“Because I wasn’t much good,” Portugal said.

“Too much defeat,” Jesse said.

“And beer,” Portugal said. “Way too much beer.”

“You got an arrangement with the trucker’s wife, though,” Jesse said, and smiled. “Looks like you’re making a comeback.”

Portugal shrugged.

“Arrangement is just that, we both like to get laid, it don’t mean much.”

“You have any thoughts on who might have killed your ex-wife?”

Portugal’s eyes teared again. He lowered his head.

“No,” he said.

They talked in the anachronistic restaurant for nearly an hour. Jesse asked about male friends of the deceased, about female friends. Had she ever worked anyplace? Had she any enemies? Had he any enemies? Did she have debts? Did he? How often did he see her? When had he last seen her? When it was through, Jesse paid the small bill and they left the restaurant. The fried-egg sandwich remained uneaten on Portugal’s plate.

“I wasn’t such a loser,” Portugal said, “she’d be all right. She figured she was marrying Mr. Big, guy that was going somewhere. And look where I took her.”

“Maybe you’re taking on more than you need to,” Jesse said.

“And maybe I ain’t,” Portugal said.

Jesse had nothing else to say about that and he got in his car and drove away while Portugal stood on the corner looking down Sumner Avenue at Jesse’s receding car.

Chapter 46

There was a harvest fair on the common. It meant that tables were set up outdoors and people sold handicrafts and bakery products and pumpkins to benefit the Paradise Woman’s Club. Inside the meeting Cissy Hathaway in a mop hat and apron was selling cider and donuts. Jesse stood with Abby against the far wall, near the door.

“The Paradise Woman’s Club,” Abby said. She shook her head. “Makes me blush.”

“Maybe it has evolved into a powerful force for feminism,” Jesse said.

“And maybe pigs fly,” Abby said.

“And whistle while they do it,” Jesse said.

They got in line for cider. In line ahead of them was Jo Jo Genest, massive and alien in the Saturday-morning suburban crowd. When it was his turn he lingered at the counter talking to Cissy. Jo Jo stayed too long. The line built up behind him with people looking toward the front to see what the holdup was. Jesse watched Cissy as she talked to Jo Jo. Her body seemed to lose some of its stiffness and her pale face seemed to gain color. She shifted behind the cider table in a way that made her hips move. Jo Jo finally moved on, the crowd parting carefully as he moved ponderously through it. He didn’t look at Jesse and Cissy’s eyes followed him before she turned back to the next customer.

When it was his turn Jesse ordered two ciders and two donuts, paid for them, and carried them away from the table to where Abby was standing.

“She’s not as mousy as she looks,” Jesse said.

“Cissy?”

“Un huh.”

Abby looked at him as if he were crazy, as they walked across the common toward the wall across the street where the burnout kids usually sat.

“How could she be more mousy?” Abby said.

They sat together on the stone wall, where they could watch the people.

“I’m telling you, did you see her get almost wiggly when Jo Jo bought some cider?”

“Oh come on.”

“I’m telling you, there’s something there.”

“You can tell by just looking.”

“Absolutely,” Jesse said. “I am wise in these matters.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I am blessed with a penis,” Jesse said.

“Yeah, and you think with it,” Abby said. “Like every other man I know.”

Jesse ate some donut and took a sip of cider. The leaves had begun to gather on the ground, yellow mostly, but with enough red and partial green to give it the New England effect. The smell of them mixed with the smell of the ocean. The ocean smell was so pervasive, Jesse thought, that unless it were offset by something else you didn’t notice it.

“Any progress on the killing?” Abby said.

“Not in the sense that you mean,” Jesse said.

“What other sense is there?”

“Well, like any investigation, each time you eliminate a suspect that’s progress. You’ve narrowed the pool, so to speak. But progress in the sense of a solid lead to who did it, no.”

“Who have you eliminated?”

“Her ex-husband. He’s got a verifiable alibi for the time she was killed and several hours each side of it.”

“And I suppose the ex-husband would always be the prime suspect in a case like this.”

Jesse nodded.

“We like to start simple,” he said.

“So has the pool now narrowed to everybody but her ex?”

“Well,” Jesse said, “sort of. But there’s odd-looking bits and pieces sort of floating up, nothing like a nice hard clue or anything, just odd things that don’t look like they’re part of the soup.”

“Like what?”

Jesse shrugged and finished his first donut.

“You know the old instruction on how to sculpture a horse out of granite. You take a piece of granite and chip away everything that doesn’t look like a horse.”

“What the hell kind of answer is that?” Abby said.

Jesse drank some cider.

“I was trying to be folksy,” he said.

Abby leaned away from him and stared at his face.

“Jesse, you don’t want to tell me,” she said.

“Talking about a case doesn’t usually do the case much good,” he said.

“Goddamn it,” Abby said. “You don’t trust me.”

Jesse didn’t say anything. The paper cup from which he’d drunk his cider was empty. He crumpled it and tossed it into a green trash barrel.

“Two,” he said.

“Jesse, you can’t not trust me.”

He turned to look at her.

“Ab,” he said. “I guess the ugly truth is, I don’t trust anybody.”

“For Christ’s sake,” she said.

“Nothing’s quite what it seems to be around here,” Jesse said. “Makes me careful.”

“Including me?”

“Don’t be hurt,” he said. “It’s just the way I have to be.”

“I am hurt, but I’m also sad—for you. Not to trust me! You have to be able to trust somebody.”

Jesse shrugged. He did trust someone. God help me, he thought, I guess I trust Jenn. He decided not to mention that. It wasn’t an answer that would make Abby feel better.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Jesse said.

Abby’s eyes looked as if she might cry.

“I know,” she said. “I know you’ve had a hard go and being a cop you’ve seen a lot of bad things.”

Jesse put his hand out and patted her leg. He felt sorry that she was hurt, but it was an abstract sorry, more of an idea than a feeling. You need to be able to hear the truth, he thought. You can’t hear the truth, you got nowhere to start.

Across the street, standing near a table where they were selling dolls made out of cornstalks and dressed in pink gingham, Jo Jo Genest stood and stared at Jesse. As if he felt the stare, Jesse looked up and met Jo Jo’s gaze. Silently Jo Jo mouthed the word “slut.” Jesse saw it and his eyes locked with Jo Jo’s. He nodded slowly. Then Jo Jo spat and turned and walked slowly away. Jesse watched him go.

So I was right, Jesse thought. It’s Jo Jo.

Abby was too involved in her own issues to see the interchange.

“I feel sort of foolish,” she said softly, “being hurt and not being able to hide it. I really have a problem with being left out, and to have this relationship and to think you don’t trust me . . .”

Jesse shifted his attention to her. He nodded gently.

“I know how you feel,” he said. “I don’t blame you. Maybe I’ll be more and better later on. But right now, this is what you get.”

“Yes,” she said. “And this is a very nice man. But . . . oh hell,” she said.

She stood up abruptly and began to cry. With her head down, trying to hide the fact that she was crying, she walked away briskly. Everybody’s got baggage, Jesse thought. I just tripped over some of hers. He saw her get in her car and drive away. She had left her cider. He picked it up and drank some of it. The taste of her lipstick was on the cup. He drank the rest of her cider and crumpled the cup and shot it into the trash can. Outside shot is working. He nodded congratulations to himself.