Page 59 of Fade Out
“Ah,” Kelly Whitmore said, as though she’d just been shot.
Kyle stood up, knocking over his chair. “My mother was Eloise Whitmore.”
Before anyone could say anything, he’d stormed off leaving his wife to grab their place cards. I stared at Gloria until she said, “I merely implied that his mother was a lesbian. In print.”
“Was she?”
“I hope so. Otherwise she killed herself for no reason whatsoever.”
This was one of the thunderstorms she’d mentioned. A bad one.
Waiters hovered nearby. Most of the guests had arrived and the ballroom was close to full. No one came to sit with us. It was interesting being with Gloria. People either flocked to her or ran from her. Very few had no reaction at all.
Soup bowls began to land in front of us. Vichyssoise from the look of it. I asked the Buckmans, “How old is your daughter?”
“She just turned twenty,”’ Diane said.
“And she’s here in the city?”
“Yes.”
“So I guess you talk to her every day.”
“Usually.”
“Have you talked to her recently?”
“Who are you again?” Elliot wanted to know.
“Nick Nowak. I’m a private investigator.”
“Private—hey, what is this?”
“I think your daughter has been…” And then I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t say, ‘I think your daughter has been murdered and chopped up.’ Instead, I said, “…spending time with Rita Lindquist. I think your daughter has been with Rita.”
Elliot Buckman’s face turned red as a fire engine. I thought he might burst. It took a good five minutes for Gloria to get him calmed down.
It was a good thing the soup was served cold. I wanted it, I was hungry, but it seemed the wrong time to begin slurping away. I did manage to drink the better part of another vodka soda I’d ordered.
“Why do you think Hilly is with Rita?” Diane finally asked, holding her husband’s hand tightly on the tabletop.
“Someone using your daughter’s name sold some stolen coins to a dealer in Edgewater.”
“Using her name? So you don’t think it was her?”
“It may not have been,” I said. The dealer hadn’t described the woman calling herself Hillary Buckman, but I’d described her and he hadn’t corrected me. He’d known who I was talking about, though it might have been Possum he recognized. There was a slight chance—
No, I knew it was Rita. I wished it wasn’t. For their sake.
“Try to stay calm,” Gloria said. “We don’t know anything for certain yet.”
“When was this coin shop thing?” Elliot asked, his voice thick.
“Tuesday,” I said.
“Then it had to be Hilly. Rita was killed over the weekend, wasn’t she?”
“Mr. Buckman, does your daughter know who Rita is? Does she know about your connection to her?”
