twenty-eight

Within a few minutes Toby came back from the restroom zig-
zagging through the restaurant scouting for Eric. The rest of the male dance troupe didn’t know Francine, and they were conversing among themselves. She thought about trying to pry Charlotte from the group of Millennials who were encouraging her with a margarita, but she wanted to hear what Toby had to say about Eric. Since Toby appeared to be still searching for him, it didn’t look good.

Then she remembered that Isaac, who’d returned to bar duty, had tried to tempt Tripper with Prunier cognac. The coincidence of Camille having given Charlotte a bottle of it and Tripper being offered it made her curious. She left Charlotte to her margarita and Toby to his search and walked over to the bar area. There were no empty barstools near the center of the bar, where Isaac was standing, but she didn’t want one near other people. She wanted to be out of whispering range so she could ask about the cognac. She sat at the far end of the bar, near the wall.

Isaac walked over. “What can I get you, Mrs. McNamara?” he asked, placing a small napkin in front of her.

“A glass of white wine, please.”

“Chardonnay?”

“That works. And I’d like some information.”

He gave a throaty chuckle. “I’ve heard that about you. Is the wine order for real, or do you just want the information? I’d tell you what I can even without the order.”

She looked back at Charlotte, who seemed to be enjoying herself, and Toby, who was now in conversation with the male strip group. “I think a glass might do me some good.”

“Then let me get that first.” He returned to the center, pulled a bottle of wine out of a small refrigerator below the bar, and poured
a glass. A hefty man with a beard gestured for another mug of whatever beer he was drinking. Isaac pulled a draft from the tap and set it down next to the not-quite-empty one. He took the man’s money, gave him change, and then returned to Francine with her glass of wine. He set a glass on the white cocktail napkin he’d left in front of her.

He leaned against the bar on his right side so he could see the bar and notice if anyone needed to be served, but was close enough to Francine that they could have a quiet conversation. “What do you need to know?”

“You tried to bribe Tripper with Prunier cognac. I’d like to know who else drinks it. Cognac seems like an unusual thing for you to serve here, especially a name brand.”

“It is a bit unusual. I confess I’d never served it until I started working here. I had a special request, which is how we came to stock it.”

“Do you remember who asked you for it?”

He nodded. “Do you know the owner of the funeral home?”

Francine’s eyes shot up. “Vince Papadopoulos?”

“Yep. He’s the one.”

“Does he come in here often?”

Isaac nodded again. “I think we’re his go-to stop for dinner after evening visitations. Prunier is his preferred aperitif. Sometimes he buys the rest of the bottle from us. I give it to him at a good discount, since he’s about the only one who drinks it.”

That could explain the bottle Camille gave Charlotte, Francine thought, if Vince had given the bottle to Camille opened, and she’d re-gifted it. Francine would question Charlotte about the bottle’s condition later.

“What about Tripper? He must like it or you wouldn’t have tried to bribe him with it.”

Isaac snorted. “Tripper’s a draft beer guy, and cheap beer at that. He and Vince had a drink one night after a veteran’s funeral. Vince bought him cognac. It’s all Tripper could talk about after that. At least, until he ordered one and discovered it was more expensive than his usual.”

Francine sipped her wine. It was sweeter than what she usually liked, but it was good. “Is Tripper okay? Everyone talks like he’s a little … off.”

“He’s had a rough go of it since he returned home from Iraq. He’d probably get better if he were evaluated and treated by the Veterans hospital, but he refuses to go. Mostly he wanders from one job to another.”

“What’s the obsession with stripping?”

“I figure it’s symptomatic of something that happened during the war. He struggled with it for a while after he got back. Most of us thought he’d conquered it until he found out about our dance troupe. Now he thinks it’s okay to do that, if someone pays him.”

“I wouldn’t think he’d get much business.”

“I wouldn’t think he’d get any. But those of us in the troupe are so busy now, trying to fit in gigs around our regular jobs, that I guess there’s a market even for him.”

“Do you think this will last?”

He gave her a wry smile. “No. We’re just the latest fad around here. It’ll run its course until the next fad takes over. I just want to make as much extra money as I can while we have the public’s attention.”

Francine took another sip. “Let me ask you something about the troupe. Has Eric said anything to you about creating a permanent location here in Brownsburg?”

Isaac laughed. “In Brownsburg? You must be kidding. Since he brought the group up from Texas a year ago, he’s talked about returning. I haven’t heard him talk about it for a while, though.”

“Would you go?”

“I wouldn’t, but I’m from around here. The two transplants who came up here with him might. I think they like the lower cost of living here, though. We might not have as many gigs, but we manage pretty well. One of them got a job with a high-tech company in downtown Indy, and he may drop out altogether.”

A customer down the bar motioned for him. “Anything else?” Isaac asked.

“No. Thanks for your time.”

He nodded and headed down to the other end of the bar. Francine picked up her wine, left a five-dollar tip, and went to find Charlotte, who was back with Toby and the remaining strippers.

“She’s back from the world’s longest potty break,” Charlotte said. Her words slurred together like ingredients in a frozen margarita, which Francine suspected she’d had one too many of. The words were no longer distinct, yet the sentence was understandable.

Francine displayed the half-full wine glass she’d carried with her. “I went to the bar,” she said. “Not the restroom.”

“Eric’s gone,” Toby said.

“I didn’t need to go to the bar,” Charlotte said as if Toby hadn’t spoken. “Those nice young people over there bought me this.” She indicated an empty glass in front of her. Then she realized it had nothing in it. Her face hovered over it disbelievingly, like she couldn’t comprehend why it was empty. “Well, it had a strawberry margarita in it.”

“Those fruity drinks go down easy,” Francine said. “Are you sure you had only one?”

Charlotte frowned at her. “I am not drunk.”

“You’re maybe a little tipsy, then.” She turned to Toby. “Where do you think he went?”

“Don’t know, but his car isn’t in the parking lot. So I need a ride.”

Francine began hunting through her purse for a key. “Are you ready to go? Because I think I might need to get Charlotte home.”

Stieg, the blond, chiseled-cut dancer she remembered from the benefit, waved her off. “We’ll get him home,” he said, indicating Toby. “It’s early yet.”

Francine pulled out the key to the Prius. “Not for us older folks,” she said with a smile. “C’mon, Charlotte.”

When Charlotte hesitated, Francine took her arm. “It’s time for us to review the facts of the case, anyway.”

“Then I’m on it.” Charlotte said. She slipped off the high barstool and had to grab onto the table to steady herself. “Maybe I’ve had a bit too much to drink.”

Francine steered her toward the exit. “With margaritas, the alcohol doesn’t catch up to you until after you’ve had more than enough.”

“Good night,” Toby called after them.

Francine walked Charlotte out. She was glad to get into the cold night air. She hit the remote button on the key to her car and the Prius came unlocked. For a moment, she wondered if she might find Eric in the back seat. She glanced through the back window just to be sure. The light from the parking lot street lamp illuminated the seat. He wasn’t there. She was both relieved and disappointed.

The women got in the car. “So to recap,” Charlotte said, slipping on her seat belt, “Here’s what we know. I’ll do this chronologically. We know Fuzzy and Vince were best buds back in the day, in high school. We know Fuzzy dated girls younger than him, which may well have led to his later relationship with Cass, her being much younger than he.”

“We don’t really know that about Fuzzy.” Francine adjusted the rearview mirror before she put the car in drive. “That’s conjecture on your part.”

Charlotte shrugged off the criticism. “We have demonstrated proof of two instances where that was true, but have it your way. We’ll call it an educated guess.”

Francine drove out of the Scotty’s parking lot and turned south on Green Street. “We know that he married Cass in the early nineties, and they didn’t have kids.”

“To my point about younger women,” Charlotte said, interrupting, “she was only twenty or twenty-one at the time, while he was in his early thirties. She graduated from college the year after they were married.”

“He worked at the high school, didn’t he?”

“Right. He was the shop teacher.”

“So she wouldn’t have had him as a teacher?”

Charlotte seemed taken aback by the implication. “I see where you’re going with that. But no, he wouldn’t have been her teacher. Girls didn’t take shop back then.”

“Okay. But after college she joined the faculty teaching phys ed.”

“She did.” Charlotte shifted in her seat so she could better face Francine. “Fast forward fifteen years. Cass and Fuzzy get a divorce. Vince and Myra side with Cass, which forces Fuzzy and Vince’s friendship to fracture.”

“Which is natural,” Francine continued, “since Myra and Cass are sisters. When did Vince and Myra marry?”

“About a year after Fuzzy and Cass. Myra is the older sister by five years, so the age difference wasn’t as big. I’m not sure Vince even noticed Myra until Fuzzy started dating her sister.”

Francine reached the railroad tracks and slowed as they went over the bumpy grade. She accelerated and reached a red light at Main Street. She put on her turn signal to make a left. “Then we have another big gap, don’t we, until Fuzzy and Vince both get elected to the Council? When was that?”

“Just before the turn of the century. Although, we do know the divorce was messy and that somehow Cass ended up with land that included the Carter family cemetery.”

“With the Jacqueline Carter headstone.”

“Exactly. Though we still don’t know when Jacqueline was born or died.”

The light turned green. Francine turned east onto Main. “If I remember right, Camille was elected to the Council around 2010, right after the capture of the pornographer, which was what got her name out there and probably made her electable.”

“Right.”

“Was the Council contentious before Camille arrived, or did she somehow instigate it?” Francine hadn’t paid much attention to politics or gossip before she retired.

“There was some dissention, but when Camille came on board, it escalated. Vince in particular became set against whatever she wanted …” her voice trailed off.

Francine looked at her friend. Her white glasses were smudged and her blue eyes were staring into another land. Francine knew Charlotte was at her free-thinking best. Francine couldn’t watch because she was driving, but she’d seen that look before. It usually happened when Charlotte pieced together a difficult puzzle, a puzzle that involved a leap in logic. More times than not, though, its basis was sound. She imagined Charlotte’s brain crowded with plots from Agatha Christie to James Patterson, and the facts of this case pinging against them until an answer emerged.

There was silence in the car for a while. Francine was afraid to disturb Charlotte while she was thinking like this.

Finally Charlotte came out of the trance-like state. “We’ll be passing by Papadopoulos Funeral Home, won’t we?”

“We already did. I can take a right at the next light and circle back. Do you want me to?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I want to see if Eric’s car is in the parking lot.”