I continued down the stairs and crossed the small parking lot to my car. I drove home by way of the supermarket, stopping long enough to pick up toilet paper, wine, milk, bread, eggs, Kleenex, and a tall stack of frozen entrees. Once in my neighborhood, I was forced to park a block and a half away, which annoyed me no end. With my bag and two loads of groceries, I had to struggle to let myself in the gate. Halfway across the patio, I caught a flash of movement to my right and someone stepped out of the dark. I jumped half a foot, barely managing to suppress a scream as I dropped one grocery bag and clutched at the other one. Tommy Hevener stood there, hands in his raincoat pockets. “Hey.”
“Goddamn it! Don’t do that! What are you doing here?”
“Let’s talk.”
“I don’t want to talk. Now get out of my way.” I hunkered to pick up my keys. One bag had ripped. I began to toss items back into the other bag. Half the carton of eggs were broken and the bread was mashed flat where I’d grabbed it in haste. I had no idea how I’d get into the apartment, lugging the few items that were still intact. “Oh, forget it,” I said. I found my keys and crossed to my door, aware that Tommy had moved to intercept my path. He stretched out an arm, hand flat on the door, his body crowding against mine.
I turned my face to one side, trying to avoid contact. “Get away from me.” I thought about my gun.
“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
“If you don’t get off me, I’m going to scream.”
“You won’t scream,” he murmured.
“HENRY!”
“Shh!”
“HENRY!!”
Henry’s back light went on. I saw his face appear in the door.
“HELP!”
“Bitch,” Tommy said.
Henry came out the back door with a baseball bat. Tommy glanced at him, turned, and walked away at a leisurely pace, showing his contempt, showing he wasn’t intimidated. Henry came across the patio at a quick clip, bat raised, looking as angry as I’ve ever seen him. I could hear Tommy’s heels clatter down the sidewalk, sound diminishing. “What was that about? Should I call the police?”
“Don’t bother. By the time they get here, he’ll be gone.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No, but he scared the shit out of me.”
“I think you should file a police report. That way they’ll have something on record in case he does this again.”
“I’ll talk to Jonah on Monday.”
“Do more than talk. That guy’s dangerous. You need to get a restraining order out against him.”
“For all the good it will do. Really, I’m fine. Would you help me get this stuff in?”
“Of course. Open the door and we’ll get this picked up in no time.”
Sunday was full of hard rain and gloom. I spent the day in my sweats, stretched out on the couch under a quilt in my sock feet. I went through one paperback novel and picked up the next. I had another two for backup, so I was in good shape. At five o’clock, the phone rang. I listened to the message, waiting to hear who it was before I picked up. Fiona. I felt such relief I almost warmed to her. She said, “Sorry I didn’t have a chance to speak to you after the service yesterday. Blanche had her baby late in the afternoon.”
“She did? Congratulations. What’d she have?”
“A little girl. Seven pounds, eight ounces. They named her Chloe. Blanche was actually in labor at Dow’s memorial. She and Andrew skipped the reception at the country club and went straight to St. Terry’s. There wasn’t even time to get her into the delivery room. She gave birth on a gurney in the corridor.”
“Wow. That was close. How’s she doing?”
“She’s fine. The baby had to stay an extra day because of jaundice, but the doctor seems to think she’s fine now. We’ll bring her home this afternoon. I told Blanche I’d keep the children tomorrow so she can get some rest. I wish she’d have her tubes tied and put an end to this. She can’t keep churning out infants. It’s ridiculous.”
“Well, I’m sure you’re relieved everything’s okay.”
“Actually, I’m calling about something else. Last night when I went to the hospital to visit Blanche, I saw Crystal’s white Volvo parked in the driveway of a house on Bay. You know that neighborhood. Parking’s always at a premium. The hospital lot was full so I had to circle the block to find a space or I wouldn’t have seen the car. Naturally, I was curious, so I went over again this morning and there it was. I’m assuming there’s a way you can find out whose house it is.”
“Sure, I can do that. Why don’t you give me the address?” I made a note as she recited it and then said, “What’s your concern?”
“I think she’s finally showing her true colors. You know the rumor about Crystal’s affair with that trainer of hers, Clint Augustine. I put it out of my mind until I spotted her car and then I began to wonder. Whatever she’s up to, I think it’s worth pursuing, don’t you?”
“Assuming it was her.”
“The license plate said ‘Crystal,’ big as life.”
“How do you know she was driving? It could have been anyone.”
“I doubt that. Like who?”
“I don’t know, Rand or Nica, one of the household help.”
“Melanie suggested that as well, though I don’t know why either one of you would stoop to defending her. I called Detective Paglia and told him you’d be looking into it. As I said to him, this is exactly the sort of thing they should have been doing from day one.” I was certain Detective Paglia appreciated her input. After we hung up, I dialed the gym and Keith answered the phone. I could hear weights clanging in the background. The Sunday faithful. “Hi, Keith. Kinsey Millhone. When I was in there last week, I asked you about Clint Augustine. Do you happen to have an address and home phone number for him? I’ve been thinking a personal trainer might be fun for a change.”
“Let me see what I got. Hang on.” I could hear him open the desk drawer and then flip through the tattered three-hole binder I’d seen on other occasions. “I know I got it somewhere. Here we go.”
I jotted down the information, noting that the address he gave me was a match for the Glazer’s house in Horton Ravine. “How recent is this? Someone told me he had a place near St. Terry’s on Bay.”
“Don’t think so. Least it’s the first I’ve heard.”
“When did you last talk to him? He might have moved.”
“It’s been months. Might have been February, March, back around then. He used to come in here regular, maybe eight, ten times a week, although he might have moved his clients to another gym. Let me know if he’s out of business and I’ll take his name off the books. I got other good trainers if he can’t help.”
“Great. I appreciate that.”
I pulled the crisscross from my bookcase and leafed through the pages until I found Bay Street. I ran a finger down the house numbers until I came to the relevant address. I’d hoped Fiona was wrong, but the listed occupant was J. Augustine, though the phone number was different from the one Keith had given me. I dialed the number Keith had and got a disconnect; no surprise there. That must have been Clint’s phone number while he was in the guest cottage on the Glazer property. Clearly, Keith’s information was out of date. I returned the crisscross to my shelf. I couldn’t believe Crystal had gone looking for Clint the very day of Dow’s memorial service. I picked up the phone and dialed the house on Bay.
The man who answered had a phone manner that bordered on the rude. “Yes?” His voice was harsh and full of impatience.
“May I speak to Clint?”
“He can’t come to the phone. Who’s this?”
“Never mind. I’ll try later.”
The house on Bay Street was an old Victorian, probably built in the late 1800s: two stories of white frame with a wide porch that stretched across the front. This was a neighborhood where many of the single-family dwellings had been converted to medical offices servicing the hospital half a block away. There was no sign of Crystal’s Volvo in the drive. A white picket fence surrounded the yard, which was small and bare of grass, thickly planted with rosebushes, pruned now to clusters of thorny stems. I could imagine, in full bloom, the blossoms would smell as dense and sweet as a potpourri. The soil was darkly saturated from the rain, which was falling now in a soft haze.