“Or tells himself,” Jesse said.
“Or maybe it’s true,” Jenn said.
Jesse nodded.
“Or maybe it’s true,” he said.
36.
Crow had a bottle of champagne under his arm when he knocked on Marcy Campbell’s door at 5:45 in the evening. When she answered the door, he held out the champagne.
“I thought we might want to drink this,” Crow said, “and sort of close the circle.”
“The one that opened with me tied up on the couch in my office?” Marcy said. “Some years ago?”
“Yep.”
“What if I decline?”
“You keep the champagne, I go my way,” Crow said.
“Well,” Marcy said. “I decline.”
“Enjoy the champagne,” Crow said, and turned and walked toward the street.
Marcy stood in the doorway watching him. He reached her front gate and opened it when she said, “No.”
Crow turned.
“No?”
“Don’t go,” Marcy said.
Crow nodded and let the gate swing shut and walked back.
“I just got home,” Marcy said. “I need to take a shower.”
“Sure,” Crow said.
While she was gone, Crow found the kitchen and improvised an ice bucket out of a mixing bowl. He popped the cork on the champagne, poured some into a wineglass, put the rest of the bottle on ice, and took it to the living room. He sat and sipped the champagne he’d poured and looked at the room. Colonial American antiques, braided rugs, pine paneling, pictures of sailboats. Very New England. He finished his champagne as Marcy appeared in the bedroom door wearing a white robe.
“Want some champagne first?” Crow said.
“No,” Marcy said.
“Okay,” Crow said.
He walked into the bedroom and took off his shirt. He was wearing a gun, which he took from the holster and placed on the bedside table. Then he took off the rest of his clothes. Marcy watched, standing by the bed.
“What’s the scar from?” she said.
Crow shook his head. Marcy nodded and shrugged out of the robe. They looked at each other for a moment, then Marcy went to him and kissed him and half fell backward onto the bed. Crow went with her, ending up on the side near the nightstand, where his gun was.
Later they sat in the early-American living room, Crow with his clothes back on, Marcy in her white robe, and drank the champagne.
“How’d you know,” Marcy said.
“We know things,” Crow said.
“We?”
“Apache warriors,” Crow said.
“Are you really an Apache?”
“Yes.”
“And you knew I wanted this,” she said.
“Yes,” Crow said, and smiled. “And if I was wrong, what’d I lose?”
“A hundred-dollar bottle of champagne,” Marcy said.
“Three hundred,” Crow said.
Marcy smiled.
“So maybe all that Apache warrior stuff is crap,” she said.
“Maybe,” Crow said.
“But maybe not?” Marcy said.
“You’d like it to be real,” Crow said. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” Marcy said. “I would.”
“It’s real to me,” Crow said.
“I only ever wanted to do this once,” Marcy said.
Crow nodded.
“I’d rather it not happen again,” Marcy said.
“Okay,” Crow said.
“Don’t think it wasn’t wonderful,” Marcy said.
“I don’t think that,” Crow said.
“I had a fantasy and I fulfilled it.”
“Sure,” Crow said.
“You understand?” Marcy said.
“Sure.”
The champagne was gone. Crow looked at the empty bottle and stood.
“Time to go,” he said.
Marcy nodded. They walked to the door together. At the door Marcy put her arms around him and then kissed him hard.
“Good-bye,” she said.
“Good-bye,” Crow said, and walked out and closed the door.
37.
Miriam Fiedler invited Jesse for lunch at the Paradise Yacht Club. In honor of the occasion Jesse wore a blue blazer.
“Well,” Miriam said when he joined her at a table on the veranda with a view across the harbor to the town. “You dressed up, I’m flattered.”
“The blazer covers up my gun,” Jesse said.
Miriam continued to smile brightly.
“I love this view of the town,” she said, “don’t you?”
“Yes,” Jesse said.
A young waitress came to the table. Miriam ordered a Manhattan. Jesse had iced tea.
“You don’t drink, Chief Stone?” Miriam said.
“I do,” Jesse said. “But generally not at lunch.”
“Oh, no one would even notice,” Miriam said. “All of the members have a drink at lunch.”
Jesse nodded.
“Well, I see that I have my work cut out for me,” Miriam said.
“How so?” Jesse said.
“You’re not much of a talker.”
“As soon as I know the topic,” Jesse said, “I’ll jump right in.”
“Why are you so sure there’s a topic?”
“Last week you were rooting for my death,” Jesse said. “Now lunch. There’s a topic.”
“Oh, Chief Stone,” Miriam said. “Of course there is. I don’t know why I pretended there wasn’t. May I call you Jesse. Everyone seems to.”
“You may,” Jesse said.
“Please call me Miriam.”
“Okay,” Jesse said.
“Because I’m passionate about the issue,” Miriam said. “I realize I’ve been far too strident in the matter of the Crowne estate, and I wish first to apologize.”
“Good,” Jesse said.
Miriam drank some of her Manhattan. Not like someone who needed it, Jesse noticed, merely like someone who liked it.
“And I wondered if we could find a way to join forces, as it were, to confront a problem which is now a mutual one.”
She wasn’t that bad-looking, Jesse thought. Probably fifty-something. Skin good. Slim, well-dressed, well-groomed, and her teeth were very white. She wore quite a bit of makeup and was quite artful with it. Jesse remembered how clever Jenn had been with makeup. He always paid attention to it in women.
“What would that problem be?” Jesse said.
“The murder,” Miriam said, her voice full of surprise. “Murder on the very front lawn of that lovely estate.”
Jesse waited.
“Well, surely you see the connection,” Miriam said. “Once that element penetrates a town, then inevitably the crime rate soars, and the fundamental value of a beautiful residential town simply disappears.”
“Obviously,” Jesse said, “you’re not claiming that one of those preschool kids shot Fiona Francisco.”
“No, no, of course not. But once it starts, like the tiny trickle that overwhelms the dike…it’s a tragedy,” she said.
“Why do you think Fiona Francisco was killed by a Latino person?” Jesse said.
“Well, she was there on the front lawn, and obviously she wasn’t killed by someone in Paradise.”
“But you have no actual evidence,” Jesse said.
“It’s as plain as the nose on your face,” she said.
Jesse nodded thoughtfully.
“That plain,” he said. “What do you think I should do?”
“Well, first of all, close down that school. It will send them a message,” Miriam said.
“I really have no right to close down a school,” Jesse said.
“You have an obligation to protect us,” Miriam said.
“I do,” Jesse said.
He picked up the menu.
“What’s good here,” Jesse said.
Miriam stared at him.
“I’m not through talking,” she said.
“I’m not surprised,” Jesse said.
“Well, what are you going to do about this?”
Jesse put down the menu.
“I’ll tell you what I’m not going to do,” Jesse said. “I’m not going to sit here and talk ragtime with you. You have your reasons for wanting that school closed. But we both know they have little to do with the murder of Fiona Francisco.”
“That’s insulting,” Miriam said.