Louis sat back. It was a preposterous assumption, and he had the feeling she was just miffed that she didn’t know the gossip about Durand, so she wanted to stir up some dirt of her own.
“Mrs. Laroche,” he said, “your yard man-”
“Emilio. His name was Emilio.”
“Emilio,” Louis said patiently. “If he was a day worker with a landscaping service, it wouldn’t be unusual for him not to show up for work.”
“There’s something I haven’t told you yet,” Margery said.
“Which is?”
“I heard a rumor about him,” Margery said. She frowned, tapping a red fingernail against her turban. “Now, when was it, exactly? Had to have been during the season, of course. I’m thinking it was around the time of the Red Cross Ball-no, it was the Retina Ball at The Breakers, because it was after my last face-lift, and I couldn’t go because I was all blown up like a puffer fish and-”
She stopped suddenly. “Beating my gums again.”
Louis gave her a tight smile.
Margery took a drink of champagne. “I was so worried when he didn’t show up for work for weeks, and then-”
Margery glanced at the doorway and, satisfied that Franklin was not lurking behind the wall, turned back to Louis. “That’s when I heard that he was caught in flagrante delicto,” she said in a low voice.
Louis shook his head. “I don’t-”
“In bed, dear,” Margery said. “The rumor was he had been caught by the husband and chased from the house.” She shook her head. “I never believed it, of course. He was such a good boy, and I always had the feeling he had a wife somewhere.”
“Whose home?” he asked.
Margery shook her head. “I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you that,” she said. “It just wouldn’t be ducky.”
“Mrs. Laroche, you said you wanted to help Reggie,” Louis said firmly.
The head shaking grew more vigorous. “This is a small island, young man. I have to live here.”
“Reggie could go to jail if you don’t help,” Louis said.
She stared at him, then her eyes widened. “I have an idea. You can be Robert Redford, and I’ll be Deep Throat, and you can ask me initials, and I can just nod.”
“What?”
“That movie, dear,” Margery said, touching his wrist affectionately. “My goodness, don’t you watch movies? The one with those two reporters, Carl Woodstein and-?”
Louis had had enough. “This is not a movie, Mrs. Laroche,” he said.
Margery set the pug aside and leveled her iron gaze at Louis. “Young man, you needn’t be so patronizing. I am just trying to help. I may be eighty years old, but I still know my onions.”
Louis nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry. But this is a homicide investigation, and Reggie’s life is on the line. I need names.”
Margery shook her head fiercely. “Bank’s closed on that one. I can’t spill on my friends. You’re just going to have to find Emilio-if the poor boy is still alive, that is.”
Louis set his glass on the tray. The champagne was bubbling in his brain, but he was sober enough to know it wouldn’t do him or Reggie a damn bit of good to push this woman. He had apparently pissed her off, and he had no badge here, no legal right to force her to talk.
“Do you remember the name of the company Emilio worked for?” he asked.
“Green something,” Margery said. “They’re over in West Palm somewhere.”
“And about how long ago did he disappear?”
“I told you, about five years ago.”
Margery reached for the champagne bottle, but it was empty. “Dead soldier,” she muttered, turning the bottle upside down in the cooler.
She stood up, wavering, holding the pug. “Oh, my, I’m rather splifficated.” She gave a delicate belch. “What time is it?”
Louis looked at his watch. “Almost eleven.”
“Oh, futz, I have fitting at Martha’s, and I am going to be late.” She staggered to the door, the pug tucked under her arm like a hairy football. “Franklin!” she yelled.
She turned back to Louis. “You’ll have to forgive me, dear, but I am going to have to get a wiggle on. We’ll do breakfast another time, okay?”
Franklin materialized, along with the other dogs, yapping and bouncing. But Margery didn’t seem to notice. She had gone back to the lounge, where she deposited the football dog on a cushion. She gathered all of the newspapers up and stuffed them into a Saks bag. She hesitated, then picked up the small black book that Franklin had brought in earlier with the scrapbook.
She came back to Louis. “Take these,” she said, thrusting the bag at him. “This is a month’s worth of the Shiny.”
“Ma’am?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, dear, it’s time you called me Margery, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “The Shiny, the Palm Beach Daily News. We call it the Shiny. Think of it as your road map.”
Apparently, she had forgiven him.
Margery held out the black book. “And you’ll need this, too,” she said.
“What’s this?” Louis asked, taking the book.
“The Sears catalogue, dear!” When she saw his puzzled look, she added, “It’s the Social Register. But we call it the Sears catalogue because nowadays the most awful people can get in it.”
She put a firm hand on his arm and started leading him to the door. “But that’s a story for another day. I must fly now. Franklin!”
“Here, madame,” the old gent said.
Margery blinked, trying to focus on him. “Oh, there you are, you utter ghost of a man. Show Mr. Kincaid out, Franklin.”
Franklin shuffled toward the door, Louis following, carrying the Saks bag.
“One more thing!”
He turned back to Margery.
She waggled a red fingernail in his direction. “I don’t like being pushed up against the wall, but I think you mean well, and I think you will be able to help my Reggie. I’ll just have to trust my instincts with you, and, like I said, you seem like a right gee.”
“Mrs. Laroche, I need those names.”
But she didn’t seem to hear what he said. The red mouth widened into a smile. “Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
And with that, she was gone through one of the archways, the pugs in her wake.
Louis followed Franklin to the front door. It was only after he was outside in the rain that he realized Margery had called him “Loo-EE.”
Chapter Ten
It was just after noon when Louis saw the cruiser swing into the parking lot of the Palm Beach PD. He had spent the last half hour sitting under the awning of an art gallery, watching the rain and thinking about Margery’s Fernando Lamas murder fantasy. It was probably the most far-fetched lead he had ever pursued, chasing down a lawn guy based on a five-year-old rumor that he had been caught in some woman’s bedroom.
But what else did he have right now?
Swann exited the cruiser, jogging through the rain toward the station entrance. He was working his arms into his navy blazer and didn’t see Louis until he was only a few feet from him.
Swann stopped abruptly under the entrance’s overhang. “Mr. Kincaid,” he said. “Are you waiting for me?”
“Yeah, I need your help.”
Swann pulled a Tic-Tac dispenser from his pocket and popped one into his mouth. “I’ve already given you all the help I could. Reggie Kent’s fate is in Detective Barberry’s hands.”
“Yeah, we met.”
“I take it he blew you off?”
Something in Swann’s voice made Louis realize that Barberry had done the same to Swann. He wondered if Swann had more of an interest in Reggie Kent’s case than he had led them to believe.
“Yeah, he blew me off, more or less.”
Swann nodded. “Well, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really need to go, Mr. Kincaid.”
Louis thought about asking Swann to go across the street to Hamburger Heaven. God knew he needed something in his stomach besides Margery’s champagne. But he realized there was probably no place on the island where Swann would not feel the curious eyes of the people he was expected to shield from the outside world.