“That happens to me with great regularity.”
“At your age it’s okay. But when you get to be my age people take a mighty dim view of it-especially when you’re behind the wheel of a moving automobile at the time.” Rut tottered into the kitchen and returned a moment later carrying two glasses of foamy stout on a serving tray along with a plate of leftover deviled eggs and ham sandwiches. He set the tray on the coffee table. They raised their glasses in the air. “Here’s to Bryce, who never had a happy day in his life,” the old fellow declared. “I hope he’s found himself some peace.”
They drank. Then Rut eased himself slowly down into his favorite overstuffed chair, his slippered feet up on the ottoman.
Mitch sat in a chair across the coffee table from him, helping himself to a deviled egg. “Is it true that he owned the house on Big Sister?”
“He did indeed,” Rut confirmed. “Lucas left it to him, which riled Preston to no end, let me tell you.”
“Why didn’t Bryce want anyone to know about it?”
Rut shrugged his soft shoulders. “That was Bryce. He had a renegade streak a mile wide. A tough one to get to know, too. Talked to hardly a soul here in town except for Glynis.”
“The family’s lawyer?”
Rut nodded his head. “I hear he paid a call on her last week.”
“How did you hear that?”
“Her secretary happens to be a cousin of mine.”
“Rut, is there anyone in Dorset who isn’t a cousin of yours?”
“Bryce and Glynis were childhood friends, you know. Back before Lucas died and Preston gave Bryce the boot.”
“Was Bryce visiting her as his friend or his lawyer?”
“That sort of information my cousin can’t share with me. She’d lose her job.” Rut sipped his stout. “The house will pass to Preston now. He’ll be mighty pleased about that.”
“You’re not the first person who’s said that to me today.”
Rut peered at Mitch over the rim of his glass. “Josie’s a fine looking girl. High-spirited, too. She’ll find herself another fellow pretty fast. Or one will find her.”
“I suppose so.”
Rut continued to peer at him. “Anything you want to get off your chest?”
“Such as?…”
“I had my eye on Josie last night. Something about the way she kept watching one of the other fellas at the party gave me the impression she wasn’t entirely content with Bryce. We’re both men here, so there’s no point in tiptoeing around-it was you who she was looking at. And it’s been you sharing that island with them these past months. Bryce was quite a bit older than Josie. Also plenty frayed around the edges. Everybody knows that you and Josie are friends. Wouldn’t surprise me one bit if you were a little something more than that. Can’t say I’d blame you-a healthy young cocksman such as yourself.”
“Rut, I’m the Jewish film critic from New York, remember? I think you’re confusing me with someone else.”
“It isn’t someone else who keeps Dorset’s resident trooper glowing. That there is one contented woman, let me tell you. Always a smile on her face. Any man who can satisfy a gorgeous handful like Miss Desiree Mitry, well, the fellows at the firehouse have nothing but admiration for you, Mitch. Fact is, you’re something of a hero to them.”
“This is an actual topic of conversation at the firehouse?”
“Heck yeah. What do you think they talk about-fire safety procedures? And that’s just the fellas. Imagine what the gals over at the Town and Country beauty salon are saying.”
“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind,” Mitch said unhappily. This was the downside to living in a small town. Everyone thought they owned a front-row seat to your private life. “Rut, there’s nothing going on between Josie and me. Des is the only woman in my life.”
“Glad to hear it. I felt the same way myself about my Enid, God rest her soul.”
“You told me last night that you lusted after Paulette Zander for years.”
“Still do, truth be told,” Rut conceded. “But thinking about it and doing it are two entirely different things. I always figured a man’s free to dream about any woman he chooses just so long as he doesn’t cross the Mendoza Line.”
“I think you mean the Maginot Line.”
The old fellow frowned at him. “I do?”
“The Mendoza Line refers to Mario Mendoza, the famously light-hitting major league shortstop of the seventies. He was so deficient with a bat in his hands that cracking.200 came to be known as the Mendoza Line.”
“I think you’re wrong about that one, young fella.”
“I could be,” said Mitch, who’d learned never to argue with anyone who was over the age of eighty. There was no point. He reached for a ham sandwich and took a bite, chewing on it thoughtfully. “What do the guys at the firehouse say about Hank Merrill?”
“Hank’s an affable fella. Everybody likes Hank.”
“Everybody except for you, you mean.”
“Don’t think I follow you.”
“I got the distinct impression last night that you don’t care for him.”
“Naw, Hank’s okay,” the old postmaster said grudgingly. “You just need to understand the background of the situation. Paulette fell to pieces when that husband of hers, Clint, ran off. Just sat there in her house day and night drinking cheap white wine and chain-smoking cigarettes. Stopped showing up for work. Any other postmaster would have canned her. But I covered for her. And she got through it eventually. Sobered up, quit smoking. Only, it was like a part of her died inside. She was never the same person again. When I first met Paulette she was a lighthearted gal, quick to laugh, with a smile that’d make you melt. Want to know something? I can’t remember the last time I saw Paulette smile.” He shook his tufty white head. “When she took up with Hank it had been a lot of years since she’d had a man friend. And, well, Hank was still a married man at the time. Cheating on his wife Mary Ann, to put it plain and simple. He and Paulette used to sneak off to the Yankee Doodle for hot-sheet matinees. I didn’t approve. Figured he was using that beautiful, lonely woman strictly for the sex. Turned out I was wrong about that. Hank did leave Mary Ann for her.”
“But you still don’t approve.”
Rut shifted uneasily in the chair. “I don’t think he’s good enough for her. It’s nothing personal. I’d feel that way about any man who came into her life.”
“So that’s all there is to it?”
Rut studied him suspiciously. “What are you getting at?”
Mitch drank down the last of his stout. “Does Hank have money troubles?”
“You know anyone these days who doesn’t? But now that you mention it, he is trying to dig himself out of a deep hole. Believe me, a fella doesn’t work second chair for John the Barber every Saturday unless he’s seriously short of cash.” Rut gazed at Mitch’s empty glass. “You ready for another?”
“Sure thing.”
The old man bustled out to the kitchen with their empty glasses, refilled them and returned. “It didn’t take long for Mary Ann to find out that Hank was cheating on her with Paulette,” he recalled, settling back down in his chair. “She was mad as hell-especially when he asked her for a divorce. Paulette felt terrible about breaking up Hank’s marriage. But I’ve always figured you can’t bust up a marriage unless it’s already broken. Mary Ann’s lawyer saw to it that their assets were divided in a way that was highly favorable to her, on top of which he has to pay her monthly alimony.”
“Is she still living in Dorset?”
“She moved to Farmington. Works at a day care center up there for a whopping nine bucks an hour. Mary Ann is one bitter woman. Or so I hear. Anyhow, about a year after the divorce was finalized, Hank’s mother passed away in Rochester, New York. That’s where he’s from originally. She was by no means wealthy, but she did own her own home free and clear. Hank sold it and cleared enough to make a down payment on a fixer-upper cottage up by Uncas Lake. Hank’s good with his hands. He renovated the place himself, sold it for a tidy profit and bought himself another fixer-upper. Mary Ann eventually heard about this from one of her girlfriends in town and, well, it turns out that either Hank’s lawyer didn’t explain the terms of the divorce settlement to him or Hank didn’t listen. Because Mary Ann was entitled not only to her share of their assets at the time they split up but also to any assets he might come into in the future-namely his mother’s house in Rochester and the net proceeds from the fixer-upper he sold. Hank hired himself a new lawyer and tried to contest it but he lost. Now he owes Mary Ann close to seventy grand. Hasn’t got a nickel of it. The money’s all tied up in the other fixer-upper. The only way he can pay her is to sell it, except nobody’s buying a damned thing these days. This house right here has been on the market for nearly a year and I haven’t had one single offer. Until Hank is able to sell his cottage and lay a lump sum on Mary Ann, he has to scramble to make a structured monthly payment that the lawyers drew up. This is on top of the alimony he’s already paying her. Hank’s in deep. And he can’t very well ask Paulette for help. That wouldn’t be right.” He looked at Mitch shrewdly. “Why are you asking me about Hank’s money troubles?”