The Blue Last by Martha Grimes Page A

winded, as if he’d been doing all the talking. “That must have been terribly frightening.”
    Her silence as she looked at him suggested any fool could see that.
    â€œThe police came, did they?”
    She nodded energetically.
    â€œAnd did they find any bullet casings?”
    â€œI guess that’s what you call it. It was outside on the ground. Or maybe stuck in a tree.”
    â€œAre you sure the shooter was aiming at you, though?”
    â€œYou mean maybe they were trying to shoot the Trym bulbs?” This was said with more acidity than a nine-year-old could usually muster.
    â€œNo. I mean, what about the gardener?”
    â€œHe wasn’t there. Anyway, why would anybody want to kill him ?”
    â€œWhy would anybody want to kill you ?”

Thirteen
    â€œ I just don’t know, Mickey,” Jury said. “I certainly think it’s possible.”
    They were in Mickey’s office and Mickey wanted to get out of it. He was up and pulling on his coat. “Pub?”
    â€œLiberty Bounds?”
    â€œNah. Too far. Let’s walk, then, find a coffee.”
    Jury said, “I know the perfect place. I’ve got kind of a crush on a waitress there.” It would give him more material to irritate Carole-anne with, too.
    Mickey smiled. “Okay, we’re out of here.”
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    The cappuccino-bar-restaurant was barely three blocks from headquarters. There were more customers this morning than there had been at the weekend, but the place was large and still two-thirds empty.
    The pretty waitress had taken their order, lattè for Jury, house coffee and a fruit Danish for Mickey; she had been sincerely glad to see Jury again, almost as if she’d worried about his getting safely home on Saturday.
    Mickey watched her walk away and smiled. “You’ve got good taste, Richie; if I weren’t a happily married man—” He held his hands out, palm upward. Then he said, “When I felt better yesterday afternoon I sent Johnny and a uniform over to pick up Kitty Riordin. Just for some friendly questioning. I didn’t want to go to Tynedale Lodge; I thought the two of us might be too much ‘police presence,’ if you know what I mean.”
    â€œYou’ve talked to her before, haven’t you?”
    â€œOh, yeah. Anyway, she didn’t overdo it as far as Simon Croft was concerned. She found it ‘regrettable.’ She’d known him for a long time, ever since he was a kid, but at the same time felt she didn’t really know him. ‘He was never terribly outgoing. He had his secrets.’ ”
    Jury told Mickey what he’d learned yesterday from his talk with family members. “Marie-France Muir and her memories of the Blue Last—she seems to feel it was home. She loved the place. I got the feeling she thought of that pub as a living, breathing organism. But I suppose you can never attach too much importance to a place. It filled you up when you had it, left you empty when it was gone. We’re all orphans when it comes to that.” He thought of Gemma. Left over.
    â€œWe’re all orphans anyway. You are, I am, so’s Liza.” Mickey mused. “I was lucky when it came to foster parents. It’s hard to remember they weren’t my own flesh and blood. Liza was lucky, too.” He looked at Jury. “You weren’t.” He sighed. “Had a good time, though, the three of us, didn’t we?”
    â€œWe did indeed.” Jury had forgotten that—that all of them were orphans. He wondered if that was one thing they had in common.
    Mickey raised his coffee cup, half in salute and half to summon the waitress.
    â€œDid anyone mention Gemma Trimm?”
    â€œI don’t remember anyone named Trimm,” said Mickey, puzzled.
    â€œI guess that’s the point, Mickey. No one said a word about her. She’s old Oliver Tynedale’s ward. She’s nine. I found