Read Online Mummers' Curse by Gillian Roberts - Free Book Online Page B

to begin today. Nonetheless, Barbs was headed into the kitchen, so I followed Vincent to a door in the dining room, and down a staircase. Under fluorescent lights, boxy banquette seats lined two of the narrow room’s paneled walls and faced an oversized TV and a collection of CDs and tapes on another. The floor was covered with black-and-white vinyl squares.
    “Did this myself,” Vincent said. “Look here.” He lifted the seat of one of the benches to reveal toy storage. “Kid’s supposed to use this room to play, make his messes, watch his TV—put in an entire entertainment center, but does he? No, he has to be where the action is. Barbs and I—we escape down here from him, he’s such a terror.” His pride in both his handiwork and his son was evident.
    “Maybe when he’s older.” I inspected the paneling. “You’re really good with wood, aren’t you?”
    His look was wary, on alert. I couldn’t imagine why until I remembered that he built his club’s frames because of his carpentry skills. Everything in any way related to the fatal parade must feel fraught with dangerous meaning now.
    “We have to talk fast,” he said. “I told Barbs all that food on purpose, to delay her.”
    “Why?”
    He turned away, walked over to the entertainment center, and ran an index finger over the TV screen, as if removing dust. “Damn,” he said. “I can’t explain. That’s the problem, you see?”
    “Not at all. Not any of it, starting with why you said you were with me.”
    He turned to face me. “If I swear I didn’t do a thing to hurt Jimmy Pat—never would in this lifetime—could you believe me?”
    “I already do.” Kind of. Mostly. Pretty much.
    “Good. But I can’t say where I was.”
    “So you weren’t in the parade, beside him?”
    “Why don’t you believe me!” It wasn’t a question and it wasn’t plaintive—it was an accusation. “What am I, a liar?” He slammed his fist into a wooden support beam. “How come I’m on trial, even with you? Why do I have to justify my every—”
    “Hey!” I held my hand up like a traffic cop. I also maneuvered so that he was no longer between me and the staircase. “I’m not the enemy. Simmer down.”
    He took several deep breaths. “Sorry,” he said.
    So was I. I’d caught a glimpse of an explosive temper I would not have suspected.
    “I’m really…strung out. But I couldn’t have done it, even if I’d gone crazy and wanted to. It’s easy enough for people not to know if somebody ducks out for a minute. Guys do it, you know, to take care of calls of nature or get a little cheer.”
    What he was saying was that nobody had a clue where you were at any given time when thinking back. What he didn’t say was that it was therefore easy to concoct any alibi you liked.
    “I was away, and I wasn’t toting a gun or hurting anybody. They tested me last night. There wasn’t any residue on my hands.”
    Would there have been on a man wearing gloves? I’d have to ask.
    “Anybody could have done it, anybody who was there, or watching.”
    Very helpful.
    “All I know, it wasn’t me. I thought I could cut out for a few minutes, nobody’d notice or care…and look at this mess. If I lie and say I was there, then they say I did it because of stupid stuff. Jimmy and me, we were always having contests, friendly rivalries, you know, but they don’t understand. If I tell the truth, I can’t prove it.”
    “All the same, I can’t cover for you.”
    “Why not?” He seemed astounded.
    “Why are you asking me to?” I had to know, and quickly. We were racing ahead of the speed at which soup reheats, but also, whether or not Vincent knew it, ahead of Obenhauser.
    “Barbs…she’s an insanely jealous woman.”
    This wasn’t exactly news. Barbs hadn’t tried to be subtle about her suspicions upstairs. But all the same. “Jealous of me?’
    “God, no!” He smiled.
    For a nanosecond, I was relieved that his wife didn’t consider me a threat. But