Michael, Antoinette, and Me

 

 

 

Part 31

 

Because that’s the way the universe works, I thought almost aloud as the limousine came to a stop at the curb.

The foyer was larger than my living room. Just in the door, Mr. Everet Barrett looming less than half a head over me, his shit brown eyes made comically large by his black rimmed glasses, his thinning hair pasted to his head, pale lips in an irritating smirk, his navy-blue suit was slept in, accosted me. He was pleased to meet me.

I dismissed the introduction and his offered hand, Hightower ignoring me, engaging Barrett, obviously an acquaintance, torturing me for three minutes.

I fully understood why Toby disliked crowded rooms.

“Cameron,” I said, pulling my elbow free of his grasp.

“Oh, sure, yeah.”

Mostly men in dark suits, mostly with drinks, crowded the dining room. Two servers, barely not children, worked the room, the boy in an ill-fitting tuxedo, the girl in a French maid costume as opposed to outfit. One person sat quietly at the table, her hands in her lap, blue open collar dress hem to her knees more fitting for church than an upscale dinner party, hair up. She was out of place.

Just in the hall, “Artemis Grimes?” hit me from behind.

Pivoting, I answered, “Yes.”

“Mark Hastings.” He offered a hand.

I glanced the hand catching eyes that could not deny Chase his daughter. “It’s me, not you.”

“Understood.” He retracted the hand. “My brother Jerry says you took a pile of his money.”

Soft smile, I crooked of my head. “He says tomato, I say he gave the money to me.”

Hastings chuckled. “I’ve warned him that room is out of his league. Maybe we can play. Sometime.”

“Maybe.”

“The kitchen is through there.”

“The kitchen?”

“Oh, I have experienced people like you.”

“People like me?”

“Assassins.”

I shrugged.

“You need to know the layout. Exits, entrances.”

Great. A tourist. I did wish to know where the back door was.

“We can talk later?” he asked.

“Personal or professional?”

“Oh, personal. I know a quiet place in the city.”

“Unlikely, Mr. Hastings.”

“Call me Mark.”

“Unlikely, Mr. Hastings.”

“That’s kind of rude.”

“What’s kind of rude, Mr. Hastings, is men wishing to warm their hands at my fire expecting not to get burned.”

He started to say, Well, I never, catching himself on the first word. “Very well. In town long? Maybe I’ll see you at the Grill.”

“Maybe.”

The two-way door pivoted in. A man, my height, white shirt, pants, apron, fluffy toque hat turned from a large pot on the stove, hand under a spoon. “Taste this.”

I crossed the room keeping Manny Flores’ eyes. “Lobster bisque,” he said, nodding.

I nodded back. “This is the best lobster bisque I’ve ever tasted.”

“I didn’t think Mrs. Abner had women to these things.”

“I came with Mr. Hightower.”

“Still.”

“I did not know Mrs. Abner had a personal chef.”

He scoffed. “I own the most popular restaurant in the region. Michealangelo's. I’m sure you’re heard of it.”

Men can’t help but brag.

“I’m from out of town.”

For the second time, “Artemis Grimes,” hit me from behind.

I spun, prepared. “Yes.”

“Olivia Carter.” She offered her hand, which I took. “I’m pleased you could make it.”

I smirked. “Mr. Hightower had me believing this his idea.”

“My intention. When I heard you were in town. Well, let’s step outside.”

 

“Nice yard,” I said absently at the edge of the elevated deck.

“Funny story. Do you believe in ghosts?”

“I do not.”

“I guess you wouldn’t.”

“Why would you guess that?”

“Well, in you line of work.” She waved her right hand at the air. “A child knocked on my door. Wanting to do my landscaping.”

“A child.”

“I did not know that at the time. Carried herself much older. I recently lost my landscaper. My husband paid him to lie about a relationship.”

“The story of men.”

“He wants to discredit me.”

I shrugged. “You were saying something about a ghost?”

“I’d just opened the phone book when the doorbell rings. A child wanting to do my landscaping. Sure, why not? She did an incredible job.”

“I can see that.”

“We got to talking. She was a paperboy.”

I watched her eyes, projecting impatience.

“I’m getting there. I write for the paper. I’m a journalist.”

I smirked. “A journalist.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What they say about you is so true.”

“What is it that they say about me?”

“You pack a lot into so few words.”

“As opposed to you.”

“Artemis. May I call you Artemis?”

“Only since you asked.”

“I guess all the men call you Miss Grimes.”

“They do. This child at your door. A former paperboy.”

“I only mention that because it was something I could fact check.”

“And?”

“Well, yes, she was a paperboy. A damn good one, I hear. She also got caught in a trap and murdered.”

I surveyed the yard. “This child does a great job, living or dead. Did you get her phone number? I may need some work done.” I held my right hand inches from my face. “I couldn’t imagine doing such work.”

“That’s why I looked her up. I wanted to offer her a contract.”

“Or write her story even after she told you not to.”

“How could you know that?”

“She didn’t give you her phone number.” I twisted a smile. “Mrs. Carter. Olivia. Are you asking me for advice, or are you just telling me a story?”

“I don’t know. It’s just weird.”

“Mr. Carter fucked with –”

She blushed, I think at fucked. “Reginald Abner. He’s my husband. Carter is my family name, the name I write under.”

“Reginald Abner fucked with you using the landscaper. I’d say this ghost of yours wasn’t who she said she was and further, this ghost of yours wanted more than to just mow your lawn.”

She closed her eyes, shaking her head. “Reggie sent her.”

“I don’t much care for conjecture.”

She glanced back at the house. “Not a word to anyone.”

“I’m not a gossip, Olivia.”

“They have a plan, rather we have a plan. When I heard you were in town – I want to hire you.”

“Listening.”

“I don’t know whether you’re aware of our local politics.”

“Do you mean the tuff wars over nickel and dime businesses?” I rolled my eyes. “Typical.”

“What happened?”

“Not a gossip.”

“Right. We want to reshuffle upper management.”

“You’re going to murder a person or persons.”

“Persons.” She glanced the house again. “Saturday. Eight o’clock. Redman’s Bar and Grill. In the basement.”

“Might I suggest something quieter? Maybe sometime more private? Eh, things can be better managed if the bodies aren’t found.”

“They feel they need to make a public statement.”

“Coup d'etat.”

“Yes. Christeen French, Reginald Abner, Anthony Dixon, and Joe Meyer will be at the same table. I understand you’ve met them.”

“I have. What do you wish from me?”

“Backup only.”

“Who am I backing up?”

“Cameron has two people.”

I twisted a smirk. “The comedy team of Smith and Smith.”

“Oh, you’ve met?”

“Not yet. However, I do understand why you wish backup and why you don’t wish for anyone to know.”

“We have a deal?”

“Who do I work for?”

“Me.”

“Who do you work for?”

She hesitated. “We have a complicated secret matrix.”

I glanced the house again. “All I need do is watch the room while we eat. Other than Christeen French, Reginald Abner, Anthony Dixon, and Joe Meyer, your corporate heads will be around the table. I’ll be able to pick out who’s in charge.”

“Chris Ferretti.” She held my eyes. “Not a word about our contract. He’s the only other person who knows.”

“I understand. Can’t be bruising any male egos. That’s why we’re out here.” I nodded to myself. “What’s the plan? The Smith brothers walk up to the table and shoot people?”

“Mr. Hightower is to get them past the door. That’s all I know.”

Once more, I glanced behind me. “You’re a stranger in your own house.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“They’re letting you play in their sandbox.”

“Well, Artemis, it is their sandbox.”

“Is that why Mrs. French must die? She’s not one of the boys?”

“Women just can’t understand –”

“Oh, my dear Mrs. Carter. Women understand just fine.”

She pursed her lips. “Maybe we do.”

 

My invisibility didn’t fail, me lost in a sea of men, men bursting at the seams with their self-importance, Hightower at my elbow droning on with mundane details of a business acquisition.

Persona.

I burned to ask him how Cubby’s Cab Service was going.

I watched Mr. Everet Barrett across from me, white linen napkin tucked in his collar, a sad cliché of a man. I imagined his slobbering mouth, his eyes squinting as he pounded away inside the terrified Maria on the middle school restroom floor.

“I’m sorry,” I answered Jake Simone, Simone to Barrett’s right. “Chef Flores’ chicken cordon bleu has me distracted.”

“Chef Flores.” Simone, Jessica Flores’ fiancée, rolled his eyes dismissively. With upturned palms, he symbolically indicated the people at the table. “You are like a rose in a rock garden. I asked what you do.”

I held his eyes. “I kill people.”

Chris Ferretti at the head of the long table laughed deep and rich. In his fifties, he was abundant with a full, round face, sparkling brown eyes, long white hair in ponytail with a beard to match, dark blue suit, a double-breasted jacket and gold buttons. “She told you, Jake,” he said much too loud. “Now, mind your manners and your own business.”

Linda Tyler to Simone’s right, the only other woman at the table though barely a woman, stifled a giggle.

Simone’s hand went up.

Tyler flinched.

Hightower’s hand dropped to my forearm as he leaned toward me, whispering. “Jake feels he needs to prove himself.”

I shrugged.

Ferretti waggled a finger. “Oh, you’ve been a naughty one, you have, Artemis Grimes.”

“It’s a living, Mr. Ferretti.” I narrowed my eyes. “I believe I saw you in Macy’s this past Christmas. You told me the same thing.”

He laughed too loud again. “I do a local mall. My way of giving back to the community. You’re welcome to sit on my lap anytime.”

“Flattered, Mr. Ferretti.”

Ellen Viceroy struggled with a pitcher of water, the pitcher comically large in her grasp as she worked around the table refilling glasses, pointedly ignored. I held my glass for her, thanking her, drawing a blush.

“I like the costume.”

“We got off on the wrong foot,” Alexander Forde said across Hightower, Forde having gone out of his way to ignore me.

“Really, Forde?” Hightower asked. “Now?”

“I never take anything personally, Mr. Forde. I know your antagonism was about losing so badly at the card table.”

“How much did you lose?” Simone asked.

“A lot,” Hightower said, adding a condescending laugh. “Thousands.”

“Hightower,” Forde growled.

“Thousands? To a girl?” He threw his arms up for emphasis, catching Ellen Viceroy’s approach, water sloshing from the pitcher.

Simone pushed his chair back, brushed his sleeve, jumped to his feet, proclaimed, “You stupid cunt!” shoving Viceroy, Viceroy stumbling, falling to the floor, mostly ignored by the men around the table.

Flores hurried from the kitchen.

Simone, red faced, pointed. “She dumped water all over me!”

Hightower’s hand on my forearm kept me in my chair.

Flores pulled Viceroy off the floor by her underarm, Viceroy crying, Flores yelling in her face concluding with a shove toward the kitchen and, “Get your things. You’re fired. Find your own way home.”

Simone pulled on his jacket, clocking the faces around the table, the men smug with resolve.

I understood why Olivia Adler sided with the men against Christeen French and I fully understood the animus around the table concerning Christeen French. I wondered what usefulness Linda Tyler brought, the woman barely not a child across from me, now excited at her boyfriend’s show of cruelty.

As if to answer, Simone dropped hard to his chair, scanning the table. “I’m ready, don’t you see? I have my, well, virgin.”

Olivia Carter entered from the foyer. “He’s here.”

The men and Linda Tyler worked to their feet, Chris Ferretti keeping his chair.

I stood.

Overabundant smile, impeccable blue pinstripe suit, greeting people by name, shaking hands, Bill Locke’s presence filled the room.

Holy fuck. I did not see that coming.

 

Twelve blocks from the house, I pushed the limousine door open. “Get in.”

“I know who you are. Did they send you to kill me?”

“Nobody sends me to do anything, particularly men.”

 

Close to midnight, the muted, dim halls of Lordes enveloped me. Hightower was not pleased I took his limousine. “I’m not pleased you lied to me,” I told him.

“She needs a bedpan,” my mother greeted me as she came from the room.

I nodded, passing her.

“No jokes about you crossing over.”

“I did not expect to see you,” Pamala said. “I really do love that dress, you in the wig. Innocent times.”

“I see you’re feeling better.”

We kissed, not as lovers kiss.

“Your mother.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Must be something about my face. Seems I’ve become her confessor, too.”

“That’s got to be worse than a knife in the chest.”

“You have no idea. She’s created this whole fantasy world.”

“Part and parcel of the drinking.”

“You think?”

“Or so I’ve read. But, sure, let’s spend this time talking about my mother.”

“Difficult day?”

“You have no idea. I need time on recliner with you.”

“Couple weeks. Doctor Jerkin says I’ll be getting out of bed in the morning. Mom may be a problem.”

“Moms. I can do without moms.”

“She’s not backing off. She’s insisting we never see each other again. I told her to fuck off. She said she’s prepared to bring the entire legal system down on your head.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s not you. It’s her.”

“I actually fully understand how she feels.”

“You’re not considering breaking up with me?”

“I am not. Maybe I should liquidate. We can run off to Alaska. Live in a cabin off an Eskimo village. I read they have six months of nighttime.”

“The stuff dreams are made of. Jessica.”

“Yes, Jessica.”

“Shawn.”

“Her, too.”

“I can’t leave my family. They don’t know it, but they’re stuck with me, and they’re stuck with you, too.”

“We’ll fix it.”

“We’ll find a way.”

She closed her eyes. “October. I love you, not the person I want you to be, like my mom and yours. The person you are. The wraith who dances naked in the rain and the snow, the smelly girl after a long day working in the sun, the girl who washes my hair, the girl who allows me to be me, the girl who snuggles, reading quietly into the night, the girl who wants to feed children, and the girl who kills people who annoy her.”

I smeared a tear across my cheek. “Your father loves me like that, too.”

“And Maria. And Shawn. Lying here staring at the ceiling I found myself in the room with you and Maria. I so get it. I so understand, October.”

She opened her eyes. “I understand Antoinette.”

“Eh, have you seen her? Spoken to her?”

“Not yet.”

“Toby,” came from behind me.

“Hi, Sister Rebecca.”

“You really shouldn’t be here.”

“I know. Something about wild horses.” I fished in my red suede bag. “I have a donation.”

She accepted the bundled money. “You really should make the time to attend Church.”

“Good works alone won’t get me into heaven?”

“I really need a bedpan.”

“I’ll get one,” Sister Rebecca said.

“I’ll do it, then I’ll go.”

 

I could have called a taxi, something about lightning striking. I did see the two men in the back of the train.

 

My reflection dancing in the dark train window confused me, October, Antoinette, Toby, and even my mother – since I was wearing her clothes – watching back. I imagined my mother’s face, not the adult, her as a child. The child had been raped regularly by her brother, Uncle Percy, likely others, maybe her father. She joined the gallery of abuses when she offered me up to Percy and my brother.

Linda Tyler’s excitement over Jakes cruelty was haunting. His virgin. The price of admission like in the boy’s restroom?

“Taylor Edwards is going to be a problem.”

Taylor didn’t have any damaging information to bring the legal system down on my head – other than I’m a dead girl not dead. Identity theft. My true identity revealed publicly wouldn’t bring legal problems though I’d recently had dinner with a group of men who’d enjoy discovering me.

I could murder Taylor, but I wouldn’t, her murder creating more problems than it would solve.

Exiting the train station, looking much like a teenage Antoinette, I was hyperalert for Jack Blanc Senior, him having snuck up on me a couple of times. My red suede bag over my shoulder, I worked to the bottom, grasping my rebar. My town is a quiet, lazy town, the worse crime illegally evicting squatters or maybe dumping trash on an old woman’s porch.

Lightning.

The two men came from the other side of the train station, older than me, still teenagers, nondescript, coming up on me fast twenty paces from the Avenue.

Flowing with the Doppler, I spun, stepping back, straight arming a palm to his nose pushing his head up and back, my rebar sinking into the side of his neck, retracking with a splash of blood.

The other boy froze in disbelief, his friend flopping to the ground hard, gurgling ungodly sounds. Foot between his legs, he grunted, landing flat on his back. Straddling his chest, I took a fist full of hair, slamming his head against the concrete three time, plunging my rebar through his eye.

 

Stark shadows cut across my apartment.

Maria pushed back from the table, startled.

I pulled the wig from my head. “It’s me.”

“Toby.” She stood. “What happened? Are you alright?”

I shrugged. “None of its mine. Couple guys thought to mug me. They did not fare well.” I worked from the dress, going to the kitchen.

“Thank god for that. I think.”

With the water cold, I plugged the sink, adding the dress, turning, Maria close. “A hug is going to have to wait. Blood. I need a shower.”

“So do I.”

I rolled my eyes.

 

I massaged Maria’s scalp, working the shampoo. She turned, my height, watching my eyes. “Details.”

“I’m not sure –”

“I am. Details.”

I didn’t leave anything out, her eyes on fire, reminding me of Jane.

She lathered her hands. “That turns you on?”

“Eh, it’s different than that.”

Her right hand took the back of my neck, her left hand flat on my stomach, dropping across my pubic mound. “I owe you one.”

“It’s not a debt or an accounting.”

“Shut up.”

Her lips came to mine.

I didn’t see God, but for a few moments, all was right in the universe.

 

Wrapped in towels, Maria and I sat cattycorner at the table practically on top of each other, sipping hot tea.

“Pamala slipped me your address.”

“She hadn’t said anything, though you’re never the topic of conversation.”

“You saw her?”

“That’s why I was dressed like an aide.”

“I do not have the words to convey how I feel, seeing her lying there like that.”

“That’s how she feels, seeing you so wounded, helpless before your pain.”

“Oh my God.” She closed her eyes. “I don’t know how to be unwounded.”

I kissed her briefly, like the touch of a falling star. “Neither do I.”

“Mom’s taken the express train to crazy town.”

“She’s looking at another wounded daughter, helpless before the pain.”

“Again. I’m thinking now I should have told them what really happened.”

“I don’t know, Maria. Would your mother feel better knowing the depth of your wound?”

“Likely not.”

“Shawn suggested her rapist took her power away.”

“It’s like that, maybe. The other day, in my bedroom, that’s the first I’ve felt whole since –” She blushed. “Before, I never could have –”

“Maria –”

“Then, that feeling was gone.”

“Moments. My life has been crowded with too much of the wrong things. I dance naked in the snow, then that feeling is gone. I taste your blood, your entire body convulsing, then the feeling is gone. Pamala’s soft breath caresses my cheeks as I read a fairy tale, then the feeling is gone. I cling onto the moments to push the darkness away.”

“Moments,” she echoed.

“Like in the shower just now. Staying the night?”

“Only if you promise another moment.”

“If you say Pamala can never know, I’m going to kick you out the door.”

“Pamala already knows. You are often the topic of our conversations.”

 

Guessing there was an off chance I’d be on a usual suspects list, I gathered all the clothes with even a hint of blood including the wig, double bagged, dropped in a trash container three buildings over.

Allen Weber was glad to see me, welcoming Maria to the Nook. “I’m still mad at you for stealing Shawn, but Donna and I had a long talk.”

“Better to say Donna did most the talking.”

“It was just like that, her following me around for two hours. She explained that Bread thing to me. I really didn’t understand what you were saying. I thought it’s going to be a business.”

I shrugged. Weber was not big on listening.

“She showed me the menu. I’d be happy to help.”

Maria and I settled at a table in the back.

“Shawn’s taking care of all that.”

“Oh, good. I’ll talk to her. What can I get you?”

“Still shorthanded?”

“Well.”

“If I say the usual, do you know what I mean?”

“I do.”

“Don’t go anywhere.”

“Huh?”

“Excuse me,” Ellen Viceroy said, timidly coming next to Weber. “Are you Toby?”

“I am.”

“I was told to give this to you.” She handed down a sheet of paper across the table.

I glanced, nodding, passing the resume to Weber. “Mr. Weber. Miss Viceroy.”

“Eh?” He took in the form. “Can you start today? As in now?”

“I can.”

 

“I finished college,” Maria said. “Pamala’s told me you work magic. Ellen. Cute kid. Pamala doesn’t even know.”

“I was told you’re away at college.”

She shrugged, taking a long sip of coffee. “Hard to explain. It’s Mom’s eyes.”

“The way she looks at you. Not so difficult.”

“I’ve made friends. Acquaintances anyway. Have a job. Small apartment of my own. Friends who don’t look at me like I’m damaged goods.”

“Oh, I get all that.”

“Then there’s my father. My pain hurts him.”

“I’ve told him he is not going to get what he wants from what he’s asked me to do.”

“Maybe he wants to be damaged like we are.”

“Maybe then he should do his own killing.”

“Does that damage you?”

“No. It would him, though.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh. These men who did this to Pamala. They’re not long for this world, huh?”

“No, Maria. They are not.”

She giggled.

“Why are you still sitting down?” Shawn asked.

Maria scrambled to her feet, losing herself in an embrace.

Shawn dropped across the table from us.

“Where you been?” I asked.

“Stayed at home, something I really wish to avoid in the future even if that means a stiff back from your sofa. Thought I’d give you two some space last night.”

“Thank you,” Maria said.

“With Pam in the hospital –”

“There’s room in the bed, I know, Toby.”

“Depending on how things break down, I may spend more time at the Commadore, less time this side of the river.”

“Cut and run. Again.”

“Taylor has the idea that putting me in jail will protect Pamala.”

Shawn’s blue eyes held me for an eternity. “I’ve got this side of the river. No problem. I can put Ted in charge of Tony’s Lawn Service, hire two people for him.”

“Calm down.”

“Right. Balls in the air. I’m getting that habit from you. Contingency on top of contingency. I’m finding if I say shit out loud, it helps to fine tune my plans.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “That day on the work site.”

I smirked. “When I confronted Theodore about him trying to murder me.”

“What?” Maria asked.

“That was my reaction,” Shawn agreed. “You knew he’d be an asset, not a liability. I look back over everything. Geoge and his friend –”

“Harry. Yes. Dead men.”

“Because any agreement made with a man who would put a knife in the chest of a seventeen-year-old woman is not valid.”

“Shawn. I have not a single qualm about killing someone. I have no problem lying.”

Maria put her hand flat to her chest. “Does the bathroom have a lock on the door?”

“We could draw straws,” I said to Shawn.

The three of us laughed freely, unencumbered by any matters of the flesh, Shawn retrieving a stack of four by six index cards. “Twenty-two qualified, so far.”

“Twenty-two what?” Maria asked.

I shuffled through. “These are really great. Short profile.”

“Room for notes if need be. People with kids struggling. We’ll be providing a good meal once a week.”

“Wow.”

“Talk to Allen about the meals. Donna’s been cheerleading. Showed him the menu.”

“She would.”

“What about Harvest?”

“Well, Maria –”

“Oh, I forgot just like that.”

“I expect Michelle to get fired.”

“Really?” Shawn asked. “Good. I need help with the lawn service.”

“Firstly, don’t cut me out of my lawn service just yet. I like cutting grass. Secondly, as for Michelle, better to maybe talk to Jessica. I need to have a meeting with her anyway.”

“I’ve been thinking about tapping Michelle as a fill-in dispatcher super parttime only when needed.”

“As long as you make it clear to her she’s not to be tapping Ralph as long as she’s working the taxis.”

Shawn bit her lip. “Great point.”

“For reasons that are mine, I’d like to keep Michelle as far away from our businesses as possible.”

Shawn held my eyes into eternity. “Oh, I understand.”

“Let’s back up.” Maria offered a palm. “You don’t think Dad can keep business separate?”

“I know he can’t.”

Maria stood. “Speaking of. I’d better catch up. Make nice. They’re going to ask me, Where have you been? which I shall answer with, I’m an adult.”

I took a final hug.

“We’re going over the hospital tomorrow night,” Shawn said. “We being me, Lauren, and Allison. We’re on the approved list. You can join us.”

“Eh –”

“Then, Maria, there’s going to be dancing.”

“Dancing?”

“Wild swing stuff. Live band with lots of horns. Private club, which cuts down hard on the assholes.”

“You do swing?”

“I teach dance. Toby?”

“I have plans.”

“Of course, you do. After, we – meaning you and I – can go back to Toby’s apartment. I don’t want to be presumptuous, but when Pamala fucked me, I saw God. I’m hoping that runs in the family.”

Maria’s blush should have set the tablecloth ablaze.

I laughed.

“I’m not making any promises. I’d like to see Pam with you, go dancing, meet your friends.”

“What kind of business? Do you need my help?”

“Other side of the river stuff. I’ve got it.”

Ellen Viceroy gathered plates. “Thank you, eh –”

“Toby’s fine.”

“My father requires me to work. He’d gotten me the job at –”

“Not pretty enough for the law office?”

Her mouth dropped open.

“You have a unique name.”

She straightened, bouncing on her right foot, rolling her eyes.

I thought to look for a linen closet with a lock on the door.

“Dad says women have no place in a law office.”

Oh, Jennifer Reeves must piss him off just showing up to work.

“Glad to help. You come highly recommended and let me tell you, Miss Grimes doesn’t recommend anyone. That must be some story.”

“What happened was –”

“I wasn’t asking for the story.”

“I’d like to hear it,” Shawn said.

“Sure, get Ellen fired on her first day.”

Ellen narrowed her eyes at me. “Are you, eh, Miss Grimes’ kid sister?”

“We get that a lot. No. We are not related.”

“I don’t mind saying, she’s scary. I’m thankful for this opportunity.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Toni, hi,” Chase Hastings greeted, dropping next to Shawn. “Hey, Shawn. Good to see you again.”

“Toby’s fine, Miss Hastings. I have something for you, matter of fact.” I fished in my red suede bag.

“I was hoping to catch you here. I have to interview the police on another matter.”

“Paul Atkinson. Died in a fire alone the railroad recently. How embarrassing. Seems he was already dead, having died in a house fire along with another.” I carefully articulated my entire birth name.

“The gangster girl?”

“Some say.” I nodded to the history. “Which makes us wonder if she’s not in the grave, who then? And, who’s in Atkinson’s first grave?”

Hastings open her notebook, writing.

“Don’t get yourself killed finding out.”

Shawn nodded. “Always good advice.”

She flipped pages. “The gangster girl. She looked remarkably like Jody Demarko.”

“Jody Demarko, who was last seen in Playland in the mall, yet the official reports have her getting lost in The Pines, two witnesses who happened to have disappeared, families and all.”

“There was an explanation for all that. The mix-up. I didn’t work on the story.”

“I’m sure the explanation was a good one. I’m sure some high juice official said not worth pursuing at some point, you know, her being dead and all. The gangster girl. Who’d she gangster for?”

More page flipping. “Bill Locke.”

“Who owns Playland?”

“No.” She blinked at her notes.

I looked toward the ceiling. “Gangster girl gangstered for Bill Locke. She and Jody Demarko looked like twins. First account has Jody disappearing out of Playland. The math’s not difficult. You’re in town on that mugging last night,” I stated as opposed to asking.

She looked up from writing. “Mugging? I just came from the medical examiner. That was a bit more than a mugging.”

“I bet Jacks was beside herself, waving her arms with excitement explaining the injuries.”

“Jacks?”

“Jackeline Curran.”

“She did seem overly fascinated. Wait a minute. No information’s been released.”

I shrugged. “Small town with more than our fair share of busybodies and gossips.”

“What do you know?”

“I’m not a gossip.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You always do this.”

I shrugged. “What do you know?”

“We’ve been sitting on a story. Or rather I couldn’t get Raymond Carter to run with it. Random muggings.”

“You working the wire.”

“Well, sure, that’s my job. Check the wire, punch up stories, police blotters. Months now. Across different towns, which is why no one’s connected them.”

“No one but you, working the blotters.”

“I connected eight, similar. One thing in common –”

“Two men, likely late teens, bum’s rush, near a Speedline station.”

“Victims female, alone, between midnight and two.”

“I guess you can write your story now.”

“Would have been nice to publish a story before someone got hurt.”

“At least the right people got hurt.”

Hastings flipped her pages again. “You’re familiar with Olivia Carter.”

“Features. I’d call her a hack, mechanic is a better word. Phones it in most the time. I’d guess she’s rich, likes to see her name in print. If not for her brother –”

“A simple yes would have been fine, Toby. She showed up at work this morning before the sun came up. I rarely see her before the crack of noon. Drop what you're doing, she says. What I was doing was working on the double murder in Edgewood. She’s got this wild tale about a dead girl mowing her lawn.”

“I can’t seem to keep up with my lawn work. Would I have to pay a dead girl?”

“I don’t think so,” Shawn answered. “Other than having their organs protected from removal without prior approval, I’m certain dead people don’t have any rights.”

Hastings pursed her lips impatiently. “Carter wants me to track her down. Pull background. Frame out the story.”

“Dead girl. Mowing lawns. I’ve not seen her. Shawn?”

“I am not familiar.”

Hastings retrieved a black and white photo from her bag, holding it forward. “Look at me,” she demanded.

I held her eyes, her eyes moving from the photo to me.

“A girl could be insulted. Do I look dead to you?”

Shawn took my eighth grade photo. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say this is my cousin.”

“Your cousin?”

“Jody Demarko, who is a dead girl. She’s not mowing lawns, though.”

Hastings rolled her eyes. “Round and round we go.”

“Toby looks nothing like her.”

“Well, maybe a little,” I said.

“This morning, looking over the files I have, I thought maybe –”

“I’m sure after Carter filled your head with wild ghost stories, you were primed to hop on the crazy train for downtown crazy.”

“You do know there’s stories floating around about how she stole a considerable sum of money from the mob and faked her death.”

I laughed. “Believe me, if I had a considerable sum of money, I’d not be pushing a lawnmower across lawns.”

“You know a lot about Bill Locke –”

“Jody Demarko. My best friend’s cousin. Tortured, raped and murdered by Locke and his jolly band of child rapists. Of course, I know a lot about him.”

“Can you prove any of that?”

“I was hoping a journalist would. Seems the authorities find the story not worth pursuing.

Pen poised, she said, “Tell me what you know.”

“Better. I’ll prepared a full report for you. Confidential source. There are real gangsters out there who would like to kill me for what I know.”

“I’ll do it,” Shawn said. “I’m getting the hang of writing reports. Proof it?”

“Absolutely.”

Hastings glanced the Atkinson’s report. “This is some really good work. The report.” She looked from Shawn to me. “Would you be interested in taking on some work, freelance, for the paper?”

“I would not.”

“You’d get paid.”

“I like mowing lawns.”

Again, she eyed the notes. “This Locke story. This is the story you think will get me a Pulitzer?”

“I think I was tossing out a metaphor. I don’t know how the awards are rewarded. Yes, it’s an important story that reaches well beyond Locke. Indians?”

“Indians?”

“We have an agreement. Indians first.”

She fished in her bag. “Not as important –”

I accepted the stack of papers. “The story is important to me. Are you invested in a paper manufacturer?”

“News copy is always triple spaced. Has to do with setting type.”

“Noted,” Shawn said.

“I don’t type. Pen?”

Shawn rolled her eyes, providing a red ink pen. “I’m shocked. Shocked, I tell you.”

Snickering, I marked up the copy as I read. “Unlike with Shawn’s college papers, I’m noting suggestions for your consideration, not corrections.”

“Huh?” She glanced over two pages. “Good suggestions.”

“Generally. You need a better lede. Art?”

“We have some drawings in the archives.”

“Indian with a spear on a rearing horse?”

Shawn laughed.

“What? That’s eye catching.”

“OK. Here’s you lede. Neighborhood children gather together under the leadership of Shawn Beedle, returning the land to the Lenni Lenape. Artwork. Shawn on this scoop digger thing, the children gathered around.”

“Front loader,” Shawn interjected.

Hastings wrote on the first page of the news copy. “Do you have such a photo?”

“Tomorrow morning, eight o’clock. Property overlooking the river as per the meeting. Bring your photographer. Since all good features include background, you can drop in there somewhere how Shawn is about to launch 1 Bread, then next month, cover the launch in a feature.”

Hastings narrowed her eyes at me.

“Relax. Shawn’s going to be buying ad space, too.”

Shawn placed another report in front of Hastings. “Willford Peterson. Human interest. Likes to be called Petey or Father Petey. We just put a roof on his church.”

She read quickly. “War hero, huh?”

“Depends on who tells the story,” I said.

She looked at Shawn. “You roofed his church for cost?”

“Pro bono,” I said.

“That generally refers to legal services.”

“We did it for free, Chase. He lives in the church. The roof was falling in,” Shawn said.

“That could be a story.”

“I want you to focus on Pete, his life, the work he’s doing now.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “Just one more step toward your Pulitzer.”

Hasting nodded, flipping pages. “I’ll be stopping at County later. What am I going to find. I mean as to newly registered businesses.”

I watched her eyes. “Tony’s Lawn Service. Owned by Antoinette Blanc. That’s me.” I dropped my eyes to her notepad. “Stop writing. Deep background only.”

I went back to holding her eyes. An eternity leaked by.

“I need an affirmation.”

She nodded once. “Yes. Of course. Deep background.”

“You’ll discover Antoinette Blanc is dead. I stole her identity. At this moment in time, I believe her father murdered her, maybe by accident, maybe not. All covered up. You’ll get the story once I have it. With a few degrees of separation, her death is connected to the Locke story.”

“Oh my God.”

“I like my journalists to at least project an emotionless demeaner.”

“Oh course. Then you are –”

I closed my eyes, nodding once. “Which is not going to get you the Pulitzer.”

Another eternity slipped by, Hastings and I watching each other.

“You been inside the Locke organization.”

“You have no idea how far Locke was into me, Chase. None. You now know even less than the very tip of the iceberg.”

Watching the ceiling, she let out a sigh that should have flattened the room.

“OK. Paul Atkinson. Indians. 1 Bread. Willford Peterson. They’re all good stories but they’re camouflage for what I’m really investigating.”

“I like the stories.”

She stuffed her bag, standing. “I do, too. The Atkinson story is going to blow wide open, iceberg wise, isn’t it?”

“Carter’s going to dismiss and downplay it. Expect to hear not worth pursuing.”

“I’ll change his mind.”

 

“Sister Rebecca,” I greeted as I entered my apartment, the woman at my table, hands folder in front of her. “Michelle. We need to talk.”

“I have to catch a bus.” She stood.

“Eh, that’s kind of what we need talk about.”

She rolled her eyes passing me. “I figure he’s going to fire me, too. We’ll talk if that happens.”

 

“She lovely,” Sister Rebecca said as the door shut.

“She is.”

“Pamala gave me your address.”

“She does that a lot.” I sat. “Coffee? Tea?”

“No, thank you. The police stopped by last night.”

“I bet Chief Meyer.”

“You’d win that bet.”

“The muggings?”

“He wanted to know which of our people got off work around midnight.”

“Particularly young women people.”

“Particularly. I told him we had no one on staff overnight matching the description he had.”

I held her eyes.

“You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?”

“Chase Hastings caught me at breakfast. Collings Nook. Love their eggs.”

“The newspaper girl?”

“You could be the only person in the world I’d let get away with calling her a girl.”

“You know her?”

“We’re working on a couple things. She’s got those two men connected to eight muggings of women up and down the Speedline. My guess is they tried to mug the wrong girl this time.”

“Boy, did they. Chief Meyer didn’t say much. He was sure to make clear how serious this was.”

Again, I held her eyes.

“That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping. Working overnight, and all.”

“Taylor said you were dangerous.”

I shrugged. “Me being gay, having gayed up Pamala.”

“She didn’t mean that.”

“So far, Sister Rebecca, I’ve only been dangerous to people who’ve deserved it.”

“Who determines who deserves it?”

“I do.” I rolled my eyes. “One example. If I’m walking down the street and two men attack me, they’re going to get the worse of it. I don’t now and never have drown kittens, tortured puppies, or pulled the wings off flies, watching them die.”

She pursed her lips, determinations, decisions.

“Pamala hit a woman, slapped her pretty good. Put her on the floor.”

“Huh? Why?”

“The woman said to Pamala I’d be better off dead. Not the point. This woman hired the hit men to kill Pamala to get back at her. If I could prove it, they’d be in jail.”

“What did the police say?”

I rolled my eyes again. “Pete saved her life.”

“Which is why you cover his bills?”

“I like Pete. He was kind to me when he didn’t have to be.”

“I wanted to talk to you about this money.”

“You aren’t going to shake me down now, are you?”

“What? No! I wanted to talk to you about buying indulgences.”

“What? No.”

“Some people feel if they give money to the church, they can buy forgiveness –”

“I know what indulgences are. I don’t suffer with guilt. It was the hug you gave Pamala that day we first met. I knew you were a person who did good work, important work. You proved that with the way you took care of Jane, now Pamala. The way you treat that drunk. She’s not employable, yet there she is, working in the hospital.

“I give you money because I know you’ll do good work with it. Are you blushing?”

“No. It’s hot in here. Do you want to meet a couple people the money helped?”

“No.”

“I bet they’d like to meet you.”

“I’d not like to be met.”

“Understood. Pamala, all stary eyed when she talks about you. Mr. Woodrow. Elephants. Jane. Your generosity of spirit. I could go on.”

“Please don’t.”

“I imagine, I know you must do things I’d not approve of. Things Taylor thinks, imagines. She’s afraid of you and that fear drives her imagination. I pressed her. She couldn’t come up with an actual for instance.”

“Life is a dirty, messy business, sometimes. I don’t mind getting my hands dirty, and I don’t need a confessor.”

“I don’t think I’d want to be yours.”

“I confided in a priest once. Used what I told him against me.”

“Oh dear.”

“I bought him off, which could be why I was so quick to think you came to shake me down.”

“Catholic? We have remedies –”

“Different flavor.”

“I really just wanted to warn you.”

“Let me know the police may be looking for someone who looks like me with long blonde hair in connection to the muggings.”

“Yes.” She slid the paper that had been under her folded hands across the table. “This is confidential –”

“Confidential is a category, not an actuality.”

I took in the information. “She’s fifteen now?”

“Yes.”

“A blind man driving by fast can see she’s someone’s punching bag.”

“Her father. I cannot reveal how I know.”

“Because anything said in confession is confidential.” I shrugged. “I need a copy of all Antoinette Blanc’s medical files.”

“Odd. You’re the second person –”

“You know who I’m talking about then.”

“Some cases I never forget. Beyond tragic. Why?”

“Sometimes that’s just the way the universe works.”

“That, too. I meant why do you want the files?”

“Officially, she died from a brain tumor. I know differently and I cannot reveal how I know.”

“Mr. Blanc gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Jack Blanc is a bottom feeder, the depth of which I’ve not figured out yet.”

I glanced the medical file again. “I’ll take care of it.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Take care of it.”

 

I changed the sheets, taking a moment to breathe Maria in wishing it was Pamala. If Shawn had her way, I thought fresh sheets would be nice. After cleaning the kitchen, Michelle's broom less than new, I unpacked my camping gear, strapping my eight-inch hunting knife to my left inner thigh.

“That’s going to take some getting used to.”

I was still amazed how easily my rebar penetrated my assailant's neck. “So much blood.”

 

Elfin makeup to perfection, cobalt blue silk dress gathered at the waist flaring to the knee, scoop neck, sleeves to just below my elbow, two-inch heel Mary Janes, floppy white hat with pink hatband, dark glasses, I greeted, “Mr. Hudson.”

“Ah, good almost afternoon, Miss Grimes.”

“I’ll have Mr. Cameron Hightower’s key, please.”

“Eh –”

I held my hand palm up across the counter. “Mr. Hudson.”

“Of course, Miss Grimes.”

The key found my palm.

“I know you won’t be calling upstairs, Mr. Hudson.”

“Of course not, Miss Grimes. Miss Grimes?”

“Mr. Hudson?”

“Should I be calling the cleaning service?”

“Doubtful, Mr. Hudson.”

 

The room reeked of cheap perfume, sex, stale liquor, and cigarettes. Pushing the curtains open on the patio doors flooded the room with light.

“What the fuck! Do not disturb! Can’t you read?” came from the bed.

“Oh, I can read just fine, Mr. Hightower. I just don’t care.”

Naked, Hightower affirmed apes a common ancestor. He struggled into a red silk robe with black collar and trim, much too short for polite company. “You have some nerve.”

“I get that a lot. We have business to discuss.”

He sat hard to the bed. “Get out. Let me shower, get dressed. I’ll see you downstairs in forty-five minutes. You can buy me breakfast.”

“I would have done this last night, but you men were too busy trying to impress each other with your man talk.” I came over him, looking down. “Jane Wilkins.”

“Am I supposed to know who that is?”

“She runs Royal Taxi and Limousine Service.”

Hands flat on the bed, leaning back, he watched my dark glasses. “Whatever do you go on about?”

“Cubby Home Taxi Service?”

“That was you?”

“If that were me, Hightower, your baby brother would be dead, maybe floating face-down in the Delaware. I’m not much for theatrics.”

“What the fuck, then?”

“Jane Wilkins.”

“Who?”

“Jane Wilkins is a woman on crutches. Crippled. Helpless. You put her in the hospital with a concussion.”

“I did nothing of the kind!”

“Christian - who names an innocent baby Christian? Anyway, Christian Hightower got the idea Miss Wilkins was cutting into his business, so he sent your dime store knee cappers to give her a message. Are you following me?”

“I had nothing to do with –”

“You own Cubby Home Taxi Service. That’s not a question.”

“How could you possibly know –”

“Your people put Wilkins in the hospital with a concussion. You own what your people did. That’s the way this works.”

“What do you want? OK. I’ll cover the hospital bills. What? Maybe I should buy her a new taxi? Sent her flowers?”

“Firstly, Hightower. You don’t want to test me. That is unless your last will and testament is up to date. So, watch your tone.”

He looked in all directions, then back to me.

I raised my eyebrow behind my glasses. “Oh?”

“That people thought you were bluffing when you weren’t is what cost them thousands. What do you want?”

I produced a notecard. “This church needs a complete interior renovation.”

“Huh?”

“Indulgences, Hightower. It’s how you get to heaven.”

He eyed the card. “I really had no idea. If Cubby had brought it to me, I would have told him to go fuck himself. Be that as it may.”

“Be that as it may. Here we are.”

“I don’t know the first thing –”

“I know people. I’ll put it together. Put your name on it. You can even run money through the project. Better, cleaner than nickel and dime operations like motor shops, car washes, notions, and cab companies.”

“I want to see the paper.”

As I retreated, he stood. “What did you and Olivia talk about?”

“Girl things. She liked my nail polish, lipstick. We made arraignments to go shoe shopping, maybe have lunch.”

“Good. She needs a friend like that.”

I narrowed my eyes, my sarcasm once again disappearing into the void.

“You going to be at the card game tomorrow night?”

I shrugged. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Make sure you’re at the table by eight o’clock.”

I would have snickered if I wanted to give my hand away. “Sharp.” I was and wasn’t surprised Hightower didn’t know of Olivia’s plan.

 

“What a view,” John Goldman said, watching out the window, hands behind his back, not turning.

“It is that, Mr. Goldman.”

“We’ve had to make some changes –”

“I’m sure they’re all good changes.”

“Jessica said you’d say that. Andy is delightful.”

“She is that. She gets so excited, I’m surprised her bones don’t jump out of her flesh.”

“That’s a, ah, colorful but accurate way to put it. Do you wish to see the final drawing?”

“No. I have another project.”

“Of course, you do. You should take a breath, dance in the rain.”

I presented an index card.

“A church?”

“A man really pissed me off. As penitence, he’ll be paying for the renovation.”

Goldman turned his attention from the window. “I can’t even imagine –”

I held his eyes. “You don’t want to.”

“Mackenzie Bond!” he called over his shoulder.

“Sir!” The man was barely not a child, close cropped russet hair, complexion like heavy cream, spooky transparent blue eyes, his body serving as a coat rack for his size-too-big dark suit, thin black tie.

“Take a ride over. Interior renovation. As needed?” he asked me.

“As needed.” I looked at Bond. “I’ll be accepting your recommendations.”

“Nothing exterior?”

“I noticed a couple of windowsills, some clapboard. I think this summer I’ll take care of that personality, scrape and paint.”

“You?” His spooky eyes went wide.

“And, I thought I might like you.” I glanced the spacious room. “No women, Mr. Goldman?”

“Oh, I would consider women, if any applied.”

“Why don’t you give Andy a call. Offer her a summer internship.”

“That’s a great idea.”

I showed Bond my palm. “I’ll overlook the attitude. For now. Your work better shine.”

“If I may offer an apology –”

“You may not.”

“I’ll get right on this. You won’t be disappointed, ah –”

“Grimes. Artemis Grimes.”

He bowed away.

“Artemis Grimes?”

“Yes. New face, new name, new account.”

He offered an arm, which I took. “Let’s retreat to my office, set up this new account for you.”

“Only if you promise to tell me a Mary Langley story.”

“Oh, if you have time in your busy, busy, day, Miss Grimes.”

“Kind of like dancing in the rain, Mr. Goldman.”

“Kind of just like that, Miss Grimes.”

 

The afternoon sun blasted through the opening as I stepped into the dimly lit room. “I need a detective. It’s a matter of life and death.”

“I’m a detective,” Serling said, coming to his feet behind the desk. “Oh, what a moment that was!”

I removed my hat and dark glasses, dropping to a chair. “Seems like years. Smells better in here.”

“Hired a cleaning service.”

“I would have done it.”

“That’s why I didn’t ask.”

“I’ve got the last chair back.”

He dropped to the desk, pen in hand. “Oh, do tell.”

“Chris Ferretti. He looks like Santa Claus. Does the Santa thing in the mall.”

“I think there’s irony there.”

“Says he’s giving back to the community.”

“Gathering a list of the naughty girls.”

“Even clumsily veiled child rape jokes aren’t funny.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“That’s the clumsy veil.”

He pulled on his chin. “Point taken. I’ve never heard of him. With me mucking around in this sewer, that says a lot.”

“Smoking mirror, Richard. A lot of smoking mirrors.”

“I think you mean smoke and mirrors.”

I raised an eyebrow. “The leading head most high lieutenant for the region is –”

“It’s not Santa?”

“I was told the structure is secret. I’m not supposed to know Santa is the last chair back.”

“But you were in the room with all his worshippers.”

“It was kind of obvious.”

Serling banged on the edge desk with his fingers.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Eh. A drum roll. I’ve never been good at it.”

“I can manage without.”

“OK then. Who runs the show locally?”

“Bill Locke.”

“I did not see that coming.”

“That’s exactly what I thought.”

“Smoking mirrors, Toby. Smoking mirrors.”

“I told you.”

He pulled on his chin again. “Now that I know that – you know, the fake LLC front makes sense. I can look at things differently.”

“Who, then, did he steal money from?”

“You mean whose money did you steal?”

“You say I stole it. I say payment for services rendered.”

“I’ll get that chiseled into your tomb stone.”

“Richard Serling. Before I’m done, I’m going to scorch the earth. They’ll never see me coming.”

“I’m so in love with you right now. Marry me?”

I rolled my eyes. “Speaking of scorching things. Would you kill for me without question.”

“Yes.”

I snickered, almost a laugh. “You know, not too long ago you would have hesitated, offering a Symposium-like dissertation on good and evil.”

“I’ve seen your soul.”

“I’ll accept that without offering my Symposium-like dissertation on why we don’t have souls.”

“Who am I killing?”

“Do you own a tuxedo?”

“Of course not.”

“See Charlotte at Valkyries Drycleaners and Formal Wear on the Avenue. Tell her I need it for tomorrow night.”

“I’ve seen the place.”

“Meet me seven o’clock at the Commadore, Center City. In the lobby.”

“The plan?”

“Tomorrow night.” I eyed his notepad. “Linda Tyler. Profile her and her family.”

“Who’s she?”

“The woman I’m buying the restaurant for?”

“Jessica Flores.”

“She has a fiancé. Jake Simone. I’ve not put him on our list because I’m not jealous and petty.”

Serling snickered.

I may have blushed. “Someday I’ll tell you the story of the linen closet.”

“You just told me enough. Now I’m jealous. She’s a powerful woman. Like you.”

“I’m barely not a child, Serling, only an adult by circumstance.”

“I know that, too. My point remains.”

I resisted an eye roll. “Dinner last night. Jake’s there. The youngest of the gangsters by decades. He has a date.”

“I’m assuming not his fiancé.”

“Linda Tyler. Who he referred to as his virgin.”

Serling stared through me for an eternity. “Fuck.”

“I’m also curious as to where Manny Flores, Jessica’s father and chef for dinner last night went to college.”

He threw he hands up. “Let’s just assume Cambridge and save me the time.”

“I hate conjecture.”

I stood, placing the medical report on his desk. “Molly Rose. Full family background.”

“Fuck, Toby. Where’d you get this?”

“God.”

“You don’t believe in God.”

“I’m getting there.”

 

Having discovered the perfect window to eye-fuck my reflection, I glanced the interior for any young women who might misinterpret my actions. “I need a house, my own house with lots of mirrors.” The mall was quiet, late Friday afternoon, my reflection the perfect balance of tease and torment.

As if on cue to ruin my experience, my father came up behind me. “Good afternoon,” he greeted. “Love the hat.”

I watched him watching me in the reflection. I thought I could play the prostitute, offer him services, lure him outside, sink my knife in his neck.

If not for the daylight and witnesses.

Turning, he crowded me, inappropriately close.

“Day drinking on a Friday is never a good look.”

“I had a beer with lunch. At The Tavern Ale House, here on the mall. You do know what ale is, don’t you?”

“You need not get defensive, Mr. Snippy. What can I do for you?”

“I wasn’t being defensive. I was just explaining.”

“OK. You’re not day drinking. You just had an ale with lunch.”

“Right.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I’m just making conversation, you know, like people do in a polite society.”

With all my force of will, I resisted an eye roll. “Polite society or not, I do not owe you anything. You are not entitled to my attention.”

“Who’s being snippy now?”

“Me. Take the hint. I do not wish to be bothered by the likes of you. Persist, my next stop is down the security office to file a complaint.”

“Why are the prettiest girls always so stuck up?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Why I ought to –” His right hand went up.

Sure, hit me. I’ll take you to the floor, sit on your chest, grasp your head like a melon, and crack your head open on the tile floor.

He stomped away on heavy feet because like Sailor Max, he didn’t have anything to ought to.

 

I dropped on the chair behind the desk in the office at Harvest Chateau, completely unseen or rather unnoticed walking through the restaurant. The contradiction danced in my head. As a child, I knew my father didn’t like me. Now, I was angry he really liked me.

“Making his dick so hard a cat can’t scratch it isn’t the compliment I’d like it to be.”

The door opened, Bob Edwards froze two paces in.

“Robert,” I greeted.

“No one calls me Robert.”

“Take a breath. I’ve not come to kill you.”

“I didn’t think that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Only for a second, not even a second.”

“How’s Taylor?”

He dropped to a chair against the far wall. “I’d have thought you’d ask about Pamala.”

“I know how Pamala is.”

“Taylor is about the same.”

“Michelle?”

“Eh?”

“What are you going to do? Michelle really needs this job, and I don’t mean the money.”

“I hadn’t considered that.”

“Of course, you haven’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“As you know, I survived the mine field that was two alcoholic parents. Thanks to them, I’ve developed certain survival skills. One such skill is to see the whole picture, to read the entire room. People live with blinders on, like seeing life in a shorthand.

“Of course, you’d not see Michael really needs this job, that this job is essential to her development.”

“That’s all well and good –”

“Michelle is not my inner circle. She’s barely in my sphere.”

His narrowed eyes asked the question.

I let out a sigh that should have dimmed the lights. “We crashed into each other in elementary school, though we were never friends. He had a crush on me. Rather, he was torn between the desire to either fuck me or be me.”

Edwards snickered.

“I’ve not found that amusing.”

“I felt the same way about Taylor.”

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, you took one, Michael the other.”

“Michael’s choice is far from being made.”

“There’s my fucking point, Robert, and why Michael so desperately needs this job.”

“OK. I get all that – now. He’s your friend, though. We need distance.”

“Michael was never my friend. Michelle is a friend loaded down with stipulations.”

“Friends don’t load friends down with stipulations. We’ve talked about this.”

“My point exactly.”

“I understand he lives with you.”

“I’m providing him with a safe place where he can discover who he is as a woman.”

“As long as Taylor never learns her connection to you, Michelle has a job here.”

“Big picture, Robert. What’s the most important thing to Pamala other than me and family?”

Again, the narrowed eyes.

“Graduating with her class. Being on the stage with all the pomping and circumstancing, receiving her diploma, a smile too big for her face – that moment. When Pamala thinks of her sister, that’s what she remembers hardest. A perfect moment when all the shit didn’t matter and the universe was perfect.”

Edwards stared past me. “She missed her finals.”

“Because I care about Pamala more than I care about how her getting mugged hurts me, I took care of it.”

“Took care of what?”

“The school proxied her tests in the hospital. She’ll be on that stage, receiving her diploma with her class if I have to buy a palanquin and hire six people to carry her. You may love your daughter, Robert, but I love her more.”

A tear coursed down his cheek. “I know. I know. I’ve not known how to love Maria. Now, I can’t suffer seeing Pamala in that hospital bed. Taylor blames you.”

“We know that’s wrong.”

“Do we? Taylor says you’re dangerous.”

I stood. “You’ve instructed me to murder three people. How am I different from you?”

“You kill people. I don’t.”

“We did this. If I hit a man in the head with a rock and kill him, do we blame the rock? Of course not. I’m your rock. You’re the murderer.”

“I don’t agree.”

“Tell Taylor she does want to come up against me. You lost Maria years ago and you know it. You and Taylor made that choice because your love you no matter what had limits, stipulations.

“You can’t look at Pamala now because she’s damaged and that hurts you. It hurts her more, yet it’s all my fault because I’m dangerous.

“Look at Maria. She’s happy, maybe for the first time in years. She’s humming when she thinks no one is listening. She smiles at nothing.

“Me, Robert. That’s all me. And Taylor calls me dangerous. I am the best thing that’s ever happened to your daughters. You said it yourself.

“Get out of the way. Everything is going to be alright.”

 

Close to midnight, I watched out over the city from the spacious dark room. “I could stare for one thousand years.” Without turning, I said, “Need me?” to Shawn’s reflection.”

“God, that woman is smart. I never thought I’d meet anyone smarter than you.”

“First time I met her, I was knocked dumb. Lost my ability to speak.”

“I would have liked to have seen that.”

“How bad?”

Shawn glanced behind her. “Jennifer’s been rolling her eyes, shaking her head a lot.”

“So have I.”

Jennifer Reeves wandered from the accounting room, ledger open, examining pages, dropping to a nearby chair.

The door to the hallway opened presenting Inspector April Mathers. “Ah,” she said, approaching. “Artemis. I thought you’d be here.” She offered a nod. “Shawn.”

“Jennifer Reeves,” Reeves said, coming to her feet, a hand forward.

She took the hand. “April Mathers.”

“You may speak freely,” I said, turning back to the window.

“Mrs. French wants a status report.”

“I’m glad I brought help.” I turned, stepping inappropriately close. “Are you OK?”

“I don’t know whether I’m in a dream or a nightmare.”

“A breath ago, you were the number two investigator in the state of New Jersey. Now, you’re the number one of a major crime boss. With no back up, no safety net.”

“Same shit, different flies. Sure, I’m OK. I made a decision. I’m going to ride this out.”

“How’s that?” Shawn asked. “Not the riding. I get the riding. I signed the same contract. The shit and flies.”

“At County I was the best and brightest in the room, often ignored, always dismissed.”

I chuckled. “Getting no respect, huh?”

“It’s as if they’re humoring me. Mrs. French is good at what she does. There’s nothing wrong with her management. It seems she’s being undercut at every turn.” She turned to me. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”

“You may speak freely.”

She looked from Reeves, to Shawn, and finally to me. “I don’t think we need kill anyone. Maybe send a strong message that French isn’t fooling around anymore. Get their attention if not their respect.”

I shrugged, half winking. “I feel things may work out.”

Reeves dropped back to the chair, book open. “I’m not so sure, Toby. We’re wasting our time here. I mean with these books. They’re not even trying. It’s as if they know the business is going under. There’s no accounting for anything.”

“This side of the river, it’s Artemis, not Toby.”

“I knew that.”

“At the risk of repeating myself, I feel things may work out.”

Reeves offered the ledger as proof. “I can’t possibly see how. The assets are drained. She’s on the edge of collapse.”

I shrugged. “While I have you two in the same place, I’d like you to take April’s affidavit that’s she’s gone undercover into the French organization with the intent to ferret out a child abduction, rape, murder scheme.”

Reeves stopped breathing, staring at me. “Fuck, Toby.”

“Include that this needs to be secret because we’re not aware of the extent of the corruption with solid evidence of some law enforcement.”

“I’ve got this,” Matters said.

Reeves produced her yellow legal pad.

“Use any of these typewriters,” I suggested. “Shawn can sign off as a witness.” I nodded. “This gives you at least some kind of get out of jail free card.”

“Thank you,” Matters said.

“Do you dance, April?”

“Dance?”

“You seem like the type of person who never allows herself time. Time to just look out a window.”

“Until recently, I was the number two investigator in the State of New Jersey.”

“Tomorrow night,” Shawn said. “We, meaning me and the girls, private club, wild swing dancing.”

“Swing? Been years. I wasn’t half bad in high school. Do you mean like the Lindy Hop?”

“I mean just like that.”

“Mrs. French wants me in the room tomorrow night.”

I shared a dismissive, casual shrug. “Tell Mrs. French you need to take care of some things. Tell her, too, that I’ll be in the room. At her table.”

Shawn and I shared a glance that should have lit up the room with Saint Elmo’s Fire.

 

 

Part 32 coming soon