“Shame on ye,” Billy scowled. “I wasn’t even in the same cell with the poor helpless fella. And ye shouldn’t say such things in front of the little lady there. She’ll be thinkin’ I’m a drinkin’ man.”
Ti-lo’s eyes twinkled with sudden mischief.
“Sure an’ ye know I’d niver be thinkin’ that.” Her brogue was twice as thick as his.
Billy whisked his cap off, tossed it gleefully and caught it behind his back. Then he jigged his way across the office, bent near her and cupped a hand around his ear.
“Would ye be repeatin’ that, miss?”
“Faith and St. Patrick’s shillelagh!” she said. “I kin tell by yer foine fair face that ye ain’t had a drop o’ the Irish since Paddy fell in the well.”
Billy whooped and hit me on the jaw with his cap. “Did ye hear ’em, Lew? Did ye hear them angel’s words?”
They volleyed foine’s, niver’s and ye’s back and forth like tennis balls for several enthusiastic minutes and then Billy remembered his mission and apologized for keeping her waiting. He departed with joy spread all over his red cheeks. Ti-lo and I sat without speaking for a moment and watched him as he crossed the street, trying manfully with each step to minimize his limp.
“I think I’ve changed my opinion of you,” she said.
“Now what have I done?” I said, wincing a little.
“You can’t be as bad as I thought,” she said. “Not if you let a wonderful old man like that work for you.”
I wasn’t just surprised. I was pleased, but I tried not to let it show.
“He’s not so old,” I said. “He’s only in his sixties.”
“Does his leg hurt him?” she asked.
“Not any more. The VA took it off below the knee a few years back.”
She drew in her breath softly.
“He’s better off,” I said. “He carried fragments in it for years.”
“From the war?”
I nodded. “World War I. They gassed him, too, but he never complains. He’s pretty proud of his cough. You ought to hear him sometime. After he’s had six or seven beers, he coughs up a storm. Sounds like a dragon with a Model-T caught in its throat.”
We laughed together, sharing a good moment.
We made small talk until we saw Billy coming around the corner of the cop shop across the street.
When he entered the office, his face was serious and his voice subdued.
“Let me talk to ye outside, will ye, Lew?”
We excused ourselves and went out on the sidewalk.
“It’s pretty terrible,” Billy whispered. “It’s him that got shot, that Felix fella.”
“Her boy friend?” I whispered. “Are you sure?”
“Sure an’ I’m sure!” He looked sadly toward the doorway. “It’s ye who’ll have to tell th’ poor thing, Lew. Her little Felix fella is as dead as th’ poor clay itself.”
Billy crossed himself and hung his head.
Unfortunately he never quite learned the art of whispering. His rough voice carried inside the office and I knew, by the crashing sound, that she had heard.
When we dashed inside, she was lying flat on the floor again.
CHAPTER III
ALL WE HAD to revive her with was a can of warm beer. I propped her head against the divan’s armrest and forced a little into her mouth. She swallowed pretty well for a moment, then she gasped and came up fighting, blinking her eyes rapidly.
I stepped back so she couldn’t swing at me and pointed at her feet.
“They’re okay,” I said. “Look.”
She looked at her blue shoes, but this time they weren’t important. She covered her face, weeping into her hands so quietly she could scarcely be heard.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m very sorry you had to hear it that way.”
“ ’Tis I should apologize,” Billy added. “I kin no more whisper than a cat kin fly.”
I gave her my handkerchief and she dried her eyes.
“I’m all right,” she said, swallowing.
None of us spoke for a minute or so. She dug into her tiny purse to find her lipstick. I watched her carefully, unable to decide how strongly she was being affected by the news.
“Care to talk about it a little?” I asked her.
“I suppose so,” she said.
“Was Felix a Filipino?” She nodded.
I made a large mental note. As far as I was concerned that was the No. 1 fact so far in the whole business. I decided to forego subtlety for a moment and see how much more I could find out.
“Did you love him?” I asked.
“Fer cryin’ out loud,” Billy scolded, “can’t ye keep yer elephant feet off the poor girl’s feelin’s?”
“It’s all right, Billy,” she said.
“Did you love him?” I repeated.
“I don’t know. I—I’m mixed up.”
“How long did you know him?”
“About a year.”
“When did you become engaged?”
That one bothered her. Her blue eyes glanced down at her shoes and then out the open door.
“Two days ago. On my birthday.”
I looked at the third finger of her left hand. “Didn’t he give you a ring?”
That one bothered her too. “He was as short of money. He said I’d get the ring later this week.”
“And what did he give you for your birthday?”
Instead of replying, she plucked a balled-up Kleenex from her purse and dabbed at her eyes.
I decided I needed to know a lot more about an alleged fiancé who wouldn’t award a delectable doll like Ti-lo either a ring or a birthday present.
I gave her what I hoped was a gentle look. “Can you handle a few more questions or do you want me to shut up?”
“She wants ye to shut up,” Billy said.
“Kindly keep your nose out of this,” I told him.
“It’s all right, Billy,” she said. “Mr. Pools trying to help.”
“Call me Lew,” I said.
She didn’t change her expression. “You wanted to ask me something else?”
“Yes. Do you have any idea why anyone would want to kill Felix? And why they would risk doing it in jail?”
She shook her head.
“Do you think there’s any connection between his death and the firecracker?”
She shook her head again and her glossy black pony tail danced.
“One last question,” I said. “Did you ever hear of a Filipino called Kreena?”
I waited anxiously for her answer to that one, far more anxiously than she could ever guess.
“Who?” she said.
I spelled it out for her.