Usually when I was puzzled about someone's behavior, I would ask Susan about it. But who to ask when it was Susan's behavior I was puzzled about. Maybe it was time to cultivate another shrink. I thought about what Rachel Wallace had said. It explained why Susan was currently being so difficult. But that didn't mean it was so. Demonic possession would explain it equally as well. But if her theory were valid, it would also mean that Brad Sterling might be a worse guy than he seemed, or that Susan might have thought him so when he was Brad Silverman. She might have been wrong; she misjudged me. Or maybe she hadn't misjudged me. Or maybe Rachel Wallace was all wet.
Across Berkeley Street from my office the windows of the new office building above F.A.O. Schwarz reflected the sun in a blank glare. I thought about Linda Thomas who had once bent over her drawing board in the old building that this one had replaced. A large cloud moved across the sun, cutting the glare off the windows. I could see through them now, but the vista of offices was nearly as blank as the light reflection. The cloud moved quite slowly, and the sun was obscured for a while. But it was a white cloud and the day didn't dim much and after a while it was sunny again.
I checked my watch: 10:20. I called Brad Sterling's office again. No answer. I tried Civil Streets again. No answer. President Carla again. Same thing. I took my feet off the windowsill and put them on the floor and stood and got my coat on and went out.
I got a cup of coffee and a corn muffin on the way and ingested them while I walked up Boylston Street to the Prudential Center. A detective travels on his stomach. I went past the cityscape metal sculpture in the Prudential Building lobby and took the elevator to the thirty-third floor. The office was closed. The door was locked. The receptionist in the marketing company across the hall knew nothing about it. Neither did a bored-looking guy wearing a bad suit in the security office. Neither did I.
In Spenser's Tips For Successful Gumshoe-ing, Tip #6 reads: If nothing is happening and you haven't
any idea what you're doing, go someplace and sit and look at something and await developments. Subparagraph A says that most good detectives bring some coffee and a few donuts with them. So I got my car and drove over to Somerville, got some coffee and donuts on the way, and parked in front of Carla Quagliozzi's condo overlooking the Mystic River. Ringing her doorbell got me less than ringing her phone had got me. At least her phone had an answering machine. I leaned on the bell long enough to be sure that if anyone were home they'd have heard it. Then I went back and sat in my car and looked at her house and had a donut while I awaited developments. After an hour or so it occurred to me that I could double the effectiveness of my plan, and I called the Harbor Health Club and asked for Henry Cimoli.
"I need to talk with Hawk," I said.
"Not here."
"Have him call me on my car phone."
"Car phone," Henry said. "You're turning into a fucking Yuppie."
"Quick as I can," I said.
"He know your car phone number?"
"Yes."
"I'll give him the message," Henry said. "You need anything else?"
"Where do I begin," I said.
Henry hung up. And in about twenty minutes Hawk called.
"Do you know what's going on?" I said.
"Almost never," Hawk said.
"Good. I was thinking you could help me not know what's going on."
"You going good on your own," Hawk said.
I explained Spenser's Tip #6, including subparagraph A. Hawk asked me to go slower so he could copy it down.
"I got two very insecure handles on this case," I said. "One is the question of the missing charity money. The other one is the sexual harassment issue."
"You call this thing a case?" Hawk said.
"Verbal shorthand," I said. "What I want you to do is go and sit outside Jeanette Ronan's house and await developments."
"Do I get a big fee?" Hawk said.
"No," I said.
"Do I get donut expenses?"
"Absolutely," I said. "Ask for a receipt."
"Ronans live on Marblehead Neck?"
"Uh huh."
"Might get noticed," Hawk said. "Not that many brothers hanging around out there."
"Dress like a butler," I said.
"Yassah," Hawk said and hung up.
In fact, I knew he'd manage, in ways only he understood, to blend into the scenery in Marblehead just as he did anywhere else. Hawk could infiltrate the Klan if he put his mind to it.
A woman showed up at about two in the afternoon driving a Mercedes sports coupe. She beeped open the garage door to the right of her condo and drove the car into the garage. The garage door slid back down. I waited a moment and got out and walked up her walk and rang the door bell. She still had her coat on when she opened the door. She left the chain bolt in place.
"Carla Quagliozzi, I presume."
"What do you want?" she said.
"I was interested in making a big donation to Civil Streets."
She stared at me without speaking. She was a fleshy young woman with a lot of red hair and a big figure, even with her coat on.