Part 27 

 

Seamless dark clouds presented a canopy overhead, the mile plus bicycle ride taking me to my old house. The lawn had not been mowed since I last cut the grass eight months earlier, the gardens untouched. I lingered on the sidewalk, imagining the terrified child sitting on the top step waiting for fate to take her away. I longed for that child, Mrs. Martin, pancakes in a busy basement, people – strangers liking my pretty dress, innocent times in the daylight. A bubble of white light floating in a sea of darkness. 

I could see Lauren Kennedy, my personal bank teller, as a child sitting there, Uncle Gropey on the walk, demanding she go with him. Lauren would have to obey, delivering herself to a nightmare. “What gives you the right?” I wanted to ask Uncle Percy. “What in your thinking gives you the right to rape Lauren?” I wanted to ask Jacob Bancroft. 

“You say banana, I say rape,” I said aloud with a cold snicker. Bancroft was Lauren’s superior. Lauren could not say no. Rape. 

I convoluted my thinking entertaining the idea I gave Locke permission to rape me. 

“Payment for services fucking rendered.” 

The flexing of the wood under my weight spoke in familiar moans. Somehow, the door appeared smaller than I remembered. My knuckles tapped high. 

I waited. Nothing. 

Toes almost to the wall below the door, I pounded with my fist, stepping back. 

The door flung in aggressively. “What?” 

“Uncle Percy?” I blinked repeatedly, trapped between reality and the mindscape. 

The man was well into his forties, a full head over me, white wife-beater tee-shirt, his ample stomach hanging out over the top of his stained gray boxer underwear, black socks, no shoes, fluffy brown hair like a Civic Crown, pale complexion as if he’d never been exposed to the sun, beady brown eyes like Uncle Percy’s sitting bellow busy eyebrows, his bulging lips wet. 

“Who?” 

I stepped back, my hands in front of my face, palms toward the house as if I could block the stench wafting around me like an encroaching fog. “Damn.” 

“What do you want?” he demanded. 

I dropped my hands, resisting the gag reflex. “I own this property now.” 

“Gus Avery owns it.” 

“Your brother.” The family resemblance was undeniable. 

“Yes.” 

“No. I mean yes, he’s your brother, no I own the property. I wanted to discuss your new lease.” 

“I don’t have a lease.” 

“That’s the point.” I symbolically glanced left then right. “I want this property cleaned up, you know, like human beings live here.” 

“Huh?” 

“I’ll draw up a rental agreement outlining your responsibilities. In thirty days, I’ll have a property inspector come through to see what maintenance and repairs I need do for health and safety.” I considered the porch ceiling. “Rent will be $600 a month, due on the first. I’m going to need two month’s rent security deposit by Monday.” 

His glazed eyes watched me for an eternity. “Is that all?” 

“That about covers it.” 

“Go fuck yourself, little girl.” He slammed the door like my mother would. 

I shrugged. “I was planning to, tonight.” 

 

I really wanted rain, a good driving rain that would challenge my campfire skills. OK. I wanted to dance in my sanctuary. The air was wet, almost not not raining. 

“Toby,” Officer Martin greeted from behind the chest high counter. 

“Officer Martin. I need some serving and protecting advice.” 

“You’ve come to the right place.” 

“Let’s say someone buys a real estate property and the property has squatters.” 

“Is there a lease?” 

“Literally. What I said.” 

“What property are we talking about?” a voice intruded from behind. 

I turned, looking up, shrugging. The man was well in his sixties, black hair in a crew cut, obviously dyed, ashen complexion, gray eyebrows, hazel eyes, stocky, overfilling his uniform. 

“Chief Meyers, this is Toby,” Martin said. 

Meyers narrowed his eyes down on me. “You do lawns in the neighborhood.” 

“Register business and everything.” 

“Oh, I’ve heard nothing but good things about you.” 

“Like knocking Mr. Thomas’ property off your nuisance list.” I wondered about the conversations Meyers and Gus Avery had about my attempted murder and the Newton property being on the nuisance list. 

“Tom has said good things about you. Very professional. Which property?” 

“Oh, nothing specific. My best friend’s father is looking to invest.” 

“Why’s he not here asking?” 

“He’s not looking hard. I was on my way by.” 

“Well, generally. We like to ask nicely first. A court order to evict is required. Serve, wait sixty days, then the County evicts.” 

“Trespassing is legal?” 

“If the property had been abandoned –” 

“I get the idea. Maybe I’ll suggest he invest in stamps.” 

 

I figured a new record search would reveal just how hard I fucked myself with hidden loans or leans on the property, having bought a pig in a poke. 

 

“I don’t understand what you did,” Jane snapped at me. 

Shawn, sitting at the desk, said, “I told you. I can’t explain what I don’t understand.” 

I kept Jane’s eyes. “I bought all the debt, business and personal. Bottom line, I own Royal Taxi and Limousine Service.” 

“Seems I missed that meeting.” 

“I have a file this thick.” I demonstrated with my fingers. “That I have to wade through before I can fully understand. The cab company was in receivership. You no longer owned it. I didn’t need you in the meeting.” 

“How can that be?” 

“It’s all shady, illegal, they’re all corrupt, even the judge who signed off on the order, a judge who I can’t wait to identify.” 

“If it come to – that – do you promise me a story?” 

“I do. With arm waving and wide eying.” 

Jane released a long sigh, more like a moan. “Where do we go from here? I see you already have me training my replacement.” 

“I tried to explain –” Shawn began. 

I revealed a business size white envelope from my bag. “I’m hoping you stay. Do what you’re doing. Dispatch, scheduling, payroll. Shawn’s going to be taking the books away from you.” 

“I am?” 

“Friday’s going to be payday.” I offered. Jane took the envelope. 

Teetering on her crutches, she fingered the bills. Twice. “For the month?” 

“For the week. Comments, questions, criticisms?” 

“Eh, wow, not right now.” 

“All I really need now is your yes.” 

“Yes.” 

“We need to talk.” 

“Are you breaking up with me?” I answered Shawn. 

“Eh, no?” 

“If no one’s dying, we can talk later.” With a graceful pivot, I said, “Good morning, Mr. Peters.” 

“Eh, Bat is fine, Toby.” 

I offered a ballet-like arm motion indicating behind me. “Shawn Beedle. My number one. When Shawn says a thing to you, it’s like me saying it.” 

“Shawn,” Peters said, a slight nod. “Understood.” 

Shawn stood. “Mr. Peters.” 

Peters produced an envelope. “We need to talk, privately.” 

“You plucked the thought right out of my head. Put the tribute back in your pocket. We’re going to amend our agreement. Outside.” 

I turned back to Jane. “Our drivers, starting today. Fifty percent of meter.” 

“Shouldn’t you or Shawn be making that announcement?” 

“I don’t want anyone for even a second think that you’re not the boss. I have no intention of undercutting your authority.” 

She nodded. 

 

Peters had pulled his collar up against the almost rain. “We can talk in my car.” 

I shrugged. “I’m good.” 

“I wanted to first apologize.” 

“For?” 

“I had no idea who you are.” 

I shrugged. 

“I mean, no one knows about Hemingway. To know I work for them.” He rolled his head, whistling.  

I shrugged again. “You’re off the hook with the taxi company.” 

His right eyebrow crooked. 

“I was just making a point.” Fishing in my bag, I produced a list. “I am not morally opposed to protection. Everyone needs to make a living. I’m assuming you’re unaware of the situation Jane was in, leveraged out so far, she was one flat tire away from living on the street, shaking a cup in front of the market to scrounge up dinner.” 

“Yes. I didn’t know that.” 

I’m so sure. I narrowed my eyes. “It’d take a real fucking asshole to rip off poor people. You’re not a real fucking asshole, are you?” 

“I suspect you have a point here somewhere.” 

I showed him the list. “I underlined the businesses who can’t afford to pay protection and don’t you dare roll your eyes at me.” 

“What are you saying?” 

“I’m saying you’re to stop taking tribute from those I’ve marked. They’re under my protection now.” 

“Well, ah – I’m not even going to ask how you got these names.” 

“Count yourself lucky I’m not demanding restitution. I really don’t get the value in all this nickel and diming.” 

“Death by a thousand cuts. Ten bucks a week won’t make me rich, but a thousand of them will. As you are well aware since you have this list, Hemingway takes a piece of the pie.” 

“Now, Mr. Peters, that makes sense.” 

“I assume, then, my apology is good?” 

“Yes. We’re good. How are you with our new arraignment?” 

“It’ll work just fine. Just between you and me. No need to involve them. I can make explanations.” 

I did not cock an eyebrow or ask him what the fuck he was talking about. “I need a favor.” 

His eyebrow went up again. 

“I have a property. 1317 Newton, other side of town.” 

“I do business up the street.” 

“The gas station on the highway.” 

“Sabbie.” 

“There’s a man I wouldn’t mind missing a few payments.” 

“I know what you’re saying. I’ve heard stories.” 

I wanted to ask Peters if he had a bridge too far, a boys will be boys he’d not let pass. “I have squatter.” 

“1317 Newton.” 

“Yes. Would you be so kind?” 

“I will, Toby, do you this as a favor. Having bank with someone like you is always to my benefit.” 

Someone like me I puzzled almost aloud watching Peters hurry into his black Lincoln Town Car limousine as if being pummeled with rain. 

“Toby,” came from behind me. “Jane told me about The Bat.” 

“Bartholomew Peters. Bat is his nickname.” I turned, Shawn close. “He’s got a protection racket going on.” 

“Jane said. He works for us now? We’re running protection?” 

I shrugged. “I’d never run protection like he does, taking money for nothing.” 

“Jane was saying.” 

“Well, it’s not for nothing.” 

“Yeah, pay him else he’ll take a bat to a windshield.” 

I shrugged again. “I like to think he’s protecting businesses from bigger assholes than himself.” 

“I’d like to think that, too. Anyway.” 

“Anyway.” I rolled my eyes. “Back to we need to talk.” 

“No one’s dying.” She presented a postcard size paper. I was thinking it’s not a great idea to just drop food on doorsteps.” 

I closed my eyes. “Probably not, huh?” 

“That’s a rough draft, to go with the dinners.” 

I glanced the postcard, a basic questionnaire. 

“They can affirm they wish to continue getting meals.” 

“And if they need more. Good idea.” 

“I’m gathering the list, going to visit each, explain 1 Bread.” 

“Not just drop food on a doorstep. Another good idea.” 

“I’m sure some people won’t be comfortable with –” 

“I get that, too. I just never thought of it.” I pursed my lips. “For a person who is neurotic about overpreparing, 1 Bread is a mess. It’s Cassandra’s fault.” 

“My Cassandra? How’s that?” 

“She has that dance class. Helps out children with no means like she did with me when she did the church thing years ago.” 

“I’m vaguely familiar.” 

“I asked for the list. She said she can’t share personal information like that with just anyone off the street. 1 Bread dropped out of the sky from there, more an idea chasing a plan.” 

“I’ll get things tidied up.” 

“We need a business plan.” 

“I’m an art major.” 

“I need a camping trip.” 

“You need quiet time on the Lazy Boy with Pam.” 

“So much to read, so little time. Tonight, around ten. At the Commodore. Bring Pam.” 

“Room 2204. Give me a few minutes to wrap up with Jane. We’ll get those lawns done.” 

“I’m good. I shall bow to the rain, mow another day.” 

“You’re going to sanctuary.” 

“I’ve become too predictable.” 

“That’s not a bad thing.” 

“I have stalkers.” 

 

For thirty minutes, nothing existed beyond the fire’s dancing fingers painted on the surrounding trees, my identify lost, Antoinette my perfect counterbalance. 

“Thank you,” came from across the fire. 

Having dressed, I wasn’t ready to let go, sitting on my log, narrowing my eyes. “You always talk to me through the fire.” 

“Not always.” 

“The Pines. You sat next to me. We held hands. I could smell you.” 

“What did I smell like?” 

“Wet wool and snow.” 

She giggled. 

“You talking through the fire. If I believed such things, I could mistake you for God.” 

“God?” 

“You know, like in the Bible. God talked to Moses.” I waved my hand at the not rain. “That’s just a story. What that story does tell me is that back then, there were people who had conversations with fires, thinking it God.” 

“Just like this?” 

I shrugged. 

“This place isn’t safe.” 

“Isn’t safe?” 

“For me.” 

“You can’t really be here, so you hide behind the fire?” 

She returned my shrug. 

“I need a camping trip.” 

“You promised.” 

“To fill the grave.” 

Antoinette was gone and as always, I doubted she was ever there. “More of gravy than grave.” 

 

“Mr. Falcon,” I said into the phone. 

“Miss Blanc,” he answered. “Are you in the shower?” 

“Almost. Such a perfect gloomy rainy day, I’d thought I’d wash my hair.” 

“What can I do for you?” 

“Do we have an updated business plan?” 

“We do. The ink is still wet.” 

“I’d like to see it, you, and Jessica around ten tonight.” 

“Are we going to be needing Mr. Stenholm at this meeting?” 

“We are not.” 

 

With my solitude assured, I showered with the bathroom door open, a simple pleasure few people could understand. Sleeping with my bedroom door not only closed but locked annoyed me. Naked, soft blue towel over my shoulders, I lunched on buttered toast and tea. 

 

Jeans, boots, pink hooded sweatshirt, I took the stairs. The eight minute train ride underground was enough desensitizing for a month. Through the glass doors, I greeted Jennifer Reeves with, “Why did you roll your eyes when you saw me.” 

“Uh, Toby. Hi. Nice weather we’re having.” 

“I could do with some serious rain instead of this tease. Rollie eyes?” 

She stood from behind the desk. “It’s, well, most people make an appointment.” 

“Protocol. I wasn’t raised by human beings. I will make that note.” I clocked the much-too-bright spacious room. “No office yet, I see.” 

The buzzer yelped from the desk, followed by, “You may send her in, Miss Reeves.” 

“Men.” I gave Reeves my own eye roll. “I came to see you, actually.” 

“I’m not a lawyer, Toby.” 

“You’re a legal assistant. You can assist me legally.” 

“It doesn’t work that way.” 

“You were perfect in the room yesterday.” 

“Again, and I repeat: I am not a show dog.” 

I spread my arms, palms up. “Yet here you are, desk front and center facing the entrance.” 

She resisted the eye roll, biting her lip instead. 

I blinked fast a half dozen times, tilting my head a bit to the right. “Are you gay, Miss Reeves?” 

“What? Toby. Protocol. You don’t just blurt out a question like that.” 

I shrugged. “I wasn’t asking for me.” 

“Still.” 

The buzzer buzzed the annoy yelp again. “Miss Reeves?” 

“I’d better, huh?” 

“I didn’t mean it that way.” 

“Get your pad and pencil.” 

 

“Mr. Stenholm,” I greeted, dropping to the small sofa, Reeves just inside the door. 

“Hello, Toby. Always good to see you.” He glanced Reeves. 

“Yeah, yeah. Good to be seen, all that.” 

“Look at you. All serious today.” 

I narrowed my eyes. “Did Miss Reeves read you in? You’re aware I bounced off a windshield when someone put a hit out on me?” 

“Yes. Terrible business.” 

“Shit like that tends to take the shine off my Dale Carnegie shtick. Anyway, Mr. Stenholm, I’d be glad to work the room if it’d make you feel more comfortable.”  

 He cut the air with a single hand motion. “That won’t be necessary.” 

“Good. Acting the show dog gets tiresome.” 

“Miss Reeves. We’re good. You may go,” Stenholm said flatly. 

“Miss Reeves, you may stay. Sit, relax.” 

“I’ll decide –” 

“This specifically concerns her.” 

Reeves looked toward Stenholm. He nodded. 

“Firstly. Who has access to my complete file?” 

“Just me,” Stenholm answered as Reeves dropped down on the other side of the sofa. 

I answered with a cocked eyebrow. 

“Oh, Jennifer only has access to what I thought would apply to the specific task she’s doing.” 

“Sidebar. I’m Miss Reeves’ specific task. She’s to have complete assess. Don’t read her in. Hand her the file.” 

“You’re the boss.” 

“Now we’re understanding each other, even with the sarcasm. How secure in my file?” 

“Locked in a cabinet.” 

“How many people have a key?” 

“Huh? I don’t know.” He considered the ceiling. 

“Eighteen,” Reeves answered. 

“You did that in your head?” I asked. 

“I get that a lot.” 

“So do I.” Glaring at Stenholm, I said, “So, not secure at all?” 

“I’ll correct that before you cross the lobby.” 

“How?” 

“Eh.” He looked at his hands. 

“Someone took a good shot at murdering me employing information he should not have been privy to. Not information from here. I believe my bank. I need details.” 

“My desk.” He pulled a drawer out. “Locked.” He nodded behind me. “That door will be locked when I’m not in the room. Door to the offices is locked when we go home. Building has security after hours. Details enough?” 

“How confidential is my confidential file?” 

“Since I have your consent for Jennifer to have complete assess, her and I will be the only two people to see the entire file.” 

“Others as needed for specific tasks?” 

“That’s how a law firm works.” 

I watched his eyes. “There was a time you dropped Richard Serling’s confidential file on my lap. I took it home with me.” 

“Well, Toby, he’s not our client.” 

“He was, then he wasn’t. If I become not your client, do you then hand my file around like Halloween candy?” 

“Eh, no, the file remains confidential.” 

“Serling piss you off or something?” 

“Special circumstances.” 

“If everything isn’t confidential, then nothing is confidential.” 

“Toby. You have my word.” 

“I’ll take your word. For now. How compartmental is the sharing of my file.” 

“I’m not sure –” 

“James Clark. Pulled my brother’s tit out of the wringer. Does Clark know who I really am?” 

“All Clark knows is what he had to know to do that work.” 

Stenholm watched Reeves into a long silence. “Jennifer doesn’t know who you really are. That’s not in your file, if you recall.” 

I released a long sigh. “I see what you just did there.” 

“Well, when you insist someone is in the room.” 

“I get that. OK. Here’s what I have. I’d like to have a lawyer on retainer separate from me. It needs to be as confidential as possible.” 

“Specifics?” 

“I was hoping to put this in Miss Reeves lap.” 

He pursed his lips. “Jennifer is just a legal assistant. All her lawyering is done under my umbrella.” 

“Miss Reeves is smart enough to know when she needs help.” 

“Still. My name’s on her work. The firm’s name is on her work. We’re responsible for everything she does. That’s the only way she can even lawyer without the proper credentials. So, who needs this lawyer?” 

“Me, or rather another me.” 

He rolled his eyes. 

“I’m a private detective, Mr. Stenholm, working on a caper.” 

“Does anyone say caper anymore?” 

“I just did.” 

“Given your age, you can’t be a private detective.” 

“I’ll be working under someone else’s umbrella.” 

“Oh?” 

“Richard Serling.” 

“You’re kidding?” 

I handed off my identification package to Reeves. 

“Miss Reeves –” 

“I wish you’d call me Jennifer.” 

“OK. Jennifer. I’d like you to take a dinner meeting tonight. Seven sharp. The Commadore.” 

“Concerning?” 

“Jacop Knapp wants to buy gown designs from a friend of mine.” 

“Hold that thought.” She hurried from the room. 

“Is it dangerous?” Stenholm asked. 

“If I’m not careful. Very.” 

Reeves returned, placing a newspaper on the desk. 

“Artemis Grimes. On the front page.” 

“Below the fold.” 

“It would seem, unlike you, Miss Grimes doesn’t care to keep a low profile.” 

“I’ll be infiltrating a quagmire, Mr. Stenholm.” 

“You mean Artemis Grimes will be infiltrating a quagmire.” 

I may have smirked with a rare show of arrogance. “Because that’s the way the universe sometimes works, to get to our target, I may have to crawl across the cadaver of Hemingway Associates.” 

Reeves whispered my entire birthname. “You’re dead.” 

“I get that a lot.” 

 

“Mr. Hudson,” I greeted. 

He narrowed his eyes at me from behind the hotel desk. “Eh, oh, Miss Grimes.” 

“Casual day.” 

“I see that. You don’t look like you.” 

“A woman of many faces. I want to settle up.” 

He placed a large brown sealed envelope on the desk. “You have nothing to settle up.” 

“I’m sure –” 

“Mrs. French has taken care of all your expenses while you’re with us.” 

I failed to not telegraph my surprise. 

“She’s taken an interest in you.” 

I gave a sharp nod, taking the envelope and my room key. My right eyebrow may have twitched. 

He projected puzzled. “That’s a good thing, Miss Grimes. She owns the Commadore.” 

“Intriguing, Mr. Hudson.” 

“How so?” 

“No front man.” 

He chuckled mischievously. “You will discover Mrs. French is special among women.” 

 

I took the stairs because the exercise would do me good and I was deer-in-the-headlights terrified of the elevator even after my encounter with Mr. Hudson. 

As I dropped my clothes wherever, glancing each sheet, I spread the eighty-four pages on the table, sofa, bed, and finally the floor. Naked, I gathered the six pages with reference to me. My name had been redacted as were many. 

Even with the redactions, I could tell Michael Borrows was not mentioned anywhere, nor were the eight properties jointly owned by Locke and Borrows. “Curiouser and curiouser,” I said, laying out my makeup. I did not take Borrows for being that smart. 

The recorded total of the missing money was roughly half of what I stole. “This has to be a test.” 

I decided on the first dress Charlotte made for me, the black silk with flowing red flowers and green vines, white silk underwear, three-inch sandals, white floppy hat with the red silk hatband. 

 

“You terrify and excite me,” Charlotte Clift whispered into my ear on the busy sidewalk in front of the Commodore. She wore a simple button front cotton dress breaking at the waist, dropping just above the knee, broad white collar, cuffs on long sleeves to match, black modest pumps. 

We hung onto each other like a mother might a child the child leaving for her first day of school. 

“Have you decided what you want?” 

We broke, holding hands, turning toward the hotel. 

“I can’t, eh, Artemis, not in that way.” 

I chuckled inappropriately. “I was speaking of Mr. Knapp.” 

An elderly man in a smart red uniform opened the door, tipping his hat, Charlotte stopped. “Now I’m embarrassed.” 

I stepped us in motion again. “I’ll feed you drinks, ask that question after dinner.” 

“Three. I’ll dance on a table.” 

“I’m kidding.” 

“I know.” 

We stopped halfway across the lobby, close, facing each other. “Mr. Knapp.” 

“I’m still lost in this fantasy world of yours. I can’t imagine. I keep coming around to the possibility that Mr. Knapp is kidding.” 

“I feel our Mr. Knapp is in love with getting attention.” 

“Meaning what? He’s not serious?” 

“I would not waste your time.” 

She rolled her eyes. “This, whatever, is not a waste of time. Just being here.” She paused, her mouth open. “Wow. What a beautiful woman. I would love to dress her.” 

I glanced the entrance behind me. “Let me introduce you.” 

“What?” 

Jennifer Reeves wore a business suit, dark gray, skirt below the knee. Having changed clothes, dressing for the meeting told me she took me seriously. She looked at me, looked away, then back, raking me up and down as she approached. “If I were your mother –” 

“I’d likely be at home, watching TV, playing house with my Barbie. Jennifer Reeves, Charlotte Clift.” 

Reeves switched her brown briefcase from his right to her left hand as I released Charlotte. They did the trite pleased to meet, how do you do. 

Entering the restaurant, Charlotte and Reeves spoke of nothing as people often do. I trailed close behind not wishing to lead, avoiding the impression I had an entourage. 

Jacop Knapp hurried from his chair, a prominent table front and center near the entrance, taking Charlotte up in a phoned-in pyramid hug, fake kissing her cheeks. I passed on the ritual with a subtle palm toward him at my chest. 

“Jennifer Reeves,” I introduced. “Miss Reeves. My legal representation.” 

“I would have thought you a model!” 

Reeves and I rolled our eyes at each other.  

Charlotte dropped to Knapp’s right, Reeves to his left. I hovered. “Bowl of French fries, beef gravy, please,” I said to Charley, an elderly man sharply dressed in a semiformal tuxedo, no jacket. 

“Very good. The usual from the bar?” 

“Yes.” I addressed the table. “Eat, enjoy dinner on me.” 

“You’re leaving?” Charlotte said, tone dripping with surprise and disappointment. 

“Not for long.” 

Knapp twirled a finger in the air. 

I spun around once. 

“One of yours?” he asked Charlotte. 

 

I worked around the tables, making my way to the back of the room, sitting on the bench seat across from Christeen French, keeping her eyes, picking a half-eaten dinner roll from her plate, biting, returning the roll. 

She tried to be dismissive, her tone shouting distain at my show of dominance. “Hello, Artemis.” 

“Never, Mrs. French, that is never give me snappy fingers.” 

She came close to giving me that well, I never face. “I wanted to be sure you saw me.” 

“I have a business diner with Jacop Knapp.” 

She stopped me half out of my seat. 

“What we talked about. The file. What do you think?” 

I dropped back down, rolling my eyes. “I did the eye roll intentionally, Mrs. French. I do not particularly care for snappy fingers, and I really don’t like being trifled with.” 

“Trifled with? My dear Miss Grimes –” 

“I’ll be checking out in the morning. I would appreciate a bill, a full accounting. I am not a plaything or a show dog. I do not do tricks.” 

She sat back, her fingertips touching just below her chin, her hands like a spider doing pushup on a vertical mirror, her eyes much like mine sat behind my reflection in her glasses. “I really don’t know what you mean.” 

I glanced the distance. Reeves was laughing. 

“You asked for my opinion on how to solve a problem, yet you give me half the information I need. You want to know what the puzzle looks like, yet you only give me half the pieces.” 

“Very good. You exceed my expectations.” 

“I repeat: Not a show dog. I don’t do tricks.” 

“In a business like ours, you must earn your place.” 

I narrowed my eyes. “I’ve built a thousand houses, and you want me to audition by replacing a sash cord?” 

“You don’t look old enough –” 

I waved my hand toward the room. “That’s my lawyer. She doesn’t look the part.” I narrowed my eyes again. “You don’t look like a person who wields the power you do, and I’m not talking about owning this hotel.” 

“I can now see why you were disowned by your family.” 

“I’ve never played well with others. I think it was little Johnny Barnes. I was two, he was four. In the sandbox. He decided he should have my bucket. I decided not. He threw sand in my face, took the bucket.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Boys will be boys.” 

“Until they’re not. Eight years later. Terrible accident under the Cub tractor.” I stood. “I’ll be checking out in the morning. I want a full accounting.” 

“Artemis –” 

“As to your problem. From what little you gave me. This Locke character stole your money. With help, at least given by the accountant who put the numbers together and most likely help from someone outside your, eh, hotel business. They obviously stole much more than is recorded in that report, placing a huge arrow pointing at your accountant. The money, as I said last night, is gone, maybe in real estate, more likely gold or stamps.” 

“Stamps?” 

“Lighter than gold, avoids the complication of property management. Diamonds are a solid investment, too. I have a couple of pieces myself.” 

French released a long sigh, keeping my eyes. “Do you have a recommendation?” 

“If I were you, I’d put everyone suspected under my Cub tractor. Maybe an intimate diner party nobody leaves from. Good thing for them I’m not you. Also, that wouldn’t get your money back.” I symbolically scanned the room. “Which you obviously don’t need. Sure, the stolen money will put a dent in your budget, but you don’t need it, which makes the quest vanity as opposed to necessity.” 

“Would you be willing to have a talk with Bill Locke, others?” 

“Oh, my Mrs. French. I am not an animal. I don’t do that sort of thing. Dark room, bright light in his face. Maybe a phonebook. So cliché, so archaic, so beneath me. Your money is gone. Too many people have their fingers in it.” 

I glanced my party again, Knapp, Reeves, and Charlotte all laughing. For an instant, I wished I could be a person at that table, a human being just being. 

“No sense wishing for what could never be.” 

“I beg your pardon.” 

“Discover who this character is who helped Locke. Backdate him – or her – on your payroll. Since both are valuable employees, you have a legitimate requirement to protect your investment with life insurance policies. Half million on each. Term would be cheap enough. When they meet with their untimely demise, you’ll have your money back.” 

“Come work for me.” 

“I don’t play well with others.” 

“Independent contractor?” 

“With a heavy emphasis on independent. I repeat: Not a show dog. Not a plaything. Not to be trifled with.” 

She offered her right hand. “Shake on it?” 

“We’re certainly not going to hug.” 

 

My hand came gently to Charlotte’s shoulder, her hand over mine. I nodded to Reeves across the table. 

“Your friends are delightful!” Knapp said. 

Charley appeared with my French fries and iced tea in the short glass, ice, two cherries. “Anything else for now?” he asked the table. 

Compliments on the food flowed. 

I sat, an interloper at my own dinner meeting. 

“We have it all worked out,” Reeves told me, raising her yellow pad. 

I shrugged. “You certainly don’t need my approval. If Charlotte’s happy and you approve, I’m good.” 

“Oh, Artemis, I’m very happy.” 

“We should get champagne!” Knapp suggested. 

“I’m driving,” Reeved declined. 

“I’m good,” Charlotte raised her Manhattan. 

“I avoid clichés whenever I can.” 

“You girls are no fun!” He feigned a pout. “The night is young!” 

“The morning comes early,” Reeves said, placing her briefcase on the table, stowing the yellow pad, climbing to her feet. “Char?” 

“Sure, thanks.” She stood. “Oh, Jen is taking me home,” Charlotte said to me, adding, “To my home, she’s dropping me off!” 

Accepting Charlotte subtle invitation, I joined her for a lingering hug almost into embarrassment. “Thanks for everything.” Her breath caressed my ear, her natural scent of damp hickory filling my head. Just for a fleeting glance I pondered how many drinks she had. 

Knapp took Charlotte from me with his flamboyant ritual of fake hug and cheek kisses. 

Reeves came close behind. “Are we going to hug?” 

“No,” I said without turning. 

“I think I get you.” 

I shrugged. “So few do.” 

“I look forward to the day when we do hug.” 

“Nothing personal. I don’t give out my hugs like Halloween candy.” 

“I understand why. I’m going back to the office, get the contract drawn up.” 

“I like your work ethic.” 

 

Knapp and I returned to our chairs across from each other at the small table. 

“Champagne?” he asked. 

I shrugged dismissively. 

“I know you don’t drink.” 

“I never claimed to.” 

“Well, your fake Manhattans.” 

“I never claimed my drink was a Manhattan. Even if I did, I don’t see why you’d think it so sinister.” 

“I didn’t say it was sinister. Just curious is all. You fascinate me. I thought you and Char were a thing.” 

“What kind of thing would that be, Mr. Knapp?” 

“Call me Jacop.” 

“I think not, Mr. Knapp.” 

“That was shrewd. I could have taken her to the cleaners.” 

“Charlotte or preferably Miss Clift. Not Char or her.” 

He pursed his lips. “I should have guessed you one of them.” 

I laughed, more like a dark snicker. “All this time, I knew you were one of them, which is why I invited my lawyer. You call it shrew. I call it obvious.” I leaned forward, eyes wide. “Why, gee, Jacop, a man taking advantage of a woman. No one could have seen that coming.” 

“I guess I can forget about you coming up to my room.” 

“Did you get a fair deal?” 

“Jen’s a shark. Never would have guessed. Yes. I got a fair deal, Char makes out good, too.” 

I held his eyes. “I’m pleased, Mr. Knapp. If Miss Reeves weren’t along and you managed to fuck Miss Clift, then I would have had to kill you.” 

He didn’t blink, staring for ten seconds into eternity. “You didn’t roll your eyes.” 

I smirked, working from the chair, Charley appearing out of nowhere. “Thank you,” I told the waiter, placing two twenties in his palm. 

“Oh, thank you.” 

“A bottle of champagne for Mr. Knapp.” 

“Very good.” Charley bowed, turned, hurrying off. 

“Thanks,” Knapp said with little enthusiasm. 

“Tomorrow night. Mrs. French’s table.” 

“Wouldn’t miss it.” 

 

The door whispered a soft click, Artemis Grimes watching me from the mirror as I walked across the room in the dim light. Artemis laughed in the elevator, I think at me. I did not understand why I was terrified of the elevator, yet Artemis was not, yet I am Artemis, yet I’m not. A gentle tapping on the door rescued me from the spiraling confusion. 

“Richard,” I greeted. 

“Toby.” He pushed his way in. 

“Someone chasing you?” 

“I didn’t wish to be seen.” 

“Oh, cloak and dagger.” 

The door closed, securing us in dimness. 

“Didn’t pay the light bill?” 

“I like hiding in the dark.” 

“On the front page of the newspaper?” 

I shrugged. “Well, I do need to establish the identity. Anyway, and don’t take this wrong. It’s always wonderful to see you. That’s half sarcasm. You’re growing on me. I have a meeting in an hour.” 

“This won’t take long. Bartholomew Peters stopped in to see me. Never stops in. He always calls.” 

“The Bat has little time to make nice, which I actually like in a person, no small talk, all his time spent out and about shaking down poor people.” 

“Oh, he wasn’t making nice. He wanted me to do a deep background on you. He suspects there’s more to you than just a kid who mows lawns.” 

“Child. I’m not a baby goat. He’s quick on the uptake, that Peters.” 

“I gave it a day or so, then got back to him. I told him Antoinette Blanc was dead, the identity a complete fabrication.” 

“Baffle him with the truth. Nice move.” 

“I led him into the forest, he created the tree.” 

“Oh, pray tell, what trees did he create.” 

“That you’re a spook.” 

“Huh? A ghost?” 

“Deep operative. He guessed you’re an independent problem solver for different organizations, likely an assassin.” 

“That explains why he was kissing my boots this morning. I was almost embarrassed.” 

“You saw him?” 

“He found me, wanted to apologize.” 

“For?” 

“Not knowing who I am.” 

“We can lead a man to the forest –” 

“Or woman. Somehow Lillian French got the impression I’m a somebody who can help her with a personnel problem. She was impressed by how I play cards and mug at fashion shows. It’s a hard read. I’m guessing she sees me as the daughter she never had, maybe her younger self, who she can nurture like she was never nurtured.” 

“Do you know who she is?” 

“I do.” 

“With all the assets at her disposal –” 

“That’s the problem. She needs an outsider. Somehow, I guess over years, she’s not watched the foxes in the henhouse close enough.” 

“The rot is from within. No surprise there. All this will get you in the backroom at Redman’s Bar and Grill?” 

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, Serling, to see who Reginald Abner might be diddling so the Mrs. can crack the prenup. Is Reginald’s life insurance paid up to date? Olivia still the beneficiary? How about the will? Has Reginald made any changes?” 

“I’m not sure. I can check. What’s this got to do –” 

“Reggie works for Hemingway.” 

“I wasn’t sure. Hemingway is a tough nut.” 

“French dropped Bill Locke’s file on my lap. That’s the personnel problem she wants help with.” 

“Holy fuck. Talk about karma.” 

“I’m cautiously pleased with the universe at the moment, though I glance over my shoulder often.” 

“Something about a light and a tunnel.”  

I rolled my eyes. “Locke had help on the inside. Looks like the plan was to take the money and run ahead of the indictments. They weren’t aware the indictments wouldn’t fly. I suspect a deal French cut, which couldn’t have been cheap. In my spare time, I want to scare up the judge and others involved.” 

“You gummed up those works.” 

“I did, though they have some money in real estate and jewelry, that’s not the kind of money you can run with.” 

“Jewelry?” 

“You don’t miss much.” 

He narrowed his eyes in the dim room. “Who’s this inside man?” 

“Lillian French’s, which is to say Hemingway’s head accountant. Reginald Abner.” 

“I need a drink.” 

“Would that get us the payday? Reginald dead?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Check the will. Check the life insurance.” 

“I’m not sure she’s even going to pay.” 

“You didn’t get money up front?” 

Serling appeared the scolded puppy. “We’re on contingency. This woman is a Siren.” 

“I can’t wait to meet her. Olivia doesn’t pay, I’ll kill her, too.” 

“I can never tell when you’re kidding.” 

“Look at this face. This is my not kidding face.” 

He looked to his shoes, then caught my eyes. “You remember the day we met all those years ago?” 

“It’s only been weeks. That backwater gin mill.” 

“Of all the gin mills in all the world.” 

“That was a fun day.” 

“Did you know? About my depression?” 

“I did not. I was looking for a bottom feeder whose loyally I could easily buy, who’d do what I ask, no question.” 

He blushed, slightly, keeping my eyes. “You waltz through my door a tonic for my damaged soul. The past twenty-five years. Lost. Bottom feeder is a fair assessment, more out of laziness than malicious intent. Laziness is not the right word.” 

“Apathy.” 

“Apathy is the exactly right word. The things I did haunt me. Easier not to care.” 

“The war.” 

“You are the first human contact I’ve made. I mean, well, I’ve had contact with people, but nothing, eh –” 

“Real and true, I call it.” 

He glanced the ceiling, then came back to my eyes. “First human contact, real and true. Yes, that’s it.” 

“Not without a good sprinkling of irony.” 

“What is?” 

“For many reasons, in many ways, I not only doubt my humanity, I also doubt I’m a human being.” 

“How’s that?” 

“That’s a conversation for another time. I want to run down to the kitchen. I’d like you to stay. For my meeting.” 

“Eh?” 

“I’d like you to meet the most important people in my life, and them met you.” 

He blinked hard twice. “I’m stunned.” 

I avoided the shrug. “You are not what I thought. You are not what I expected. I repeat: You’ve grown on me.” 

“If I may offer a bit of conjecture.” 

“You may.” 

“That first day with your it’s a matter of life and death, I pegged you for a drama queen, an easy mark with too much money.” 

“I must admit, that was way too much fun.” 

“Even before you left my office, I realized you must be an angel.” 

“Maybe a demon.” 

“Maybe. The thing is, my conjecture, Toby, is that we understand each other. In this chaotic world hellbent on spinning its way to hell, that’s a rare gift.” 

“People like us, who have looked in the eye the worst human beings have to offer and didn’t flinch.” 

“People like us.” 

 

A familiar face came out of the activity. “Miss Grimes?” 

“Hi, Johnny.” 

“Lost?” 

“Why do you ask?” 

“This is the kitchen. We don’t have a card game here.” 

I shrugged dismissively. “I wanted to get a coffee cart up to my room.” 

“Coffee cart?” 

“There’ll be six of us. I thought that would be easier.” 

“You could have called down.” 

“I like the elevator ride.” 

“Sandwiches? Hors d'oeuvres?” 

“How about donuts?” 

He rolled his eyes. “Assorted pastries, it is. I’ll put something together for you.” 

 

Pamala hung onto me as if the world killer comet were to strike the earth at any moment. “Oh, if only I could stay the night.” 

“Closing out the books.” 

“Yes!” 

“Plus a big night.” 

“I wish you’d come.” 

“I have my own big night planned.” 

Pamala released me to Shawn. “There’s a man in the room,” she whispered in my ear. 

“Yes, there is.” 

Pamala flung the door open, taking Jessica up in a hug. “Hi, Butch,” she said over Jessica’s shoulder. 

Amongst the greeting and hugging, Jessica nodded toward balcony. “There’s a man in the room.” 

With the beckoning of my hand like a bird’s wings flapping, Serling came over. I introduced everyone in turn, which initiated rote greetings. 

I handed out his business card. “Richard Serling is my private detective. If any shit breaks loose, he’s your first call, even before the police.” 

“What kind of shit?” Falcon asked. 

Pamala stepped forward. “Mr. Serling.” She curtsied. “That you are in the room, this room, now, with us, makes you a very important person to me. Brace yourself. We’re going to hug.” 

I winked at Serling. “She’s a hugger.” 

 

Everyone squeezed in around the table, Serling loomed, Jessica distributed folders, I distributed coffee. 

“What’s this?” Shawn asked. 

“Business plan,” Jessica answered. 

Shawn narrowed her eyes at me. 

I shrugged. “Easier to show than tell.” 

“Huh?” Jessica asked. 

“I need a detailed business plan for 1 Bread.” 

“May I keep this?” Shawn displayed the folder. 

“I’ll help,” Pamala said. 

Standing, folder open, I worked a pen on a page. “I see you cut way back on the initial food inventory.” 

Jessica rolled her eyes. “Pam is relentless when she thinks she’s right.” 

I nodded at Pamala. “You employed reason as opposed to exerting authority, right?” 

“I can exert authority?” 

I looked from Pamala to Jessica and back. My eye roll could have stopped a clock. “Really?” I pursed my lips. “If you must.” 

“Does anyone need the bathroom?” she asked, clocking the room. “We won’t be long.” 

Blushing, Pamala followed Jessica. 

“What do you think?” I asked Serling. 

He leafed a page. “Ah, to be young.” 

“I mean about the business plan.” 

“Rock solid. Professional?” 

“Team effort, mostly Jessica.” 

“Jessica has a good team.” 

“I do, Serling.” 

He narrowed his at me from the other side of the table. “This is yours? This is yours.” 

“I like to stay busy. The Newton property, speaking of. I suddenly own it.” 

He chuckled. “You need to know how fucked you are.” 

“Jacob Bancroft wasn’t pleased about the photos.” 

“I went out of my way to get his good side, too.” 

“Oh, it’s you,” Shawn jumped in. “I was wondering how Toby managed to have all that information.” 

“Information is key.” 

“Over preparation.” 

“You dropped the photos on him?” 

“Toby dropped a house on him. Him and the other two.” 

“Forde and Avery,” I said. 

Falcon smirked. “Toby’s an unstoppable force in the room.” 

Serling shook his head. “Avery’s going to come for you again. This time, it won’t be such a rookie move.” 

“I’m kind of counting on that. Bancroft’s a joke. Avery couldn’t find his ass with both hands. I put fiberglass in his jock strap this morning, which will make him sloppy. Even without your report forthcoming on Forde, I already have him on my to-do list simply because his arrogance annoys me.” 

“Toby.” 

“Mr. Falcon?” 

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with talk like this.” 

“Obviously it’s not immorality you’re uncomfortable with. We just may draw the line in different places.” 

“If it’s OK with you, I’m going to go down to the bar.” 

“Fine by me.” 

“They’re awfully quiet in there,” Serling mused as the door closed behind Falcon. 

“I’m guess Jessica shoved a towel in Pamala’s mouth.” 

“Making note,” Shawn said. 

Serling nodded toward the door. “Is he going to be OK?” 

“We’ll know in half hour. Ours is not an easy road for most people, as you know.” 

“The damage it can do.” 

“Has done, Mr. Serling.” 

“Has done, Miss Beedle.” 

“I want to see what you marked up.” Shawn opened her own folder. “Mr. Thomas fights every nail, every foot of wood.” 

“You’re right. I would have walked away.” 

“That house. The one we beat back the forest?” 

“I recall.” 

“Needs a roof. Well, the back roof is sunk in, sheathing, likely beams. Should shingle the whole roof. It’s a pay me now or pay me a lot more later.” 

“Huh?” Serling asked. 

“It seems Shawn is taking my lawn care business into other directions.” 

“Since you’re big on selective charity, I know a guy. Has a small church with a bad roof, no money.” 

“I thought that’s what they hit up the congregation for.” 

“Doesn’t have much of one. I’m going to help him out when we get the payday.” 

“Friend of yours. From back there.” 

“From back there. I’d not call him friend.” 

“I understand. Give Shawn the information.” 

“I want to see you squirrel up a ladder with a pack of shingles on your shoulder.” 

“We’re going to use subcontractors, which brings us back to Mr. Thomas’ house. I need your OK.” 

“You really don’t.” 

“Please stop doing that. At least look.” 

“I’m an asshole sometimes.” 

“You look at Jessica’s plan, take a pen to it.” 

“I trust your judgement.” 

“Don’t. Look.” 

I accepted the three pages. “Your drawings?” 

“Yes.” 

“You’re right. We should charge Thomas for your time. Add to all agreements: half the day with start, balance due the day we’re done.” 

“I hadn’t thought of that, and that’s what I’m talking about. I want to contract the guy my father works for. I did talk Mr. Thomas into the entire roof. He beat me down pretty good, profit will be minimal.” 

“No profit could measure up to you bossing your father around. I not only approve. I endorse.” 

“I love you so much in this moment.” 

The sound of water running in the bathroom prompted me to say, “No talk of murder in front of Jessica, Pamala, and now Butch.” 

“You’re an asshole all the time, which is just one of the things I love about you,” Serling said. “You were testing Falcon.” 

“It’s good to know where people stand. We need to keep that circle tight.” 

The bathroom door creaked, Jessica walking quickly, taking the folder from me, sitting, leafing. 

Pamala, unsteady, kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you. What are we doing?” 

“Shawn was just about to detail her plans for 1 Bread.” 

“You crossed off October’s Surprise again.” 

“Yeah, the surprise is that I’m not dead.” I rolled my eyes. 

“Where’s Butch?” 

“He needed a drink.” 

As if to answer again, Pamala opened the door, letting Falcon in. He looked at Jessica, sat, looking up at me. 

“We good?” I asked. 

“What happened?” Jessia watched Falcon. 

“Cliff Notes. Some people wish to do me harm. I wish to harm them first. Mr. Falcon wasn’t comfortable with the conversation.” 

“I see your point, Toby. Taking all things in, I see your point. If anything were to happen to you –” 

“Understood.” 

Shawn shuffled papers. “Before I get to 1 Bread, the taxi stand.” 

“The taxi stand?” Serling asked. 

“Yes. I own it.” 

Serling rolled his eyes. 

“Girl’s got to have hobbies.” 

“Anyway. While I was sitting there listening to Jane yammer, waiting for the phone to ring, I was looking over the logs, the receipts, and the books, seeing as how I’m going to be doing the books. I noticed some interesting things.” 

“Like?” 

“I need to take a deep dive. I’m sure some of the drivers are skimming when they get gas. Getting a receipt for more gas than they got. Overnight, some drivers may be running fares off the meter, keeping the money.” 

“I’ll have a look. That’s what I do,” Serling said. 

“What do you think?” Shawn asked. “Can we have them arrested or just fire them?” 

“I think we put up a notice in the office that we know what’s happening and who’s doing it. That the practices are to stop immediately. Jane says all the drivers are good. Given half a chance, most people will take advantage. That's why we put locks on doors.” 

“I see your point, not that I agree.” 

“Good. I have the entire day Sunday set aside to catch up on everything book-wise with 1 Bread and the taxi stand.” 

“You have that thing tomorrow night.”  

“Yes, Serling, our caper. I’m ready.” 

“I have church Sunday morning.” 

I smirked. “Late service, I’m sure.” 

“I plan on being in bed early.” 

“I repeat –” 

“Don’t.” 

“Shawn, you and I have a thing Sunday night.” 

“And that is?” 

“I want to see where you were raped.” 

Falcon took a hard breath. 

“It’s on campus. It’ll be locked up.” 

“I can pick a lock.” 

“Is it –” Serling began. 

“It is. So odd how things are connected. I think I’m acting independently, yet it would seem the universe is dropping breadcrumbs.” 

“Anyway,” Pamala wedged in. “Here’s my idea. Once we open, we can provide the meals for 1 Bread.” 

“Harvest can use the business.” 

“Toby, Toby, Toby. The publicity will do us good, plus with our upscale clientele, we can get hefty donations. I figure we may even be able to have a room for the poor.” 

“Oh, don’t call it that,” Shawn said. 

Pamala squinted from across the table. “Yeah, huh?” 

“Write it up, Pam. Details.” Jessica watched Shawn. 

“Don’t make me authority you,” Pamala threatened. 

I laughed much too loud. “I’m all for getting food in the mouths of hungry children. Write it up. Do we have a date, Butch?” 

“Huh, yes. October 15.” 

“A full month ahead of projections. I’ll thank Mr. Katz when I see him next week.” 

“That’s right. Indians.” 

I nodded to Jessica. “Break ground yet?” 

“Next week.” 

“I’d like to be there.” 

“I know you would.” 

“Speaking of important dates,” Pamala said. “June 19. Command appearance. This is an important day for me. You will be there, no excuses.” 

“Right. Graduation.” 

“Big crowd of strangers, lots of noise, hard chairs, hours of pompous circumstances, extended family back to the house. All the things you love.” 

“I’ll have her there if I have to hogtie her, put her in the trunk.” 

“Thanks, Shawn. I can use a ride.” 

“Shawn,” Jessica said. 

“Jessica?” 

“Rape?” 

“OK kids and kittens, let me tell you a little something about 1 Bread and what my plans – so far – are. I will accept all suggestions for consideration on my way to a business plan.” 

 

Jessica lingered as we watched the others head off to the elevator, Pamala finally letting me go. 

“You going to live here, now?” 

“No fireplace. I like cooking breakfast too much.” 

“Kind of nice having a twenty-four hour wait staff.” 

I nodded toward the elevator. “I thought you didn’t shit where you eat.” 

“I believe I said I don’t like to complicate the workplace, maybe adding I’d never sleep with an employee. She’s my boss, rather will be.” 

I shrugged. “No judgement here. I like fucking her, too.” 

“You’re weird, I mean as far as people go.” 

“You’re a great fuck, Jessica. Since you’re willing, I can give that gift to Pamala. Not a gift you can buy in Woolworths.”  

“Oh, I’d do you in a heartbeat.” 

“I don’t sleep with my employees.” 

She narrowed her eyes. “You and Shawn haven’t –” 

“I did her once. Odd thing, though. I’d just faced down an adversary. A man three times my size. Made him cry.” 

“You had so much – whatever – built up.” 

“There’s Shawn throwing all the Shawnness around.” 

“If she resisted the least bit, it’d been rape.” 

“I’d thought about that, the thin line between the two.” 

Jessica let out a long sigh. “I raped a woman, once. Or should I say she didn’t want to. Then, there was wine, cool summer breeze. She half-resisted all the way down. I should have known better. I know better now.” 

“The thin line between the two.” 

“The sober morning. I still try to convince myself she wanted to, but didn’t want the guilt associated with it. Shawn. Is that why you told me not to stick my fingers in her? Her rape. Is she OK?” 

“Once we’re physically assaulted, I don’t think we’re ever OK, haunted from the shadows.” 

“That’s a good way to put it. Butch told me you asked him to spy on me.” 

“I need to make clear to Mr. Falcon just who he works for.” 

“Butch and I go back a long way. I count him among my friends. The list is short.” 

“Am I on that list?” 

“I’m surprised you’d ask the question.” 

“Maybe sometimes I like to hear the words.” 

“When I sit alone at night watching the stars, I think of you, our friendship, our time in the linen closet, mostly our friendship. I know in some weird, twisted way we’re beyond friends, lovers.” 

“Dancing in the rain like imps.” 

“Just like that.” 

“Then, there’s reality.” 

“Not when I’m alone watching the stars.” 

“I’d like to meet Mary Langley.” 

“Huh? She’s dead. Didn’t he tell you that?” 

“That wasn’t who I was talking about.” 

“Oh.” She closed her eyes, a soft smile on her too-red lips, lips the color of mine. “Oh, yes.” 

“They could dance. In the rain. Mary Langley and the me who never touches objective reality.” 

Her dark eyes owned me. “I could call down to the lobby, send Butch on his way, take a cab home.” 

“If that were the case, I’m send you home in a limousine, not a cab. No, not you and me, Jessica. Mary and the other me, the me that you’ve never met.” 

“It’s a date.” She stepped into me, palms to my cheeks, raising my face, her thumps passing over my ears, her lips coming to mine like a snowflake on an eyelash. 

“Your hands still smell like my girlfriend.” 

“Way to ruin the moment, Toby.” 

“Not for me.” 

 

With the phone off the hook, the Do Not Disturb notice on the door, the lights dimmed, I watched the steam swirl around the rising cloud of bubbles. 

I felt Jessica was too hard on herself about the rape, though I wasn’t about to tell her that. She resisted all the way down haunted me. “Why, then, Jesscia?” I couldn’t imagine any scenario where sticking my fingers in someone was more important than the person not wanting fingers inside her. 

Charlette, mistaking excitement for intimacy, would have let me fuck her Thursday night. Of course, whiskey and sweet vermouth could have had much to do with her choices in the moment. “She’s just not gay,” which could have led to a terrible morning for her. 

I valued her friendship much more than a couple hours roll on the bed. She trusted me. 

Between the wine and whiskey, I wondered if my father lived sober, whether he’d have chased after Tammy’s skinny butt. 

“Soulmates.” 

Excuses for bad behavior. 

I wasn’t sorry I fucked Shawn. I leaned I could be just like Jessica, taking in total disregard with who I was taking from. Not much different from The Bat stealing money from Jane. 

I was pleased Pamala had Shawn and Jessica to love her wholly and completely. I knew death, my death, was never far away. 

The almost too hot water with bubbles engulfed me like my vagina Pamala’s fingers. “Great. Now I’m Pamala’s fingers.” 

Bathwater splashed my face. 

I narrowed my eyes. “Antoinette.” 

“You wanted me here, with you, tonight, now.” 

“Yes. Yes, I did.” 

“You imagine me, be me, be you, be me, be you.” 

“Girl’s got to have a hobby.” 

“Do you remember our first real time with, eh, did it.” 

“I’m not afraid of words.” 

“OK, October. Do you remember the first time we fucked for real?” 

“Of course, I do. I think it was the cheeseburger.” 

“I’m leaning toward the fries.” 

“You. You in the glass, looking back at me, flirting.” 

“I like to remember it as you in the glass, looking back at me, flirting.” 

“I really hadn’t planned to see you tonight.” 

“As worked up as you are?” 

“I’m not blushing. The water’s hot. I was thinking a date with myself.” 

“That’s what you called our reflection in the glass, us looking back, flirting.” 

“Eh –” 

She sat up a little, breasts much like mine just below the bubbles, smirking – definitely like mine – eyes, pale brown, a hand reaching toward me. 

I reached with my right hand, my left arm crossing my breasts in a self-surprising show of modesty. 

Our hands surrounded each other’s. 

“Holy fuck.” 

I glanced what I could see of the room expecting to see my body on the floor bleeding out, my forehead taken open when I slipped and hit the sink on my way to the floor. 

“Why so shocked, October? We’ve touched before.” Releasing my hand, she fell back. 

“I can’t be sure you’re real. I can’t trust my senses.” 

“Back to the more of gravy than grave.” 

“You certainly can’t be the Antoinette Blanc they put in the ground.” 

She shrugged her glistening wet shoulders. “Because I’ve grown up with you?” 

“Well, yeah. For one thing.” 

“I guess you expect me to always be wearing the hospital gown I was wearing when I died.” 

“I’ve found no credible source to tell me anything about you, your nature, what you are.” 

“What does that tell you?” 

“I don’t think you’re going to like that answer.” 

“Try me.” 

“Since I can find no credible publications, news reports, or scholarly peer reviewed papers on aberrations such as you, I’m heavily leaning toward gravy.” 

“You would have gotten alone much better with my father than I did. He was obsessed with wrestling every little imaginary thing to the ground and drowning it in his objective reality pool of twisted quagmire thinking.” 

“I called you gravy. I did not dismiss you.” 

“How about a choice, then?” 

“I’m good with choices.” 

“Anytime you’ve asked me direct questions –” 

“You disappear. Yeah, I figured that out. I figure if I press you now, you’ll suggest we dance.” 

“I had something else in mind.” 

“To quote myself: I don’t know what you are, but I know that you are.” 

 

“Holy fuck,” I whispered to the ceiling, mostly lost in darkness. “Was I asleep long?” 

“Passed out, more like,” the figure at the balcony door answered, her naked silhouette glowing from the city without, a breeze teasing her hair around her head. “Not long.” 

“Antoinette –” 

“Don’t, October. Don’t take the magic away.” 

“I was going to say I love you. I’ve loved you even before we met.” 

“I know.” 

“You know?” 

“I knew, the way you looked at me. I loved you, too. Real and true.” 

“Why, Antoinette, why didn’t you say something?” 

“Same reason you didn’t, I suppose. You terrified me.” She turned, her face – my face – lost in shadow. “I can’t. I shouldn’t.” 

My legs came over the edge of the bed. “What?” 

Her upheld palm stopped me. “You need to be careful, October. It’s all lies. He killed me.” 

 

Part 28