What had really happened between Wink and his first wife? Kitty, who had been married for exactly six weeks in her twenties and seldom spoke of it unless she had too much to drink, liked to say there were only two people who knew the truth about any marriage.
In Wink's case, there was now only one.
Chapter 18
There were only two Wynkowskis listed in the Baltimore phone book and Tess had already made the acquaintance of the first. The second, Linda Stolley Wynkowski, lived in Cross Keys, one of the city's first gated communities. An understated cluster of townhouses and high-rise condos on the city's north side, Cross Keys over the years had attracted such disparate individuals as John Dos Passos, onetime NAACP director Ben Chavis, and-most impressive to Tess-the original Romper Room teacher, Miss Nancy. Tess still had a soft spot for Romper Room, despite the fact that the Magic Mirror never saw a Tess, or even a Theresa, in all the years she watched.
She had not called ahead. It was so much harder to say no to a face than it was to a voice, especially someone who looked as harmless as Tess. Her mother might have despaired of her hair and clothes, but mild dishevelment worked for Tess. She looked like a jock, or jockette, and people equated jocks with stupidity, or at least a certain rah-rah thickness. It wasn't flattering for people to assume you were dumb, but it was often an advantage.
Sure enough, the building's front desk clerk-Karl the concierge, according to his name tag-was positively chummy when Tess asked him to ring Mrs. Wynkowski's apartment.
"I should have made an appointment, but I happened to be in the area and it is terribly urgent," she said, then lowered her voice. "It's about her ex-husband's will."
As she had hoped, the concierge was the type of young man who loved being taken into one's confidence.
"You just missed her," he said in an affected, campy voice, his eyebrows twitching in a way that suggested his every utterance arrived with an overcoat of irony. "Wednesday is Octavia day."
"Excuse me?"
"At least, I think it's Octavia day. Or is it Ruth Shaw day? I do have trouble keeping them straight."
"She alternates Octavia and Ruth Shaw," said the doorman, who was leaning against the front desk, seeking refuge from the day's sleety rains. "Octavia or Ruth Shaw on Wednesday, Jones amp; Jones Thursday, the shoe store on Friday, Betty Cooke jewelry from the Store, Ltd., on Saturday. I know because she always has the packages dropped off later, and I have to carry 'em up to her apartment."
"And on the seventh day, she rests," Karl said. "But only because the stores in Cross Keys are closed on Sunday."
"The malls are open," Tess said. "If she's such a shopaholic, she could go find plenty of other places to go."
"True, in theory," Karl the concierge said. "But in practice, Miz Rhymes-with-Witch never leaves Cross Keys. Hasn't been off the reservation in years, to my knowledge. Says everything one needs can be found right here-shops, restaurants, the tennis barn. Doesn't need a gas station because she never takes her car out of the garage. And she may be the only person in America who doesn't own a VCR, because you can't rent videotapes in Cross Keys. Thank God for cable and pay-per-view, or she wouldn't even know who Brad Pitt is, and that would be truly tragic."
Tess glanced at a framed Christmas photograph of Karl, a heavy-set woman, and five children who favored him, with their lean builds and mean little mouths.
"I'm getting the impression you don't like Mrs. Wynkowski very much," she said.
"Moi? Dislike anyone? Why, I adore the woman, especially at Christmastime, when she gives me ten whole dollars for all the little extra services she expects through the year. You trot over to Octavia and I'm sure you'll see just how charming Miz Rhymes-With-Hunt Cup can be."
The shopping center at the heart of Cross Keys was small and set on an open plaza, an arrangement that seemed quaint and dated in this age of malls. Tess did not see how its dozen or so shops could keep one busy for a single day, much less fill six days a week.
There were no customers in Octavia and the sales clerks were too dispirited by the gloomy day to force themselves on Tess. She held a plain black dress in front of her, glancing at its price tag. Too rich for her blood, but then, she wasn't guaranteed $20,000 a month for life. As she returned the dress to the rack, a frosted, frosty blonde stalked out of the dressing room in a bright turquoise suit and stocking feet.
"Marianna," the blonde whined. "Marianna, this doesn't hang right. The jacket should be more fitted through the waist, don't you think?"
"Would you like to have it altered, Mrs. Wynkowski? You know we're always glad to have alterations done for you."
"I don't know. I'm not sure the color is right, either. And it feels awfully heavy for a summer-weight wool." Glumly, she walked over to a rack of suits and began shoving the clothes back and forth as if she wanted to punish them for not being exactly what she wanted.
Studying her, Tess again was struck with the sense that Wink had gotten his wives in the wrong order. Here was what one expected in a second wife-a bottle blonde, pampered and reconfigured. If something could be painted, tugged upward, or filled with plastic, Linda Wynkowski had tended to it. And unlike Lea, her eyes were not red and underscored by black circles. She hadn't been losing sleep lately.
"None of these is right," the first Mrs. Wink muttered to herself. "I hate all these Easter egg colors they're showing this year."
"What about this?" Tess held out the black dress, whose only real distinction was its price. "This would look great on you."
The first Mrs. Wink snatched the dress from Tess's hands. "Not bad," she agreed. "But I probably have fifteen black dresses. I'm not sure I need another one."
Fifteen black dresses, yet she never left Cross Keys? Why did she need even one?
"You're Linda Wynkowski, right?" Tess asked. "Actually, I came here looking for you. We need to speak."
Linda frowned slightly, then willed her face back into blankness, as if conscious of the wrinkles caused by too much animation.
"About what?"
"The annuity, which guarantees your alimony, now that Wink is dead."
"Are you from the insurance company? You should be talking to my lawyer, not me. He'll explain how it works. No matter what else Wink owes, I still get my money. That was the point."
Tess allowed the misunderstanding to stand. "His wife says-"
"The little breeder? She's nuts. You'd think I'd stolen her husband instead of the other way around, that girl is so jealous of me." Without a trace of self-consciousness, Linda began disrobing in the store, unbuttoning the turquoise jacket and exposing a royal blue slip with lace inserts. "Look, if you wanna keep talking about this, you better come into the dressing room with me."
Tess followed Linda to a curtained cubicle with a chintz-covered chair and at least a dozen outfits, most of them wadded up and left on the floor.
"What's your problem with Lea?" Tess asked, as Linda quickly stripped down to her camisole and pantyhose. Although thin and surgically improved, her body had the soft, oily sheen and consistency of Brie at room temperature. "Your marriage to Wink was long over before she showed up."
"I don't have a problem with her. She has a problem with me." Linda looked Tess up and down. "Are you one of her lawyers, trying to figure out how to break the annuity? Don't waste your time. It's air-tight. Besides, it's not my fault Wink offed himself and she won't get anything from the life insurance. Maybe she should have made him happier, you know what I mean, and then he wouldn't have been so quick to take a one-way trip in his Mustang."