The Carpenter by Matt Lennox Page B

of the roasting turkey. Emily was sitting at the Clarendon upright.
    —I hope I didn’t wake you, Grandpa.
    —I don’t think you did.
    —You were snoring like mad.
    —Gentlemen like me don’t snore.
    Stan got up from the recliner. He wasn’t sure if she’d been practising or not while he napped, but she put her hands to the keys and began to play “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.” In the kitchen, Mary and Louise were preparing the vegetables.
    Frank picked at the turkey stuffing. When he saw Stan, he offered him a beer, and the two of them went and sat down in the screened-in porch at the back of the house. Cassius was loping around the yard, sniffing at the bird bath.
    —Who was the boy in the car? said Stan.
    —Bobby or Billy or something. He’s been around a little bit, but he’s nobody now. Just as well.
    —She’s got a good head, Frank. If she’s going to university next year, you’ll have to trust her.
    —She’d be young. Just eighteen. It’s still under discussion.
    Stan stood up and watched his dog in the backyard. The dog dug under the cedar hedge at the back of the property until Stan called for him to cut it out.
    —Stan, said Frank, I want to talk to you about Judy Lacroix. I want to know why you’ve got the interest in her.
    —I’m the one who found her, Frank.
    —She isn’t the first dead girl you ever found.
    —No.
    —Stan, I know you might have had a look at the toxicology. I’m not going to make a big deal about it, but I have an idea of who might have showed you. That same person might just have put it back in the wrong place when Len Gleber went to file it. You know you don’t have any official capacity.
    —I don’t need to be reminded.
    —I know that. I suppose I’m just putting it out there.
    —You don’t think Judy was in any kind of situation that was over her head? There was a boyfriend, I heard.
    —Yes, said Frank. Gleber interviewed him, the boyfriend. He’s a low-life, Stan. A nobody. And I don’t think he was quite the boyfriend she let on he was. I think he was taking advantage of a girl who didn’t know any better, whenever he felt the need … Matter of fact, though, it surprises me and exasperates me a little that you know about the boyfriend too. How much more do you know?
    —That business about the boyfriend is about all of it.
    The patio door slid open and Louise came out. She said: Hi Dad, hi Grandpa.
    —Grandpa and I are having a discussion, said Frank.
    —Supper will be ready in five minutes.
    —That’s fine, said Frank. Be sure to knock first next time, you understand?
    —Yes, Dad.
    Louise went back into the house.
    —Judy Lacroix killed herself, said Frank. She was a sad girl who should have been properly looked after, and she wasn’t, and when she couldn’t handle some of the ugliness this world has a way of dumping on people, she went and took her own life.
    Stan nodded. He finished his beer. He looked to see what the dog was doing.
    —It’s a damn shame that you had to be the one to find her, said Frank. But you did find her and then you made sure the right people were in the right place. Thinking about it that way, I wish anytime a body turns up to the public, it’s a retired cop who finds it. But now you don’t have to worry about it any further.
    —I’m not worried, said Stan.
    —I hope not. Now come on. You know Mary doesn’t like supper to be kept waiting. She’s just like her mother in that way.
    —Yes, said Stan.
    Frank got up and opened the patio door and went inside the house. Stan followed.
    Stan tried to put the conversation with Frank out of his head, but a few days after Thanksgiving his telephone rang. A woman’s voice was on the other end.
    —Is this Mr. Maitland?
    —Yes, this is Stan Maitland here.
    —Mr. Maitland, this is Ellie Lacroix calling. I wondered if you’d still want to speak with me.
    He met with her at one o’clock that afternoon. They went to the Owl Café and sat in a booth halfway to the