A Stillness in Bethlehem(41)

“I have to go see Franklin Morrison,” Gregor said. “I promised.”

“You have to take responsibility for the people you love,” Tibor said. “She will not listen to me.”

“She won’t listen to me, either,” Gregor told him. “At least, she hasn’t until now.”

There was no longer any reason why Gregor shouldn’t go to his room. His door was standing open on the other side of the hall. Tibor was no longer walking back and forth in front of him. There was no point in continuing this conversation. Tibor’s eyes were fierce. He was ready to go into phase two—practical attack plans. Franklin Morrison was waiting.

“I’ve got to go,” Gregor said, and then, at the first sign of a possible response from Father Tibor Kasparian, he went.

From the very beginning of this second career in extracurricular murder, Gregor Demarkian had discussed his involvements with Tibor. That was what he had been trying to do by telling Tibor how he felt about Franklin Morrison’s request to “just look over” the evidence file. That was what he’d expected to do when he’d asked Tibor to talk to him while he shaved. That all this had been sidetracked by Tibor’s new obsession with diets was more than unsettling. It put Gregor in a distinctly bad mood.





3


He was still in a bad mood ten minutes later, when he emerged from his room in his best camel’s-hair topcoat, carrying his best leather gloves and feeling more than a little ridiculous to be going out in such a formal way. Wanting to look professional, he hadn’t had any other choice. He had brought casual clothes and this formal suit, but nothing in between. If Elizabeth had still been alive, she would never have allowed it. She’d have packed his suitcase herself and made sure he had everything he might possibly need.

He stopped at the door to Tibor’s bedroom, unable to get over feeling guilty for ducking out on a conversation that had been important to Tibor even if it hadn’t been important to him. Tibor was propped up in a green wingbacked chair with his feet on a matching green ottoman, deep in a volume called The Super Fat Loss Diet and Maintenance Plan: The Revolutionary New Program That Takes the Weight Off and Keeps It Off Forever! Towers of books rose from the floor around Tibor’s feet, including The Complete Scarsdale Medical Diet, The Beverly Hills Diet, The Mayo Clinic Diet Manual, The Crystal Healing Diet, The Carbohydrate Addict’s Diet, The New American Diet, and The Last Diet You’ll Ever Need. There was also something called Fat Is a Feminist Issue, but it seemed to have been stabbed. Gregor decided not to go in and disturb the man. He not only had diets on the brain, he had them everywhere else, too. Any interruption of the reading process would only bring on another tirade. At least for today.

Just as Gregor was turning toward the stairs, he had a second thought. Maybe Tibor was right. Maybe he ought to be worried about Bennis Hannaford. God knew, Bennis gave every one of her friends cause enough to worry. She had a far too well-developed spirit of adventure and absolutely no sense of self-preservation. She’d never been particularly sensible about food, but her lack of sense hadn’t run to diets. It had run to eating like a horse. Maybe Tibor knew something he didn’t know, though. It wasn’t a subject Gregor had paid much attention to—his rather substantial bulk was evidence of that—but he had heard some things in passing, and those things were very disturbing. Weren’t there women out there who thought they were fat when they weren’t, and then went on starvation diets until they died? Weren’t there others who ate enormous amounts of food and then made themselves throw up? None of that really sounded like Bennis. None of that was really her style. Still, you never knew.

Gregor went across the hall to Bennis’s room and knocked. He heard a muffled “come in,” turned the doorknob and stuck his head through. Bennis had a single, not a suite, with no living room. She was sitting on her already made-up bed in a pair of jeans and a turtleneck, the phone in one hand and a large jelly doughnut in the other. She certainly didn’t seem to be dieting. When she saw him she said “just a second” to whomever was on the phone and took the receiver away from her ear.

“It’s Donna Moradanyan,” she said. “She thinks she may have found a place for the Kaldikians. Sheila Kashinian’s brother’s daughter’s husband owns a small apartment building in Paoli. You want to talk to Donna?”

“I just came in to see how you were doing.”

“I’m doing fine. You going to see Chief Morrison?”

“I am.”

“I’ll expect a full report when you get back. Just a minute.” Bennis put the phone back up to her ear. “Donna? Gregor is here. I was telling him about Sheila’s—”