Page 50 of Deathmarch

“It’s a sad world and getting sadder all the time,” Harper told him, because agreeing with people often made them relax, made them feel like he was on their side. Then he used the sad state of the world to lead into his next move. “I heard you might have been into prepping with Chuck. I’d like to ask some questions about that.”

“Frank Carmelo should keep his big Italian mouth shut.” Grambus harrumphed. “You don’t brag about prepping. Otherwise, when things go bad, people show up to take what you have.”

“Is that why the club was secret?”

“We ain’t no club, for Christ’s sake. What are we, a bunch of knitting old women?”

“Sorry. Not a club, then—”

“Brotherhood,” Grambus said with pride, sitting up straighter.

“I heard you and Lamm weren’t the best of friends. He fired you from the paper mill?”

“He used to be a right asshole.” Grambus nodded. Then he shrugged. “I ended up in long-distance hauling. Made twice what I got at the paper mill, and I saw the country. I could have retired to Florida if I wanted to.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Hotter than two foxes screwing in a wool sock.”

Harper bit back a grin. “So no hard feelings between you and Lamm? Some might think you could have carried a grudge.”

“Bat piss. I’m not saying I didn’t knife his tires in the company parking lot a week after he fired me, but that was that. Hell, I barely remember the paper mill. It’s been forty years.”

Harper took out his notebook and pen. “So, Monday night. Could you tell me where you were between six and eight p.m.?”

Grambus harrumphed again. “Frank told me you’d be askin’ that.”

Sounded like Frank did have a big mouth, Harper thought as he waited for Grambus to answer his question.

“I was home in bed, watchin’ TV, not that there’s anything worth watchin’ these days.”

“Anyone I could ask to confirm?”

“As even the blind could see, I live alone.” The man glared. “And I can tell you right now, I don’t appreciate this line of questionin’.”

Harper didn’t let that deter him and stayed for another fruitless half an hour.

“One last thing,” he said when he was about done. “Do you know Allie Bianchi?”

“I knew her no-good father.” Grambus’s tone spoke of distaste.

“But not the daughter?”

“Didn’t even know he had a daughter.” The man paused, then shrugged. “Or maybe I did, and I forgot.”

“I heard you wanted to replace Chuck and lead the preppers yourself.”

Grambus ground his teeth. “Fuckin’ Frank.”

Harper didn’t correct him. “Did Chuck refuse to call a vote?”

“He didn’t have to call a vote.” Grambus glared. “Not like he was president. We want to vote, we vote. Anybody could call for it. Chuck was too damn controlling by half. Most everyone told me already that they’d rather have me in charge. I was set to call a vote at the next meeting. Would have beaten him seven to three. You can confirm that with the others. They’ll tell you if you ask.”

“All right. I’ll do that.” Harper thanked Grambus for his time, then left, glad to be out of the tropical heat of the apartment.

On his way to his cruiser, he spotted a pickup with a snowplow clearing up the edges of the lot. He veered that way and waved at the driver.Jose Gonzales, the super for the building, was a regular at Finnegan’s with his lovely wife, Martina, who was one of the lunch ladies at the high school cafeteria. Their children were grown and had moved to Philly for jobs. Harper knew the whole family. Kennan used to date one of the daughters.

Jose stopped the pickup and rolled down the window. “Harper. Can I help you?”