Too Many Murders(24)

Midafternoon: time to return to County Services and see what his men had learned.

Abe and Corey shared an office, but when Carmine walked in, only Abe was there, head bent over sheaves of paper.

“How goes it, Abe?” he asked.

“Skeps’s murder is one not short on suspects,” Abe said. “By tomorrow I ought to have a paper trail a mile long for you.”

“Fantastic,” said Carmine, going out the opposite door.

A quick visit to Patrick revealed no further progress, so he went down to the basement parking lot, climbed back into his Ford Fairlane while its engine was still cooling down, and drove out to the Cartwright residence, himself behind the wheel. He just wasn’t in the mood to hang around waiting for a driver, and he had Delia for his paperwork anyway.

The mood at the Cartwrights’ had changed, and drastically; with Grant in custody for the murder of Jimmy, a pall of gloom had descended over the three remaining Cartwrights, suddenly horribly aware of Cathy’s death. The haughty princess Selma was in the kitchen trying to prepare dinner, her tears running unchecked into a bowl of cooked elbow macaroni. Several different kinds of cheese stood on the counter together with a carton of milk. Carmine took pity on her.

“Grate a cup each of cheddar, Romano and Parmesan,” he said, tearing off a sheet of paper towel and handing it to her. “Wipe your face and blow your nose, then you’ll be able to see.” He took a piece of macaroni, popped it in his mouth, and made a face. “No salt in the cooking water.”

The girl had obeyed him and was now gazing into a cupboard. “What does a grater look like?” she asked, sniffling.

“This,” said Carmine, producing it from a cabinet. “Hold the block of cheese against it and shove it downward—onto a plate, not the counter. Find the measuring set and keep each cheese separate. While you do that, I’ll find your father. When you’re finished, wait for me, okay? We’ll get there.”

Gerald Cartwright was in his office upstairs, weeping quite as hard as his daughter.

“I don’t know what to do, what would work out for the best,” he said helplessly when Carmine came in.

“Get your mother down here, first off. And a sister, yours or hers. You can’t bring up your daughter in ignorance of domestic routines and then expect her to pitch in like a trained housekeeper—which you should have employed when Jimmy was born, then at least the Grant half of this mess wouldn’t have happened. Can’t you afford a housekeeper, Mr. Cartwright?”

“Not right now, Captain,” Cartwright said, too dejected to defend himself. “Michel just quit—he’s gone to a restaurant in Albany. Now I have to decide what to do with l’Escargot—close it, or change the cuisine along with the name.”

“I can’t help you there, sir, but I do suggest that you think a little less about your businesses and a little more about your children!” Carmine said tartly. He sat down and glared fiercely at Gerald Cartwright. “However, right at this moment I want to know about your wife. You’ve had time to think, and I hope you’ve used it. Did she have any enemies?”

“No!” Cartwright said on a gasp. “No!”

“Did you engage in pillow talk when you were home?”

“I guess so, insofar as Jimmy let us.”

“Which one of you did the talking?”

“Both of us. She was always interested in what Michel was doing. She thought I was too soft on him.” Cartwright stopped to mop his eyes. “She talked about Jimmy, how unhappy the other kids were—and you’re right, she kept asking for a full-time housekeeper. But I thought she was exaggerating, honest! We’ve always had Mrs. Williams once a week for the heavy cleaning.”

“Did Mrs. Cartwright ever mention anyone stalking her, or otherwise annoying her? What about her friends? Did she get on with them?”

“It’s like I told you before, Captain, Cathy didn’t have time for a social life. Maybe other wives complain about catty friends or the bargains they picked up in Filene’s Basement, but not Cathy. And she never once mentioned a man.”

“So you have no idea why she was murdered?”

“No, none at all.”

Carmine got up. “Make your business decision quickly, Mr. Cartwright, and bring some family in. Otherwise you might have Junior in trouble with the law too.”

Gerald Cartwright went sheet-white, and bent his head over his books defensively.

Junior was glued to the giant television in the den next door; on his way past, Carmine beckoned imperiously.

“Come on, kid, turn it off. Until she gets some help, your sister needs a hand in the kitchen.”