**********
While his hands were planted firmly against the car, Blair’s mind wandered to the night of the murders. Suddenly the car in front of him was no longer a blue Taurus, but was rather a cherry red Corvette. He jerked his hands away because the engine was running and the car was hot. Darkness had fallen, and the midday sun had passed with a blink of his eyes.
Cynthia Maxwell jumped out of the car and grabbed him by the arms. She shook him, yelling, “Don’t you understand that I’m in trouble? I need your help!”
He didn’t say anything; he was just so surprised that she’d shown up that fast.
“What good are you, you rotten bastard? You were supposed to watch out for him!” Tears were streaming down her powdered cheeks. She noticed the pile of freshly clipped hedge behind him and then bowed her head. Her hands slipped down from his arms. “I’m in deep shit now,” she said.
“Why me?” he asked, not quite sure of what to make of her hostility toward him.
She looked up at him with a sigh. “Because I thought you could help.” As she shook her head, her red hair appeared smooth and silky even in the streetlights around them. All he could concentrate on were the dozens of brown freckles dotting her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. One of them was even shaped like Maine. “But nobody can depend on a frigging lush, can they?”
Cynthia snatched Blair by the arm as she dragged him along. She took him into an alley and shoved him up against the wall. Blair looked over his shoulder, realizing the familiar red bricks and touching them lightly from behind with his fingers. “Matt’s Pizzeria,” he said, but Cynthia grabbed his face with her hand and made him look at her.
“What do I have to do to make you understand? I don’t want to die! Vinnie was right; you are the smartest and the dumbest bastard anyone has ever met!”
“Your tooth,” Blair said even though he didn’t know why.
“Stop talking and listen to me!”
“Your tooth,” he said again, more to please her than to signify any understanding of the matter.
“Yes, number thirty,” she said, taking her hand away from his face.
“Number thirty.”
“Forget about the temporary.”
“What temporary?”
“In my mandibular right first molar.”
“Tooth number thirty.”
“That’s right: tooth number thirty, you simple son of a bitch!”
“But you don’t have any restorations. Your teeth are perfect.”
“Were perfect,” she said. “I put the temporary there myself. There’s a note inside, but it’s of no consequence now.”
“No consequence? Why?”
“Just shut the hell up and listen!”
“Your tooth,” he said, slouching down. “But your teeth are perfect.”
Blair looked at Cynthia’s face and found it wet with sweat and tears. All of her freckles seemed to be running together, dulling her complexion. Her breath was stale and hot, and her frizzy, red hair reminded him of a feline with a bird trapped between its teeth. She looked petrified, but he didn’t understand her fear. Nothing made any sense. Perhaps he was the smartest and the dumbest bastard she and Vinnie had ever met.