“Paul’s working today. He and I got married last weekend,” she said casually, and the cellophane package of crackers I was trying to open exploded. I hastily began to gather up the crumbs.
“You married your first husband’s brother?”
“You know we’ve been dating for a long time.”
“Well, yes, but I didn’t know it was going to result in a marriage!”
“He’s great.”
We chatted away. I was dying to know what the first Mr. Allison thought of this new situation, but was aware I really must not ask.
The third time Sally was explaining to me how wonderful Paul was (she knew I’d heard while dating Arthur Smith that Paul had never been popular with his fellow detectives), I was sufficiently bored and skeptical to look around me. To my surprise, I spied Donnie Greenhouse eating lunch with Idella. They were sitting in one of the few places in the steak house where you could talk without being overheard. Donnie was leaning over the table, talking earnestly and quickly to Idella, whose delicate coloring was showing unbecoming blotches of stress. Idella was shaking her head from side to side.
What an odd couple! It was a little strange to see Donnie out in public, even though I dismissed that reaction on my part as uncharitable. But with Idella?
“They certainly look put out with each other,” Sally said. She’d followed my gaze. “I don’t think this is a widower on the rebound, do you?”
There sure wasn’t anything loverlike in their posture or in the way they were looking at each other. Suddenly Idella sprang up, grabbed her purse, and headed for the women’s room. Donnie scowled after her. I thought Idella was crying.
Sally and I exchanged glances.
“I guess I better go check,” I said. “There’s a fine line between showing concern and butting in, and this situation is right on it.”
The two-stall salmon-and-tan women’s room was empty except for Idella. She was indeed crying, shut in one of the booths.
“Idella,” I said gently. “It’s Roe. I’m holding the door shut so no one else can come in.” And I braced my back against the door.
“Thanks,” she sobbed. “I’ll straighten up in a minute.”
And sure enough, she pulled herself together and emerged from the booth, though not until I’d had time to decipher the last batch of graffiti through a layer of tan paint. Showing some wear and tear, Idella ran some cold water on a paper towel and held it over her eyes.
“It’s going to ruin my makeup,” she said, “but at least my eyes won’t be so puffy.”
It was oddly difficult to talk to her with her eyes covered like that, in this bleak room with the smell of industrial disinfectant clogging my nostrils.
“Idella, are you all right?”
“Oh… yes, I’ll be okay.” She didn’t sound as though she were certain. “Donnie just has some crazy idea in his head, and he won’t let it go, and he’s hounding me about it.”
I waited expectantly. I was so curious I finally prodded her. “He surely doesn’t think you had anything to do with Tonia Lee’s death?”
“He thinks I know who did do it,” Idella said wearily. “That’s just ridiculous, of course.” She stared bleakly into the mirror; she looked even more haggard under the harsh light, her dead-grass hair a limp mess around her pale face. “He says he saw my car pulling out of the Greenhouse Realty parking lot the night Tonia Lee was killed.”
“How could he possibly think that?”
But Idella was through confiding, and when someone pushed behind me hard enough to make the door move a little, she seized the chance to go back to her table. “Thanks,” she said quickly. “I’ll see you later.”
I moved away from the door to let her out, and she shouldered her way past the door-pusher, who turned out to be Terry Sternholtz.
She gave us a very peculiar look; she knew I’d been holding the door shut. I wondered if she’d been out there long.
“Idella seemed upset,” Terry said casually as she pulled open one of the stalls. She looked very bright today, her bouncing red hair contrasting cheerfully with a Kelly green suit.
“Some upset she had,” I said dismissively, and went back to my table. Sally was waiting, and raised her eyebrows expectantly as I slid into my chair.
“I don’t know,” I said to answer Sally’s unspoken query. “She wouldn’t really say.” I didn’t want to repeat the conversation. It seemed evident Idella was in trouble of some kind, and she had always been so nice to me I didn’t want to compound it by starting a rumor. Sally looked at me sideways, to show me she knew I was evading her. “I don’t know why you think I tell everyone everything I know,” she said with more than a little pique in her voice. It looked as if we’d have our own little quarrel.
Just then the group of Pan-Am Agra executives came in for their campaign kick-off lunch, among them Martin. It was just like seeing the boy who’d given you your first kiss the night before. As if I’d had on a homing signal, Martin immediately turned and scanned the crowd, finding me quickly. He excused himself from his companions and left the line to come over. My face felt hot. Sally’s back was to him, and she was saying “You look like you just swallowed a fish, Roe,” when he came up, bent over, and gave me a kiss that was just short enough not to be vulgar. Then we beamed at each other.
“This is my friend Sally Allison, Martin,” I said abruptly, suddenly aware of Sally’s interested face.
“Hello,” he said politely, and shook Sally’s proferred hand.
“Aren’t you the new plant manager of Pan-Am Agra?” she asked. “I think Jack Forrest did a business-page article on you.”
“I saw it. It was well-written,” Martin said. “More than I can say for some of the stories written about me. What time tomorrow night, Roe?”
“Seven?” I said at random.
“I’ll be there at seven.” He kissed me again very quickly, nodded to Sally, and rejoined his group, who were watching with great attention.
“You certainly got branded in public,” Sally said dryly.
“Huh?” I had my face turned down to my plate.
“ ‘Property of Martin Bartell. Do Not Touch.’”
“Sally, I don’t want to look like we’re talking about him,” I hissed. I looked at her sternly. “Just talk about something else for a while.”
“Okay,” she said agreeably. “Is he going to ask you to the prom?”
“Sally!”
“Oh, all right. Donnie left in a snit as soon as Idella emerged from the women’s room and hot-footed it out the door. Donnie looked right sullen. What did she tell you?”
“That Donnie thought… oh, Sally!”
“Just curious, just curious! Since when are you and Martin Bartell an item?”
“Very recently.” Like last night.
“Well, isn’t life on the up-and-up for us? I get married, and you get a sweetie.”
I rolled my eyes. Thinking of Martin as a “sweetie” was like thinking of a Great Dane as a precious bundle of fur.
“He was in Vietnam, wasn’t he?” Sally asked.
“Yes.”
“I think he brought home some medals. He wouldn’t talk about it to Jack, but one of the other Pan-Am Agra execs told Jack that Bartell came out of the war with a bit of glory.”
“When was the story in the paper?” I hadn’t seen it.
“Soon after he arrived, at least six weeks ago.”
“Can you send me a copy, Sally?”
“Sure. I’ll track it down when I go to the office tomorrow.”
We computed tips and gathered our purses. My shoulder blades itched, and I looked behind me. Martin, surrounded by his employees, was sitting at one of the larger round tables, watching me, smiling a little.
He looked hungry.
I floated out to my car.
Chapter Eight
I HAD AGREED to meet Eileen at the office, and it was close enough to the time for me to head that way. There were several cars parked outside; Sunday was often a busy day at Select Realty.