Mortal Friends (17 page)

R
osina took the next month off to go to Uruguay to get married. Naturally, she invited me to the wedding. I wanted to go, but I couldn’t afford the time off, plus I had to take care of the shop. She found me a replacement—a sweet, dim young woman named Amber Corey, whose resemblance to Rosina began and ended with her slim figure and dark, pretty looks. Rosina warned me that she didn’t know Amber all that well and that she wasn’t the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree, but assured me she was honest.

“She used to work at Banana Republic with a friend of mine. He told me she found a dollar in one of the changing rooms and chased the customer halfway up Wisconsin to give it back,” Rosina said.

Honesty counts for a lot these days. But as far as I was concerned, Amber’s most important quality was that she was available immediately for the price I could afford to pay her. She showed up for work the first day wearing a gold lamé halter top and stretch white pants. In winter.

“Hey, Ms. Lynch, it’s, like, so, like, nice to meet you,” she said, giving me a limp-fish handshake.

When Violet saw Amber, she whispered to me, “You know how we’ve always wondered what all those gorgeous girls who hang around the bar at Café Milano at night actually
do
during the day? Now we know.”

I was very patient with Amber at first, since she was young and relatively inexperienced, even though she’d worked in retail before. However, having to explain simple tasks to a person who obsessively
pasted decals on her fingernails and used the word “like” in every sentence—usually more than once—was definitely not my forte.

“Like okay, I, like, get it now,” Amber would say as she examined one of her nails. But then she wouldn’t get it, and I’d, like, have to show her how to do it again. And again. And, like, again. The third day she was there, I noticed the tiny tattoos on her ankles. The one on her left ankle read, “Amber,” with hearts on either side. The one on her right read, “Corey,” with little stars on either side. I joked with Violet that she’d had them put there so in case she forgot her name she could just look down.

The intercom system posed a special challenge for Amber. After a week, she still wasn’t quite sure what numbers she had to punch to buzz my office. One morning, she came running up the steps, announcing, “There’s, like, this old guy here to see you?” ending that sentence, as she ended almost all her others, with an inquisitive inflection.

“Did you get his name?”

“Oh, I forgot. I’m like really sorry. But he’s in, like, this, like uniform…?”

I heaved a weary sigh and got up from my desk. “Try and ask who it is next time, okay?”

“Yeah, sure! I almost did. And then, I, like, forgot?”

I walked downstairs hoping it was the “like” police coming to cart Amber away. I was astonished to see Maxwell standing there in his chauffeur’s cap and coat, holding the cookie tin. He was red-faced from the cold.

“Maxwell!” I cried. “How nice to see you!”

He nodded sheepishly. “I’m just in the neighborhood with Mr. Poll, and, uh, I been meaning to return this to you,” he said, handing me the tin. “Cookies were delicious like you said. Just like back home. Better even.”

“That’s so sweet of you, Maxwell. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to thank you, ma’am,” he said with great sincerity and what I thought was a hint of nostalgia. “You were always kind to me.”

He said this in such a way that it made me think that perhaps the new Mrs. Poll was not always kind to him.

The Rolls was parked outside the shop at a meter. I was dying to ask him what Bob was doing in the neighborhood, but I felt awkward
mentioning him. Maxwell inquired after Rosina. I told him she was down in Uruguay, getting married. I introduced him to Amber. They shook hands. I couldn’t imagine what the staid chauffeur made of Miss Gold Lamé in her halter top, stretch pants, and big hoop earrings. But he seemed to take it in stride.

“Amber, Maxwell. Maxwell, Amber. Amber…you see that beautiful car out there?” I said, pointing out the front window to the Rolls. “That’s Maxwell’s car.”

“Oooh, like, wow! That is like so hot!” Amber said, peering out the window for a closer look.

I winked at Maxwell. He was asking me about Rosina and her marriage when Amber said with alarm, “Hey, there’s, like, this guy out there, looking in the car…?”

Maxwell rushed to the window. It was Bob, clearly searching for Maxwell. Bob gazed directly into the shop. I wasn’t sure if he saw me, but I knew he saw Amber. You couldn’t miss her. She looked as out of place as a kewpie doll in a museum. Bob ogled her for a few seconds, then continued up the block in search of his driver.

“Darn, I gotta go!” Maxwell said hurriedly. “Nice to see you again, Miss Lynch.”

Maxwell ran after Bob and escorted him back to the car. I could see Bob chewing him out as Maxwell opened the door for him. Just before ducking into the car, Bob glanced back at the shop. I thought he caught a glimpse of me, but I wasn’t sure. Amber gave him a little wave.

“That other old guy’s real cute,” she said. “You know him?”

“I used to.”

I watched the car drive off.

“So, like, that’s, like, the older guy’s car, right?”

“Right.” I sighed.

“Really nice, huh? What is it?”

“A vintage Rolls Royce—probably old enough to be your grandfather.”

“Cool.”

A little later on, Amber came up to my office and said, “Um, Ms. Lynch, I have, like, real bad cramps. You think maybe I could, like, have the afternoon off, if that’s okay?”

“Sure. Absolutely. You go home and rest. And if you want tomorrow off, take that too! By all means.”

“Actually, I gotta go over to my friend, Julie’s, tomorrow, ’cause, like, um, we’ve got this thing tomorrow night, um—”

“Whatever, hon. You just go. And don’t you worry. Come back whenever you feel like it. I’m sure I’ll survive without you. Oh, and if you want that cookie tin, feel free…”

I couldn’t wait for Rosina to get back home.

The next day, Amber didn’t show up, much to my relief. She didn’t show up the day after that either. I was manning the shop by myself, figuring out a gentle way to fire her, when who should walk in but Senator Grider. He was wearing an ill-fitting navy blue suit, a white shirt, and a red-and-white polka-dot tie. He was taller than I remembered, nearly six feet. He had a stringy, taut physique and a lopsided but athletic gait, like an arthritic ex-marathoner. I was surprised to see him, as abrupt as he’d been the last time we spoke.

“Well, well, well, Senator…. And what brings you to my neck of the woods?”

“My niece is getting married, and I need to get her a present.”

“Great! I can definitely help you there. Do you have a price range?”

“Well, she’s my only sister’s only child, so I guess I kinda better splurge. Say twenty dollars?”

I paused. “You’re kidding, right?”

He paused. “Yup. Just wanted to see if you’d notice…. Nice place you got here. Homey. Well, fancy homey. My wife liked antiques. I don’t really understand them myself. To me a chair’s a chair. Long as you can sit in it comfortably, it doesn’t have to look like something you’d win at a fair.”

“Shall we look around for a present for your niece? Do you have any idea what she might like?”

“Dorcas is like her mother. No matter what you get her, she’s gonna hate it.”

“I have a suggestion…. Is Dorcas registered anywhere?”

“Registered?”

“Yes. Brides usually register at a certain store to avoid getting things they don’t like. They pick out things they need and want, and people buy those things for them. That way everybody’s happy.”

He guffawed. “Dorcas won’t be happy till Judgment Day. But it’s a
fine suggestion. I’ll ask her mother where she’s registered.”

“Not that I want to do myself out of a sale,” I said. “So if you see anything you think she might like, feel free.”

He looked down and shuffled his feet. “Truth is, I do see something I like…. Well, uh, what I mean is, I didn’t just come here for Dorcas.”

“No?”

“Nope…”

Silence.

“Why
did
you come here? To find out more about Cynthia Rinehart?” I actually knew why he’d come, but I didn’t let on.

He cleared his throat. “There’s a play on at the Kennedy Center—
Ah, Wilderness!
Like to see it?”

I found his shyness quite endearing.

“When?”

“Thursday night?”

I thought, What the hell? Why not?

“Okay. Thanks. I’d love to.”

“You would?”

“You seem surprised.”

“I guess I am, kinda. But I’m very honored and happy too. One thing, though…I have to meet you there. I can’t pick you up. I’m liable to be late, so I’m gonna leave a ticket for you at the box office. That okay with you?”

“That’s fine.”

“Good. Very good. So, uh, see you Thursday night, then. That’s three days from now.”

“Yes, I know when Thursday is. Right after Wednesday. See you!”

He paused at the door. “Guess who’s from Nebraska?”

“You.”

“Aside from me. But anyway, I’m not originally from Nebraska. I’m from Kansas originally, but we moved to Omaha when I was two years old. Fella you’d never think came from the sticks. Guess.”

“I just can’t imagine.”

“Fred Astaire.”

“Really? I never knew that.”

“Very few people know that. If I could come back as anybody in the whole wide world? Know who I’d come back as?”

“Let me guess…. Fred Astaire?”

“Nope, Teddy Roosevelt, trust buster. But after that, Fred Astaire. Fred wasn’t a dancer. He was dance itself. Whatever you are, you wanna try and be the thing itself…. Who would you come back as?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to think about that.”

“You think about it and give me your answer Thursday night. And I’ll tell you if I think it’s a good choice for you.”

“I look forward to your opinion.”

On his way out the door, Grider did an unexpectedly agile little buck and wing, an attempt to imitate Fred Astaire. As he tapped his way out the door, he tipped an invisible hat to me and smiled. He almost tripped but caught himself, and with a flourish of his hand cried, “See ya!”

Zachary Grider was quirky, awkward, and dour, with flashes of whimsy that were bright and unexpected, like the sun glinting off a piece of rusting metal. The thing I liked about him most, however, was that he was the exact opposite of Bob Poll. I was actually looking forward to our date.

Amber didn’t show up for work the following day either. I can’t say I was unhappy. That was the perfect excuse I needed to let her go. I did call her, however, just to ascertain what her plans were and if she ever intended to show up again. There was no answer at her house. I left a message on her cell.

Gunner came into the shop later that afternoon. I was surprised to see him because of his penchant for secrecy. I knew right away from the look on his face that something really bad had happened.

“
What?
” I said.

“There’s been another murder in Rock Creek Park.”

“Jesus! You think it’s your guy again?”

Gunner nodded. “Oh, yeah. It’s my guy all right.”

“Have you checked up on Bob Poll? I hope he
doesn’t
have an alibi.”

Gunner hesitated. “Is there a young woman working here named Amber?”

“Yeah. Rosina’s down in Uruguay getting married. Amber’s her replacement. Why?”

“Is she here? I’d like to talk to her.”

“No. She hasn’t been here for a couple of days.”

“When was the last time you two spoke?”

“Two days ago. I called her this morning and left her a message…. Wait…Don’t tell me—”

It’s hard to explain how I felt at that precise moment—kind of like someone had poured molten lead into me.

“You think it’s Amber?”

Gunner shrugged.

“Jesus! Are you
sure
?”

“Pretty sure now,” he said.

“Jesus…Oh, that poor girl. This is terrible. Oh, my God.”

I started to hyperventilate. Gunner took my hand and held it until I calmed down.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “You gonna be okay?”

“I guess.”

“Can I get you a glass of water or something?”

“No. I’m fine.”

He let go of my hand and began pacing around the shop. “Listen, Reven, I need to talk to you about something…. There are going to be a lot of police officers coming around here to ask questions.”

“I know. I’m dreading it.”

“If they ask you about the task force, you can certainly say you know me and that we’ve spoken. But I doubt they’ll ask, and if they don’t I wouldn’t bring it up. See, technically, the Park Police have jurisdiction over crimes where the bodies are found in public parks. The Park Police are part of the Department of the Interior, i.e. the federal government. They don’t really appreciate our special task force. It’s a territorial thing, like the FBI and the CIA. My tree’s bigger than your tree—you know. I’d hate for them to interfere with some of my leads.”

“I won’t say anything. I promise. I certainly won’t tell them about Bob Poll.”

“I wouldn’t. Not just yet.”

“But you should know that he saw her.”

“Who?”

“Bob saw Amber through the window two days ago. Maxwell came here to return a cookie tin to me, and Bob was standing right outside, looking into the shop. Amber waved at him and thought he was cute.”

“Interesting.”

“
Interesting?
You know, I’m beginning to think you may be right. You better check and see if he has an alibi, that bastard.”

“Don’t worry. I’m on it…. I gotta go. Remember—keep it simple. Just answer the questions.”

“Mum’s the word,” I said. “But Gunner, I’m a little scared.”

“That’s why it’s so important we don’t blow this thing. We gotta get him. And we don’t want anyone tipping him off.”

The truth is, I was terrified. Death had come much too close. However, I trusted Gunner and felt flattered that he considered me such an important part of his investigation.

The next day, officers from the Major Crimes Unit of the U.S. Park Police came to interview me, along with some detectives. I told them everything I knew about Amber, which wasn’t much. I said she hadn’t worked for me that long a time, and that I knew very little about her. I didn’t even know where she lived. I told them she mentioned a girlfriend named Julie and a party she said she was going to. I didn’t mention Gunner. They said they’d be in touch.