Ike had found some sugar cubes by the coffee maker. He gave us both three lumps. I introduced him to Eddie. “You’re doing the honorable thing,” Ike assured him as they shook hands.
“It’s not like I haven’t been in prison before,” Eddie said. “Two measlies behind the Venetians will be a slice.”
I could see that Eddie’s choice of words had Ike’s brain tied in knots. “Two years in a jail cell,” I explained. “Piece of cake.”
“I intend to mind my Ps and Qs in there, too,” Eddie said. “Come out clean and live happily ever after, like a well-scrubbed clam in a fairy tale.”
Ike looked at me for another interpretation. “You’re on you own,” I said.
All three of us laughed. Then Eddie’s tough guy facade fell away. “I know you were forced into helping me,” he said. “And for all your sneaking around and such, came up with pretty much nada el grande. ”
He was right. I hadn’t uncovered anything that helped exonerate him. Except for realizing that Violeta Bell’s antiques might be fakes, I’d simply confirmed what Detective Grant already knew. “I was happy to try.”
His apology-if that’s what it was-apparently was just beginning. “And all you got from me was a hard time. Capital H. Capital T.”
“I can understand your being a bit defensive.”
“Defensive? I was the epitome of despicability. My only hope now is that my remorsefulness seems genuine.”
“It does.”
“That’s good to hear,” he said. “Because all I did that day you showed up unannounced at my abode was blow smoke in your face. Both literally and figuratively at the same time. My sister, too.”
“She was just protecting you.”
“And you were just trying to help,” he said. He took an awkward step toward me. He took both of my hands in his hands. He rubbed his sweat all over my fingers. “The sappier moments in life don’t come easy for me,” he said. “But if it hadn’t been for you, Mrs. Sprowls, I never would’ve given the police an accurate account of my who, what, when, where, and whys.”
“I’m sure you would have eventually.”
Said Eddie, “No I wouldn’t’ve.”
Ike tried to intervene on my behalf. “I’m sure you would have, too.”
“Neither of you know me like I know me,” Eddie said. He pulled me toward him, in a sweet, innocent way. He lowered his face until it was level with mine. His eyes were watering. Instead of the beer and cigarettes on his breath I expected, there was a powerful blast of Listerine. “You remember what you said to my sister that day, Mrs. Sprowls? ‘Your brother is going to be twiddling his thumbs on death row if he doesn’t start telling a more forthcoming version of the truth.’”
It was a pretty good line. I was impressed with myself. “I said that, did I?”
“I remember it word for word,” he said. “Like it was one of those dirty parts in Deuteronomy or something.” He let go of my hands. Stuffed his own hands back in the pockets of his baggy shorts. “It didn’t turn me around right away, of course. I’ve been my own worst enemy for a long time. A real self-destructive sonofabitch. Capital S. Capital O. Capital B. But your words of wisdom eventually put my noodle in question mode. What if they don’t find the real killer? What if I’m the best they can do?”
I patted his shoulder. “I’m just glad it’s gone well for you.”
Eddie the tough guy was back. “Damn friggin’ straight! Those two measlies behind the Venetians will be a slice.”
I liked Eddie French. But I also wanted to get away from him. Talk to a few other people before they brought out the steakburgers, or chicken legs, or whatever they were serving. “There is one little thing I’m still curious about,” I began. “About Violeta.”
Eddie blushed. “Like I’ve told you more than once, I truly never-ever expected that she’d been born with the male accouterments.”
Smoke was rolling across the patio. The Democrats were taking things off the barbecue racks. Piling it on platters. We’d be eating soon. “It’s not that,” I told him. “I’ve reluctantly accepted the possibility that nobody had a clue about her previous gender. It’s the fake antiques.”
Eddie showed a little worry. “I’ve already told the gendarmes the brutal truth about that.”
And for all I knew he had. According to the story Dale Marabout wrote about Eddie’s change of heart, Violeta Bell didn’t start trafficking in fake antiques until after she retired from her shop and moved into the Carmichael House. Dale quoted Eddie’s statement to the police: “She was already hiring me to haul things around. Real things left over from her shop. Then every once in a while she’d sneak in something fake. Before long it was all fake. Some of the dealers called her on it. But others ate it up. Wanted all she could get.” Eddie also opined that, “It’s been my experience that there’s good and bad in everybody, usually simultaneously, but sometimes sequentially.”
“I know the facts,” I said. “I was wondering how she felt about it.”
Eddie shrugged. “She did it.”
I tried to cool off my impatience with a long drink of lemonade. It was too sweet now. “But did she feel guilty about it? Some criminals do feel guilty about the things they do, don’t they?”
“Crime is a very individualistic thing,” he said. “Some do, some don’t. Some both do and don’t depending on what day it is. I, for better or worse, have always been one of those.”
I was forced to take another long drink. It was either that or strangle the little man. “And Violeta?”
Eddie scratched his whiskers. “At first she exhibited the customary pangs of guilt,” he said. “But as things went along, she started to get a kick out of it. I’ve been there myself. You say, ‘Jesus, I can’t believe I’m getting away with this.’ The people you’re rippin’ off are the dummies and you’re the smarty. Good for the ego.”
I had another question. “Why did you think she was doing it?”
He looked at me like I was daft. “For the moola-boola!”
I had him in a lie. “But that day I visited your apartment, you said that you didn’t know she was broke. You were downright flabbergasted in fact.”
“I was flabbergasted,” he admitted. “As downright as you correctly observed. I’d always assumed she was as comfy as the other three.”
I was confused. “So, if you thought she was rich why would you also think she was doing it for the money?”
He shrugged. “Rich people keep working. Crooked people keep crooking. So sayeth Eddie French.”
People were lining up at the serving tables. Getting their plates and silverware. Oohing and ahhing over the fare that awaited them. I locked one arm around Ike’s elbow, the other around Eddie’s. “What do you gentlemen say we get something to eat?” We headed toward the tables.
There were more than chicken legs and steakburgers. There were ribs. Blackened jumbo shrimp. Thick medallions of prime rib. Enormous brats ringed with bacon. Golden Cornish game hens almost too cute to eat. Ike and I went for the prime rib. Eddie loaded his plate with shrimp. He used his fingers to make a nest of them and plopped an entire game hen in the middle.
There were oodles of fancy side dishes, too. I limited myself to German potato salad and an ear of roasted corn. Ike chose roasted peppers, wild rice, stuffed mushrooms, and green beans. Eddie scanned the table with a disappointed frown and then went back to the meat table for more shrimp.