“This makes no sense at all,” I said, nose to nose with Bill Locke’s photo on my murder wall.
“She said for the hundredth time.”
I shivered. “At least he fucked me from behind, didn’t slobber on my face.”
“Thank God for small favors.”
“Sure, let Him be thanked, Serling.”
I stayed with the wall, Serling, feet up on the table, leaning back in the chair. “Everything about what they do is illegal, which makes it all a tough nut to crack.”
“The files, all your background makes him a minor player, that is if he’s a player at all. He was abandoned young. He was a spoiled poor little rich child. Everything is a contradiction. The day we met, he’s dressed in a suit not off the rack, playing with his roller coaster car like it’s a model train set.” Narrowing my eyes, I took in the map of Playland. “The place is a trap. All that’s missing is a Free Candy sign out front.”
“Locke’s a child among adults.”
“Mary said as much. Gave me the impression she runs things. Tolerates her brother for whatever reason. I saw her in a heated exchange with Mrs. French.”
“Mary can’t run anything. As you so colorfully like to put it: She has no dick.”
“Dickless. I’m thinking now that it’s not that Mrs. French can’t run things. They never let her.” I turned, stepping, my hands on the table. “Mary wasn’t at the Abner meeting. If I were my mother, I’d tell you not to lean back in that chair.”
“If you were your mother, you’d be drunk.” He indicated the many open files on the table with a wave of his hand. “Archetype LLC.”
“What about it?”
“Why?”
I rolled my eyes. “Money laundering.”
“Not that, Toby.”
“Oh, I see. Archetype LLC establishes Falcon as the de facto owner of the restaurant.”
“Because neither you nor Jessica has a dick.”
“Jennifer’s established me as Grimes LLC because as a woman, I can’t even open a bank account or wipe my butt without a man’s approval.”
“Being a woman and a minor.”
“With Grimes and my DBAs, people so easily look the other way.” I turned back to the wall. “Mrs. French referred to Bill as her employee, stealing money from her.”
“Yet, Reeves said pretty much everyone is bellied up to the trough.”
“Like a fire sale. Jennifer will have a complete breakdown by the end of the week.”
“Do you think French really thinks Locke works for her?”
“She did give me an incomplete file as a test. She’s in trouble, and she knows it. This makes no sense at all.”
“You’ve said that.”
“From what I saw Thursday night, Bill Locke obviously runs the show.”
“Just under—”
“Ferretti. Santa Claus.”
“Maybe just a front man. Their Butch Falcon.”
“I really don’t think so. Not the greeting he got. From what I gather, he was the focus of the federal investigation.”
“Maybe intentionally.”
“I was thinking that.”
“Put himself in the crosshairs, taking the attention off everyone else, and managed the evidence.”
“Evidence like bags full of cash.”
“Conveniently disappearing, though not as Locke planned.”
I let out a deflating sigh, turning again from the wall. “I need to talk to this headstrong assistant DA.”
“The person who brought the charges?”
“Yes.”
“Lucas Caspian.”
“How’d you know—”
He smirked. “I was sure you’d get around to that. Everything is sealed, confidential—”
“Confidential is a category, not an actuality.”
“Remember who you’re talking to.” He dropped his feet to the floor, shifting uncomfortably. “Let me approach him. I understand he’s a straight shooter. You don’t want to expose yourself.”
“Everyone’s a straight shooter—”
“Until they’re not.”
“Caspian. Lucas. Could there be two?”
“Two what?”
“People by that name.”
“Well, sure, it’s possible.”
I closed my eyes. “Edgewood’s governed by three people. Tillman: the mayor and two councilmen.”
“How or why do you even know that?”
“Well, I am playing in their yard. Besides, I’ve read the paper every day since I was in diapers. Mayor Tillman’s mentioned all the time, doing this, doing that.”
“Most small towns have a similar structure—”
“Mayor Tillman, John McCarthy, and—”
“Should I beat my fingers on the table?”
“Please don’t.”
“Good, I don’t feel like sitting up. I’m comfortable.”
“Lucas Caspian. Can a man hold two jobs like that?”
“Small town? Likely a part-time job.”
“Maybe as full or part-time as they wish the job to be.”
With a shrug, I plucked a photo from the wall. “Locke’s a crossdresser.”
“We have photos—”
“It’s weird—”
“I’ve never understood—”
“I’m beginning to. Not the point. Locke’s a crossdresser yet hates the way he looks all dolled up.”
“He squirrels away in a seedy motel, gets all dolled up, walks the upper veranda a dozen times. I don’t get it.”
“What’s not to get?”
Serling smirked at my sarcasm.
“There’s a big clue. Rich man, huge house, sneaks away to the Dew Drop Inn, hiding from everyone for some me time.”
“How’s that a big clue?”
“He’s hiding from everyone. He’s afraid of someone. Someone more powerful than him.”
“Santa Claus, maybe. I still don’t get the charm in wearing a dress and walking the veranda.”
“He masturbates.”
“Oh, that all makes sense then.”
“Make the sense to me as if I don’t have a dick.”
“He’s ashamed, maybe embarrassed.”
“Of what he sees in the mirror?”
“Toby.” He held my eyes.
“Rich.”
“Men, or should I say some men?”
I shrugged. “I can parse the syntax.”
He snickered. “Some men are ashamed of what arouses them yet can’t not go back to that well.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Sometimes I’m late on the door, you know, men.”
“Huh?”
“Oh, I told you. I give the diddler and the diddled a few minutes, force the door, and get snaps of them naked on the bed.”
“Because no one actually fucks under the blankets. Yeah, men, I follow. In and out like a boy on prom night.”
“Timing. Sometimes, there he is, sitting on the side of the bed, face in his hands, crying like a baby.”
I closed my eyes. “A man told me if he could stop, life would be much simpler for him.”
“I don’t get why anyone would care what benevolent hobbies another man might have.”
“The best I can figure is cross-dressing is lumped in with homosexuality, which is condemned in the Bible—”
“Not all people are religious.”
“We can’t stand in the water and not get wet.”
“We can’t.”
“Which is why I hate conjecture and presumption. Our conjecture is a product of shit we’ve assumed to be true, the water—wet part.”
“That’s something I learned early on in my line of work.”
I rolled my eyes. “How’d we get here?”
“I think you were deconstructing the Locke picture.”
I glanced the Locke section of the murder board. “We not only are missing information, but we also have bad information.”
“Agreed.”
“Mike Borrows comes up nowhere in connection to Locke or Hemingway LLC. Did he represent Locke in the indictment thing?”
“You don’t get a lawyer in a grand jury thing.”
I gave Serling my huh face.
“I thought you read a law book or three. Evidence is presented to the jury. The jury decides whether there’s enough evidence to go to trial.”
“Ah. That makes an indictment easy to get.”
“Until the evidence turns out to be bad.”
Grand jury. Caspian gets an, eh, indictment. Secret?”
“Most are. That’s when the indicted gets charged and arrested.”
“Judge, jury.”
“In this case, apparently, the judge looked at the case and threw it out. Likely with a wink and a nod.”
I nodded. “Apparently. This is where Borrows comes in?”
“The court records disappeared like Locke’s money. The only connection I can find linking Locke and Borrows is the eight houses they own together.”
“I thought it was seven.”
“Eight, counting the one you lived in.”
I sighed a sigh that should have brought the ceiling down. “Sloppy on their part.”
“How’s that?”
“Borrows has taken great pains to have no paper connection to Locke. The houses, and then there’s Locke’s party. The dressing up. Apparently, Borrows has his kink. He likes to dress up and have a real girl give him a blow job.”
“Wouldn’t that be real woman?”
“Of all the women in the room other than Marcy, he trolled Michelle, so I’ll stick with girl. We have photos of Borrows. Sloppy drunk. His tragic flaw.” I nodded across the wall. “We have to inspect the houses.”
“Ensure no children are tied up in the basements.”
“Yes. And, since we’re detectives, look for clues.”
“Clues of—”
“Since we’re missing information, we don’t know.”
“Now you’re thinking like a detective.”
“I may always have. Stephany Locke.”
“Who?”
“Bill’s wife.”
“Oh, I knew that.”
“What’s she do?”
“Nothing.” He shifted through the files on the table. “Midwest girl.”
“How old is she?”
“Eh.” He flipped the folder open. “Ah, forty-seven.”
“Let’s not call her a girl, then.”
“Habit.”
“Like crossdressing?”
He cleared his throat. “She doesn’t do much of anything; looks to be a recluse. She does chair a foundation. All indications are she founded it.”
Receiving the file, I said, “I like how you made clear what was conjectured.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Welcome Home. Endearing yet corny.”
“I assume it’s money laundering.”
“Don’t. Direct aid to orphaned children. Bill’s got this story he tells of growing up in a home for boys.”
“The home I could find no evidence of.”
“Conjecture: Bill Locke meets Stephany. Learns she has some sort of personal history with orphans. He lays his boys’ home schtick on her. He is charismatic and a schmoozer. Can read a room and a person, knows exactly what to say.”
“He applied that when Caspian came with his investigation.”
I snickered. “I bet Locke led Lucus Caspian to the forest and told Caspian what the trees looked like. I have never met a liar as good as him, and I’ve met some liars.” My snicker became a laugh, though subtle. “Looks like I have my own Professor Moriarty.”
“Should I add, eh, Moriarty to the list?”
“Locke blindsided me with his stories. I did not know an adult would just make up stories to convince me of whatever. Paul did the same thing.”
“Well, Toby, it’s well-known a man will say anything to get laid.”
“I did the same thing with Mrs. French.”
“You wanted to have sex with—”
“No, Serling. I wanted to tell her I was a pathological killer without saying I was a pathological killer. I made up a couple childhood stories fitting the profile.”
“Not a bad idea.”
“I was just letting her confirm what she already knew.”
“Still—”
“Serling. I need to speak to Stephany Locke, fill in some of these details. At this moment, I’m conjecturing they meant me to be the scapegoat all along, with Locke raping me as much as he could with his fantasy boy shit going on, then burying me in The Pines.”
“Wouldn’t that be fantasy man?”
“Not when he acts like a boy.”
“Parsing aside, that’s good conjecturing. She’s rich. Runs a foundation. Should be easy to get her day-to-day. I’m sure there’s a country club she regulars. Artemis could run into her.”
“A woman running a foundation. That’s unheard—” Paging through the file, I froze, holding up an 8 x 10 photo next to my face, a photo similar enough to my photo of fake adult Antonette from the washing machine ad I cut out from Life magazine. “Did you even look at this file?”
“As I gather information, I review everything. With your hair short and darker, I didn’t make the connection. I never met you in your previous incarnation.”
“Creepier and creepier. I bet I know what his mother looks like.”
I sat cross-legged just above the river; bibbed denim coveralls, white tee shirt, denim bucket hat, dark glasses, and orange work boots, sun teasing through the trees, reminding me of lunch with Jessica. I’d not spent much time with Grandpa Pervert and Grandma Enabler there on the farm. I was there one August for hay baling.
The last hunk of concrete dropped from my scoop thing into the truck when the tractor pulling the long, flat hay wagon rolled to a stop on the street fifty-plus yards below, Richard Katz hurrying up. “You’re not going to believe this,” he called.
My scoop thing fell quiet.
“Did you know the mayor is coming?”
“What the fuck, Mr. Katz,” I answered, climbing down. “I guess not to bale hay.”
“Huh? Oh. Platform for a speech. Politicians love making speeches.”
I rolled my eyes so hard, they almost got stuck in my head. “Company line.”
Katz nodded. “I just work here. Everything is referred to Shawn.”
“You’ll backfill—”
“Toby.”
“Of course.” I surveyed the landscape. “I thought it’d take all day, not two hours.”
“You’re good on this thing.”
“Good morning,” Chase Hastings greeted, dropping next to me.
“Rare moments, Miss Hastings, a gift I give myself, to just sit and watch the ducks.”
“They’re geese.”
I shot her a sideways glance.
“Oh.”
“I loathe a circus.”
“Thus, the ducks.”
“Rare moments.”
“My fault. The circus. I called Mayor Tillman’s office for a comment on your project.”
“You can get the mayor on the phone?”
“Generally.”
“I’d not considered that.”
“Considered what?”
“Your access. As a resource. Not just for gaining information but planting information, maybe getting into a room I couldn’t otherwise.”
I could feel Hastings’ stare as a glacier in Minnesota retreated another foot and a half. Then, “Before we do anything else, I need to be clear on some things.”
I stayed with the ducks. “Clear away.”
She carefully articulated my entire birth name. “That’s you.”
“You are now the eighth person who knows that. Everyone else believes me dead, other than the supermarket checkout line tabloid fans.”
“October—”
“Toby’s fine.”
“Toby, I need to hear a yes.”
“I don’t blame you. Yes, that’s me.”
She flipped the pages in her notebook. “I have so many questions.”
“Miss Hastings. I am not the topic for your news stories. Someday maybe. I doubt it. I don’t like the spotlight.”
“Deep background.”
“Protect your source. Not even your editor. Particularly not your editor.”
“Raymond Carter? Why?”
My head swiveled like a tank turret. I held her eyes, eyes much like my own. “Raymond Carter and your father attended the same college.”
“Ten long seconds dripped by like water from a faucet with a worn washer.”
“Why do you even know that?”
“Before we do anything else, to echo you, Chase, I need to be very clear on something.”
“Okay.”
I went back to my ducks. “Does your loyalty to your family supersede your loyalty to the truth?” I shrugged ever so slightly. “Wrong answer; you’ll see me walking away and never see me again.”
“We did a version of this.”
“In Collings Nook. To echo you again: I need to hear the words.”
“Over the years, we’ve often been left out of the room.”
“You and your mother—the we.”
“Yes. Other women at family gatherings.”
I smirked bitterly. “Brandy and cigars. So cliché.”
“I’ve often felt like a beggar at my own door.”
“I feel, Chase, our relationship could grow beyond professional, beyond personal, beyond friendship. I feel someday we could be the kind of friends who would help bury a body no questions asked.”
She held her breath, staring at my ear. “My loyalty will always be to the truth.”
“Good. I don’t feel like getting up.”
“I feel we should shake hands or something.”
“Maybe a blood oath.”
“Women already share the blood oath, which is why men feel the need to create their own secret clubs. Cigars and brandy.”
“I bet there’s some sort of ritual masturbation, too, just to prove to themselves they don’t need women.”
“Toby!”
“Or worse.”
“What could be worse?”
“Don’t ask the question unless you want to hear the answer.”
“Question withdrawn,” she said. “Down to business?”
“Let’s.”
“Olivia Carter isn’t letting go.”
“Mrs. Abner’s obsession with finding the ghost girl?”
“I told her it’s a nothing story. That you’re dead.”
“That didn’t take long.”
“What didn’t take long?”
“Your loyalty to the truth.”
“Oh, I know the truth. I’m just not telling Olivia. You drop from the sky. Cut her lawn. You were looking for something.”
“Did you know Olivia’s husband, Reginald Abner, has a chair at the table of the organization known as Hemingway?”
“Bill Locke’s Hemingway?”
“Yes.”
“I told you they kept me far away from that story.” She bit her lip. “You’re saying Olivia and Ray are somehow linked to, eh, the Bill Locke story? Gangsters, missing children?”
“Chin deep.”
“There’s going to come a time I’m going to have to bring my publisher in on the story. He has final say on everything we go to press with. I’m going to have to name names and cite sources. Run everything by legal. Confidential, I should at least run it by Mr. Ferretti—”
“Chris Ferretti?”
“Toby.” She took a deep breath. “No. He’s such a nice guy.”
“Who doesn’t think Santa Claus is a nice guy? I can see him ho, ho, ho-ing, yucking it up with legal, Mike Borrows, over all the news fit to print.”
Her sigh should have set the geese to wing, which confirmed I was correct about Borrows. “I need to know what you know. I can’t be stumbling around in the dark.”
“I was just thinking that. This week, I’ll show you my murder board.”
“Murder board?”
“A murder board is—”
“I know what it is.”
“Of course, you do. As for Mrs. Abner. She has a plan to murder her husband tonight. Things may not go as planned. That should distract her from the ghost girl.”
“I want an exclusive.”
“This story will never see the light of day.”
“Why?”
“Again, we circle back to my murder board. They—that’s to say the gangsters—wish to eliminate one of their own to take her assets. They strategically placed other people they wish to murder at the same table. Maybe more fortune than strategic.”
I indicated behind me with a casual wave. “Chief Meyer is one of the add-ons.”
“Joe?”
“Yes.”
“He’s on the take?”
“I’ve not looked at him hard. At this point, I think he takes a few bucks here and there, looks the other way on minor things like when someone puts a hit out on me. Not a major player. After tonight, he’ll be my player.”
“I should be writing this all down.”
“I’m just giving you a taste, so you know I’m more valuable for what I know than who I am.”
“The duck that lays the golden eggs.”
“I see what you did there.”
I sat cross-legged at the side of the front loader, floppy hat and sunglasses on; the front loader was surrounded by volunteers, mostly children around my age, with Shawn in the operator's seat. Carl Little waved his free hand, calling out directions with Chase Hastings over his shoulder.
“Take off your hat and sunglasses,” he called, pointing.
“You don’t want to do that,” Hastings said to him.
“Oh, it’s just—”
“Take the picture, Carl.”
As we broke, Theodore Avery came up on me. “Ah, Toby, I wanted to thank you, like for everything.”
I snickered. “Sure. You’re welcome, for like, everything. Hell of a job today.”
“You own the front loader.”
“Well, I admit. Pushing the scoop thing around is a lot of fun. Who’s your friend?”
“Oh, right, yeah. We work together for Mr. Katz, ah—well, he’s a friend, too. My best friend.”
I offered a hand. “Toby.”
“Archie Merrifield.” Archie, barely twenty, a full head over me, built broad, walnut shell brown hair to his shoulders, deep brown eyes, took my hand.
“Hell of a job today,” I repeated. “Want to do some more work for me?”
“You mean work for Shawn,” Ted said.
“I mean exactly that.”
“Sure.”
“1852 Mill Street. Other side of town. Both of you. Yardwork. Wednesday.”
Ted repeated the address. “Bright and early!”
“See Shawn for the employment paperwork,” I told Archie, turning back to Avery. “One more thing.”
“I’m just the right person to do a thing!” He saluted terribly.
I chuckled. “The Newton house.”
“Yes? The Newton house. New front door and jamb. All good?”
“Yes. The door is good. Thursday. I need it cleared out. Everything except the books.”
“Everything?”
“Yes. Anything serviceable or sellable, drop off at the church thrift shop. Use the truck. Get the keys from Shawn. Everything else goes in the trash container.”
He stepped, going to my ear. “You’re the real boss, aren’t you?” stepping back.
“Yes.”
“Toby. Anything you need. Anything.”
I gave him a sharp nod.
I stood invisible, nondescript among mostly children around my age, all busy, all happy in their labors. Shawn pushed me aside, taking charge.
Donna Weber was a beautiful child, again, my age. I couldn’t hear what she said across the distance. I could tell she was mocking, teasing my brother. When he’d had enough, he slapped her across the face.
Amused, I thought at once that maybe she deserved a slap and that she should never get slapped. Mark was playing out the drama he witnessed with our parents. I didn’t know what drama Donna played out, likely the dynamic between her and her father. I knew Donna could rise to greatness if she got out of her own way.
“I think I shall kill you,” I said in a whisper, watching my brother. “If for no other reason than to end our bloodline.”
Rachel Paige nudged my shoulder with hers, offering a hot dog with a touch of mustard.
“Thanks. Just how I like it.”
“I asked Shawn.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Good. You?”
“It wasn’t a polite question.”
“Better. All this helps.”
“Getting out of your own head.”
“Yes. Like that. I had no idea about the Indians who used to live here. This park is a great idea.
“The least we can do.”
“The least.”
“Molly Rose.”
Rachel panned the crowd.
“I didn’t mean she’s here. Do you know her?”
“In school. I don’t know her, know her.”
“Would you?”
“Would I what?”
“Get to know her. Be her friend.”
“They say she does drugs.”
“I don’t care what they say.”
Rachel nodded. “She doesn’t talk to anyone. Doesn’t even wash her hair. She’s in trouble, isn’t she?”
“She won’t ask for help.”
Rachel released a sigh through her teeth. “That’s not going to stop us, is it?”
“No, it is not, and let me be clear: This is a secret mission.”
“Secret mission,” she repeated.
“I need to know without a doubt who’s beating on her.”
“When I got caught, I was alone. I know the feeling. I bet Molly can use a friend, too.”
“I’ll say it again—”
“Yeah, at first I didn’t even know I needed Pamala’s help.”
Mr. Maynard Rollings had taken the podium on the hay wagon, telling his version of history, Mayor Tillman over Rollings’ shoulder, Tillman always aware of where the cameras were. My day of extracting a foundation and landscaping had been hijacked, made into a spectacle. Shawn welcomed the attention. I did not, wallpapering behind the crowd, the spectacle drawing on itself, attracting more people.
Samantha Sullivan, her shoulder bumping mine, unfurled a twenty-inch scroll. “Huh? Huh?”
“Beautiful, Andy.”
“I’m trying to be mad at you.”
“Why? I mean, what for?”
“Mr. Goldman. Oh, I love him to death. A job in his office for the summer? You embarrassed me.”
Chase stepped between us. “My gosh, beautiful. You did this?”
“Chase.”
“Toby?”
“Step back maybe five steps.”
“Huh?” She glanced Sullivan. “Oh.” She retreated.
“I apologize, Andy. I thought it’d be a good opportunity for you.”
“Oh, it’s a great opportunity. Just not for me. If you’d stood in the middle of their drafting room—”
“Closed my eyes, taken a deep breath. Now that you point it out, I understand.”
“I do love their printers. Mr. Goldman invited me to play anytime I wish.” She swiveled her head. “Chase?”
Stepping. “Chase Hastings.”
Sullivan rattled the poster. “You were saying?”
“Beautiful.”
“Yes, I drew this. This is the final draft. The monument for Toby’s Garden.”
“Don’t call it that. I don’t want that to catch on.”
“I was sure you’d understand about that embarrassment thing.”
“This must run with the story,” Hastings said.
“Story?” Sullivan asked.
“I’m with the Herald Post.”
“Oh, that Chase Hastings. I want a byline.”
“Of course.”
Sullivan rolled the poster. “You can have this one.”
“Digger thing,” I insisted. “Sure, Andy’s work is much better art, but the digger thing photo tells a better story.”
“With the mayor here—”
“Stealing my event.”
“Stealing your event, the event becomes worth a feature. I’ll have space for two photos.”
I narrowed my eyes. “A feature you’re writing.”
“Exactly.”
“Chase Hastings, Samantha Sullivan.”
As their hands joined, Hastings said, “I’ve been warned Toby collects beautiful women.”
Blushing, she said, “Andy with a y,” spelling her last name as Hastings noted.
“Another speech,” I moaned. “Shouldn’t you be listening, taking notes?”
“Oh, I have copies already.”
“Not of this,” I said as Mayor Tillman called Shawn to the makeshift stage. “Better her than me.”
Mayor Tillman, close to forty, oozed charisma that made my teeth hurt even fifty paces away, half a head over Shawn, a dark blue suit definitely not off the rack, a red power tie, chestnut hair neat to his head with eyes to match. As Shawn wrapped up praising the wonderful day and wonderful people, from Shawn’s right, Tillman grasped Shawn’s shoulder, leaning toward the microphone.
“Shawn Beedle, everyone.” He then went to her ear.
Shawn caught my eye over the distance, nodding behind her.
At the far back of my property, I stepped up next to Shawn in midsentence.
“I plan on a set of six benches across the back here.”
“Who are you?” Tillman demanded.
“Toby,” I answered, keeping his eyes through my dark glasses.
“Eh, Toby who?”
I shrugged. “Just Toby. I’m a private person. Shawn’s got this thing never to take a meeting alone, things so easily misunderstood.”
“This is hardly a meeting,” Tillman insisted.
“I repeat: Things are so easily misunderstood.”
“I thought at first wood,” Shawn continued.
“Semicircle concrete,” I said. “Will outlive me.”
Shawn unfolded Goldman’s layout.
“I’ve seen the drawing. Looks good. I wanted to ask about Archetype.”
I kept Lucus Caspian’s eyes. “Do you find something sinister in someone wishing to preserve a historical site at her own expense?”
“Well, no, eh, Toby,” Tillman answered. “We like to know who’s doing business in our town.”
“Shawn Beedle. Lived here in town all her life. If she were a man, she’d not have to shield herself.”
Shawn presented Goldman’s landscape drawing again. “What other questions did you have?”
“1 Bread,” Tillman said.
Shawn’s arm came in front of me, staying my aggressive pontification.
“Simply: I plan to provide a healthy meal once a week to children in poverty.”
Lucas Caspian held my eyes. “I think you misunderstand. We want to know how we can help.”
“I’m still working on my business plan,” Shawn said. “I’m not going to know what kind of help I’m going to need until we launch, which should be in a couple of weeks.”
“Funding is always a difficulty,” Tillman insisted.
“What did you have in mind?” Shawn asked.
I shrugged, watching Caspian. “Do you know Chief Meyer is on the take?”
“Toby!” Shawn said.
I shrugged again. “I withdraw the question. I have my answer.”
“If you have a specific complaint,” Tillman said.
“Anyway,” Shawn cut in. “When I get the business plan completed, I’ll drop a copy by the office. You can get back to me as to what help, if any, the town is willing to provide.”
“Toby,” Shawn said again as we watched Tillman and Caspian navigate the rough terrain back down the slope. “Don’t you even think about giving me another shrug. Now I know what Jennifer meant about being blindsided."
“You missed the meeting this morning. Well, it was more last night into morning.”
“I was wondering where you were off to.”
“Lucus Caspian is the gung-ho ADA who went after Bill Locke and Locke’s merry gang of gangsters.”
“What the fuck?”
“Serling said Caspian is an honest lawyer. I wanted to see if that were true.”
“Is it?”
“He is unaware Meyer is on the take. My answer then would be a soft yes.”
“The mayor?”
“I knew before I asked. He was three chairs to my left at the mob dinner. Wallpapering.”
“Wallpapering?”
“Blending in. Barely noticed him. He’d not wish to confront me in front of Caspian. It’s the weekend. Tillman will likely get Meyer to put me in the box Monday. Meyer will be working for us by then.”
“Offer him more money?”
“Pull a thorn out of his paw.”
“You sure you’re going to be okay tonight, I mean, you don’t need my help?”
“Serling’s backing me up. We’ll see how that goes. Getting April out of the way helps a lot.”
“Bryant,” I greeted three paces from the elevator.
With a glance at Serling a step behind me, Bryant said, “Miss Grimes. What did I tell you?”
“Bryant,” I repeated. “Larry sang that song to me at the door.”
My hand floated around. “Mr. Serling.”
The men nodded to each other, Bryant waiting for an explanation.
“Light room tonight,” I said.
“I’ve never seen a Saturday night this slow.”
“I need a list of people who never miss a Saturday, who are not here tonight. The best you can come up with.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“I’m pleased you’re not on that list.”
With a half nod behind me, Serling stepped back to the wall next to the elevator, dropping his tan canvas bag at his feet.
“Mrs. French,” I greeted, taking my chair to her left, my hat and dark glasses coming to the table. “Mr. Abner, Mr. Dixon, Mr. Meyer,” I worked around the table, returning to over Abner’s shoulder. “Miss Rhodes.”
Rhodes nodded dismissively.
“You don’t play?”
“Poker? No.”
“Five’s good for a game,” Reginald Abner grumbled.
I symbolically glanced around. “No Hightower? No Forde? Hightower is a big fish, Forde thinks he is. I’m almost embarrassed taking their money. I can’t tell you how disappointed I am Peirce Bradley is taking the night off. Mr. Hastings absent is no surprise.”
Abner leaned on the table aggressively, glaring. “Where’d you get that necklace?”
“Watch your tone, Reginald,” French warned.
I leaned back, light fingers on my diamonds, blinking innocently. “Oh, this? Payment for services rendered.”
“From who?”
Whom, I thought. I answered with what was between a sneer and a giggle. I stood. Three bastard pirouettes brought me to the front of the table. My knife sank into the neck of the forward-most Smith twin. His pistol slid across the table onto French’s lap. Smith slumped to the floor like a deflating Bobo Clown punching toy.
Gasps resounded from behind me.
The second Smith twin held my eyes for a quick moment, turning his attention and pistol to Mrs. French’s forehead.
Serling, gun to the back of Smith’s head, watched me.
“Dammit,” I snarled, stepping into Smith, pushing his arm as his gun went off twice, my knife coming up just below his sternum, likely into his heart.
People crowded the elevator across the room, Abner was smoke, out the back door before the first Smith brother hit the floor, Dixon crumbled back in his chair, his right hand to his chest, Meyer stood, obviously triaging the room. French nodded hard to me, following Abner.
Rhodes, sitting on the floor, held bloodied hands to her abdomen.
“Serling.”
“Sorry.”
“Later. Get Kerney. My room at the Commodore.”
Going to my knees, I added, “Use the back door.”
“I can’t do a hospital,” Rhodes grunted.
“I figured. I’ve got a guy.”
Bryant ripped a tablecloth into strips. “We’re full service here at Redman’s.”
I wrapped Rhodes tight, then again. “Think you can walk?”
“How far?”
“I get the feeling we’re going to be good friends.”
“If I’m alive in the morning.”
“There is that.”
Bryant and I hoisted Rhodes to her feet. Rhodes hung on Bryant.
“They obviously meant to kill us all,” Rhodes said.
“That was the contract.”
“Amateurs.”
“Going for the head shot?”
“For starters.”
“Bryant,” I nodded. “Trust the magic,” I said to Rhodes.
“Impossible for me, but I have no choice.”
I watched the nearby door swallow them.
“Artemis.”
“Chief Meyer.”
“I heard right? All of us?”
“You were on the list, yes.”
“Thank you?” He surveyed the room again, a man good in a crisis. “Low attendance. Seems everyone knew but me. What can I do?”
“Dixon. You having a heart attack?”
“Eh, no, I don’t think. I’m getting too old for this.”
“They know, Dixon, who you are. That’s why they tried to kill you. Ghost. Out the back door. Never look back.”
“My paid day—”
“Oh, for the love of—I’ll buy your work to date at a reasonable price.”
I waited until Dixon was out the door. “Chief Meyer.”
“Miss Grimes?”
“Gus Avery tried to have a child murdered in your neighborhood. She goes by the name of Toby.”
“Yes?”
“You covered for Avery.”
“Says who?”
“Avery.”
Meyer wilted.
“Tillman’s going to push hard for information on this child. Protect her. Thank you.” I nodded toward the door.
“Eh.”
I nodded to the door again, Meyer hurrying away.
“Miss Grimes.”
“Larry,” I answered the looming doorman.
“I believe you know Johnny.”
“I do.”
“You’ve made quite a mess here, Miss Grimes,” the young attendant from my card game at the Commodore said, setting a bucket and two gallons of bleach on the floor.
“Trusted,” Larry said with a nod.
“Good, good.” I put my right knee hard on Mark Smith’s shoulder, pulling on his hair, working my knife across his neck.
Larry shoved me aside, taking the knife. “No offense. I’d like to be home before sunrise.”
I knelt again, opening the canvas bag Serling brought, offering a black heavy plastic bag, which Larry plopped the head in.
“Not a trophy. Must then be proof of the kill. Just the one?”
I tied off the double bag. “More to make a point than proof. Same idea.”
“I’ve done this work. Oh, not like you.”
“I’d like to learn.” Johnny looked up from sopping blood.
I climbed to my feet. “First lesson. I’ll take this order to go, wrapped tight in plastic, their guns with them. All you need is in this bag. The back of the back parking lot. Old blue Ford pickup truck, Jersey tags. Put them there, covered with the moving blankets.”
“First lesson,” Johnny said. “Prepare. Have a plan.”
“Overprepare.”
Larry, stripping, said, “I paid too much for this suit to have to put it in the bags.”
I placed two bundles of bills on the table on my way to the door.
From his darkened room just off the veranda, Cameron Hightower watched out over the city, smirking. The Commodore’s white terry robe over-revealed his nakedness, a champagne flute in his right hand at his chest. He chuckled. “That didn’t take long.”
“Champagne? You’re a cliché, Hightower.” I dropped Mark Smith’s head at his feet.
He jumped back, turning, looking down on me, horror painting his face.
I held his eyes, my face smeared with blood, my white silk gown soaked. “You thought to have me murdered just to get out of paying for the church renovations?”
“I, eh—” He took a half step back.
“You asked me whether I’d be at the table at eight o’clock.” I waved my hand across my face. “How we arrived at this moment doesn’t matter. I was planning to stalk Mark and Steve, kill them anyway.”
“Huh?”
“They put a crippled woman in the hospital. I don’t let things like that pass.”
“You said—”
“No agreement with the likes of you is binding. Think about that carefully.”
He swallowed hard.
“By next Saturday morning, say ten o’clock, I want a full accounting of the money you stole from Christeen French with full restitution at that time.”
“Artemis—”
“Miss Grimes.”
“Miss Grimes then—”
“Careful with your tone, Mr. Hightower. I’ve not decided yet.”
Ten seconds leaked by.
“Miss Grimes. Lark was my friend. My best friend.”
I raised my right eyebrow. “So, you decide to fuck his widow out of everything?”
“No, no.” He looked to the ceiling. “I can’t prove it, but she killed him. I was supposed to get everything, provided I take care of Christeen for life. There was a will. She changed all that and kept the fortune and business for herself. I’ve not stolen anything that wasn’t rightfully mine.”
I nodded, then hinted at a shrug. “Next Saturday morning, ten o’clock. In the restaurant downstairs. Full restitution. I have forensic accountants working around the clock now. Your number had better be close to mine.”
“Full restitution? That’s impossible.”
“Tone, Mr. Hightower. Make it possible else by the time I get around to killing you, you’ll beg for the soft release of death.”
I dropped to my right knee, placing Smith’s head back in the double bag, standing. “You didn’t want this?”
“No!” He looked at the floor again. “I don’t know how I’m going to tell their mother.”
“Tell your sister Sandy her two children ran off to live in a commune in California, to fuck like bunnies at night, play in the sun all day. Their bodies will never be found.”
He froze with the realization at the length and breadth of my threat.
Nodding. “Saturday morning. ten o’clock.”
“As has been planned, there’s going to be a reshuffling of the organization this week.”
“Certainly not as Olivia Carter had planned.”
I squared to the larger man. “Let me be clear. You draw your next breath and the breath after that and so on by my privilege. You work for me now in the service of Mrs. French.”
Silence limped by on crippled feet. He watched my eyes.
“I don’t need a ma’am, yes ma’am. A nod and simple I understand will be fine.”
“Eh, yes. I understand.”
“You’re my mole now.” I narrowed my eyes. “Next week. Saturday. Brunch at the Commadore. I want to know all you know about the organization. Try to cross me—again—I'll let Carter know you betrayed her tonight before I murder you and your family.”
I raised my eyebrow.
“Eh, yes. I understand.”
“Mr. Anderson,” I greeted at the door.
“Bryant is fine. They just got here.”
“Okay, Bryant. You may take the night.”
“I’m going back and help with the cleanup. This isn’t my first circus. I want to make sure every indication of anything like this happened disappears. You know, a high-profile hit so public. Someone wants to make a point.”
I chuckled, missing the obvious. “Big headline, front page, above the fold.”
“I bet they wrote the copy yesterday.”
Bryant left.
As I passed Serling on my way to the bed, he stopped me with a light touch to my arm. “Artemis.”
“Not now.”
“Vienna.” I took her hand.
“Get out and let me work!” Doctor Kerney objected. “Waking an old man up in the middle of the night!”
“It’s nine o’clock, Phil. How bad is it?”
“Could be worse.”
“She’ll live?”
“Of course, she’ll live. Phil Kerney’s on the job!”
“I’ll be back in a couple days. Take advantage of my hospitality.”
Rhodes winced, nodding.
“Got to keep her down.” Kerney didn’t look away from his work. “Even if you got to tie her to the bed. I know her type! I know her type! Couple days, then you’ve got to get up and walk around.”
Serling blocked my path across the room. “Artemis, Toby, we need to talk.”
“Not now. Cancel church or whatever in the morning. I need you to stay with Rhodes. Anything she needs, wipe her butt if you have to. You heard Kerney.” I turned. “Unzip me.”
He did.
I forced Smith’s head and my clutch into his hands, dropping my dress to the floor, my diamonds to the dresser. “This blood will never come out.” I ran a wet towel over my face and arms.
White tee shirt from the morning, blue denim bibbed coveralls, tan work shirt unbuttoned—I put my right foot up on a chair, tying my tan boot.
I took the head back, gathering my clothes and the towel into the bag. “Whatever Kerney asks for, give him double. All I need to know from you right now is whether you’re still with me.”
“I want to—”
“Serling. At this moment, I can work with a yes or no. Either way, I’ll work it out.”
Without hesitation, Serling said, “Yes.”
The abandoned refrigerator welcomed me, the trail did not, consumed by growth. Still, my markers remained to guide me into the dark of night. I hadn’t planned to Conestoga wagon into the Pines until at least midmorning with all the cleanup in Redman’s basement. Hudson had asked whether he should call for housekeeping when I first went to visit Hightower. Larry and Johnny making themselves available was not completely unexpected.
“Johnny.” I rolled my eyes as I came to Jody Demarko’s first burial site. He had stood guard, leaning against the pickup truck, arms across his chest, smirking.
He had opened the door for me, bowing slightly.
“Corny,” I said to the Pines, dropping from the truck, the engine going silent, an interloper against the subtle voices of the trees, the headlights fading away, an offense to the darkness. “Maybe just the right amount of corn.”
Trusting people did not come easily.
With my tent erected, I established my campfire, not lighting the twigs, stripped naked, slid my socks and boots back on, dropping in the hole with my shovel.
The grave had lost half the original depth to natural forces. I threw dirt until I was exhausted, then threw more, the top of my head a good two feet below the opening. Satisfied, I flipped my shovel at the stars, grasping dirt, my right boot sunk in the dirt wall.
A familiar hand took my right wrist, pulling.
Climbing the wall, Antoinette couldn’t keep her footing, falling on her back as I followed.
“Why are you naked?”
I watched her eyes in the darkness, my arms under hers, my palms to her face. “I have my boots and socks on, so I’m not technically naked.”
“October.”
“I don’t need an excuse to get naked in the woods.”
“You’re wearing boots and socks.”
“Didn’t want to hurt my feet on the shovel.”
Her knees came up, her legs wrapped around me. “Are you going to kiss me?”
“I was thinking about it. I’m dirty. You going to let me up?”
“I was thinking about it. Kiss me first.”
By just after noon Sunday, with Jody Demarko’s first grave completely erased as if it never was, I joyfully danced naked with Antoinette well into the evening. Exhausted, I dined on a can of beans from my backpack—the traditional celebratory meal for a job well done.
I was relieved the Smith brothers didn’t visit.
“Why would you think they would?” Antoinette asked.
I cocked my right eyebrow, not having said anything, answering with a shrug. “Grave and gravy. You do know April Mathers saw you in the window.”
“Is that a question?”
“Maybe.”
“I don’t know who April Mathers is.”
“She’s a county investigator who’s inserted herself into my business. Was a county investigator, anyway. She took leave. I’m going to do my best to keep her alive. If I fail, I’d not mind her visiting me.”
“October. People do not die, then come visit the living.”
“Well, if that’s not a rock to the side of my head. All gravy, then.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“April Matters saw you at the window,” I insisted. “That day I was almost napping on my La-Z-Boy—”
“Your fake La-Z-Boy.”
I rolled my eyes. “She came up the walk. You even pointed her out. We kissed.”
“Oh, I remember. A very attractive woman.”
“She saw you in the window.”
Antoinette half-shrugged. “Maybe she saw the light playing across the glass, her imagination doing the rest.” She watched the fire, then caught my eyes. “How do you feel about Mark and Steve?”
“Who? Oh. Nothing. I kind of wish I felt something. Same as I feel when I load up the mower after a job, maybe less satisfaction. I do like a well-groomed lawn. Those two—well—just another needed task.
“Moments. I got lucky. If Steve wasn’t such an idiot, he’d have put his gun against my forehead and pulled the trigger, then turned to the people at the table.”
“Richard.”
I smirked. “Yeah. Serling. Steve might have dropped Christeen and Abner before Serling woke up and did what I told him to do. I think more likely Vienna Rhodes would have snapped his neck soon after he dropped Christeen. I should have pushed his arm up instead of to the side.”
“I should have killed my father before he killed me.”
“You were seven.”
“Eight.”
“Barely. Why didn't you?”
“I was not aware I could.”
“I will.”
“You’ve uncovered the evidence?”
“Confidential being a category not a reality, I’ll have your confidential medical file by the end of the week, which doesn’t matter. He’s on my list already.”
“What high crimes and misdemeanors has my father dirtied his hands with?”
“He attended Cambridge College.”
“I feel most like me when I’m with you,” I whispered, coming from sleep, Antoinette gone. “My statement stands,” I added to the darkness likely closer to Monday night than Tuesday morning. Two entire days with Antoinette were immensely fulfilling, yet not nearly enough. Time with her was better, richer when I just let things be without trying to solve the mystery.
“As if you never were,” I bemoaned, talking down my campsite, erasing every hint I’d been there, every hint of a grave, transplanting seven various saplings and some prickly bushes. Just over five hours leaked by as I carefully backed the truck to the highway, collecting my markers, raking the tire tracks away, and eliminating all signs I’d passed through.
Freeing the dumped refrigerator from the brush, walking the appliance on the corners to the tailgate pushed the limits of my ability. Straining, I pondered a lever when a pickup truck came up on me, headlights glaring.
As I calculated defense, a man on either side of me easily hoisted the refrigerator onto the bed.
“Thank you,” I called to their backs, each with a hand waving at the air.
I smiled at Shawn’s attention, the bell over the door welcoming me to 1 Bread, stifled a laugh at the newspaper headline, working the telephone, Jake picking up as I dropped on the chair behind the desk.
“Do you know what time it is?” he almost shouted.
“I do, actually, Jake,” I answered into the telephone. “Please put Jessica on.”
“What’s this about?”
“It’s about this note on my desk. Let me read it to you: Call Jessica as soon as possible. I just now got in from out of town.”
“Who is this?”
“I am none-of-your-business. Please, give me Jessica. If I have to drive all the way over there and pound on Jessica’s door, things are not going to go well for you.”
“Just how is that?”
“Did you just growl?” I took a deep breath. “Let me do this.” I paused for effect. “Jake. What this is not about is Linda Tyler.”
Silence leaked into the morning.
“Ah, hello?”
“Jessica. Got your note.”
“Toby,” she whispered. “What note?”
“Says to call you as soon as possible.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean—I’ve been trying to get ahold of you. Shawn said—”
“I’ve been on vacation.”
“I didn’t mean you had to call at five o’clock in the morning.”
“I shrugged. I just got in. Shawn has a stack of shit I have to get to. Calling you on top.”
“How’s Pamala?”
“We don’t need to be polite, Jessica. I know you care and I know Shawn’s kept you updated.”
“Butch.”
“Ah. Real estate tycoon. I tell Thomas my business is my business, and he takes an ad out in the paper anyway.”
She returned the pause. “Not over the phone.”
“You just looked over your shoulder, didn't you?”
“Yes.”
“Jake’s listening.”
“Yes.”
“We’re due a meeting.” I glanced the calendar, not that I had to. “Eleven. Collings Nook. On Main, center of town. You can’t miss it.”
“I have—”
“Jessica. Eleven. Collings Nook. Come alone. We’re due a confidential meeting.”
“Is everything okay?”
“No, Jessica. Relax. Everything is okay with us, you and me. That will forever and a day be okay. The restaurant is also okay.”
“Collings Nook.”
“I’ll buy you breakfast.”
“Sounds pedestrian.”
“That’s what I like about it.”
Collecting the Sunday morning newspaper, I sat back in the chair, snickering. “Gangster boss assassinated,” I read aloud. I assumed they could omit the alleged since she was thought to be dead. “Front page, above the fold.”
Slim on details, continued on page four presented my headshot, also above the fold, the photo Carl Little took of me and Jacop Knapp in the lobby of the Commodore; Knapp was cropped out. “Much better than my eighth-grade school photo.”
I dialed as I read. “Mysterious woman. Carter must have written this copy.”
“Eh, sorry?” a woman asked.
“Oh, I was reading the paper. Is Chase around?”
“Who’s this?”
“Who’s this?”
“Janet Warring. Your turn.”
“Toby.”
“Oh, Chase has mentioned you. Hang on.”
Enough moments dripped by to determine Bryant was correct about the story written the day before.
“Toby?”
“How could they go to press with this?” I greeted back.
“I know, huh. I tried to warn them.”
“Did you stamp your foot?”
“Twice.”
“Did you get to say I told you so?”
“French, Adler, and, eh—”
“Anthony Dixon.”
“Yeah, him all disappeared. And, Olivia went on about that assassin woman.”
“Artemis Grimes. Drop her photo, leave her name off the article. That’s some serious chum.”
“Chum?”
“Bait thrown on the water.”
“I met that woman. I thought she was a fashion model. We had witness statements, none of which agreed, people who say they were in the room, none going on record. Since they couldn’t confirm the story either way, they let it stand with no follow-up.”
“Chum. What about no crime scene at the crime scene?”
“The police weren’t buying it—”
“Or got paid off.”
“Or got paid off. We couldn't get access.”
“I’ll call you back.”
“Okay.”
Mr. Hudson picked up on the second ring. “Good morning. Commodore.”
“Artemis.”
“Good to hear your voice. Such a nasty business.”
“How’s our special guest?”
“Mr. Anderson has taken over primary responsibility from your Mr. Serling.”
“Good. I imagine Mr. Serling was getting restless an hour after the doctor left.”
“You imagine correctly.”
“Mrs. French?”
“Understandably holed up. We moved her to another room. All access is through Miss Mathers.”
“Hightower?”
“Best I can tell, he’s staring at his walls. All meals to the room. Hasn’t requested his, eh, special services, though he’s made many phone calls.”
“Are any of those special requests for children, Mr. Hudson?”
“For Mr. Hightower? No.”
“New policy. Never children, Mr. Hudson. If you have a problem with me setting policy—”
“I already have instructions concerning your status from Mrs. French. She has said she’d like to see you sooner rather than later.”
“This afternoon. Meanwhile, a Chase Hastings will be by soon.”
“I know who Miss Hastings is.”
“I want you to give her access to Redman’s basement.”
“Mr. Anderson has been waiting for that instruction.”
“Janet Warring?” I greeted Chase.
“Oh, my roommate. With the demands of my job, someone has to feed the cat when I can’t make it home.”
“A roommate you share the secret of the decade with.”
“We’re only six months into the decade, so that may not stand.”
“My point does, though.”
“I shared nothing like that. I just mentioned how intelligent, driven, and charismatic you are.”
“I heard there are no secrets between people who sleep together.”
“I didn’t say—”
“Get over to the Commodore, Center City. See Mr. Hudson on the desk. Take Mr. Little with you. If you can’t wake him up, take a camera.”
“Huh?”
“Mr. Hudson will provide you access to Redman’s Bar and Grill downstairs where this article says the gruesome murders took place. Mrs. Adler is rich. She should step aside and give the job to someone who can write news copy, maybe someone who needs the job.”
“No argument from me. Commodore, Center City. See Mr. Hudson.”
The bell over the door sang again as I replaced the receiver. “Toby,” Shawn greeted.
“You look like you’re going to cry.”
“I’ll never be used to reports of you dying. Why are you still sitting down?”
We held onto each other as if the universe were collapsing. “Pamala said I can do you if you want.”
I giggled in her ear. “I think Pam would like to watch.”
“She did say something along the lines. She said she was thinking about us, you know.”
“I know.”
“Three times. She was almost to the moment of truth when your mother walked in.”
“Kind of describes my life growing up. That’s why I put a lock on my door.”
“Really?”
“No, not really. I put a lock on my door so my brother wouldn’t rape me, my uncle wouldn’t have his moment of truth on my face.”
“You should have killed him.”
“Which?”
“Either. Both.”
“I wasn’t aware at the time I could have.”
We untangled, Shawn dropping on the chair behind the desk, me against the wall to Shawn’s left. “You didn’t get through my pile?”
I shrugged. “Phone calls.”
“You saw the gangster assassination.”
“I did.”
“No details. Fake story.”
“Very good.”
“Besides, you hinted at it.”
I nodded towards the desk. “So, what’s been happening?”
“Toby! Details.”
I looked towards the ceiling. “Olivia Carter wanted her husband dead.”
Shawn displayed the newspaper. “The Olivia Carter who wrote the story?”
“It gets weirder. The plot starts with the Hemingway outfit wanting to push out Mrs. French.”
“Steal all her assets. Jennifer said—”
“They have a regular Saturday night card game.”
“Mrs. French and Mr. Carter at the same table.”
“Mr. Adler. Carter is the name Olivia writes under.”
“With you at the table.”
“And Chief Meyer.”
“You, because—”
“I pissed off Mr. Hightower over his brother having Taxi Jane mugged.”
“Wait.”
“The two assassins were the twins who mugged Jane.”
“Now?”
“Dead. They’ll never find the bodies.”
“I wish you hadn’t cut me out.”
“I won’t in the future.”
“That bad?”
“He froze. Killing a man isn’t easy.”
“I didn’t find it so hard.”
“Killing a man isn’t easy for most people. I’m not telling you to gossip. I’m making you aware of Serling’s limitations.”
“Understood.”
“So, how was your Saturday night?”
“Good time was had by one and all. April’s a great dancer, of course, not as good as me. Allison had trouble with a man. The kind of man who won’t take no for an answer. He may have been a nice guy sober. He got kicked out.
“As we were leaving, out in the parking lot, April put him on his back, a boot on his neck. Happened so fast, I didn’t see how she did it.”
“Boot?”
“Black almost to the knee, three-inch heel. Blue denim miniskirt. White cotton tank top under a black denim jacket. No bra. I tell you, Toby, if not for Lauren.”
“If not for Lauren, what?”
“Well, it gets complicated.”
“No, it doesn't.”
“You’re right. I make it complicated. I’ve kind of led Lauren on.”
“Kind of?”
“Lauren’s not gay, yet.”
“Yet?”
“We’ve gotten close. I’m just saying, Saturday night. April, wow. Did I mention the no bra thing?”
I narrowed my eyes. “She’s gay?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t be like Michelle and fuck up someone’s life because you wish to have sex.”
“I think Michelle is more complicated than that.”
“Not by much.”
“I get your point.”
“Shawn.” I held her eyes.
“October.”
“For some people, sex can be just about that—”
“The moment of truth.”
“Okay.”
“Like you did me at Expressions.”
“Well, we danced first.”
“I do understand what you’re saying. People like me and Pamala are slut puppies, where people like you stamp sex with a special meaning, a special purpose.”
I smirked.
“I’m half kidding.”
“I get the kidding half.”
“Lauren.” Shawn rolled her eyes. “We’ve had moments, sitting in the dim light, holding hands, sipping wine, her sharing details of her life she’d never even tell a priest.”
“Jacob Bancroft.”
“A predator. Lauren Kennedy, the perfect prey. Lauren didn’t stand a chance.”
“I’ve said that. She couldn’t say no.”
“Toby. If I wanted to fuck Lauren, I could have a number of times. Just holding such power, you know.”
“Yes. I know.”
“Do you know why I haven’t?”
“Because you are not a predator.”
“Exactly right. April.” Shawn rolled her eyes again. “There’s a whole different flavor of ice cream.”
“You rise as equals.”
“Something like that. But, if I’d taken that hard run at April Saturday night—”
“You’d made Lauren a victim.”
“Again. When do we kill Bancroft?”
“I have use for him this week.”
“Next week, then. I’ll put it on the calendar.”
“I really do love your enthusiasm.” I nodded to the stack on the desk. “What do I have to catch up on?”
“Chronological or matter of importance?”
I shrugged.
“I’ll save the best for last, then, which will have you either throwing me out or humping my thigh.”
“You know how to get a girl’s attention.”
“Tom Thomas.”
“I think I may still be mad at him.”
“He didn’t say what that was all about. Anyway, I figured you made your point; now on to the adults doing business.” She pulled a file from the stack. “I need you to go over all these estimates before I sign agreements.”
“I really don’t wish to work that hard.”
“Just go over—”
“Oh, I have never had a problem proofing your work. It’s doing the work I don’t want to do.”
“We have Theodore Avery and Archie Merrifield to do the work. I still haven’t figured out what you saw that day in the trailer with Ted.”
Yet another shrug. “I’m stealing them—”
“The next two days.” Shawn displayed the appointment book. “Do write this shit down.”
“Write shit down. Noted. Proof estimates.”
“Next up. I quit Expressions Dance Studio.”
“Why?”
“Because you're a snotty little cunt.”
“What does that have to do with it?”
“After my class Sunday, Cassandra presented her new arrangement.”
Her eyeroll should have peeled the paint off the walls. “Like, she’d ever give me a raise like that. Anyway, Cassandra feeling all full of herself, you know, being all generous and all, decided to push the gay thing again.”
“There’s a gay thing?”
“Evidently. She made a point to educate me.” She raised her voice two octaves, her right hand flitting at the air. “Men are gay, women are lesbians.” Her voice returned to normal. “Evidently, according to Cass, you’re stupid not to know that.”
“I believe I told her I’ve not received the Gay Rule Book.”
“Our conversation got pretty hot. She said some shit I bet she wished she hadn’t come Sunday night, included in that shit was your deal.”
“People should never deal with other people when they’re angry.”
“She really should have just walked away. Now, don’t get me wrong, October. I appreciate every gift you give me.”
“I understand.”
“That’s where I quit, turned, and walked away. Out on the street, I felt strangely free. Again.”
“You love—”
“October, we’re building an empire. I just may love that more than I love dancing.”
“Not intentionally.”
“Intentionally on my part, which brings us to the Old Time Dance Club.”
“Where you do that crazy swing stuff.”
“It’s a good place. Semiprivate membership. Keeps the riffraff out.”
“Except for the men who don’t know what no means.”
“Can’t keep all the men out.”
“And?”
“I was talking with the owner. He’s fallen on hard times. Might have to close the club. I didn’t think anything of it until I quit Expressions.”
“Make a note. All the details you have. We’ll get Serling to run background. I’m still waiting to see how bad I fucked myself with the Newton house. Serling may suck at shooting a man, barely not a child, in the back of the head, but he’s great at gathering information.”
“You really want to buy a dance club?”
“We’re building an empire.”
“Next up. Have you ever been to Ocean City?”
“I have not.”
“Yesterday evening, Mary Davis and I had a wonderful time on the boardwalk. She's never been, either. I figured the excursion would be better than just taking her for ice cream.”
“Was it?”
“We had cotton candy. I know, I know. You never have. Cadbury Catholic has a carnival in August. I’ll buy you some.”
“Pamala said. I joked about doing a tag-team fortune teller act.”
“You two should.” She watched the ceiling, tapping her chin. “We rode the roller coaster and teacups and even went through the funhouse. Dipped our toes in the ocean. How’s a kid turn out so nice with such an asshole for a father?”
“Look how I turned out.”
“Anyway. I think George Davis got the message, him on his knees groveling when I dropped Mary home. I might have been embarrassed for him if he’d not sunk a knife in Pamala’s chest. Pamala’s fine, by the way.”
“I assumed as much, so I didn’t ask. If there were a problem, she’d have been on the top of the list. My only pressing question is about graduation.”
“What about it? Oh, she’ll make it. She made a point to tell me. Said you’d be asking.”
“Good.”
“Okay, okay, okay, Toby. Ask me how my Monday morning went.”
I sat back, my right arm over the back of the chair. “Why, gee, Shawn. How did your Monday morning go?”
Leaning, she opened the bottom desk drawer, retrieving a folded newspaper. “You have a funeral Friday.”
“Damn! I feel like the universe is cheating me.”
“If by universe, you mean me, you’re right.”
I shook the paper at her. “You did this?”
“Opportunity. Early Monday morning for me, late Sunday night for him. He was walking in the direction of the 130 overpass.”
I closed my eyes. “Heading to Jerry’s from Donna’s house.”
“Yeah, a night of drinking and beating up Donna. I parked up ahead, doubled back, and happened to run into him. Naturally, he remembered me, and just as naturally, he hit on me pretty hard. I strung him along, him drunk and full of himself.
“I leaned my elbows on the wall, watching the traffic below. He matched his shoulder against mine, belching out lame line after lame line. Here comes this tractor-trailer traveling way too fast. I grabbed his belt in the back. Perfect shot, center of the windshield.”
“You can throw a man like that?”
“It’s all in the leverage and the knees. Dance lessons do pay off. He never knew what hit him.”
“You made a joke.”
“I did. You going to throw me out or fuck me?”
“Over killing my brother?” I slid the newspaper on the desk. “Ruled an accident. That was quick.”
“I saved Monday’s paper; you don’t bother to read it.”
“I read the lede.”
“The what?”
“First three to six paragraphs. Called the lede. Sums up the story.”
“Our Investigator Bradley gave a statement.”
“Ah. Throw you out of fuck you? You set a low bar just for tidying up our to-do list.”
“I thought you might be mad.”
“I feel nothing. I have to attend the funeral because Donna Weber is our friend?”
“Well, you’re paying for it.”
“Of course, I am. Jane?”
“Oh, that woman. Did you know she’s supposed to be dead?”
“If she were supposed to be dead, she’d be dead. I do accept your point, though.”
Shawn nodded to the back of the office. “We’re reconstructing.”
“We are. I’m optimistic we can identify the first gang of rapists.”
“Don’t leave me out this time.”
“How’s Jane?”
“The same, ornery. I’m giving her two whole days off a week, me filling in. Karen has to be a saint or something.”
“A person needs to be dead to be a saint.”
“Really?”
“Their rules, not mine.”
“Anyway. Great with Jane. Keeps her busy on the two days.”
“I hear Ocean City is nice.”
“I’ll suggest it.”
“Find someone to fill in. I don’t want you to spread yourself too thin. That’s one of the reasons you quit Expressions.”
“I like to bathe in the water.”
“Have a feel of what’s really happening. What’s your take on Cubby Home Taxi Service?”
“Oh, that was fun. Let’s do it again.”
“The opportunity to own the business may arise. It’ll be a hostile takeover.”
“We’ll have to fix that front door.”
“Right?”
Shawn sat back, eyes closed. “Far enough out, little overlap in business. Close enough to be an expansion of Royal Taxi and Limousine Service, which is going to show some black ink as soon as next month. You could loan Tony’s Lawn Service the money, which in turn I can loan to Royal to buy Cubby.”
I scuffed. “Art major.”
“Business, Toby, is as much common sense as anything else.”
I stood. “Speaking of anything else. If there’s not anything else, I have people to see before meeting Jessica at the Nook.”
“Should I be there?”
“That would be a good idea.”
Shawn scuffed back. “Yeah, we don’t take meetings alone. Things are too often misunderstood.” She scribbled on an index card, handing it to me. “Your to-do list.”
“I’ll take a couple more cards and the pen, and I will take a shower before the meeting, eleven o’clock.”
“Early enough for eggs.”
“The Nook does have good eggs.”