Rough Weather: A Spenser Novel

“How long did the marriage last?”
    “Me and Heidi? We got divorced when Adelaide was five.”
    “Nineteen ninety,” I said.
    “Yes.”
    “Why did you get divorced?”
    Van Meer took a slow drink and shrugged.
    “Bradshaw,” he said.
    “She was having an affair with him.”
    “Yeah, sure. I mean that wasn’t such a big deal. She’d fooled around before. Hell, so did I. All during the marriage. We both did. But Bradshaw …”
    He finished his drink and went to the sideboard and refreshed the glass.
    “She was too far into Bradshaw,” he said. “She stopped coming home. Stopped having sex. Stopped being fun. When she was with you, Heidi could be a big lot of fun.”
    He stayed at the sideboard holding his drink.
    “Divorce contentious?” I said.
    “No. I liked her. Hell, I probably loved her.”
    “Generous settlement?” I said.
    “Oh, sure,” he said. “I set up a big trust fund for Adelaide. She’s set for life. And Heidi got a lump-sum settlement instead of alimony. It was how she wanted it. Alimony would have stopped as soon as she married Bradshaw.”
    “Ever meet Bradshaw?” I said.
    “No.”
    “Know anything about him?”
    “No,” Van Meer said. “Heidi never talked about him. Never said a word.”
    “Who asked for the divorce?”
    “Her,” Van Meer said. “Told me she was in love with Bradshaw and wanted a divorce so she could marry him.”
    “And he was the one she’d been seeing?”
    “I assume so.”
    “But you don’t know,” I said. “You didn’t put a private eye on her or anything?”
    “No,” he said. “But I can tell you there was someone. On the rare occasions in that period when she would consent to sex, I knew. I don’t know how. I just knew I wasn’t the first one of the day. You know?”
    I nodded.
    “Do you know Heidi’s birth name?” I said.
    “No.”
    “Do you know where she’s originally from?”
    He shook his head. He was looking past me now, out across the Public Garden, at the slow rise of Beacon Hill.
    “Why would someone take Adelaide?” he said. “And not ask me for money?”
    I had no answer for him. Which was all right, I guess, because I don’t think he was asking me. He took a drink. There were tears on his face. He kept studying the view out his expensive window.
    “I want to know why that is,” he said.

 
    Epstein came into my office
on the day before Halloween and sat down, put his feet on the edge of my desk, and tilted his chair back.
    “Hilda Gretsky was in fact born in Dayton,” he said. “She attended Stebbins High School but didn’t graduate, went to beautician school and didn’t finish, worked at a bookstore called Books & Co. for a couple years, and headed for New York, looking, I assume, for Mr. Right.”
    “That’s where he usually is,” I said.
    “I’ll mention it to my daughters,” Epstein said.
    “You have daughters?”
    “Three.”
    “Wife?” I said.
    “Not currently,” Epstein said.
    “Anything else interesting about Heidi?” I said.
    “People at the bookstore say she wasn’t much of a bookseller. Said she spent most of her time reading the books,” Epstein said.
    “That’s it?” I said.
    “Yep. No record. Nobody much remembers her.”
    “Parents?”
    “Deceased,” Epstein said.
    “Siblings?”
    “None.”
    “Boyfriends?” I said.
    “None that we could find,” Epstein said. “We have located her current husband.”
    “From whom she’s estranged.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Healy gave me an address in Padanarum, on the south coast,” I said.
    “That’s one,” Epstein said. “He’s got houses in London and Tuscany, too.”
    “What’s he do?”
    “Seems to be some sort of consultant for the Information Agency.”
    “That doesn’t support three houses.”
    “Probably not,” Epstein said.
    “So,” I said. “He’s got money, too.”
    “Apparently.”
    “What a coincidence,” I said. “All her husbands have been rich.”
    “Lucky her,” Epstein said.
    “Where’s Bradshaw now?” I said.
    “Padanarum, last we checked,” Epstein said.
    “How did he make his money?”
    “The old-fashioned way,” Epstein said. “His father earned it.”
    “What’s he do with the Information Agency?” I said.
    “Information adviser.”
    “Propaganda?” I said.
    “We don’t do propaganda,” Epstein said. “Our enemies disseminate propaganda. We provide information.”
    “It’s good to be us,” I said.
    “Used to be,” Epstein said.
    “Is that subversive?”