Hit List - Lawrence Block [106]
* * *
The other loose end turned out to be Maggie.
He’d pretty much figured that out by himself. There was a moment, when Dot was recounting her visit to Louise’s apartment, that it struck him that he, Keller, was the loose end, the string which if tugged would lead back to the big house in White Plains. He was reaching for his glass of iced tea when the thought came to him, and he put the glass down, as if it might hold the same substance as Louise’s final piece of chocolate.
But that was ridiculous, he’d already drunk half the tea in his glass, and they were both drinking from the same pitcher. Besides, the whole notion was senseless. If Dot wanted to get rid of him she wouldn’t do it in her own house, and she wouldn’t preface it with a conversation anything like this one.
No, he knew who the other loose end had to be.
“But she doesn’t know anything,” he told Dot. “She’s convinced I’m a corporate guy, retired now, working once in a while on a freelance basis. She thinks I fly off to Silicon Valley now and then and help them crunch numbers.”
“She’s the one who sent you to the star lady.”
“Yes, but—“
“In fact, she’s the one who told you about your murderous thumb.”
“But we stopped seeing each other. She’s not in my life anymore.”
“When’s the last time you talked with her?”
“The time before last,” he said, “was months ago, and—“
“That’s not what I asked you, Keller.”
“Yesterday,” he said, “but that’s because I called her. Because I was trying to find Louise, and I thought Maggie might know if she’d moved.”
“But she didn’t.”
“She told me I didn’t need an astrologer to know which way the stars were falling.”
“What was that supposed to mean?”
“I think all it meant was she was angry with me. She broke up with me, and she was angry that I hadn’t called her.”
“Makes sense.”
“There was a call two months ago,” he remembered. “I picked it up and said hello a couple of times, and the person hung up.”
“Wrong number, most likely.”
“It didn’t feel like a wrong number,” he said, “so I hit Star-six-nine, and she picked up the phone and said hello a couple of times, and this time I didn’t answer.”
“Gave her a taste of her own medicine.”
“Well, I couldn’t think what to say. I just hung up, and the phone rang—“
“Her turn, I guess.”
“—and I let it ring, and that was the end of it. But she couldn’t have been referring to that. It was something more recent, and messages she’d left for me, except she didn’t.”
“Except she did, Keller.”
“Huh?”
“Well, this is embarrassing,” she said. “When you go out of town, sometimes I check your messages.”
“What?”
“Only since Roger came into our lives. I was worried about you, Keller. I have these protective Mother Hen instincts. So one evening when there was nothing good on television I called your number.”
“And I wasn’t there.”
“Of course not, you were in Albuquerque or something. The machine picked up and I heard your recorded voice.”
“And you got all misty-eyed.”
“Yeah, right. I left a message, something about hoping you were having a good time, and then I decided it was stupid to be leaving messages for you. So I called back and erased it.”
“How?”
“How? I called back, and the machine picked up, and I punched in the code, and when I heard my own message I pressed three and erased it.”
“How’d you know the code?”
“When you buy the machine,” she said, “the code is five-five-five, and they tell you how you can change it.”
“And I did.”
“To four-four-four, Keller.”
“Well,” he said.
“It wasn’t the first one I tried,” she said, “but it didn’t take me long to get to it. I erased the message I’d left, and while I was at it I erased a message from some jerk who wanted to sell you a time-share in the Bahamas.” She shrugged. “What can I say? I got in the habit of invading your privacy. When you were out of town, I checked your messages for you.”
“One time I checked,” he remembered, “and there was some kind of nuisance message, not a time-share but about as inviting,