hauls that ended quickly and paid poorly. So the Montagues were always short of money, and Ellie drew a line between the sort of fellow who couldn’t support a family, and the kind who wouldn’t.
Ned ducked his head awkwardly. “The thing is, though—”
“Why don’t you just come out with it, Ned?” George asked, applying himself to his lemon square.
Ned blinked, startled at the novelty of being addressed by George, then blurted, “I wonder, do youthink they’ll be able to get Forepaugh? I mean, was there any evidence? That you saw?”
He sucked in a breath. “Because,” he added, “it doesn’t seem like enough to get anywhere with. Some jailhouse story doesn’t prove much.”
Wade looked at Ned as if Ned were a small, pesky insect.
“So I was wondering,” Ned went on to Ellie, “if you saw anything. Proof. To make sure that guy gets what’s coming to him. On,” he finished, “the bodies. Or near where the bodies were.”
George did not look pleased to have Ellie reminded of the bodies. All the cool, calm industry she had exhibited, getting things arranged: that was her way of handling it. But old Tim was still in her mind’s eye, at the end of a rope.
“I don’t think there was,” she said, turning to me.
“No,” I agreed slowly. “You mean, something that belonged to Ike Forepaugh. Something to show that he’d been there.”
Ned nodded. “Right. So the murdering bastard—oops, excuse my French—gets what’s coming to him.”
“I think,” George said consideringly, “the cops’ll find any evidence there might be. Way I heard it, they’re going over Crow Island pretty carefully, and watching to see if anybody shows up, too, looking for all that money.”
Wade took out his wallet and examined the two checks on the table. “Guess I’ll take care of these,” he said, and went up to the cash register. Passing the table where Ned’s wife and little girls sat, he picked their check up too, smiling at the children.
Ned didn’t notice. “Right. Well, I guess that’s all right.” His eyes brimmed suddenly with tears. “They were just a couple of bums, Tim and Kenny. Not the sort you really want to be related to. But I was. Those two were my blood relatives—in fact, I was the only living kin that they had.”
His lower lip thrust out injuredly. “I’d even been visiting Kenny some, lately.”
George looked blandly at Ned. If he had looked at me that way, I’d have simply dissolved in mortification; his blandness, like that of many downeast Mainers, can be very communicative.
But Ned didn’t seem to notice. “I’d been going out to his trailer every week or so,” he went on. “Make sure old Ken was okay. He was no-account, but he was a good old boy. And I just want to make sure whoever killed them doesn’t get away with it.”
Ned hesitated. “About those dogs of Tim’s. I hear you two,” he included me in his glance, “are watching out for them.”
I waited for him to say that he would take over this task, but of course he didn’t.
“I can’t be taking on that mongrel pack, right now.” He angled his head back at his own table. “My little girl—”
The word in town was that the child had kidney disease, something that required specialists, but no one knew for sure. Shunned by the Eastport men on account of Ned’s uselessness and isolated by the pity of Eastport women, the Montagues kept to themselves; thus their child’s health was one of the few topics so far unprocessed by the town gossip mill.
“So I wondered,” Ned said, wringing his pawlike hands.
“Ned, don’t worry about it,” Ellie said. “I’ll make sure the dogs are taken care of until we get another arrangement.”
“Poor bastard,” Wade said when Ned was gone.
“Ayuh,” George Valentine said, sounding unimpressed. “Guess he forgot to leave the tip,” he added, dropping a couple of bills beside the mess around the little girl’s ice-cream dish.
Ellie looked at me,
Ned ducked his head awkwardly. “The thing is, though—”
“Why don’t you just come out with it, Ned?” George asked, applying himself to his lemon square.
Ned blinked, startled at the novelty of being addressed by George, then blurted, “I wonder, do youthink they’ll be able to get Forepaugh? I mean, was there any evidence? That you saw?”
He sucked in a breath. “Because,” he added, “it doesn’t seem like enough to get anywhere with. Some jailhouse story doesn’t prove much.”
Wade looked at Ned as if Ned were a small, pesky insect.
“So I was wondering,” Ned went on to Ellie, “if you saw anything. Proof. To make sure that guy gets what’s coming to him. On,” he finished, “the bodies. Or near where the bodies were.”
George did not look pleased to have Ellie reminded of the bodies. All the cool, calm industry she had exhibited, getting things arranged: that was her way of handling it. But old Tim was still in her mind’s eye, at the end of a rope.
“I don’t think there was,” she said, turning to me.
“No,” I agreed slowly. “You mean, something that belonged to Ike Forepaugh. Something to show that he’d been there.”
Ned nodded. “Right. So the murdering bastard—oops, excuse my French—gets what’s coming to him.”
“I think,” George said consideringly, “the cops’ll find any evidence there might be. Way I heard it, they’re going over Crow Island pretty carefully, and watching to see if anybody shows up, too, looking for all that money.”
Wade took out his wallet and examined the two checks on the table. “Guess I’ll take care of these,” he said, and went up to the cash register. Passing the table where Ned’s wife and little girls sat, he picked their check up too, smiling at the children.
Ned didn’t notice. “Right. Well, I guess that’s all right.” His eyes brimmed suddenly with tears. “They were just a couple of bums, Tim and Kenny. Not the sort you really want to be related to. But I was. Those two were my blood relatives—in fact, I was the only living kin that they had.”
His lower lip thrust out injuredly. “I’d even been visiting Kenny some, lately.”
George looked blandly at Ned. If he had looked at me that way, I’d have simply dissolved in mortification; his blandness, like that of many downeast Mainers, can be very communicative.
But Ned didn’t seem to notice. “I’d been going out to his trailer every week or so,” he went on. “Make sure old Ken was okay. He was no-account, but he was a good old boy. And I just want to make sure whoever killed them doesn’t get away with it.”
Ned hesitated. “About those dogs of Tim’s. I hear you two,” he included me in his glance, “are watching out for them.”
I waited for him to say that he would take over this task, but of course he didn’t.
“I can’t be taking on that mongrel pack, right now.” He angled his head back at his own table. “My little girl—”
The word in town was that the child had kidney disease, something that required specialists, but no one knew for sure. Shunned by the Eastport men on account of Ned’s uselessness and isolated by the pity of Eastport women, the Montagues kept to themselves; thus their child’s health was one of the few topics so far unprocessed by the town gossip mill.
“So I wondered,” Ned said, wringing his pawlike hands.
“Ned, don’t worry about it,” Ellie said. “I’ll make sure the dogs are taken care of until we get another arrangement.”
“Poor bastard,” Wade said when Ned was gone.
“Ayuh,” George Valentine said, sounding unimpressed. “Guess he forgot to leave the tip,” he added, dropping a couple of bills beside the mess around the little girl’s ice-cream dish.
Ellie looked at me,
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