Falling Objects by Daniel Cross

Author:Daniel Cross [Cross, Daniel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781467860925
Publisher: AuthorHouse
Published: 2009-06-01T00:00:00+00:00

36. And the Pope Is an Extraterrestrial

“Jeez, Lou, you are nuts.”

“Get back in. It’s okay.”

Oren got back in the car, but he kept his feet to the side, clear of where the bird had been.

Returning to the topic of Eve’s murder, I reminded him of the little tiff we had witnessed between Chardonnay and Tony in the doorway on Sunday. Then I told him about the phone call.

“Someone called to say Tony wasn’t with Eve after the party?” He scratched his head. “That makes no sense.”

“What if I told you that Dwight Eisenhower was not Jewish.”

“Ike? Jewish? That’s ridiculous.”

“But I just told you he wasn’t.”

“So?”

I pulled out the day’s newspaper and pointed to a picture of the President on the front page. “What’s your first thought?”

“Uh—”

“Quick. First thing to mind!”

“That he might be Jewish.”

“Why?”

“Because you just told me he wasn’t.”

“Right. Once you plant an idea, people wonder why you planted it. They may think it’s not true—but the idea is already planted. And it will grow like a weed.” I put the paper away. “Mark my word, Oren: You will never be able to think of Ike the same way.”

He closed his eyes and looked up, as if intensely trying to picture the president. The he opened his eyes and turned and looked at me. “Damn. It’s true.”

“So, someone has tagged Tony the same way. Telling us that Tony wasn’t with Eve is intended, maybe, to suggest to us that he was. Who might have wanted to do that? Shall we find out if it might have been Chardonnay?”

“Or maybe he made the call himself, to make us think she was trying to make us think—”

“Right. That, too.”

We got out of the car. As we went up the walk, I whispered. “You do the talking. Kelley’s orders.”

“She said that?” He grinned.

On the porch I knocked on the door. While we waited, I studied the place. It was a grand old house, three stories, well kept, with considerably more character than the houses around it.

A colored woman answered the door. She was in her mid-thirties, straight and slender, wearing a crisp dress and a lovely, oval face. Also, she stood six foot three.

I started to tip my hat then realized I didn’t have one. I gave a gentlemanly salute to cover my mistake. “Miss.” I didn’t know whether to Miss or Ma’am her, but I have learned that, when in doubt, always Miss them, whatever their color. It’s about the only rule of women that always works.

She glanced from me to Oren and back.

“May we speak with Mr. Irving, Miss?”

“If this is about the mortgage—” she began, in a tone of mild alarm.

I was about to correct her—I could see she was worried about it—but decided to let the error float, as it could help our access into the house.

“Oh, Ma’am, you misund—” Oren began, and I gave him a quick little elbow in the side, without glance.

I shrugged and gave her a faint, apologetic smile, as if to signal I’m only doing my job.

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