Speak Ill of the Living by Mark Arsenault Page A

asking. What could
he
do? He didn’t have a clue where she might start an investigation of a thirty-year-old double homicide. And he couldn’t imagine why Henry would listen to the little brother he just met.
    But if she was right? What if Henry was innocent?
    He sighed.
    She’s on a fool’s errand.
    â€œI dunno, Bobbi—”
    â€œStop right there,” she said. “I’m going to stop you before you say no, and we’ll continue this conversation later, with no hard feelings. Okay?”
    Eddie nodded. “Fair enough.”
    Bobbi grinned, then glanced to the pink duffle on the floor. “So,” she said, “which room is mine?”
    Eddie nearly gagged on his java. His eyes darted around the three-room cottage. “Ummm…”
    She exploded into laughter. “Gullible,” she howled. “So gullible, just like your brother—it’s a precious quality in you Bourque boys.” She laughed until Eddie was laughing, too, and then she said, “Maybe you can recommend me a good hotel?”
    â€œI’ll drive you downtown,” he offered.
    Seeing the Chevette’s steering wheel on the kitchen counter, Eddie frowned, and then corrected himself, “I mean, I’ll call you a cab.”
    ***
    She waved at Eddie from the taxi.
    Eddie waved back from the window.
    Two weeks ago, he wasn’t sure if Henry Bourque knew that Eddie had been born. And now? A sister-in-law from out-of-town just barged in unannounced, threw a sack of problems over Eddie’s shoulders and bummed ten bucks off him for the cab.
    Christ, she acted just like family.
    He was still shocked that Henry had been watching him for years through his work. He couldn’t help thinking of the possibility Bobbi had presented.
    Eddie got his chess set from the closet and unfolded the black and white board on the coffee table. It was a cheap set; two bucks at a flea market. The wooden pieces—half black, half unpainted—were scratched and chipped. Some had bite marks from a previous owner’s puppy, or maybe from a toddler. Eddie liked that the pieces were oversized; they barely fit in their squares.
    Henry preferred the white pieces, because the white side moved first. Eddie spun the board so the white pieces were in front of him.
    How would Henry open a game?
    Aggressive?
Like his in-your-face personality.
    Or conservative?
To lull Eddie into a trap.
    Eddie leaned forward, elbows on his knees, chin on his fists, and studied the board.
    Henry would be unconventional; Eddie had no doubt.
    He grabbed a knight and jumped it over the picket line of pawns.
    Eddie spun the board and looked over the black pieces. He imagined Henry sitting across from him, grinning, daring Eddie to match his opening move.
    The phone rang.
    Eddie lingered a moment at the board, and then answered the call. Springer from the Associated Press was on the line. “You working today?” he asked.
    â€œI got transportation issues.”
    â€œThat piece-of-shit Chevette in the shop?”
    â€œIn the funeral parlor.”
    â€œOh, so then you
really
need the work.”
    Eddie laughed. He felt too distracted to report and write a news story, but Springer was right; Eddie needed the job. “Gimme something easy,” he said.
    â€œRoger Lime is back in pictures. The kidnappers have released another photo, apparently taken in the past couple days. The cops are offering the same deal as before—they share, we publish. You got the sources—your story was great last time.”
    â€œWhere and when?”
    â€œAt the cop shop in one hour. Can you make it by then?”
    The police station was a little better than a mile walk from Eddie’s house. The sky had turned overcast and rain looked inevitable. He sighed. “Yeah, I’ll make it.”

Chapter 10
    Roger Lime was back in another four-by-six snapshot. Oddly, Lime was pictured holding the current edition of
The Second