Gin Palace 02 - The Bone Orchard

her head, then paused before asking, “Is my father in trouble?”
    I nodded. There was no point in trying to hide it. “I’ll find out more what’s going on tomorrow. I don’t know much now. Listen, you should get some sleep. We can’t do anything till morning. Take my bed, I’ll take the couch. We’ll be able to think better after we’ve gotten some rest.”
    I waited for her to move toward the bedroom then, but she didn’t.
    “It’s just like last May, isn’t it?” she said.
    I looked away from her, through the center of my three front windows, out at the gray and muffled dawn that was rising up around us and enclosing us like a great cave of ice.

Chapter Two

    I drifted in and out of consciousness for an hour but never really fell asleep. Finally I gave up on the whole thing around six-thirty and sat up in the dim light and thought about what I knew of Frank Gannon.
    He was married to a beautiful woman I had once glimpsed but never met. I had seen her through a car windshield on a bright autumn day two years ago, through the stark reflection of the tree branches spread across the glass. Her thick hair was black and shoulder length, framing a broad and complex face. Her mouth was set in what looked to me like a serenely satisfied smile. I could not see her eyes through the expensive sunglasses she wore, but by the way her head moved as I walked past the front of her gold-colored Deville I could tell she was watching me. For a moment I did not know which to covet, her beauty or her wealth. It seemed to me then that I should want one or the other. In the end I chose to desire both. It took me a few days to forget about her completely. She was beauty and wealth, everything my life wasn’t, everything anyone would want. The memory of her remains in my mind, always willing to return under the right conditions and do a little dance through my head.
    She and Frank had two daughters, both in college, and the house on the north side of Hill Street. Frank did well for a small-town private investigator, though just how well no one, not even Augie, knew. I didn’t really care. His work brought him in continual contact with the powerful and influential, not just of the East End but of New York City, too, people who paid well to have their problems taken care of and their secrets kept. Frank knew the world well enough to make most situations work for him, one way or another. He kept the right people in his pocket -- local cops, town committee members, businessmen, a town justice or two, anyone with money. He could pull in a half-dozen favors on a given day and still have clout to spare.
    Years ago he had run for mayor and lost badly. The man who had beat Frank for the mayor’s seat had upon taking office tried to get Frank’s license pulled. He sicked the Chief on Frank but nothing ever came of it.
    I stayed out of things, or tried to. But when Frank wanted something from you he had a way of getting it.
    The only lighted window in town belonged to Frank’s office, and for most of my walk along Main Street my movement was the only activity I could sense. Every now and then a car would pass, and as it did I would keep my eyes on the sidewalk but listen carefully for the sudden seizing of brakes and quick swinging open of doors. Last night’s bout with my stun-gun friend was still fresh in my mind. My right kidney wasn’t likely to let me forget for a while. But none of the cars that passed stopped or even slowed down. I followed the sound of their tires as they continued on behind me or ahead of me till I could hear nothing more but the sound of my own walking through the solemn morning.
    The sound of the leaves crunching stiffly beneath the soles of my work boots never left me once. They announced my presence and direction with each step. I passed the Village Hall and wondered about Augie, where he was and if he was okay. I kept my head down and my eyes on my noisy feet as I crossed the alleyway that separated the Village Hall from the clothing store above which Frank kept his office.
    The cold was pretty much well inside me when I opened the street door and started up the narrow stairs to his office. I knocked on his office door, then waited for his low voice before I entered. When I did I found him sitting behind his desk, under a single reading lamp, the phone pinned between his ear and shoulder. In his thick hands was an open file, and behind him one of the filing cabinet drawers was open, pulled out a