‘Not at the moment,’ Mr. Spoletto said.
‘Thank you,’ Laurie said.
‘Not at all,’ Mr. Spoletto said. He opened the door for Laurie.
Laurie walked out and got into the cab.
‘Now where?’ Michael asked.
Laurie gave her address on Nineteenth Street and leaned forward to look
out at the Spoletto Funeral Home as the taxi pulled away. It had been a
wasted trip. Or had it? After she’d been talking with Mr. Spoletto for a
moment, she’d realized that his forehead wasn’t oily. The man had been
perspiring despite the temperature inside the funeral parlor being
decidedly on the cool side. Laurie scratched her head, wondering if that
meant anything or if it were just another example of her grabbing at
straws.
‘Was it a friend?’ Michael asked.
‘Was who a friend?’
‘The deceased,’ Michael said.
Laurie let out a little mirthless laugh. ‘Hardly,’ she said.
‘I know what you mean,’ Michael said, looking at Laurie in the rearview
mirror. ‘Relationships today are very complicated. And I’ll tell you why
it is . . .’
Laurie smiled as she settled back to listen. She loved philosophical
taxi drivers, and Michael was a regular Plato of his profession.
When the cab pulled up outside Laurie’s building, Laurie saw a familiar
figure in the foyer. It was Lou Soldano slouched over against the
mailboxes, clutching a bottle of wine in a straw basket. Laurie paid
Michael the fare along with a generous tip, then hurried inside.
‘I’m sorry,’ Laurie offered. ‘I thought you were going to call before
you came over.’
Lou blinked as if he’d been asleep. ‘I did,’ he said, after a brief
coughing spree. ‘I got your answering machine. So I left the message
that I was on my way.’
Laurie glanced at her watch as she unlocked the inner door. She’d only
been gone for a little over an hour, which was what she’d expected.
‘I thought you were only going to work for another half hour,’ Lou said.
‘I wasn’t working,’ Laurie said, as she called for the elevator. ‘I took
a trip out to the Spoletto Funeral Home.’
Lou frowned.
‘Now don’t give me extra grief,’ Laurie said as they boarded the
elevator.
‘So what did you find? Franconi lying in state?’ Lou asked
sarcastically.
‘I’m not going to tell you a thing if you’re going to act that way,’
Laurie complained.
‘Okay, I’m sorry,’ Lou said.
‘I didn’t find anything,’ Laurie admitted. ‘The body I went to see was
no longer on view. The family had cut it off at six p.m.’
The elevator opened. While Laurie struggled with her locks, Lou curtsied
for Debra Engler, whose door opened against its chain as usual.
‘But the director acted a little suspicious,’ Laurie said. ‘At least I
think he did.’
‘How so?’ Lou asked as they entered Laurie’s apartment. Tom came running
out of the bedroom to purr and rub against Laurie’s leg.
Laurie put her briefcase on the small half moon-shaped hall console
table in order to bend down to scratch Tom vigorously behind his ear.
‘He was perspiring while I was talking with him,’ Laurie said.
Lou paused with his coat half off. ‘Is that all?’ he asked. ‘The man was
perspiring?’
‘Yes, that’s it,’ Laurie said. She knew what Lou was thinking; it was
written all over his face.
‘Did he start perspiring after you asked him difficult and incriminating
questions about Franconi’s body?’ Lou asked. ‘Or was he perspiring
before you began talking with him?’
‘Before,’ Laurie admitted.
Lou rolled his eyes. ‘Whoa! Another Sherlock Holmes incarnate,’ he said.
‘Maybe you should take over my job. I don’t have your powers of
intuition and inductive reasoning!’
‘You promised not to give me grief,’ Laurie said.
‘I never promised,’ Lou said.
‘All right, it was a wasted trip,’ Laurie said. ‘Let’s get some food.
I’m starved.’
Lou switched the bottle of wine from one hand to the other, allowing him
to swing his arm out of his trench coat. When he did, he clumsily
knocked Laurie’s briefcase to the floor. The impact caused it to spring
open and scatter the contents. The crash terrified the cat, who
disappeared back into the bedroom after a desperate struggle to gain