the latter: She scampered off into the next room.
The woman looked back at M. J. "Why're you asking about Peggy Sue? You with the police?"
"I told you, I'm with the medical examiner." She paused. "I think Peggy Sue Barnett was murdered."
The woman was silent as she considered her next move. "It's not like I know anything," she said.
"Then why are you afraid?"
"Because people might think I know more than I do."
"Tell us what you know," said Adam. "Then we'll all know it. And you won't have to be afraid."
The woman glanced toward the sound of the TV, now blaring out a cereal commercial. She looked back at M. J. Then, slowly, she unlatched the screen door and motioned them to come in.
14
They sat in the dining room, in chairs upholstered in green and yellow plaid. There was a bowl of plastic fruit on the table and on the wall hung a picture of a soulful young Elvis, gazing like some patron saint from an oil and canvas eternity. Lila lit a cigarette, blew out tendrils of smoke that wreathed her close-cropped hair.
"I was just a friend of hers," said Lila. "I mean, a good friend, but that's all. We used to hang out together, cruise the bars. You know, girl stuff." She flicked off an ash. "Then I got hitched, and we sort of drifted apart. I knew she was having a hard time of it. Kept trying to borrow money from me till I just didn't have any to give her. See, Peggy Sue, she liked to party, and she wasn't exactly responsible. Had this kid at home and she'd just go out and leave her."
"Is that Peggy Sue's child?" asked M. J., nodding toward the TV room.
"Yeah. That's Missy. Anyway, I got tired of Peggy Sue coming around for cash, so we had this falling out. It was her fault. I mean, she was working and all, but she just couldn't manage her wallet."
"She had a job?"
"She worked the phones in some boiler room. A company called Peabody or Peabrain, over on Radisson and Hobart. They do telemarketing. You know, sell Florida vacations to poor shmucks in Jersey. Easy work, sitting all day on your tush. It wasn't bad money, either. But Peggy Sue, she liked nice stuff. She couldn't keep any money in the bank."
"We never heard she had a job," said Adam.
Lila's brown eyes focused admiringly on Adam. Hitched or not, the woman still had an appreciation for the masculine form. She exhaled a lungful of smoke. "It was under the table. You know, no taxes, that kind of thing. Anyway, she quit about six months ago."
"Then how did she support herself?"
"Hell if I know." Lila laughed. "Girls like Peggy Sue, they survive. One way or another, they do okay. If they can't bum off friends, then they pick up cash somewhere else. Maybe she found herself a sugar daddy."
"She mention any names?" asked M. J.
"No. But I figure there must've been someone, 'cause she suddenly had money to burn. All she'd say was, she got lucky, that she was set up for life. I'd babysit Missy once in awhile, see, and Peggy Sue'd drop her off here. God, she'd come back high as a kite."
"You mean on drugs?"
"Oh, yeah. She liked a hit once in awhile. Not all the time. She wasn't that irresponsible."
"So this started when?" asked M. J. "The money, the drugs?"
"About six months ago."
"The same time she quit her job."
"Yeah. About."
"And then what happened?"
Lila shrugged. "She started getting… weird."
"How?"
"Looking over her shoulder. Closing all my curtains. I figured it was the drugs. You know, they make you a little crazy after a while. I tried talking to her about it, but all she'd say was, things were fine. Then, a couple of weeks ago, she dropped Missy off and told me to keep her for a while. Said she was gonna party seriously."
"Meaning?"
"Get high. She was going to try out some new stuff she'd bought off a kid in the neighborhood." Lila crushed out her cigarette butt. "And that was the last time I saw her."
"Why didn't you call the police?" asked Adam. "Report her missing?"
Lila paused and looked away. "I didn't want to get involved."
There's more to it than that , thought M. J., watching the woman's eyes, noting how she looked everywhere but at them.