A Farewell to Yarns

“Why not?“
    “I have no idea. Maybe he just decided at the last minute to stay back with Fiona. It was almost Christmas. The next concert wasn’t scheduled for three days,“ Jane said, tapping the book she’d bought. “It’s all in here. Maybe they decided to let everybody think he was already in San Francisco and drive down the coast in a rented car without anybody knowing who he was. It could have been something like that. Then, when the accident happened, they saw it , as an opportunity to be safe forever by keeping up the illusion that he’d been killed. There wasn’t any problem with money. Royalties—or residuals, or whatever they’re called—from his records would keep coming in for years, and Fiona would inherit everything he’d already accumulated—“ She stopped, sensing that she’d I lost half her audience.
    Mel was staring across the room. “Or—or he could have known the bomb was on the plane.“
    “What do you mean?“ Jane asked. “He wouldn’t have let the others take the risk if he’d known. And how could he have known?”
    Mel gave her a long, level look.
    John Wagner answered. “He could have known if he’d arranged it.”
    Jane nodded. It was a thought that had been swimming malevolently in the deepest, darkest part of her mind, but she hadn’t allowed herself to recognize it.
    The waitress, a perky girl with a gleam in her eye, bounced over to give them their bill. She tried to flirt with VanDyne but was firmly rebuffed. When she’d gone, John Wagner spoke again. “So after years of hiding the truth and probably feeling pretty confident that nobody would ever discover it, he suddenly has Phyllis, his first wife, turning up.“
    “Talking a mile a minute about her son, a boy exactly old enough to be Richie Divine’s son,“ Jane said.
    “How do you know she was talking about Bobby?“ VanDyne asked.
    “I heard her. Sweet, gabby, completely indiscreet Phyllis,“ Jane said softly.
    “And she recognized him?“ Mel asked.
    “I think she must have, but maybe not right away. I’m sure he recognized her. When he came in the room, he looked like he’d been hit in the head with a hammer. I thought at the time it was because the room was such a mess, but it must have been the sight of Phyllis. Fiona had to force him to take Phyllis over to look at the house next door. He didn’t want to. He was almost rude about it. But when he came back, he was really mellow. Like he’d sorted it out. Maybe they’d talked about it, and she’d agreed not to tell anyone.“
    “She would agree,“ John said. “But I don’t think she could have stuck to it. She was too open.“
    “That must have occurred to him later,“ Jane said.
    Mel said, “We’ve skipped over a vital part of this whole thing. Why do you think Albert Howard is Richie Divine? There’s no resemblance. How would Phyllis have recognized him if the rest of the world hasn’t? And what made you think of it?”
    Jane told them about the church choir and elaborated on her theories about plastic surgery and age.
    “But if you’re right, it’s only because you heard him sing and have a good ear. It doesn’t account for Phyllis knowing him. I doubt that he hummed a few bars of ‘Red Christmas’ as he was walking her over to the house next door.“
    “But she knew him fairly well. She’d been married to him, if only for a short time. Besides, I think it’s more likely that Albert himself gave it away. He knew her. He probably had fond memories of her, and he must have at least suspected that the son she talked about might be his. He and Fiona have no children. Getting to know a son is a powerful incentive for a middle-aged man to give himself away.“
    “And then have second thoughts about his own welfare,“ Mel said. He picked up the bill, glanced at it, and dug in his back pocket for his billfold. “All right, Jane. I think you’ve got something“
    “That’s big of you to admit,“ Jane said.
    “Let me have all this stuff,“ he said to them. Jane handed over the framed band picture and the book she’d bought. John Wagner gave him Phyllis’s yearbook. “I’m going back to the office to see what else I can run down. Mr. Wagner, I’ve got to ask you to keep this to yourself for a while longer. I know you’re anxious to tell your father, but—“
    “I understand. It might be raising false hopes. Besides, my dad might tear over there and try to take Albert Howard apart with his bare hands.