It's No Picnic (4 page)

Tired and worn from the ordeal, Alex settled into the pillow, falling fast asleep.

3

W
HEN
B
Y
A F
ORK
I
N
T
HE
P
ATH
Alex recognized the town hall, he was surprised to see several little shops lining both sides. Had they gone by unnoticed? After all, he stood close by this spot before, looking, taking in the view. But a dense fog was present that day. Perhaps blocking the view. Yet, foggy as it is today, there they stand, perfectly seen. What is more, they are teeming with residents, going in and out, as if on a holiday shopping spree. “Take heed, take heed,” Alex said to himself, walking down the path, entering what appeared a coffee shop.

At the top of the stairs to the entrance stood a man, tall, thin, with long gray hair, a cool figure, holding a large cup, talking nonstop to the person just right of him. A cough came from behind Alex, maybe a sign to move on, perhaps a hint of today’s misty mood. Alex pushed up the stairs, passing the man with long gray hair; squeezing through the murmuring crowd, eventually making it to the counter. At the counter stood a young, attractive girl, cleaning, asking Alex, “Can I get you something?”

Alex paused…wondering what such a young, attractive girl was doing in this place. “They bring us in from Franktown to work,” the girl said anticipating the question, “We do this two, three times a week to give the residents a chance to feel alive again. Anyway, what can I get you?”

“Coffee, black.” Alex said.

He took the coffee and walked to the rear corner of the shop, seating himself comfortably in a fashionable, forged leather chair. Looking out the window he saw what he thought were one and the other—the twins. Quickly, he turned back inside, breathing a sigh of relief as they passed. Then he turned to the matter in hand—coffee—taking a small sip, reticently exclaiming, “What a great cup of coffee.”

T
AKING
A
NOTHER
S
IP
O
F
C
OFFEE
, Alex turned attention to the door; it was Eli. After getting some coffee, Eli took a seat next to Alex. “Who are you?” Alex feigned.

“A friend.” Eli said in an odd tone.

Eli—a curious look; showing a shy, contemplative face, with graying hair growing low on the forehead, large blue eyes, dreamy and penetrating, a straight relaxed nose, cheeks seemingly shadowed by age, and a mouth with oddly thin lines and a peculiarly vague smile hidden in one corner, striking Alex as oddly illusory. Then—in a somewhat aloof manner, Alex asked, “What brings you here,
friend
?”

“Someone said you were a writer.”

“A detective.”

“Detective writer, how interesting.”

Alex accepted the response as if a chess move; replying, “Yes it is, isn’t
it
?”

“Well, then—I’ve got something for you.”

“And what would that be?” Alex said with a skeptical look.

Then—Eli, pupils dilated; grasping the cynical glance from Alex said, “Why is a donkey like a dress?”

“That’s absurd.” Alex said.

“What’s absurd?”

“A donkey—
like
a dress?!”

“No, what’s
absurd
?”

“The question.” Alex said, annoyingly.

“What question?”

Getting nowhere, Alex turned the tables on Eli
ninety degrees
asking, “Well then, have you ever heard of Nadie K.?”

“Nadie, Nadie K.?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, I know her and Miss K.”

“And what is it you know?”

“Well, I know you were hired by Miss K.”

“Go on.”

“And I know Nadie didn’t leave Longport.”

“Interesting. How did you come by this seeming fact?”

“Well, I can’t tell you, but I can show you.”

Reaching into a backpack, Eli pulled out an ashen colored dress, identical to that seen by Alex, but with blood on one shoulder and a sleeve. Alex took the dress from Eli, examining it; noticing a small tear on the backside. Then he took the piece of cloth he’d found at the old church and matched it to the dress.
Voilà!
An exact match.

“Where did you get this?” Alex asked in an insistent tone.

“You mustn’t tell anybody, or I could get into trouble.”

“Trouble, what do you mean?”

“Well, let’s just say I have tendencies that society might find offensive. And I don’t want them out.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll keep quiet about these
tendencies
. Now tell me, where did you find it?”

“I lifted it out of a closet. It was hiding beneath a bunch of other clothes that appeared destined for charity, so I thought it no big deal taking it. But then I noticed the blood and thought I should tell somebody.”

“
A
—closet.” Alex said, puzzled.

“Don…Don—I was having dinner with him. He left, so I began poking about. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. Anyway, you know the rest.”

“And Don—”

“Don, well, is one of the most upstanding citizens of Longport. Everybody knows Don. He and Cap, well; the soul and glue of Longport.”

“No, I mean, where does he live?”

“Live? There.”

Eli pointed out the shop window at a home on the other side of the main office. It was larger and more luxurious looking than most of the homes at Longport except as it were for those nearby. Alex then asked, “And I suppose that house belongs to Cap?”

“Yes. Just the other side of Don.”

“Can I take this,” Alex asked, “It’s evidence now.”

“Yes, by all means.”

Eli handed the dress back to Alex; caressing it one last time as if acutely aware of a loss. Alex looked at Eli; a strange look, at once realizing
“normality”
ran through this community like a turbulent river through a canyon, cutting, forming irregular grooves, but adding to what would otherwise be dead.

“Thank you Eli, this was most productive.”

“Take no mind of it. Anything I can do to help.”

Without hesitation, Alex took the dress, putting it into a small bag the waitress gave him, and left.

A
S
A
LEX
A
PPROACHED
T
HE
D
OOR
, it opened. He hesitated, peeking inside to make sure no surprises waited. Not a soul was present. Yet, the door was open, an obvious invitation to enter. So, Alex walked in, sharp, alert, as he entered through the door and into the living room.

The living room spoke a musty moan, causing Alex to sneeze. He froze, looking; confirming he hadn’t stirred the air into a turbulent fit. Good, all was stale and still. How can anyone live in this air? Firmly, he pressed on, into the bedroom.

Nobody present, he took it upon himself to check the closet. As he opened it, he looked down, noticing a pile of clothes, maybe the clothes Eli mentioned. Hastily, as if expecting company anytime, he rummaged through the clothes, spotting what appeared to be a shirt marked with blood. He removed it, stuffing it into a bag, careful not to stain the evidence.

Then—he returned to the living room arriving at the front door when, at once, the kitchen door opened. Don was standing there in pajamas, eyes watering and drooping, nose red, with a cup of tea in one hand. He looked at Alex—no doubt considering him—saying, “Oh, Alex. I wasn’t expecting company. Please come in, come in.”

Coolly, Alex walked back across the threshold acting as if he had at that moment, arrived.

“You’ll have to excuse me, I have a cold.” Don said.

“Bad news.” Alex said in a calm tone.

“Please, have a seat.”

Alex sat down on the living room sofa. It was plush leather, a comfortable place for anybody to sit and order one’s thoughts. Don sat down in a matching chair. While tending to a fluent nose, Don asked, “What brings you to this neck of the woods?”

Alex sat there for a moment; a flat look; lips thinly pressed together; eyes narrowed and looking straight ahead, considering an answer. Then, with ease Alex said, “I’m here to ask questions.”

D
ON
P
ERKED
U
P
, perhaps anticipating the questions or maybe to clear a seemingly irritated throat. In fact, he perked up so much; it was questionable he had a cold. Alex, eyes opened by the impressive rebound, was accustomed to people reacting this way, as if they knew trouble lived right around the corner. Maybe it was demeanor; that cool, calculated tone invoked in him when asking a person if they have,
murdered
. Accordingly—Alex asked, “Have you ever heard of Nadie K.?”

Vim left the cheeks Don badly needed vital, soon after replaced with the dullness exhibited when Alex arrived; all color now gone. Don, now pale in the entire face, slumped down the chair, looking away from Alex as if trying to cover a bodily reply. Did he have something to hide, or did mere mention of the name Nadie invoke strange reactions from everybody? Of course, Alex knew something was not kosher, but finding it was at times, like fishing for Moby Dick.

Now, as if back from the dead, Don replied, “No.”

Reading the lie Alex said to Don, “Please Don, tell me the truth. You do know Nadie K., don’t you?”

Nothing, not even a flinch from Don. He simply sat there, seemingly considering the question, as one would consider a last meal. Pausing…saying, “Oh, you mean
Nadie K
.?”

Alex was disgusted; a face insulted. Don obviously was concealing something, that something maybe being the murder of Nadie K. Doubt wavering, Alex no longer entertained thoughts that Don was above suspicion. No, he believed deep down he had the butcher. But now he needed to expose him. Find a weakness that would make him crack.

“So, you know her?” Alex asked flatly.

“Yes.” Don said in a muted tone.

“So, how long have you known her?”

“Well, what do you mean by
know
?” Don said with a hint of mockery.

“
Okay
—when did you first meet her?”

“Meet. Well yes, of course, I met her about a month after arriving.”

“And when was that?”

“Oh—roughly three years ago.”

“So, you have a pretty neat relation with her?”

“You could say that. But please don’t tell the wife.”

“Tell her what?”

“Well, I assumed you were here to ask about the affair.”

“Go on.”

Don balled up in the chair, moving into a fetal position, saying, “Well, her and I were
lovers
for a while. The wife and I weren’t getting along well at the time. I met Nadie at a gathering. We talked, drank coffee. You know. Then, wouldn’t you know it I’m sleeping with her. Don’t ask. Anyway, afraid I would be caught; I broke it off…”

“How long ago?” Alex interrupted.

“Oh, let’s see. About a year, I guess.”

“You never saw her again?”

“Only at gatherings with the wife close at hand.”

“You know she’s
missing
.”

“No, I had no idea.”

Alex stopped,
incredulous
; knowing in fact Don knew she was missing.

“The wife. Does she know about the affair?” Alex asked.

“
No
. She can never know. She would kill me!”

S
HE
W
OULD
K
ILL
H
IM
,
indeed
. Why wouldn’t she? She had motive, and so did he. To kill Nadie K. that is. Perhaps Nadie was about to tell the wife. Maybe she was exhorting money, favors, anything to make life easier. Wouldn’t be the first time. If not, well, he still had motive, if even for the thought of such an act. And the dress, the dress Eli found. This was telling evidence, seemingly definitive, making it hard to consider another possibility.

“So, how did you end the affair?” Alex asked evenly.

“I simply told her
we’re done
. That the wife was more important than sex with a lowlife. Maybe I was harsh, but you need to be in these matters. Letting her off easy, she might come back, thinking a chance still listed on the horizon. No, she needed a take down!” Don said ardently.

Take down
! Why was Don so adamant about letting her down hard? Was he trying to insure she never came back? Perhaps, he thought more about the wife than Nadie. And rightly so. She was, after all,
the
wife; and Nadie, well,
a
fling. But why kill her? Why commit such an act. To preserve a status quo like that of a high priest. Perhaps Nadie wanted at least that much.

“How did she take it?” Alex said coolly.

“Like
anybody
. Feelings, emotions. In fact, an emotional storm.”

“Emotional storm?”

“Exactly. She acted as if the world ended, breaking apart, crying, sobbing. In the end, a pitiful wreck.”

“What did you expect?”

“I didn’t know, having never had an affair. How is one to know what one has not experienced?”

Precisely. How is one to know what one has not experienced? Alex looked down, picking up a dead insect lying in part under a shoe, gazing at it, wondering what, beyond the glaringly obvious, brought it into this world; afterward, realizing the fragile and strange nature of life, living and the universe. Why did Don crush a soul and the vessel containing it? What possessed him?

“Now for the matter at hand. Where is Nadie K.?” Alex said in a firm tone.

“What do you mean? Where’s she
now
? How am I to know? I haven’t seen her in months. Mostly I’m around the house, not feeling well, sick on a daily basis.”

“Oh, come on Don.”

“What? I’m telling you, I don’t know where she’s at.”

“Okay. When did you last see her?”

“Five, maybe six months ago.”

“What was it like?”

“We exchanged pleasantries, small talk. Nothing sinister happened, I can assure you.”

Nothing sinister
. Why mention that? After all, saying,
nothing sinister happened
, moves suspicion where none once lived.