It was late morning by the time Margo landed back in Chicago and went through customs. She slid into the back seat of Billy Berlind’s Silver Cloud III Drop Top. It was claret with cream-coloured seats and, next to Margo, Billy’s favourite thing in the world. It had been his father’s and, had it fitted in the elevator, both men would gladly have garaged it in the living room of the apartment.
‘Did you sleep?’ Billy asked while the driver stowed her things in the trunk.
‘Like a baby.’
‘Liar,’ he said.
‘I’m not speaking to you in case you’re interested.’
‘Not interested,’ he said, tucking her coat snugly around her. ‘I’d give you a Scotch but you need to be firing on all cylinders.’
Margo was on alert. ‘Did you find him? I’ve finally given up trying to get through to his phone.’
He opened the polished bar, built into the car’s mahogany frame. ‘What the hell.’ He poured two Scotches, neat, and handed her one. ‘Cheerio.’
‘Tell me!’
‘Better to show you.’ Billy leaned forward and gave an address to the driver.
‘That’s Jack’s office.’
‘Margo, drink up.’
‘I don’t want a drink.’
‘You will,’ Billy said. ‘Trust me. Margo, it’s nothing I can tell you; it’s something you have to see for yourself.’
Margo gave him a malevolent look but she took the Scotch and drank it down.
They rode the rest of the way to Jack’s office in silence. Brightly coloured Christmas decorations already festooned every lamppost on Michigan Avenue. Margo, who normally anticipated Christmas with the enthusiasm of a toddler, suddenly found the brightly coloured lights garish, even depressing.
The driver stopped on Oak Street and Billy helped Margo step from the car. The ringing of the street-corner Santa’s bell was giving her a headache. She happily escaped into the quiet comfort of the lobby.
The elevator stopped at the penthouse where Jack had his office. Margo started fumbling for her keys but Billy pushed on the door. It swung open easily. He made no move to enter. Margo stepped past him into the familiar space. She stopped in her tracks.
The place was empty.
The big partner’s desk she had bought Jack as a wedding gift was gone. The beautiful photographs of water sources in exotic locales around the world were also gone. The furniture, the draperies, the rug he’d bought in Pakistan, even the coffee maker he treated like a loved but ornery pet was gone. Not even a crumpled piece of paper remained.
Margo turned to Billy, speechless. He pointed to a small printed sign attached to the wall outside the door.
Office To Let
312 781-4242
Margo was already dialling when Billy stopped her. ‘Already called.’
‘And?’
‘I was told the landlord is eager to lease the place,’ he said. ‘His last tenant cleaned the place out yesterday with two years left on his lease.’
‘What is going on?!’ Margo had begun to shake. Billy held her tightly.
‘I asked you a question before,’ he said carefully. ‘Are your bank accounts in both names? Yours and Jack’s?’
Margo wrenched away from her friend. ‘Take me home.’
‘I will,’ Billy said, ‘But you’re not going to like what you’ll find there either.’