Fall Guy

I'm worth it.“

CHAPTER 4
    Sitting in the bar at Pastis, Dash next to the table with a bowlful of water, a bowl that matched the decor of the restaurant, I picked at my bacon sandwich as I began to open O'Fallon's mail. I wasn't sure of the procedure. I tried to remember what my sister and I did with my mother's bills, but that was different. We had been named signatories on Beatrice's checking account not long after she got sick.
    I pulled an envelope from the bottom of the stack, turned it over and made a note to call O'-Fallon's attorney, hoping that she would take care of paying the bills and dealing with most of the paperwork. I suspected I'd have more than enough to do sorting out O'Fallon's possessions and dealing with family and neighbors—grumbling neighbors, to judge by Jin Mei.
    I wondered about Parker—who he was, where he was, and how O'Fallon had been helping him. I made a note to talk to the other neighbors. I'd ask Brody about Parker, too, and about the other men O'Fallon had helped.
    Brody. As if he were about to tell me what he knew.
    I flipped through O'Fallon's Con Ed bill, a packet of coupons for discounts, the envelope addressed to „Occupant,“ his rent bill, due in a little over a week, an L.L. Bean catalog and the letter I'd been making notes on. I turned it over. No return address. A perfect little handwriting, small and neat and ever so careful. There was only one uncharacteristic flourish. The tail on the y on Timothy turned back and underlined his name.
    Opening his mailbox, it had never occurred to me that I shouldn't be taking his mail. I'd picked up the packet without looking at it, even the coupons and the catalog, and tossed them into the bag where I had the things I needed for Dashiell's pet-therapy visit. Now holding the square blue envelope, I wondered if I should be the one to open it. I put it down on the table and noticed I'd made a greasy thumbprint on the lower left corner. Too late to go back to Horatio Street and return it to the mailbox. Besides, Brody hadn't told me not to take the mail. He'd only told me not to use the keys to enter the apartment.
    Curiosity.
    I picked up the envelope, used my knife to slit it open and pulled out the folded sheet of blue stationery. I sniffed it first; no perfume. Then I opened the single fold and read the name. Maggie.
    „I know what happened at Breyer's Landing,“ it said. „I was there. We have to talk.“
    I picked up the envelope and checked the postmark, Saturday, thinking how strange the mail was. You could mail something in Piermont and it would arrive in New York City in a day or two. You could mail something in Greenwich Village to someone three blocks away and it could take a week or longer to arrive.
    I read the note again. Mary Margaret had mailed the note on Saturday, the day of their mother's funeral. The day before Tim died. The note seemed ominous, threatening. Or was that just my suspicious mind-set? But Tim had never seen it. So it couldn't have anything to do with anything.
    Except my curiosity.
    „I was there,“ she'd written. What could that mean?
    At one, Dashiell and I went for a walk. It was hot but not beastly, and though there was no shade at this hour, there was a bit of a breeze. Whenever we could, we walked under sidewalk bridges to get out of the sun for a minute. Rain or shine, a dog's got to do what a dog's got to do, and before a pet-therapy visit, a long walk is a good idea.
    Edna was sitting in her wheelchair near the front door, waiting. „He's here,“ she said, turning back to the others in the room, five really sad-looking people. „Our little friend is here.“
    „Our little friend“ was the equivalent of calling women „hon“ and guys „pal“ when you couldn't remember their names. It was, I thought, a rather graceful save for an old lady suffering from senile dementia. Knowing what was coming, I made a graceful save of my own. I positioned myself behind Edna's chair before Dashiell got the chance to put his paws up on the seat, one on each side of her frail, skinny legs, and lean forward to give her a kiss.
    „He loves me,“ Edna squealed.
    „He does,“ I said from behind her. „Dashiell loves his friend Edna.“
    She nodded. „Comes to see me every day,“ she said.
    „Once a week,“ I said, thinking I shouldn't have corrected her, that, at this time, there was no point in doing so.
    „Tuesdays,“ Edna said, surprising both of us. „I remembered he was coming