Eric Schultz drizzled a pale-yellow stream of extra-virgin olive oil onto some eggs in a copper bowl, then wedged the bowl under his arm and proceeded to whip its contents into a froth with a wire whisk. ‘Why don’t you just use a CD player?’ he asked his life partner, who was standing, hands on his hips, on the other side of the restaurant’s huge island. ‘You can use our collections. We’ve got enough music to last a year and never play the same track twice.’
Albert regarded his stocky, balding companion with exasperation and rolled his eyes to heaven, as if to plead for patience.
Eric looked up from the emulsion he was creating and saw Albert’s expression of disdain and disbelief. ‘What? It would be one less salary we’d have to pay, and a whole lot less headaches. You’re the one who’s always complaining about the payroll and disability and unemployment benefits and all that.’
‘That’s not the point,’ said Albert.
‘What is the point?’ Eric asked irritably, glancing around the huge kitchen which was starting to buzz with waiters and sous-chefs. ‘Because I’ve got work to do.’
‘The point is, that if we have that piano in the foyer, and no one there to play it, we will have groups of conventioneers and their mates sitting down to begin a singalong while customers are trying to enjoy their meal.’
‘So, we’ll get rid of it.’
‘And put it where? And put what in its place?’ Albert demanded. ‘Have you ever looked at the size of that foyer?’
‘Excuse me,’ said a voice from behind him.
Albert turned around and saw a tall, broad-shouldered black man dressed in a dark knit sport shirt and a leather coat. Albert, forever a connoisseur of masculine good looks, could not help but smile graciously. The man looked strangely familiar, although he wasn’t instantly able to place him. ‘How may I help you?’ he asked.
It was Eric’s turn to roll his eyes. ‘A distraction. Thank heavens. I have sauces to finish.’
‘A waiter sent me down here. Are you the owner?’ Tyrell asked Albert.
‘Guilty. Along with my partner,’ Albert said, gesturing toward Eric.
‘My name is Tyrell Watkins. I’m a sergeant on the Monroe police force.’ Technically true, Tyrell thought. Although his badge had been seized for the time being.
Fortunately, Albert didn’t need the identification. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said, recognizing Tyrell. ‘You were here the other night. I asked you to move your car.’
Tyrell nodded. ‘Could we talk in private?’ Tyrell asked.
Albert raised his eyebrows. ‘Certainly,’ he said. He turned to Eric. ‘I’ll be in my office.’ Gesturing with one manicured finger for Tyrell to follow him, Albert led the way from the kitchen up the stairs to an office in the back.
Heavenly smells followed them up the staircase, but Tyrell only felt a growing queasiness in the pit of his stomach. On his way home from the hospital, he had stopped by Dena Russell’s place on Bigelow Street. Instead of Dena, he found a vacant apartment with a broken door, and a patrolman there, who had recognized him. The patrolman told him that he had been sent to look the place over because Dena’s apartment was the very apartment where the drowned woman, Mrs Brenda Kelly, had once lived.
Albert unlocked the door to the office, and gestured for Tyrell to go in. It was a spacious room, furnished with French antiques of a slightly more formal nature than the furniture in the dining room. He offered Tyrell a seat, and then seated himself behind his tidy, gilt-edged desk.
Tyrell sat gingerly on the silk-upholstered seat. ‘I’m here about one of your employees, Miss Russell.’
‘Former employees,’ said Albert significantly.
‘So the waiter told me. I’ve just come from her house. There was no one there. I mean the place was empty and the door had been broken in.’
Albert shook his head, and folded his delicate hands in front of him on the desk. ‘Miss Russell has left town. She left very abruptly. Accepted a ride from the man who used to play piano for me. He lived downstairs from her. In fact, the two of them left me with a slew of headaches. But …’ said Albert, sighing, ‘after my initial feeling of … annoyance with her, I have to admit I can understand it. Her boyfriend broke the door in. He was getting out of control. She didn’t feel that you people were protecting her.’
Tyrell ignored the criticism. ‘It was the boyfriend who broke down the door?’
‘Yes, the other night. Didn’t she call you?’
Tyrell was confused, and then realized that Albert meant the police. And he didn’t know whether or not Dena had called the police. ‘I may have been off-duty,’ he said, evading the question.
‘Well, she decided it was too dangerous to stay here any longer. And Peter was leaving town anyway, so she went with him. I believe he was going to drive her to her sister’s house out in Chicago.’ As he recounted this, Albert was suddenly overcome with the thought of all the problems he was now forced to deal with. ‘Good riddance to both of them, I say.’
Tyrell thought about the man he had seen when he went to Dena’s apartment. ‘Is he a guy with a beard?’ he asked.
‘Peter? Yes.’
‘And where was he going?’ Tyrell asked. ‘Was it a sudden departure?’
‘Not really. I’d known for a few weeks that he was leaving. Going out to work for some place in Minneapolis. Of all places.’ Albert opened the drawer of his desk, and extracted a slip of paper. ‘Here it is. This is the number. Retro is the name of the place. What kind of a place could it be? They never even called me for a reference. It’s probably some dive. It would serve him right.’
Tyrell studied the slip of paper. ‘Did you know Mrs Brenda Kelly by any chance?’
‘Who?’ Albert asked.
‘That was the name of the woman they found in the canal …’
‘Oh, the one that drowned. Right. No. I’m afraid not.’
‘It’s an odd coincidence. She used to live in the same apartment Dena lived in.’
‘Oh, my God. That’s right. Mrs Kelly. She used to baby-sit Peter’s kids. Oh, he bitched and moaned when she left. He relied on her.’
‘Really?’ said Tyrell.
‘Yes,’ said Albert, suddenly concerned. ‘Why?’
‘She didn’t just drown. She was murdered.’
‘Murdered?’ Albert’s mouth fell open.
‘The same day this fellow left town,’ said Tyrell. ‘With Miss Russell.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Albert. ‘But, what does it mean? Do you think these things are connected somehow?’
Tyrell shook his head. ‘I don’t know, but a coincidence like that … It’s … troubling,’ he said.
Albert shuddered. ‘Indeed, it is.’
Tyrell pulled out his phone and punched in the number on the slip of paper. He held the receiver against his ear, and sat back, pressing his lips together as if in readiness for a conversation. After a minute, he frowned and pressed a few keys on the screen.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Albert.
Tyrell shook his head and punched in a few numbers. Albert watched him quizzically.
‘Yes,’ said Tyrell. ‘For Minneapolis. The number for a restaurant called Retro. No, I don’t have the address.’
Tyrell waited for a moment. ‘You don’t?’ he asked. ‘Are you sure? How about unpublished? I’ll wait.’
Albert watched Tyrell closely.
‘No. I see. OK, thank you,’ said Tyrell. He replaced the phone in his pocket.
‘It’s not listed?’ Albert asked. ‘What kind of a restaurant isn’t listed?’
‘A restaurant,’ said Tyrell, ‘that doesn’t exist.’
Albert stared at him.
‘It’s not unlisted. There is no such place.’
‘Well, then why would he say that?’ Albert wondered aloud.
‘I don’t know. Are you sure you got the name right?’ Tyrell asked.
‘He wrote it down,’ said Albert. ‘But why? Why make it up? Why not just tell me where he was really going?’
‘Maybe,’ said Tyrell, staring at the paper in his hand, ‘he didn’t want anyone to find him.’
‘Girls,’ said Dena, trying to sound casual, ‘the rain has stopped. Let’s go out for a walk. I want to find a phone. And then, we can walk by the lake later.’ She had gone through everything, her purse and her suitcase, but she knew she wasn’t going to find the phone, and she hadn’t. She’d asked Tory if she might have seen it when she got the cards, but the child didn’t know anything about it. No, Dena thought, I’m sure you don’t. ‘Come on, now,’ she said. ‘Let’s get a move on …’
Reluctantly, with some grumbling, the girls agreed to put away their toys and put on their hooded sweatshirts, in case the rain started again. Once they were ready, Dena thought about where to go.
Surely someone in the office would have a phone she could use. She shepherded the girls up the path and then down the dirt road toward the cabin near the entrance which had the ‘Hideaway Cabins. Register Here’ sign. But when they arrived, the door to the office was locked with a cardboard clock in the window that read, ‘Back at 5 p.m.’
Oh no, Dena thought. Five o’clock was too long to wait. She knew what she wanted to do, and she wasn’t going to put it off any longer. When Peter came back, she would already have enlisted some aid. If she was wrong about this, and there was nothing to it, well then, no harm done. But, the sooner they got this over with, the better.
‘How about if we walk to the Wawa?’ Dena asked brightly.
‘The Wawa?’ Tory exclaimed. ‘That’s far from here.’
‘I’ll get you both some candy,’ Dena wheedled.
‘Yes, candy,’ said Megan, brightening. She began to scamper up the dirt road.
‘We don’t eat candy,’ said Tory stubbornly.
‘There must be something else you want. Come on, Tory. If I can make it, you can make it. There’s not that much else to do.’
‘All right,’ the child agreed glumly.
‘I wish we had that little red wagon of yours. We could pull Megan,’ Dena said.
‘She won’t ride in it anymore anyway. She goes ballistic if you try to put her in it. Dad left it behind.’
‘I thought your dad always pulled her around in that thing.’
‘He did. Then, one day she decided to get hysterical whenever she saw the wagon. Right, Megan?’ Tory called to her sister, who was retracing her steps from her modest trailblazing mission. ‘You don’t like your wagon anymore.’
Megan froze, staring at Tory, and tears filled her eyes. ‘No wagon,’ she begged. ‘The lady’s house. I hate the wagon.’
‘Tory, stop that,’ said Dena, who could see that Tory saw it as a kind of parlor trick to make her sister break down. ‘The wagon’s not here, honey. No more wagon. Come on, we’ll walk.’
The three of them began to walk under the canopy of pines, making their way out to the highway. The Wawa sign was visible very far down the road. That is a long walk, Dena thought, but she didn’t say so to the children. Instead, she took Megan’s hand and led the way, warning Tory, who was walking ahead of them, to stay far inside the white line that served as a shoulder. There wasn’t much traffic along this road, but it only took one careless driver to create a tragedy.
As they walked, Tory offered a running commentary on their surroundings. All Dena had to do was murmur agreeably, which gave her a little opportunity to think. She could dial the local police, but what could she actually tell them? That Peter had taken her phone with him, and pretended not to know the drowning victim? That wasn’t exactly an indictment. Still, she was sure there was something wrong. She needed to know more about the woman who had drowned. What she really needed at this point was some information and advice from someone she could trust.
A truck whizzed by, perilously close to the shoulder, and Dena jerked Tory over into the brown grass. Once the truck was past, they resumed their walk.
‘Are we there?’ Megan pleaded.
‘Almost,’ said Dena. Her belly felt uncomfortable, and all her organs felt squashed. She hadn’t found walking quite this difficult in the past. She could see the sign not far ahead now. ‘Let’s cross here,’ she said, finding a safe spot. She held both girls by the hand and made sure there was no traffic in view before she led them across the old, cracked, two-lane highway.
‘I’m going to get a comic book,’ Tory announced, having finally made up her mind.
‘OK,’ said Dena. ‘That sounds good.’
Her legs were aching by the time they reached the parking lot of the little oasis of convenience set among the trees. Several cars were parked outside. There was a gas station on the other side of the intersection, and a couple of houses in a row, just beyond the gas station. Otherwise, it was a desolate area. But inside, the Wawa was brightly lit and well stocked. A young woman wearing khakis, a red visor and a red apron was behind the counter, stacking packs of cigarettes in the overhead dispenser.
Dena accompanied the children around the store, patiently looking over the goodies with them as they made their selections. She couldn’t expect them to wait until she was done to make their choices. Tory pondered over the revolving rack of comics, while Megan picked up and put down every piece of candy she could reach, studying the wrappers as if she could read them, or see through them to the candy inside. Finally, having settled, with difficulty, on their selections, the girls brought them up to the counter and placed them in front of the clerk. She was a fresh-faced teenager with a blonde ponytail, a shadow of acne on her chin, and a name tag which read, Brittany. The clerk smiled warmly at the children and engaged them in conversation about their goodies, while Dena looked around the store. Then she turned back to the girls. She pointed to the bench just outside the glass-front wall of the store. ‘Can you take Megan out to that bench?’ she asked Tory.
‘Where will you be?’ Tory asked suspiciously.
‘Right here. I have to get one more thing. I’ll be out in one minute. Just make sure she doesn’t move from the bench, you hear me.’
Tory nodded. ‘I’ll read her my comic.’
‘Remember,’ said Dena. ‘The minute one of you girls gets off that bench, I’m going to come out there and take those treats away. OK?’
‘OK,’ said Tory obediently. She took her sister by the hand and led her out to the bench. Once they were settled side by side, Tory looked through the plate-glass window and waved at Dena.
Dena waved back and then turned to the clerk behind the counter. ‘OK, miss. I would not bother you if I didn’t have to, but this is kind of an emergency. The girls’ father accidentally went off with my cell phone and I have to make a call. Could you, by any chance … Just let me make a call on your phone. I’ll stay right here where you can see me. I’ll pay you for it.’
The ponytailed teenager smiled and waved off Dena’s concerns. She reached in her pants pocket and handed the phone to Dena.
‘I’ll only be a few minutes,’ Dena said. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘No problem,’ said the girl.
OK, Dena thought. Let me do this. Keeping her eyes on the girls on the bench outside, she took the phone and dialed the familiar number. Her lips felt dry and she licked them. It rang three times as she waited anxiously. Finally, someone picked up.
‘La Petite Auberge,’ he said.
‘Albert, it’s Dena.’
‘Dena, my God,’ he said.
She could hear the alarm in his voice. ‘What?’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m at a Wawa somewhere in Western Pennsylvania.’
‘Where exactly?’ Albert demanded.
Dena looked at the clerk, but she suddenly had a line of two other customers. ‘We’re staying on a lake, at some dive called the Hideaway Cabins.’
‘Oh, my God,’ Albert said. ‘I’ve been worried sick. Listen to me, that guy you are with, Peter, is in big trouble. The police were just here. The woman who used to live in your apartment was murdered.’
‘Murdered,’ Dena whispered, her stomach doing a sickening flip.
‘And Peter … Well, let’s just say he is not headed to Minneapolis. You’ve got to get away from him. Right now. Listen to me, wait. Let me get Sergeant Watkins. Maybe he hasn’t left yet. Hang on. I’m going to run outside. Just hang on.’
Dena felt her heart starting to thump in her chest. Murdered, she thought. Brenda Kelly had been murdered. And Peter had pretended, denied knowing her … No, it wasn’t possible. Dena had a million questions, and she was afraid of the answers. But at least Tyrell would have the answers. Oh, let Sergeant Watkins still be there, she thought, a little embarrassed that she was even thinking of him by his first name. But somehow that name was comforting to her. Despite the fear inside of her, she felt suddenly easier, as if a knot had been untied, deep inside her. He was there. He would help her. She pictured his face, serious and thoughtful, and she knew she could trust him. Hurry, Albert, she thought. Find him …
At that moment, the phone was jerked from her hands.
She turned around, too shocked to protest, and looked into the blazing eyes of Peter Ward.