The Widow's Mate by Ralph McInerny Page B

revolving doors.
    It was good to have her back from visiting her son the monk in Kentucky. She told him about the guesthouse where the monks put up visitors, just across the road from the monastery, and gave them retreats.
    â€œSome stay in the guesthouse longer. Thinking about joining, I guess. One of them was your namesake.”
    â€œLuke?”
    â€œFlanagan.”
    â€œNo relative of mine would think of becoming a monk.”
    â€œWhat else are you?”
    Her eyebrows danced, and she pressed her knee against his beneath the table.
    â€œA retreat didn’t do you much good.”
    â€œI’m better at advances.”
    â€œYou can say that again.”
    â€œAnother beer?”
    â€œThey make me amorous.”
    â€œGood.” She signaled to the waitress.

19
    Tuttle sauntered into Cy Horvath’s office, took a chair across the desk from him, and tipped back his hat. “Why don’t we pool resources?”
    Cy just looked at him.
    â€œThe Wally Flanagan case. I’ve been hired to find out what he was doing from the time he left here until he turned up dead.”
    â€œIs that what Sandra Bochenski wants to know?”
    Tuttle sat back. “How do you know that?”
    â€œYou’ve been under surveillance.”
    â€œAnd you’ve been checking out Sandra Bochenski.” Two can play at that game.
    â€œWhat else did Peanuts tell you?”
    â€œSo you see, we have a common interest.”
    â€œI thought you were interested in Wally Flanagan.”
    â€œLet me tell you what I’ve learned.”
    Tuttle took off his tweed hat and fitted it to the knee of his crossed leg. While he spoke, he had the impression that none of what he had to say came as news to Cy, but with that face you never knew. He told Cy about the affair between Sandra and Wally and about their plan to run away together and start a new life in California. “She went ahead. He never showed up.”
    â€œIs that what she told you?”
    â€œAre you saying he did?”
    â€œYou’re doing the talking.”
    â€œYou realize that I am under no obligation to tell you these things. It’s all confidential. But why should we duplicate efforts?”
    â€œYou could just have Peanuts get you my report.”
    â€œI’d rather hear it from you.”
    â€œHow long is Sandra Bochenski in town?”
    â€œUntil I find out what she wants to know.”
    â€œWhat’s her interest?”
    Tuttle had thought about this. Why should his client be paying him good money to find out things that could not do her any good. Curiosity? That seemed the only motivation. Of course, she was still a woman scorned, but any revenge she had in mind involved Greg Packer, not Wally Flanagan. Her suspicions about Packer seemed Tuttle’s hole card.
    â€œWhat’s your interest?” Tuttle asked boldly.
    â€œI’m a cop.”
    â€œThings must be pretty slow around here if you can devote your time to ancient history.”
    â€œYou think Wally Flanagan is ancient history? How long has it been since his body was found?”
    â€œLong enough to be forgotten.”
    Even as Cy said it, Tuttle considered what that meant. The body of Wally Flanagan had been mainly hamburger. The identification had been made by his wife from the wedding ring on the undamaged left hand. A ring can be put on any dead hand.
    â€œGet the hell out of here, Tuttle. I’ve got work to do.”
    Tuttle rose. “I just had an idea.”
    â€œI thought I heard a buzzing sound.”
    â€œMore like ringing.”
    *   *   *
    He found Peanuts napping in the pressroom and shook him awake. “Can you get a car?”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with yours?”
    â€œI’m low on gas.”
    Peanuts rose slowly. “Meet me downstairs.”
    Tuttle took the circular staircase that gave those going up and down a view of the dome above and the great checkerboard floor of