Robert B. Parker's Someone to Watch Over Me (Spenser #48)(11)

“Would you hold on one second?” Mattie said. “Christ. Let me finish.”

I turned toward her on the barstool. “Do I sense dogged determination?”

“Duh,” Mattie said. “I said screw it, took the T back to Southie, and found her sister, Sandy. I should’ve just gone to Sandy first. We go way back. To Gates of Heaven. To middle and high school. Both Sandy’s younger sisters are fuckups. Sandy’s been going to Bunker Hill when she’s not working. Studying to be a nurse. Got a good head on her shoulders.”

“Did she know about Debbie’s new friend?”

“Nope,” Mattie said. “But she knew something was wrong. She said Debbie had been acting weird and bragging about having all this extra money. Like a shit ton of money. She knew that money wasn’t coming from slinging ice-cream cones. Sandy had seen Debbie out with some rich lady. Drives a fancy car, clothes outta Newbury Street window, lots of jewelry.”

“A woman of means.”

“Sandy says she had a British accent, too,” Mattie said. “She doesn’t know her name, but Sandy thinks Debbie has been working for the woman as a personal assistant. Running errands. Fetching coffee. Said it was her side hustle on her days off.”

“Hmm.”

“Bet your ass, hmm,” Mattie said. “Chloe said the woman at the club had a funny accent. Right? She’d met the woman when she got the instruction on the massage and the cash.”

“So all we have to do now is catch Debbie with this lady of means,” I said. “And then hopefully connect this woman to Mr. Feet.”

“Really, Spenser?” Mattie said. “I’m like five steps ahead of you.”

“It’s almost as if you’d been trained by a professional,” I said.

“To add a little pressure,” Mattie said, “I told her about what happened with Chloe. How the guy acted like he wanted a massage but then pulled off the sheet and started going to town. I thought Sandy might puke. She promises she’ll call when Debbie’s back with this woman.”

“How often are they together?”

“Sandy says Debbie gets a ride home from her at least twice a week,” Mattie said. “Hey. Tonight might be the night. I’ll let you know. The Delgados live over on Fourth and G. I’ll text you the address if I hear anything. What do you think? You think Susan will let you out of the house to come play?”

“I went to the woods because I wished to live differently.”

“Does that mean yes?”

I tilted my head and nodded. “Yes.”

Mattie left, nearly bumping into Wayne Cosgrove on the way out. Each one unaware of the other’s significance in my life. I waved to Wayne and ordered the lobster roll with fries. And another Allagash.

Stakeouts gave me no pleasure on an empty stomach.





9


“YOU COME BACK much?” I said.

“Not much to come back to,” Mattie said. “My sisters would rather take the T into town and stay with me. When they graduate, they’ll be long gone from here. Southie ain’t Southie anymore. It’s Condoville for rich dipwads.”

“Glad I’m not rich,” I said.

“Or a dipwad,” Mattie said.

“Thanks,” I said. “I think.”

It was dark, and we sat in the front seat of my Land Cruiser watching the twin doors of a triple-decker duplex in South Boston. The building needed paint and new windows and stood out on Fourth Street, where most of the old houses were either gutted and renovated or replaced with modern-looking condos. Mattie was right. The Old Southie of corner stores and dive bars was tougher to find than an authentic accent in The Departed. Many of those who’d grown up here could no longer afford it.

“What about your grandmother?”

“You know she’s been sober four years now,” Mattie said. “Can you believe it? But that life. That aged her a lot. She’s got a lot of health problems. Diabetic. Can’t walk across the street without losing her breath. You can’t live on cigarettes and whiskey.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

Mattie nodded.

“Ever hear from Mickey Green?” I said.

“Nah,” she said. “I heard he moved to Florida.”

“He owes you,” I said. “You were the only one who believed him. If it weren’t for you, he’d still be in the can.”

“I didn’t care as much for him as I did getting the scumbag who killed my mom.”

“You did great.”

Sitting in the passenger seat, hidden in shadow, Mattie nodded again. I leaned back in the seat, the windows down. The street was dark except for the intermittent tall lamps and lights in windows. No one passed, and no one paid us any attention. We’d been there for forty-five minutes. I knew I’d made the correct decision about the lobster roll.

“Chloe may have been stupid about money, but she didn’t deserve to see that shit.”

“Nobody does.”

“I remember when I was a kid getting a bad feeling from this priest who used to come around the projects,” she said. “He ran some kind of youth program. Board games and watching movies and all that. After-school bullshit. You know. He used to always knock on my door and ask my mom if I wanted to join him and the other kids. And my mom always shut the door in his face. She said the man had the devil in his eyes and she’d seen it before.”