is another of Mabel's uncles. He also doesn't like Armand, partly because of Mae, but also because—" Mitch picked up the 1978 diary and handed it to Newton "—Armand bilked him out of a quarter of a million in 1978."
Newton's face took on the stem disapproval of his Puritan ancestors. "That was stupid."
"That was Armand." Mitch shook his head. "He's also cheating on his girlfriend with a society woman, both of whom may be feeling less than warm toward him. And then there are any of his business partners who he may have screwed, including his brother Claud. I haven't read the most recent journal yet. I can only imagine the carnage this jerk may have caused lately."
Newton raised his eyebrows. "His brother is Claud Lewis?"
"Yep."
"I think I might be more afraid of Claud Lewis than I would be of Gio Donatello." Newton chose his words carefully, as always. "Gio can only kill you, and there's no real evidence that he's ever murdered anyone. But Claud can rain you financially, and there's ample evidence that he's done that whenever the spirit moved him."
Mitch thought for a moment. "Can you look into Armand's financial dealings? Especially his dealings with Claud?"
"I can ask around." Newton looked uncomfortable. "It's really none of my business."
Mitch rolled his eyes. "Newton, you're the one who's always saying you want to be a detective, too. If you're a private detective, it's your business to look into things that are none of your business."
"Oh."
"You said you wanted to help with the agency. This is the first time I've had something that involved skills beyond peeping and waiting. This is the good stuff, Newton."
"All right." Newton seemed to gather himself up. "All right. I'll do it."
"It's for a good cause," Mitch comforted him. "I think Armand Lewis died a natural death, but if he didn't, he didn't deserve to be murdered." He cast a doubtful glance at the last diary. "Probably."
"Probably?"
Mitch frowned. "What we have here is a man who has annoyed or hurt everyone he's ever known, and he's known a lot of powerful people. And the beauty of it is, he's written it all down in his diaries. Of course, he thinks it's a scream that he swindled Gio and perfectly understandable that he deserted his own son, but even so—" Mitch picked up the most recent diary "—he wrote it all down in these. Just like Nixon and his tapes. Ego makes people stupid, Newton."
"In that case, the last diary should tell you who killed him," Newton said. "If anybody did."
"That's what's interesting. The last diary is missing."
"Oh."
"Yeah." Mitch propped the 1993 diary on his knees. "If it wasn't for that, I'd say Mabel had lost her grip. But the thing about Mabel is, she may be unreasonably stubborn, but she's not stupid. And she's up to something." Mitch met Newton's eyes. "She's lying to me, Newton. Can you believe it?"
"Just like Brigid," Newton said.
"That's what I'm afraid of," Mitch said.
When Mitch went down to the street to get his car the next morning, all four tires were flat, every one slashed through the rubber. He called the service station, his insurance agent and the police, and then he called Mae. Even over the phone, her voice went right to his spine. Forget it, he told his spine. Then she said, "Hello?" again, and he said, "Someone appears to have stabbed my tires."
"Mr. Peatwick?"
"Call me Mitch, Mabel. It's friendlier. You're going to have to come pick me up."
"All four tires?"
"Yes. I have a sixth sense about these things, and I'm willing to bet you any amount of money that your psycho cousin Carlo killed my tires. I don't think he was listening when you told him to leave me alone."
He heard a sigh on the other end of the line and told his spine to ignore that, too. "I'll pay for the tires," she said.
"Thank you, that won't be necessary. Vandalism is covered by insurance. Now come and get me." He gave her directions and then waited while she wrote them down.
"Uh, Mr. Peatwick?"
"Mitch."
"This is
Newton's face took on the stem disapproval of his Puritan ancestors. "That was stupid."
"That was Armand." Mitch shook his head. "He's also cheating on his girlfriend with a society woman, both of whom may be feeling less than warm toward him. And then there are any of his business partners who he may have screwed, including his brother Claud. I haven't read the most recent journal yet. I can only imagine the carnage this jerk may have caused lately."
Newton raised his eyebrows. "His brother is Claud Lewis?"
"Yep."
"I think I might be more afraid of Claud Lewis than I would be of Gio Donatello." Newton chose his words carefully, as always. "Gio can only kill you, and there's no real evidence that he's ever murdered anyone. But Claud can rain you financially, and there's ample evidence that he's done that whenever the spirit moved him."
Mitch thought for a moment. "Can you look into Armand's financial dealings? Especially his dealings with Claud?"
"I can ask around." Newton looked uncomfortable. "It's really none of my business."
Mitch rolled his eyes. "Newton, you're the one who's always saying you want to be a detective, too. If you're a private detective, it's your business to look into things that are none of your business."
"Oh."
"You said you wanted to help with the agency. This is the first time I've had something that involved skills beyond peeping and waiting. This is the good stuff, Newton."
"All right." Newton seemed to gather himself up. "All right. I'll do it."
"It's for a good cause," Mitch comforted him. "I think Armand Lewis died a natural death, but if he didn't, he didn't deserve to be murdered." He cast a doubtful glance at the last diary. "Probably."
"Probably?"
Mitch frowned. "What we have here is a man who has annoyed or hurt everyone he's ever known, and he's known a lot of powerful people. And the beauty of it is, he's written it all down in his diaries. Of course, he thinks it's a scream that he swindled Gio and perfectly understandable that he deserted his own son, but even so—" Mitch picked up the most recent diary "—he wrote it all down in these. Just like Nixon and his tapes. Ego makes people stupid, Newton."
"In that case, the last diary should tell you who killed him," Newton said. "If anybody did."
"That's what's interesting. The last diary is missing."
"Oh."
"Yeah." Mitch propped the 1993 diary on his knees. "If it wasn't for that, I'd say Mabel had lost her grip. But the thing about Mabel is, she may be unreasonably stubborn, but she's not stupid. And she's up to something." Mitch met Newton's eyes. "She's lying to me, Newton. Can you believe it?"
"Just like Brigid," Newton said.
"That's what I'm afraid of," Mitch said.
When Mitch went down to the street to get his car the next morning, all four tires were flat, every one slashed through the rubber. He called the service station, his insurance agent and the police, and then he called Mae. Even over the phone, her voice went right to his spine. Forget it, he told his spine. Then she said, "Hello?" again, and he said, "Someone appears to have stabbed my tires."
"Mr. Peatwick?"
"Call me Mitch, Mabel. It's friendlier. You're going to have to come pick me up."
"All four tires?"
"Yes. I have a sixth sense about these things, and I'm willing to bet you any amount of money that your psycho cousin Carlo killed my tires. I don't think he was listening when you told him to leave me alone."
He heard a sigh on the other end of the line and told his spine to ignore that, too. "I'll pay for the tires," she said.
"Thank you, that won't be necessary. Vandalism is covered by insurance. Now come and get me." He gave her directions and then waited while she wrote them down.
"Uh, Mr. Peatwick?"
"Mitch."
"This is
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