Melancholy Baby

24

I had just cleaned up after breakfast with Sarah when the phone rang.

“Sunny Randall?” a voice said.

“Yes.”

It was a whispery voice, as if someone wanted to disguise it.

“I got information about that Sarah Markham case you’re working on.”

“Would you like to give it to me?” I said.

“You know the Middlesex Fells?”

“I do.”

“Road runs along the south edge of the woods?” the voice said. “West of Route Ninety-three?”

“Border Road,” I said.

“Drive there and park anywhere on Border Road. We’ll find you.”

“When?”

“When can you get there?” the whispery voice said.

“Noon,” I said.

“Noon,” the voice whispered, and they hung up.

It was 8:30. They were generous with their lead time. Which is dumb. Or amateurish. Or both. I called Spike.

“I need you to be in the woods off Border Road in the Middlesex Fells by eleven a.m. at the latest.”

“Sure,” Spike said. “Gun or no gun.”

“Gun,” I said.

“Okay,” Spike said, “tell me about it.”

I told him.

“Ah,” Spike said. “Movement of some sort. Could it be a feint, and they are after the girl?”

“The thought occurred,” I said. “I’m making an arrangement.”

“Okay,” Spike said. “I’ll be there.”

“Don’t forget your cell phone.”

“Or my gun,” Spike said. “Or my head.”

I hung up and dialed again and got Tony Marcus.

“Sunny Randall,” he said. “Always a pleasure.”

“I need a favor.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Tony said. “Doing favors for Sunny Randall.”

“I need someone to babysit my dog, Rosie...”

“That funny-looking little one with the nose?”

“The beautiful little one with the classic features,” I said, “and a young, scared white woman who is hiding in my apartment.”

“And why was it I would do that?” Tony said.

“Because you like me,” I said. “You’ve told me that often.”

“I do like you, Sunny Randall, except sometimes when you’re annoying me.”

“It’s only a couple of hours,” I said. “I’ll owe you.”

“That’s important,” Tony Marcus said. “What the hell can you do to pay off a debt to me?”

“Don’t be picky,” I said.

Tony gave a deep, soft laugh.

“Can’t send you Junior and Ty-Bop,” he said. “They doing something with me.”

“I don’t want to know,” I said.

“No, you don’t,” Tony said. “Send you a guy named Leonard.”

“Is he any good?”

“ ’Course he good,” Tony said. “Nobody work for me ain’t good.”

“Does he like dogs?”

“Leonard don’t much like anything,” Tony said. “One reason he good.”

“But he’ll be courteous to both.”

“The dog and the white girl? Yes.”

“I need him now,” I said.

“Here he come,” Tony said. “You still wired with the Burkes?”

“No.”

“What about Richie?”

“He got married.”

There was silence on the line for a moment.

Then Tony said, “Oh, well. Can’t hurt to have Phil Randall’s daughter owe me something.”

“My father’s retired,” I said.

“You trying to talk me out of this,” Tony said.

“No. I need the help.”

“He be ringing your doorbell in about five more minutes,” Tony said.