“Prune?”
“Plain.”
The waitress turned to Alana, who said, “Tea, mint.”
“That’s it?” asked the girl.
I said it was, and Alana went back to her patient waiting pose.
“Does Greg own a pellet rifle?”
“My son owns whatever he wants. His grandfather doesn’t deny him anything.”
“So, he owns a pellet rifle?”
She shrugged.
“Who knows? I’ve never seen him with one.”
“Why does Greg want to save Ronnie Gerall?”
“They’re friends. That’s how I had the bad fortune to meet Ronnie.”
“What kind of friends?” I asked.
This time she cocked her head back in a becoming look of surprise.
“You’re suggesting my son and Ronnie had a homosexual relationship?”
“No. That didn’t occur to me, but I’ll think about it. Did Ronnie rule in their relationship?”
“Probably,” she said.
“Have you ever seen Ronnie act violent?”
“No.”
“Does Greg have any other friends besides Winston Graeme?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“When did they become friends?”
“About a year ago. No, two years ago. Winn Graeme is very protective of my son. My father and I are both very grateful for it, though I must confess that I don’t understand why the boy puts up with Greg.”
“Greg keeps punching him in the arm,” I said.
“A token of my son’s inability to come up with a painless way of expressing his friendship. His therapist assures me that when he gets to Duke he will mature. What is this all about?”
Our coffee and tea came. I picked up the check. We drank in silence for a few seconds, and then I said, “Does Greg write poetry?”
“Poetry? You ask the damnedest questions. Greg writes poetry, short stories, does sketches and paintings that could earn him a scholarship, and he reads at a rate that is not a treat to watch. He doesn’t just read. He devours books.”
“Do you and your father want Ronnie to go to prison for murder?”
“We’ll be satisfied to have him sent away for pretending to be a high school student or, better yet, whatever he did in Texas that he and his wife ran away from.”
“Your whole family hired me to find evidence that he didn’t kill Horvecki.”
“My father and I have changed our minds,” she said, finishing her coffee. “The job has changed. If you find evidence that he killed Horvecki or that other man…”
“Blue Berrigan.”
“Blue Berrigan,” she repeated with a shake of her head. “What kind of people have we gotten ourselves involved with? No answer is required.”
I gave none.
“Are we finished?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. I have another appointment.”
She got up, picked up her purse, and said, “Nail the bastard.”
“Someone else said the same thing.”
“A woman?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Of course,” she said and strode away.
When she was gone, I made a call and got through after two rings.
“This is Lew Fonesca.”
“I know,” said Winn Graeme.
“I’d like to see you.”
“When?”
“Now.”
“Where?”
“FourGees. It’s-”
“I know where it is. You have something?”
“Maybe,” I said.
“I’ll be right there.”
I had a refill of coffee and waited, listening to Rufus Wainwright sing “Not Ready To Love.”
It took him twenty-five minutes before he came into the backroom. He adjusted his glasses to be sure I was the person he was looking for.
“I’m missing golf practice,” he said, sitting down in the same seat Alana Legerman had been in. “I had to tell the coach and tell him my mother called and said she wasn’t feeling well.”
“He believed you?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t call me a liar. I don’t like lying. What’s going on? Why isn’t Greg here?”
“You go everywhere together?”
“Pretty much,” he said. “We’re friends.”
The waitress came back to take our order and get a good look at Winn Graeme.
“Are you Winston Graeme?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“I saw you play Riverview,” she said. “You had twenty-four points. My boyfriend was Terry Beacham, but we’re not together anymore.”
It was a clear invitation, but not to Winn, who said, “You have a caffeine-free diet cola?”
“Just Diet Coke.”
“I’ll have that,” he said, looking at me and not at the girl, who got the message and moved away.
She had forgotten to ask if I wanted a refill or something else.
“Why?” I asked.
“Why what?”
“Why are you and Greg friends?”
“He’s smart and we get along. Sometimes you can’t explain things like friendship.”
“I think I can explain it,” I said. “How much does Greg’s grandfather pay you to take care of his grandson and pretend to be his friend.”
Winn put his head down and then brought it up, adjusting his glasses again.
“Mr. Corkle pays me fifteen hundred dollars a month in cash.”
“How long has he been doing this?”
“Since Greg’s sixteenth birthday party. My father lost his job when I was fifteen. He had a drinking problem. He was sixty-one when he lost the job. Since then he’s made some money at home on his eBay trades. Some money, but not a lot, and my mother stands on her feet eight hours a day selling clothes at Beals. I need a scholarship. I need Bright Futures. I need fifteen hundred dollars a month. Wherever Greg goes to college, I’ll go to college so the money won’t stop.”
“What else would you like?”
“I’d like it if Greg didn’t find out about his mother and Ronnie and about me taking money from his grandfather.”
“You think I’ll tell him?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“I won’t tell him. You own a pellet gun?”
“No, why?”
“Someone’s been trying to shoot me with one.”
“If I were trying to shoot you would I tell you I had a gun?” he asked.
“Good point. People sometimes admit things they shouldn’t.”
A man in his late forties or early fifties and a woman who might have been his daughter came in the back room. He was wearing a business suit and tie. She was wearing less than she should have been. The man looked at Winn Graeme and me. Then the two of them sat on a sofa in the shadows under the speaker.
“You know that girl?” I asked.
“Why?”
“She nodded at you.”
Winn shook his head before saying, “I know her. She graduated from Riverview last year. She was a cheerleader. Her name is Hope something.”
“Small town,” I said, looking at the pair, who were whispering now, the girl shaking her head.
“That’s not her father,” Winn said.
“How do you know?”
“That’s Mr. Milikin, lawyer downtown. Wife, four kids. He’s on the board of everything in the county.”
I looked at the couple. Mr. Milikin looked as if he were perspiring. His eyes darted toward the archway leading into the other room. He didn’t want to see any familiar faces.
“Ronnie’s going to be like that if he lives long enough,” Winn said.
“Like Milikin?”
“No.”
“Horvecki,” I said.
“We didn’t kill him.”
“We?”
“Greg and I. We tried to talk to him a few times. So did others. Didn’t do any good.”
“You went to his house?”
“Once. He wouldn’t let us in, threatened to call the police if we didn’t go away. He said he had the right to bear arms and protect himself, his family, and his property. He said, ‘Under my roof, we know how to use a gun!’ ”
“And?”
“We went away. Is that all?”
I looked at him and he forced himself to look back for an instant before giving his glasses another adjustment.
“That’s all,” I said.
Winn Graeme stood up, started to turn, and then turned back to me to say, “Don’t hurt Greg.”
“That a warning?”
“A plea.”
He didn’t look toward Mr. Milikin and the former cheerleader as he left. The girl glanced at him, but Milikin was so busy pleading his case that he didn’t notice. He just kept perspiring.