“Yeah, and he’s so dead,” Clara said.
Ten minutes later, I was out of my chef clothes, following Diesel to his car.
“I don’t understand why you feel compelled to talk to the four women,” I said to him. “It’s not like Reedy was in a relationship with any of them. How could this possibly help you find the stone?”
“It’s a place to start,” Diesel said. “I’ve got home addresses and work addresses for all of them. Cassandra McGinty is the first on the list. She lives in Lynn, and she waits tables at a restaurant in Salem. I called the restaurant, and they said she doesn’t come in until four, so I thought we’d see if she’s home.”
Lynn is on the North Shore, south of Marblehead. It’s a diverse seaside town with a sketchy history and a hardworking population. Cassandra McGinty lived in a big clapboard house on the west side of Lynn. The house had been converted to apartments, and Cassandra’s was on the third floor.
I huffed and puffed up the stairs and stood back while Diesel knocked on the door. A woman with enormous breasts and short, punked-up white blond hair answered. She was early twenties, medium height, and slim except for her chest. She was wearing spike heels, tight jeans, and a spaghetti-strap tank top that showed a quarter mile of cleavage.
Diesel checked out the breasts and smiled, his eyes locked in at nipple level. “I’m looking for Cassandra McGinty.”
“Well, you’ve found her,” McGinty said, looking Diesel up and down.
I wanted to kick Diesel in the back of his leg to see if I could knock his eyes loose, but I’d kicked him yesterday and didn’t want it to become habit-forming. So I stepped around him and extended my hand.
“I’m Lizzy Tucker,” I said. “The stupid drooling guy is Diesel. We’d like to talk to you about Gilbert Reedy.”
“Are you cops?” she asked. “I heard Gilbert tried to fly off his balcony and it didn’t turn out so good.”
“Were you dating him?” I asked her.
“Gilbert and I met for coffee, but that was all. I don’t know if you saw Gilbert before he turned himself into a pancake on the sidewalk, but he wasn’t exactly hot.” She did another full body scan of Diesel. “And I like hot men.”
“Gee, too bad I don’t know any or I’d bring them around,” I said to McGinty. “Diesel here looks good, but he bats for the other team, if you know what I mean.”
“Lucky them,” McGinty said.
“We’re looking for a book of sonnets. It was missing from Reedy’s apartment.”
“He had a book with him when we had coffee. It was real old looking, and he read this lame poem to me from it. Something about a hot eye.”
“Do you remember anything else about the poem?”
“Yeah. I remember wanting it to end. Gilbert Reedy was the king of geeks.”
“He was looking for his true love,” I told her.
“Me, too,” McGinty said. “But I want one with a big package.”
We thanked McGinty for her help, trucked down the stairs, and got back into Diesel’s SUV.
“I might have been her true love if you hadn’t ruined it with that fib,” Diesel said. “I have all the requirements.”
“You were looking at her like she was a free pass to the Super Bowl. I was afraid you were going to step on your tongue.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Gail Danko was second on the list. She lived in a small, bedraggled bungalow a half mile from Cassandra McGinty. A black Sentra was parked in the driveway. It was showing some rust and a few good-size dents. A gray cat sat on the roof, enjoying the afternoon sun.
“Danko is a nurse, but she’s off on sick leave,” Diesel said. “Divorced. No kids.”
He knocked on the door, the door opened, and a short, round woman with a big fluffy white cat under her arm and her foot in a cast looked out at us. “What?”
“I’m looking for Gail Danko,” Diesel said.
The woman’s eyes glazed over for a moment while she took Diesel in. “Mmmmm,” she said.