The Blue Last by Martha Grimes Page B

her walking in the garden.” Jury told Mickey Gemma’s story.
    â€œShe was making it up, I hope.”
    â€œNot all of it, anyway. Police found a bullet casing after it had gone through the greenhouse.”
    â€œThanks,” Mickey said to the waitress who refilled his cup and set down his pastry. She asked Jury if he’d like another lattè.
    â€œJust pour me some of that, thanks.”
    She did, and smiled at him, and walked away.
    â€œI’d say she’s the one that’s got the crush,” Mickey said, absently. He leaned across the table, over his folded arms. “We can’t clutter this case up with threats that don’t exist, Rich.”
    â€œEvery case is cluttered until you sort it. And stuff like this girl has to be sorted. You’re much too meticulous a cop to ignore Gemma’s story.”
    Mickey took a bite of the pastry and said, around a mouthful of crumbs, “Okay, okay. I guess I’m just in a hurry. What could the motive be for killing this little girl? Who is she? She’s a ward, which keeps the Social at just beyond breathing distance. What’s her history?”
    â€œI don’t know because I haven’t talked to Oliver Tynedale. I expect he might be the only one who does.”
    Mickey frowned over his cup. “You don’t think she’s actually related to Oliver Tynedale, do you?”
    â€œI thought about that. She could be. Her resemblance to Alexandra Tynedale is marked.”
    â€œBut not to Maisie. It couldn’t be.”
    Jury laughed. “You’re pretty certain of that. But I tend to agree. There’s something about Maisie—”
    â€œHell, yeah, there’s something about her. Like not being Alexandra and Ralph Herrick’s daughter. That’s something.”
    â€œOdd, how she’s got the black hair, the dark eyes . . . and yet. She doesn’t look like Vivien Leigh. Gemma does, in miniature.”
    â€œLike Liza.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œDon’t you remember you used to tell her that. People think she looks like Vivien Leigh or else Claire Bloom.”
    Jury frowned. “Vivien Leigh and Claire Bloom don’t look anything alike. Our waitress looks like Vivien Leigh, in case you didn’t notice.”
    Mickey turned around and looked at her. From across the room, she smiled at him. Or them. “She looks like Claire Bloom.”
    â€œHell, she does.”
    This bickering went on.
    Finally, Mickey asked, “When will you talk to dear old nanny Kitty? A.k.a. Maisie’s real mother?”
    â€œToday. You talked to her. How did she strike you?”
    â€œAs the mother of an impostor.”
    â€œThat was your objective assessment, was it?”
    Mickey’s hand squeezed Jury’s shoulder. “That’s what you’re here for—objectivity.” He removed his hand and shrugged. “You’ll see.”
    A laugh caught in Jury’s throat. “I’ll see? You mean I’ll agree that Maisie is really Erin Riordin and that Kitty Riordin is her mother? Mickey, all you’ve got to go on are those old snapshots—”
    â€œAnd instinct. You said yourself my instincts are good.”
    â€œI did? I’ll bet the instinct here is just a by-product of those pictures. Mickey, what if I don’t agree with you? What if I find out Maisie Tynedale really is who she says she is?”
    â€œThen I’ll drop it.”
    Jury flinched, surprised. It was true he wanted Mickey to be open to this possibility, but he wasn’t sure he wanted Mickey to put so much faith in his, Jury’s, ability.
    â€œLook, Rich, you’re the best cop I know. You’re certainly the best with witnesses. Look at how much you got out of these people that I didn’t. I didn’t know this little Gemma Trimm even existed, for Christ’s sake.”
    â€œI only found her by chance, by luck. I was outside,