"What's funny?"
"Lydia did quite well," Eve said gravely.
"Oh, God," I said.
"She wants to talk to you."
A pause, and then Lydia. "Bill? Do you know how big cows are?"
I chuckled.
"Don't laugh!" she demanded. "The closest I ever was to a live chicken before is the Grand Street kosher market. Did you know chickens get annoyed when you take the eggs away?"
"Only if your hands are cold."
"Oh, you're so smart. Did you ever milk a cow?"
"Did you?" I asked, impressed.
"Well, sort of. Eve showed me. I wasn't real good at it. I mean, they do it all by machines anyway. We just got enough for breakfast." She stopped for breath, then asked, "How's Tony?"
I repeated what I'd told Eve.
"It sounds as though he'll be all right," she said. "I'm so glad."
"Yeah," I said. "Me, too."
"What are you going to do now?"
"I'm going over to Frank Grice's place, on the other side of Cobleskill. If I can't find him I'm going to try that other dump."
"Be careful."
"I'm always careful."
"Uh-huh. I'd feel better if I were with you."
"I'd feel better if you were with me, too. But I want you to stay with Eve. And think of all you're learning. This will be good, for when we buy our little rose-covered cottage. You can milk the cows and collect the eggs and bake cherry pies while I split firewood and shoot things for food for the winter."
"If this were my phone I'd hang up on you."
"If this were your phone your mother would already have hung up on me. I'll call again later. 'Bye."
I drank the coffee and worked my way through all that food. I wondered if the gun in Jimmy's truck actually was the one that killed Wally Gould. I wondered why Wally Gould was killed. I wondered if Lydia's hands had been cold. I wondered who had shot Tony, and whom they'd meant to shoot, and why.
A half mile from Friendly s there was a Valu-Center, a supermarket as big as a New York City block. They sold everything there: food, lawn furniture, hardware, clothing. I bought a T-shirt, a sweater, and a carton of Kents, and I bought gloves. Back in the car I pulled the clothes on, lit a Kent, and headed across Cobleskill, to the place Jimmy had said Grice lived. I went past once-elegant frame houses, a couple of public buildings built out of gray stone from the quarries, and a municipal park that looked tired and old in the dull morning light. As I crossed the bridge over the state highway I caught a glimpse of the Appleseed plant, enormous painted trucks coming and going, pale smoke pouring into the sky from a stainless-steel chimney. On a day like this even the stainless steel didn't shine.
The complex of three-story buildings Grice lived in was the only one like it in Cobleskill, maybe in the county. Luxury Condos, a sign announced. Balconies, Euro-style kitchens, 1 1/2 baths. Pool. The buildings were tan-colored stucco. The pool was empty, except for a small congealed lump of winter leaves. The paint on the sign was peeling.
The first building, Jimmy'd said, on the third floor. I found the bell labeled Capone. I pushed it; nothing happened. I started, methodically, to push all the second- floor bells. I was halfway through them when the intercom barked, "Who's there?" I put my mouth very close to the speaker, growled something loud and unintelligible. The question came again and I growled again. I was buzzed in.
I found the first-floor garbage room and waited there, gave my benefactor a chance to give up and stick his head back in his door. After a few minutes I slipped out, continued along the corridor to the fire stair and up to the third floor.
Grice's apartment wasn't hard to find and it wasn't hard to break into. That was disappointing. What I really wanted was to talk to Grice; this little excursion was just an irresistible side trip. I wasn't looking for anything in particular, and it seemed likely that a man who made it so simple to get into his place wouldn't have left anything to find.
That turned out to be true. The apartment didn't have quite the ambience of the green house near Franklinton, but there was nothing about it to make me want to spend my retirement there. A thick gold carpet lay prostrate under a large brown leather sofa and matching La-Z-Boy recliner. In a smoked-glass wall unit there was an enormous projection TV and VCR. There were three used high-ball glasses on the glass coffee table, and a full ashtray. I examined the butts. Marlboro Lights, mostly; but among them, two Camels. Without filters.
In the bedroom the bed was unmade, but it would be hard to say how many people had slept in it, or when. There were dirty dishes in the Euro-style kitchen sink.
The whole place had an air of grease and uncaring that made me want to open a window, open all the windows. I resisted because I didn't want any movement up here to be seen from outside.
Wearing my new gloves, I worked fast. I opened everything that was closed, pawed through drawers, rifled through piles. I found both cocaine and marijuana in a kitchen cabinet, but in small amounts, like what a host might keep on hand for guests. There was change and a pile of bills in a bowl by the bed, and in the same bowl a pair of jeweled and tinkling earrings, which I pocketed, but no large amounts of cash. No phone bills, which I would've been interested in. No credit card receipts, no datebook.
No lists, no ledgers, no maps to the pirate gold.
Okay, the hell with it. What had I expected, a signed confession? "I killed Wally Gould and I've been trying to frame Jimmy Antonelli for it. I did it because he was an ugly little creep and he got on my nerves. I'm writing this because the guilt is too much to bear. Yours truly, Frank Grice."
I was wasting time.
I left. Down the way I'd come, out the rear door this time, around the side of the building. Out of habit, I surveyed the parking lot before heading across it to my car. It was almost empty, and I didn't see any bad guys.
The only thing I saw that I wasn't expecting was Lydia.
Chapter 18
She was sitting in her rented car, parked next to mine in the condo lot. As I stepped from the shadow of the building she flashed me a smile, opened the door, got out. The smile turned down the voltage on the jolt that had gone through me when I saw she was alone, but I still covered the lot in fast strides and I still called, "What's wrong? Where's Eve?"
"No, she's all right," Lydia answered as I reached her. "She's at the hospital, with Tony. There's a cop there and everything. She won't leave until I come back. It's just that I called Velez right after we talked to you, and he gave me something Eve and I thought you should have right away."
Velez. I'd forgotten about Velez; but that had been a grudge match anyway, what I'd hired him for.
"Eve and you thought, huh?" I said to Lydia.
"Uh-huh. I told Eve where Grice lived and she told me how to get here after I dropped her at the hospital. I was afraid I'd miss you, but I found your car. I figured I'd give you time to toss the place if that's what you were doing. If you'd been much longer I'd have come up to see if you were okay."
"I appreciate that, I really do. As it turns out, it was what I was doing. No one's home, and I didn't find a thing. Well, almost not a thing." I lit a cigarette, leaned next to her on the car.
"What did you find?"
"You first. What's Velez's big news?"
"He says to tell you first it's not dirt," she said. "He hasn't found anything illegal, which is what he thinks you wanted."
"That was what I wanted, but I'm flexible."
"Good. Now, you know for a couple of years Appleseed's been buying farms all over the county?"
I nodded.
"Well, one thing is, Velez says they've been consistently paying more than the land is appraised at."
"How much more?" I interrupted.
"Not a fortune. Ten or fifteen percent."
"Hmm. Not enough to ring any alarms, but enough to make a seller grab it before Appleseed comes to its senses."