Past Imperfect (Sigrid Harald) by Maron Margaret

Author:Maron, Margaret [Maron, Margaret]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Maron and Company
Published: 2012-03-05T16:00:00+00:00

Back outside in the freezing wind, I decided that as long as I was here, I might as well see Irene Cluett again. See if she knew anything about whoever it was Cluett had expected to see at the Shamrock.

I cut across both drives with snow stinging my face; but just as I raised my hand to knock on Irene’s back door, it was opened by a stocky man with a broom in his hand. He wore black knitted mittens and stocking hat and seemed as startled as me, so startled that he gave a high-pitched giggle.

“Oops! Didn’t know anybody was out here. I was just coming to sweep the steps. Keep it clear. Easier to sweep than to shovel and scrape, right?” He giggled again.

“Right,” I said. “I’m here to see Irene. She in?”

Before the man could answer, a little boy pushed past him and began to whine, “Daddy, Tiffy won’t let me play. She says I’m a baby. Make her let me play. I want to play!”

“In a minute, Shawn, all right?”

“But I want to pla-ay. Now!”

“Daddy’s talking to someone, Shawn.” He half-turned and called into the kitchen, “Marie, you wanna call Shawn back in there before he’s up all night with an earache again? Go to Mommy, Shawn. She’ll play with you.”

“She will not!” said a shrill female voice that was almost drowned out by the brat yelling, “But I wanna play with the others.”

I leaned against the porch railing and waited for somebody to take charge.

The door was suddenly yanked open and an annoyed young woman said, “Shawn, you get your tail in here right this minute before I—” Then she saw me and raised an eyebrow at her husband. He giggled nervously. “Honey, this is somebody to see Irene. Mr.— I’m sorry. I didn’t get the name.”

“Vaughn,” I said. “Detective Vaughn.”

“Oh, sure,” said the young woman. She picked up her whining son, settled him on her hip and said, “Irene’s in the den. Come on in.”

She took me past people drinking tea at the kitchen table and into the den where I’d spoken to Irene the evening before.

She was lying back in the same white vinyl recliner. Pink chenille robe, fuzzy pink bedroom slippers, and her feet up on the footrest. A teenage granddaughter was curling her flat gray hair and I remembered that tonight was the first night of the official wake at a nearby funeral home.

Again she greeted me warmly and I told her why I’d returned. She was surprised to hear that Mickey might have gone out to the Shamrock expecting to meet someone and she had no idea who it could’ve been.

“But I know you won’t give up till you find out.” She squeezed my hand hard. “And you’ll be at the funeral parlor tonight, won’t you? Such beautiful flowers the department sent. They let me see him this morning. He looks good, Jarvis. Dress uniform. Wait’ll you see him.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

They were going to wake him three nights

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