Crimson Joy

CHAPTER 23

Mimi Felton lived in a condo in a vast assemblage of town houses clustered around a man-made pond in Concord. That morning on the phone she told me that she worked the makeup counter at Bloomingdale's and didn't go to work until four. I got there at 2:10 and she answered my knock wearing a white ribbed-cotton halter and black jeans, which she must have zipped lying down. She was barefoot. She had a lot of blond hair combed so as to show me she had a lot of blond hair. She had rings on eight fingers, and her earrings dangled like Christmas ornaments from her ears.

"Hi," she said. "Mr. Spenser, come in."

She had a lot of good makeup expertly applied and false eyelashes. Her nails, finger and toe, were painted some tone of dark purple. Her bare midriff was firm and tan and flat.

"So you're a detective?"

"Yes," I said. "I need you to tell me what you can about Gordon Felt on."

"Could I see your badge, or license, or whatever they give you," she said. She had a little-girl voice that stopped just this side of lisping. I showed her my license.

"Why do you want to know about Gordie?" she said.

"Routine," I said. "Since he works for a security firm, the bonding company occasionally runs a check on the employees they're bonding."

"That's like insurance," she said in her little voice. It was the kind of voice that went with a curtsy.

"Yeah."

"Well, you look like you could bond anyone you wanted, Mr. Spenser."

"Sure," I said. "What happened to cause your divorce, Mrs. Felton?"

"Here, sit down," she said, and we walked into her small living room.

There were avant-garde art prints on the walls, and all the colors were lavender and gray. The little picture window gave us a glimpse of the artificial pond. She sat on a chair made of lavender canvas on a triangular black iron frame. There were two others grouped around a massive Mediterranean coffee table that must have come from the house in Swampscott.

"I'll stand, thanks. What about the divorce?"

"Gordie," she said. "Gordie, Gordie, Gordie…"

"That was it?" I said.

"What?"

"How come you got divorced?" I said.

She shook her head. "He was such a little boy," she said. "Always acting so macho and being such a sissy."

"Like what?" I said.

"Well, he wouldn't go anywhere alone, without me," she said.

"How about the macho stuff?" I said.

"He used to carry a gun. He wanted to be a policeman, but I don't think he ever really applied for a police job. He always talked about it. He was like a police groupie, you know. Had the scanner radio, and hung around the cops in Swampscott when we were married. And anytime he'd hear some crime, something on the scanner, he'd get in the car and go to the scene, he was weird."

"Family?" I said.

"We never had children," Mimi said.

"How about his family?" I said.

"How come you're not writing all this down?" she said.

I tapped my temple. "Once it's in the computer," I said, "it's there for eternity."

She nodded. "His father's dead," she said. "His mother's still alive.

Lives in Swampscott." Mimi shook her head.

"Why the head shake?" I said.

"God, he hates her," she said.

"His mother?"

"Yes," Mimi shook her head again, and smiled without any pleasure.

"Blackie's a piece of work," she said.

"Blackie?"

"Gordie's mother."

"Why is she called Blackie?" I said. "Her maiden name: Rose Mary Black," Mimi said. "Everybody always called her Blackie."

"Jesus Christ," I said.