The Helium Murder(30)

I shivered at the thought of getting close to someone who “did Christmas,” but I persevered.

“I’ll count on lunch,” I said.

I managed a few more sentences of chit-chat about Peter’s plans for the holidays and the state of health of his sister, his nephews, and grand-nephews, then got to the point.

“By the way, Peter,” I asked, “do you know Patrick Gallagher?”

“Not well. I work with him a little, since he’s running our curriculum project for the district. He keeps an office in our building.” As Peter progressed through his sentences, his voice became softer and his speech slower until, finally, he ended with a long, heavy sigh, and I knew he’d put the pieces of my call together. “Gloria,” he said.

“I’d like to meet him, Peter, just briefly.”

“And that’s why you’re calling?” It was more a statement than a question, and I couldn’t argue with it. My silence must have said as much, so Peter continued.

“Gloria, I don’t know what bothers me more, that you’re way over your head investigating a murder on your own, or that you’re using me to do it.”

“Peter, I don’t need you to do my job. And let me remind you that this victim is our representative to the United States Congress, yours and mine.”

“It’s tragic, Gloria, but it’s not your job.”

“I’m simply asking you for a favor that you’re obviously not willing to do. Let’s forget the idea, Peter. I’m sorry I bothered you and I’ll see you on Monday for class.”

“Wait,” Peter said. “I know how stubborn you are, and you’ll get what you want one way or another. I can take you down to Gallagher’s office. I have to drop some papers off to him anyway.”

I ignored the slur on my character and took what I could get.

“Thanks, Peter,” I said. “When?”

“Tomorrow morning, early, say, eight-thirty. He’s not going to be here after nine.”

I almost said, “I know,” remembering Matt’s interview schedule. I had a few qualms about talking to Gallagher even before Matt did, but I shrugged them off.

“I’ll meet you in the main office, where I usually do,” I said. “Eight-thirty. Can I bring you a coffee?”

“Decaf,” Peter said, and we hung up.

Just after nine, Rose and Frank came upstairs, looking as exhausted as I’d ever seen them. I actually detected wrinkles in Rose’s navy blue knit suit, and Frank’s eyes were half closed.

I insisted that they relax while I brought them drinks—wine for Rose and a beer for Frank. Since I never drank alcohol, my entire liquor collection consisted of what others, including the two of them, had brought into my apartment at one time or another. I made coffee for myself and sat across from them.

“You missed a big night,” Rose said. “I think the whole Democratic side of the aisle was there, and a few Republicans, too. And this is the first time we’ve had a Kennedy in our parlor—young Joseph—isn’t it, Frank?”

From Rose’s lips, it sounded as though royalty had come to tea in their home. Since coming back to Revere, I’d noticed that the Kennedys still held magic for natives of Massachusetts. After so many years on the West Coast, I’d forgotten the enduring charm of Camelot.

“I think so,” Frank said. “We thought Teddy might come for the bishop last year, but he apparently couldn’t.” Frank removed his jacket and placed it carefully around the curved dark wood of the chair at my desk, then sat back and closed his eyes.

“So, what’s new,” I asked Rose, folding my hands on my lap, “besides the congresspeople?”

“He wasn’t there, just his partner.”

“He? You mean Matt? That’s not all I want to know about.”

“It should be,” Rose said, but her smile softened the reproach. She sipped her wine and continued. “No scenes tonight. The brother and his muscle were there. Gallagher wasn’t. I’m sorry, I didn’t pick up a thing. It was so crowded every minute. Robert and the boys are still down there straightening up.”

I felt very guilty pumping my friend for information when she’d worked so hard and all I’d done was read my notes and manipulate Peter into doing me a favor.

“Thanks anyway,” I said, moving the bowl of cashews closer to her.

“So what about Saturday night?” Rose said, but without the spirit I expected. “The funeral’s tomorrow, so maybe we can go shopping on Friday and get you a new outfit.” She stifled a yawn as Frank slept beside her, snoring gently.