Yesterday's News

okay? That means the fire’s not my fault. But I got no insurance, no guarantee a jury with half of them Portos and the other half smokers are gonna see it that way. Plus, Schonsy was saying he tripped on the carpet coming down, and the staircase got so fuckin wrecked from the fire, who could say?”
    “You have the building’s title in a real estate trust?” The face narrowed. “Yeah.”
    “Any other property in the same trust?”
    “What’s it to you?”
    “I’m still wondering why you settled without a suit being filed. Even conceding you’d lose on the merits, why not just let Schonstein and his lawyer take the destroyed house and the land under it for what it’s worth, so long as the trust didn’t own any other parcels worth your saving?”
    Dykestra’s eyes made a circuit of the room. “Awright, you wanna know, I’ll tell you so’s you’ll know. Cop like Schonsy, he’s been around forever. He’s got things on everybody. He makes a phone call here, drops a hint there, he could get everybody and his brother on my back. Everywhere I got property in the city. I don’t need that, Jack. I don’t need fines up the wazoo because my drunk fuck janitor in a twelve-unit complex ain’t wearing a surgical mask when he takes the garbage cans to the curb.”
    “Not to mention fire inspections, building code violations—”
    “You got the picture. Any more questions?”
    “Yeah. How much was the settlement?”
    “That you don’t need to know.” He picked up a message slip and pushed a button on the telephone console. “Give my regards to Boston , huh?”
    “Maybe I’m not leaving town just yet.”
    “You ought to. I don’t think Nasharbor’s agreeing with you too good, you know?”

The Almeida Funeral Home was just off Main Street in a sprawling Victorian painted the obligatory white with black shutters. Three men with olive complexions were standing around a hearse and a limo in the driveway. The middle-aged one was shifting from foot to foot, a Clydesdale waiting professionally for the start of another parade. The two younger ones shared a cigarette and quiet jokes.
    Inside, several viewing rooms branched off from the main foyer and central staircase. Next to one double doorway, a black felt board spelled in white plastic letters jane rust/parlor a. Managing editor Arbuckle was standing beside a seemingly sober Malcolm Peete. Each was talking out of the side of his mouth, as though that showed more respect for the deceased in the closed coffin. Kneeling at the casket was Bruce Fetch, secretary Grace seated nearby. A dozen or so people milled around, a few of them faces I remembered from the city room. As a portly man moved aside, I could see Liz Rendall speaking with an elderly woman I recognized from one photo back on Jane’s dresser. She wore a faded print dress that appeared ten years out of fashion. When Liz spotted me, she excused herself and came over.
    Her eyes shone brightly over a face set in an appropriately subdued smile. “John, I’m glad you could make it.”
    I checked my watch. “I miss the services?”
    “No. Jane wasn’t religious, so I didn’t think a service would be in keeping, especially given... the way she died. Almeida does a nice, simple job, regardless of, I think he said, ‘the faith of the departed.’ ” A silver-haired man in a morning coat with the manner of a patrician came into the room. He briefly took the elderly woman’s hands in both of his and bowed slightly at the waist.
    I said to Liz, “Almeida?”
    “Yes.”
    “And Jane’s aunt?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “You think I could ask her a few questions?” Rendall frowned. “I don’t know. She’s been pretty good so far, but Jane was her only living relative, and I’m not sure how close she is to losing it.”
    “I’ll tread softly.”
    Liz was cut off by Almeida saying, “May I have your attention, please?”
    Everyone acceded, and Almeida explained the vehicular order of march. I noticed a few of the newspaper people growing sullen. Probably planned to stay only for the expected service in the funeral home, but now felt trapped into driving to the cemetery as well.
    As Almeida concluded, I could see the aunt’s eyes searching the room for Liz. Making contact, she approached us.
    I quickly said to Liz, “Be easier for you if I rode in the limo, too?”
    Before she could reply, the aunt was upon us, saying, “Liz, who is this good-looking young man? Your beau?”
    Rendall said, “I