I stared goggle-eyed at the picture. It was Martha, all right. With the way she was going at it with her office mate, I'd expected she might have fingerprint marks on her neck. A bullet in the brain never occurred to me.
"Says she's being laid out at Stiva's tomorrow night," Grandma said. "We should go on account of it was our garbage company."
The Catholic church held bingo parties only twice a week, so Grandma and her friends enlarged their social life by attending viewings.
"No suspects," I said, reading the article. "The police think it was robbery. Her purse was missing."
* * * * *
THE BROWN DODGE was still parked down the street when I left my parents' house. Bunchy was asleep behind the wheel, his head back, mouth open. I rapped on the window, and he jumped awake.
"Shit," he said, "what time is it?"
"Were you here all night?"
"Sure looks like it."
Looked like it to me, too. He looked even worse than usual. He had dark circles under his eyes, he needed a shave, and his hair looked like it had been styled by a stun gun.
"So, you didn't kill anybody last night?"
Bunchy blinked at me. "Not that I remember. Who bought the farm?"
"Martha Deeter. She worked at RGC Waste Haulers."
"Why would I want to kill her?"
"I don't know. I saw it in the paper this morning and just thought I'd ask."
"Never hurts to ask," Bunchy said.
* * * * *
I LET MYSELF into my apartment and saw the light flashing on my phone machine.
"Hey, Babe," Ranger said, "got a job for you."
The second message was from Benito Ramirez. "Hello, Stephanie," he said. Quiet-voiced. Articulate, as always. "I've been away for a little while . . . as you know." There was a pause and in my mind I could see his eyes. Small for his face and terrifyingly insane. "I came by to see you, but you weren't at home. That's okay. I'll try some other time." He gave a small, girlish giggle and disconnected.
I erased Ranger's message and saved Ramirez's. Probably I should have a restraining order issued. Ordinarily I didn't hold much stock in restraining orders, but in this case, if Ramirez continued to harass me I might be able to get his parole revoked.
I connected with Ranger on his car phone. "What's the job?" I asked.
"Chauffeur. I have a young sheik flying in to Newark at five."
"He carrying drugs? Delivering guns?"
"Negative. He's visiting relatives in BucksCounty. Long weekend. Probably he won't even blow himself up."
"What's the catch?"
"No catch. You wear a black suit and white shirt. You meet him at the gate and escort him safely to his destination."
"I guess that sounds okay."
"You'll be driving a Town Car. You can pick it up at the garage on Third and Marshall. Be there at three o'clock and talk to Eddie."
"Anything else?"
"Make sure you're dressed."
"You mean the suit—"
"I mean the gun."
"Oh."
I disconnected and went back to Fred's photos. I spread the color copies out on the table just as I did the first time. Two of the pictures were of the bag all tied up. I was guessing that was how Fred found it. He took a couple pictures, then he opened the bag. The big question was, did he know what was inside before he opened it, or was it a surprise?
I went upstairs to Mrs. Bestler, who had failing eyesight, and borrowed a magnifying glass. I returned to my apartment, took the pages closer to the window, and looked at them with the glass. The glass wasn't much help, but I was almost sure it was a woman. Short dark hair. No jewelry on her right hand. There seemed to be newspapers crumpled into the bag with her. A crime lab might be able to pick something out to help date the photo. The bag with the woman was sitting with other bags. I could count four. They were on asphalt. Garbage stacked outside a business, maybe. A business too small to need a Dumpster. Lots of those around. Or it could be a driveway belonging to a family who made tons of garbage.
Part of a building was visible in the background. Hard to tell what it was. It was out of focus and in shade. A stucco wall was my best guess.
That was all the pictures were going to offer up to me.
I took a shower, scrounged for lunch, and set off to talk to Mabel.
5
I LEFT MY building with more caution than usual, keeping my eyes open for Ramirez. I reached the Buick and was almost disappointed not to have been accosted. On the one hand, it'd be good to get the confrontation over with. On the other hand . . . I didn't want to think about the other hand.
Bunchy wasn't there, either. I had mixed feelings about this, too. Bunchy was a pain in the behind, and I had no idea who he was, but I thought he might be good to have around if Ramirez attacked me. Better Bunchy than Ramirez. I don't know why I felt like that. For all I knew, Bunchy was the butcher.
I chugged out of the lot and drove on autopilot to Mabel's house, trying to prioritize projects. I had to neutralize Ramirez, get to the bottom of the Fred thing, chauffeur some sheik . . . And I felt uncomfortable about the dead garbage lady. Not to mention, I needed shoes for Saturday night. I lined everything up in my mind. The shoes were, hands down, top priority. Okay, so sometimes I wasn't the world's greatest bounty hunter. I wasn't a fabulous cook. I didn't have a boyfriend, much less a husband. And I wasn't a big financial success. I could live with all those failings as long as I knew that once in a while I looked really hot. And Saturday night I was going to look hot. So I needed shoes and a new dress.
Mabel was standing at the door when I drove up. Still on the lookout for Fred, I guess.
"I'm so glad you're here," she said, ushering me into the house. "I don't know what to think."
As if I could help her in that department.
"Sometimes I expect Fred to walk in the door, just like always. And then other times I know he'll never be back. And the thing is . . . I really need a new washer and dryer. In fact, I've needed them for years, but Fred was so cautious about spending money. Maybe I'll just go down to Sears and take a look. It doesn't hurt to look, does it?"
"Looking sounds good to me."
"I knew I could count on you," Mabel said. "Would you like some tea?"
"No thanks on the tea, but I have some more questions. I want you to think about places Fred might go that would have four or five garbage bags sitting outside on garbage day. The bags would be sitting on asphalt. And there might be a light-colored stucco wall behind them."
"This is about those photographs, isn't it? Let me think. Fred had a routine, you know. When he retired two years ago, he took over the errands. In the beginning we did the marketing together, but it was too stressful. So I started staying home and watching my television shows in the afternoon, and Fred took over the errands. He went to the Grand Union every day. And sometimes he'd go to Giovichinni's Meat Market. He didn't go there too often because he thought Giovichinni gypped him on the meat scale. He only went there if he wanted kielbasa. Once in a while he'd splurge on Giovichinni's olive loaf."
"Did he go to Giovichinni's last week?"
"Not that I know of. The only thing different about last week was that he went out in the morning to the garbage company. He didn't usually go out in the morning, but he was really in a state over that missed day."
"Did he ever go out at night?"
"We went to the seniors' club on Thursdays to play cards. And we went to special events sometimes. Like the Christmas party."
We were standing in front of the living room window, talking, when the RGC garbage truck rumbled up the street, bypassed Mabel's house, and stopped next door.
Mabel blinked in disbelief. "They didn't take my garbage," she said. "It's right out there on the curb, and they didn't take it." She threw the door open and trotted out to the sidewalk, but the truck was gone. "How could they do this?" she wailed. "What am I going to do with my garbage?"