“Your girlfriend?”
“What? I should say not. Jenny is going on fifteen— she's old.”
“That's not...” I began, and stopped. How old was Nelson? How old was Doc Barnes? Judging from Priscilla who looked about fifty-eight, the Doc must have been sixty-five, or so. Hell, of course he could have married an older woman.... But suppose he was sixty-five, anybody he called an “old goat” would have to be at least seventy, seventy-five or even eighty. That could be Nelson, if he was that old... and it could also be Pops! “Andy, how old was Pops?”
“Not was, Grandpa, but is. My teacher told me to always be sure about the proper tense of a....”
“Too hot for lessons. How old would you say Pops is?”
“Gee, I don't know. He looks awful old.”
“As old as I am?”
“No, way older. Heck, I betcha Pops is at least... forty.”
I stared at the kid, then grinned—at myself. He'd started me on the idea, what more could I expect? “Andy, how old do you think I am?”
“I don't know,” he said, his voice uncomfortable. “Thirty-seven?”
“Come on, now. Your daddy is going on thirty-five, I think, so I have to be at least twenty years older than he is.”
“Why?”
“I just have to,” I said, not wanting to explain the birds and lie bees to the kid. Pops was the man I had to talk to, and right away I tried to think of a way of going in now, without the kid asking a million questions.
“You could only be fifteen years older than Dad.”
“Okay, let's forget it This is sure a swell model. Next time we go shopping, I'll buy you another kit. In fast, if we row in....”
“Great, Grans! Make it a helicopter kit this....”
A siren went off back in the Harbor. “What's that—a fire?”
Andy shook his head. “No. That was only one.... Do you say ring or blast or blow?”
“Blast, I guess.”
“One blast means it's noontime.”
“I've had enough sun and I'm starved. Think we can make for the beach?”
To my surprise the boy said, “Any time you wish.” He poked at the pail with his toe. “I wanted to go in before, show Mom my big porgy. Can I row?”
I gave him the oars, slipped on a shirt and got my pipe working. When we came within sight of Anderson's house I put the glasses on the widow's walk. Pops was on the cot again, blanket and all. The hat was covering most of his face and he was still wearing the tan shirt. But he seemed to be holding a newspaper up on his stomach. Then I saw him turn a page, adjust his hat.
Matt Lund and his great deductions? The old straw dummy was me. The hell with playing detective—I'd had it.
Back on the beach I had a sandwich and some warm soda. After showing off his fish, Andy and another kid took it way down the beach to clean. I curled up in th» shade of the beach umbrella, listened to Bessie's small talk with the other young women, watched some tots busy making sand pies. I completely forgot the “case.” I felt so relaxed I even dozed off for a few minutes.
Then Bessie shook me awake and soon had me digging clams with my fingers, squatting in the shallow water with the women. I managed to find a few. Bessie had a couple dozen small ones down her bosom, in fact all the girls had “clam bras” as they called it.
When the tide came in high enough to make any more digging impossible, Bessie sat on the beach and smashed clams together and ate them. I skipped that—the fresh clams looked too gritty and snotty. I curled up for another nap but didn't complain when Andy said it was high enough for swimming. I fooled in the water with the kids. When Bessie stood up and shouted it was five, time to go home as she had a special meat pudding to make... I was completely pooped, glad to drag my tired rear toward the cottage.
Walking along the road Bessie kept bawling me out for getting too much sun, but I told her I felt fine. And I did. I was honestly tired without a worry or a thought on my mind. All I wanted was to eat and swim—get some sleep, and the hell with being a jerk detective. When Bessie said something about asking Jane Endin over I was so bushed I only put up a mild argument.
Reaching the cottage I went around to the back, with Andy, to hang out the beach towels. He asked how soon we'd buy the helicopter kit and....
Bessie screamed. A hell of a scream.
I dropped the towels, damn near fell over Andy as we rushed around front, into the house. Bessie was standing in the doorway, pointing, her face full of horror.
Matty was on his back, his four feet sticking stiffly up in the air. He was laying on the tabletop, next to a dish of food. One glance told me he was dead.
Chapter 6
Andy asked, “Is poor Matty sick?”
I finally took my eyes off the cat, looked coldly around the room. I was frightened, but most of all I was too angry and upset to speak. Before I'd been grandstanding for the boy, maybe for myself, doing Bessie a favor, or perhaps having a little something going for the sake of “justice.” But that was all over. Now I was just plain goddamn burning mad!
Andy asked, “What's the matter with Matty? If we give him some warm milk...?”
Bessie put an arm around the boy's fat shoulders, told him softly, “He's dead, Andy. He took sick and died and he's—”
“Gone to Heaven? Mom, do cats and dogs go to Hell, too?”
“Keep still, Andy.” She turned to me, her eyes troubled. “He is dead, isn't he, Matt?”
Sure, I knew he was dead at first glance. But I stepped over and poked his stiff legs with my fingers, stared into the glassy little eyes. I was putting on an act for Bessie. My eyes kept working the room, waiting for any movement or sound behind the doors, in the other rooms. But the killer wouldn't be dumb enough to hang around. If he'd been down for real action, he wouldn't have bothered with my cat. The room looked okay, not a thing disturbed.
Andy was asking, “But, Mom, how did he die? Did he eat some of the stuff in that plate? Looks like there's some of it on his mouth.”
“I don't know,” Bessie said, starting for the table.
I grabbed her shoulder, told her, “Don't move. Did you touch anything when you came in?”
“No. Soon as I opened the door and saw Matty, I yelled. I don't understand how I could have been so careless as to leave those vegetables out of the refrigerator. It isn't like me to....”
“What's in the bowl?” I asked, my eyes still covering the room.