The Dearly Departed by Elinor Lipman

Author:Elinor Lipman
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781400033256
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2002-08-13T04:00:00+00:00

Just after five o’clock, Joey rapped on Finn’s front door, frowning at the stained-glass panel—milky pink tulips swathed in blue leaves. Fletcher answered, smiling hospitably, wearing that morning’s blue jeans, a white dress shirt, tails out and sleeves rolled up. “What’s up?” he began, but his smile faded at the sight of the plywood squirrel swaying at eye level.

“Did you give William Thomas Dube your consent to stay in unit two of the King’s Nite Motel?” Joey asked.

“William who?”

“William Dube of Agawam, Massachusetts.”

“Why?”

“Why am I asking? Because I arrested him this afternoon, and he had very flattering things to say about you.”

“Arrested him on what grounds?”

“Attempted capital murder and grand theft auto.”

“Whoa,” said Fletcher. “I never met the kid before noon today. I’m not a party to anything, if that’s the implication.”

Joey’s expression remained neutral. He asked if he could come in.

“For what?”

“A friendly little chat.”

Fletcher rolled his eyes. “Do I need a lawyer for this friendly little chat?”

“I wouldn’t bother,” said Joey. “All I’m interested in is how you and Billy know each other and whether you freely gave him certain items in his possession—”

“Such as?”

Joey took a small notepad from his breast pocket and read, “A watch. A Penn State T-shirt, pink. The aforementioned room key.”

Fletcher opened the screen door, and Joey walked past him into the sky-lit room.

“Beer?” asked Fletcher.

“Can’t.”

Fletcher sat down glumly on a gray flannel couch and motioned for his interrogator to do the same.

“Mr. Finn—”

“Fletcher. And are you forgetting something? My Miranda rights?”

Joey said, “Did someone arrest you? Because all this is, is a friendly conversation.”

Fletcher slumped deeper into the couch.

“Fletcher, it’s not against the law for an adult man to give a teenage boy gifts—”

“Me? I’m the man? What gifts?”

Joey repeated in a monotone, “A Penn State T-shirt, pink. Forty dollars in cash. A gold Rolex. Engraved with the initials M.H.F.” He looked up.

“Miles Howard Finn,” Fletcher murmured.

“I’m sorry,” said Joey, “but I have to ask: Were these gifts a form of advance payment or incentive to the juvenile for a prospective assignation at the King’s Nite Motel?”

“Jesus!” Fletcher stood and began pacing. “I’m not talking to you without a lawyer. Christ! I’m being accused of what? Solicitation and . . . and God knows what because some punk robbed me?”

Joey shook his head. “Motel has a ring to it, Fletch. An adult man gives a boy his room key—”

“To get rid of him! I didn’t want him around. He seemed like a nice enough kid. A little stupid, but harmless.”

“What he is,” Joey said, “is a suspect in a capital murder case—not harmless. On the contrary: armed and dangerous.” He took a pen out of his breast pocket. “Start from the beginning.”

Fletcher flopped back down on the couch. “I got here around noon, and he answered the door. He told me he had sex in the master bedroom with his Gypsy girlfriend but didn’t soil the sheets. I said, ‘Get out of here and don’t come back; and on your way out of town, could you drop this key off at the King George Motel, please? On the main drag .

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