Fall Guy

year,“ he said, „the Little People of America. If that was my thing, I could go, hang around with people my own height, maybe meet a nice short girl who wouldn't mind going out with me.“ He shook his head. „The circus was good that way. We were all freaks in our own way. Ella used to say that.“ He began to walk around the table. „She was a good egg. A terrific cook. You cook, doll?“
    I figured it was rhetorical. I didn't respond.
    „Nah. You get taken out to dinner. You don't have to cook. People like Ella, they can't go out to dinner. They get a night off, they're on the road. They get a break, they wouldn't fit in the chairs at most restaurants. Maybe a booth would do it. She could have done that, taken a seat meant for two people. Or three. But then everyone would have been staring at her. That's no way to eat.“ He tapped his stomach. „Bad for the digestion. People like Ella have to cook. People like me...“ He stopped at the side of my chair now, the side opposite the one where Dashiell lay, the matchbook I'd dropped between his paws. „People like me, we take what we can get.“
    „What about people like Tim?“
    „Now here's the interesting thing, doll. Someone like Tim, you'd think he'd have a wife, a bunch of cute kids, Thanksgiving dinner with his family, all the nieces and nephews around. But that wasn't his life.“
    „Because?“ But once again, I already knew the truth.
    „Because he did the same as everyone, Rachel. He did the best he could. And it didn't include the wife and the kids. He couldn't go that route. So he...“
    „Took what he could get?“
    He nodded.
    „Parker.“
    „That's right, doll. Same as I do. How about you?“ he asked, the cigarette in his mouth, squinting past the smoke. He didn't wait for an answer. „Same, doll, am I right? And it's not always enough.“ He held his hands out, as if he were showing me the size of a fish he'd caught. „That's life, doll. Lonely people can't afford to be fussy. They get someone's ear, they blab too much. They never know when they're going to get another chance. You know what I'm saying, doll?“
    „I do.“
    „And if you're lonely, if no one looks at you when you're out, as if you weren't even there, as if you didn't exist, and some bums want to hang out with you because you've got beer in the refrigerator and air-conditioning, what are you going to say? No? Most of the time, doll, you're not even aware you're settling for second- or third-best. After a while, your expectations adjust. Am I right?“
    I thought about Colin O'Fallon, Tim's father, expecting nothing but sorrow from his life, getting exactly what he expected.
    „I've got to go,“ I told him. „Maggie will be here soon.“
    I bent to pick up Dashiell's leash. Irwin headed for the door.
    „Don't forget. I'm counting on you.“ I tapped my head with one finger.
    Irwin nodded. „Sane,“ he said. „Both of us. I'm sure of it.“
    I bent down and kissed him on the cheek, then headed quickly down the stairs. I was counting on him, but not for confirmation of my sanity. I was counting on something else, on a lonely man's need to talk.

CHAPTER 27
    I heard a car door close out front. Dashiell barked once. I waited a moment, then hit the buzzer to open the inner door. When I opened O'Fallon's door, Maggie was standing there, her face pale, her eyes red, Brody right behind her, seeing her home, in a way.
    Was he worried she might not be safe? Because I was. I would have been a fool not to be. One death, Tim's, doesn't create a pattern. And Elizabeth Bowles had nothing to do with Maggie. With Dennis's murder, everything changed. It wasn't a big leap to think that the last remaining O'Fallon could be in danger.
    Maggie didn't speak. She put a hand to her mouth. Her eyes welled up. She headed for the bathroom, half walking, half running.
    Brody waited until we heard the door close, the water running.
    „His neck was broken,“ he said.
    „Just like Elizabeth Bowles.“
    „And both times, an opportunistic hiding place. Whatever's at hand.“
    Whatever's obvious, I thought. In neither case was the body meant to remain undiscovered for long. At this point, I didn't think whoever killed Elizabeth Bowles had tied a sloppy knot. The poorly tied knot had been intentional. The Dumpster offered the same advantage—easy discovery. More evidence piling up against Parker. I looked at Brody. The more things changed, the more they remained the same. Neither of us was