I told the receptionist that I knew the way and promised I wouldn’t wander. She insisted on having someone walk me to Candy Groot’s office anyway. Apparently the Szereto Corporation had rules.
Candy was sitting behind her desk. She smiled when I arrived and came to me. I thought she might actually give me a hug, but instead she gripped my arm above the cast and said, “Good to see you,” as if we were old friends too long apart.
You should flirt with older women more often, my inner voice told me.
Candy dismissed my escort and said, “No one’s signed your cast yet.”
“You could be the first.”
She led me deeper into the office. “I’d like that, except—you didn’t come here to see me, did you?”
“No, that’s just a pleasant bonus.”
“Ms. Dauria hasn’t returned from Owatonna yet. I expect her at any time, though. You’re welcome to wait.”
“Wait for what?” Diane said. She swept through the door, her long winter coat flying open and a heavy bag hanging from her shoulder. I wasn’t at all surprised that she stopped, pressed her fists against her hips, lowered her head, and sighed dramatically when she saw me standing there. But when she lifted her head and said, “McKenzie, what happened to your arm?”—that made me wonder.
“It’s a long story,” I said.
“I’d like to hear it.”
“I’d like to tell it.”
Candy helped her remove her coat and carried it to a rack near the door. Diane kept hold of her bag.
“No calls, Ms. Groot, except—”
“I know,” Candy said.
“Thank you.”
Diane motioned me into her office. I was surprised yet again when she closed the door behind us.
She dropped her bag next to her desk and sat in the swivel chair behind it. As usual, the desk was empty of everything except a laptop, a telephone system, and a pen. Diane picked up the pen and started rolling it in her fingers. I sat in the chair in front of her.
“Well?” she said.
“I don’t have much time. I need to get to New Ulm.”
“What’s in New Ulm?”
“Besides the August Schell Brewing Company? Not much.”
“McKenzie…”
“Rebecca Denise Crawford.”
“You saw her giving me a Christmas card at my home on New Year’s Eve. Big deal. Are you going to start spreading rumors that I’m gay, too?”
“I don’t care if you’re gay or not, although Critter Meyer might.”
“Dammit, McKenzie.”
“Tell me about Rebecca.”
“Why should I?”
I held up my cast for Diane to see.
“All right,” I said. “Let me tell you a story about Rebecca.”
Diane stared at me for a good three beats after I finished.
“That doesn’t make sense,” she said. “Why would Becky want to scare you? Why would she want to harm you?”
Now it was my turn to stare.
Is it possible she doesn’t know? my inner voice asked. She asked about your cast. If she and Rebecca were in cahoots …
“McKenzie?” Diane asked.
“She works here,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Tell me about that.”
“I have no idea what you already know and what you don’t.”
“About Jonny Szereto?”
“Then you do know. Okay. Rebecca was one of the women that he … approached. She quit rather than let him touch her. She didn’t tell me this, though; not at the time. I had hired her out of grad school. I suppose you could say she was a protégé of mine. It bothered me a lot that she left without an explanation. Later, after Jonny was killed and the police started asking questions, I figured it out. I contacted her soon after I was named president, tried to make it up to her. Rebecca was working for Barek Cosmetics at the time, and she said she hated it but that she had a noncompete clause in her employment agreement and couldn’t move. A year later, though, she called back and said the agreement had expired and she would love to return to Szereto, but only on a contract basis, meaning she could set her own hours, come and go as she pleased—at least to start with. She was still upset because of her experiences with Jonny. It was against our usual business practices, but I agreed. I felt I owed her.”
“You honestly don’t know—that’s what you’re telling me?”
“Know what?”
“Rebecca is still working for Barek Cosmetics.”
“That’s not possible.”
“I don’t know how it’s possible, but it is. If you don’t believe me, call her.”
“All right, I will.”
Diane reached for her heavy bag.
“No,” I said. “Don’t call her cell. Call the corporate offices. Ask the operator to connect you to R. D. Crawford in research and development.”
Diane reached for her desk phone. Her hand hovered above the receiver. I had seen her burn through a lot of different emotions in the brief time since we met, but the one that etched her face and scoured her eyes startled me. She was afraid.
“What are you telling me?” she asked.
“Rebecca is selling Barek’s corporate secrets to you.”
“No. No, McKenzie. Absolutely not. She would never do that. I would never do that. Besides, it’s not even possible. We have security systems in place that prevent just that kind of thing. Protocols.”
Protocols, my inner voice repeated.
“Rebecca never handed you a thumb drive with Barek’s trade secrets on it?” I asked.
“Never.”
“Are you trying to tell me, Diane, that you’re not using Rebecca to conduct a little corporate espionage on Szereto’s chief rival?”
“How dare you?”
“Well, then, if she’s not selling Barek’s secrets to you, she’s selling your formulas to Barek.”
“No, no, no. McKenzie, formulas, end products, are of limited value. What’s important is the means of production, the research and development, the know-how. What helps you cut down on development costs and aids in long-term production; what helps get your product to the market first.”
“You mean like what a trusted employee might be able to pass on to a competitor?”
“You can’t be right about this.”
Protocols, my inner voice said again.
“When I met Rebecca coming out of the building yesterday, I tried to contact Mrs. Szereto. I didn’t have her number, but I had yours. I left a message for her on your voice mail.”
“I never received it. The time you called, the time you say you called, I was on the phone talking to Sloane. After I finished, I left the office to go to her apartment.”
“You’re saying you didn’t send those thugs to rough me up?”
“I didn’t.”
“If it wasn’t you, it had to be Rebecca.”
“No, McKenzie. No.”
“I don’t think she’s working two full-time jobs simultaneously for corporate rivals just to pocket an extra paycheck. Do you?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
“I believe you.”
“I don’t give a damn.”
“Yes, you do.”
“McKenzie…”
“Diane, do you meet with Rebecca very often?”
“Not often. Just from time to time.”
“Not here, though. Not at Szereto; in the employee cafeteria, for example.”
“No. We meet…”
“At out of the way places. A coffeehouse. A bar. Just the two of you. Usually at night. And when you meet, she always gives you something. A card. A small gift. An appreciation from a protégé to her mentor.”
“What are you telling me, McKenzie? What’s going on?”
“I think I get it now.”
“Get what?”
“Protocols.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I need a favor, Diane. A big one. Perhaps the biggest favor you’ve ever done for anyone in your entire life.”
“What?”
“I need you to trust me.”
Except she didn’t. I could see it in those volcanic eyes of hers. She was thisclose to telling me where to go when Candy Groot’s voice cut in.
“Sorry to interrupt, Ms. Dauria,” she said. “Call on line one.”
Diane lowered her head and spoke sharply into the speaker-microphone.
“I don’t want to accept any calls from anyone unless it’s my daughter,” she said.
“It’s Katherine Meyer.”
“Oh. All right. Thank you.”
Diane snatched the receiver off the cradle and spun in her chair until her back was to me.
“Katie,” she said. “Are you okay?”
I could hear only Diane’s side of the conversation.
“Yes, I’m fine, but you shouldn’t be worried about me … Sloane and I spent hours and hours talking last night. God, that girl can eat … I wish I were as thin as you say. Did you know she was involved in, what do they call it…? Yes, mixed martial arts … She didn’t tell me until I saw the bruises … Every woman in the world should know how to fight … I didn’t mean it like that … How can you be so kind to me after what I’ve done…? No, it wasn’t a mistake. It was worse than that. It was … Katie … I haven’t spoken to Critter. He probably hates me, too … Well, you should … I can’t … I can’t … McKenzie?”
Diane spun back in her chair until she was facing me.
“Yes, I know how to reach him. Katie, just a second. I’m going to put you on speakerphone.”
Before she did, though, she put a finger to her lips—the universal sign that I should keep my mouth shut.
“What about McKenzie?” Diane asked.
“Just tell him to give me a call,” Katie replied in her usual bright and breezy voice.
“May I ask what it’s about?”
“I think he’s entitled to know the truth.”
“He’s not entitled to shit.”
“Oh my God, Diane, listen to you being all protective of me. And the kids, too, giving the poor man the runaround. I have such great friends. I’m including you, Diane. I mean it. And something else since I have you on the phone, it’s not my turn, but I’m going to host the next Hotdish and everyone is going to come, especially you.”
“Katie—”
“I don’t want to hear it. I. Do. Not. Want. Oh, you know what you should do? You should make those mini-eggrolls like you did that one time. With the mushrooms and shrimp? I know it’s a lot of work, but those were the best things. Everybody loved those. And don’t worry, for God’s sake. Can’t we all just get along? I mean, we’ve been together so many years now, and oh, you know what I just found out? Maybe Sloane already told you. She’s the one that hit Critter in the mouth. Oh my God. Do you believe that? Everyone thought it was Malcolm—”
“Katie, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Sloane punching him, I would have loved to have seen that. You go, girl. He deserved it, too. What he said, if Critter had said those things while I was standing there, I would have hit him, too. Slapped him right up the side of his head. Train these kids while they’re young, that’s what you need to do. Okay, okay, I gotta go. So have McKenzie call me.”
“Does he have your number?’
“Yes, he does.”
“If he has your number, how come you don’t have his?”
“I do.”
“Then why did you call me?”
“Just an excuse to say hi. Okay, I gotta go. Remember, mini-eggrolls. Okay. See you later, alligator.”
“Good-bye, Katie.”
“Oh my God, Diane. See you later, alligator.”
Diane paused, a mystified expression on her face. Katie spoke again.
“See you. Later. Alligator?”
“After a while, crocodile?”
“You’re a work in progress, Diane, but I love you so much.”
And Katie hung up.
And Diane hit the button that ended the call on her end.
And she spoke in a halting voice, the fire in her eyes doused by the tears.
“Katie wants you to call her,” she said.
“I will.”
“She’s the best person I’ve ever known, and because she trusts you, I will, too.”
“Thank you.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Call Rebecca. Arrange to meet her.”
“When?”
“Tonight. Tell her you spoke to me and you’re concerned about something I said. Don’t tell her what. Let her pick the location so she feels comfortable. I’ll be coming with you, of course, but don’t tell her that, either. You need to set the meeting for later tonight, sometime after ten because there’s something I need to do first.”
“You’re not going to hurt her?”
“I wouldn’t think so.”
“What are we going to do, then?”
“Buy her affections.”
“What?”
“I’m going to offer her a bribe.”
* * *
The first thing you see when you drive Highway 14 south across the Minnesota River into New Ulm is the baseball field, Johnson Park, home of the Brewers. Behind it is a town that Nina might have labeled quaint, although there are only three buildings older than 1862. The rest were burned to the ground by the Dakota for all the reasons you might expect Native Americans to rise up against the white government, forcing the entire population of the town to flee to Mankato, about thirty miles away.
Among the buildings that were destroyed was Turner Hall. It was rebuilt on the original site, though, after peace had been restored by force of arms and the largest mass execution in U.S. history, thirty-eight Dakota men. In the basement of the hall is the Rathskeller, which the natives claim is the oldest bar in Minnesota. It’s also quaint, the walls adorned with 150-year-old murals that had been restored through a grant from the Minnesota Historical Society.
I sat at the bar. ESPN was on the TV in the corner near the ceiling, and a collection of bottles of alcohol, labels facing out, was stacked in front of the mirror. I ordered a Snowstorm, a product of Schell’s brewery, one of the few places in New Ulm left untouched during the war. Apparently the owners had treated the Dakota with respect and consideration before hostilities broke out. As they say, no good deed goes unpunished. Dwayne Phillips now worked for the brewery in some sort of management capacity.
The bartender was a pleasant middle-aged woman who treated me the same as the regulars who assembled one and two at a time around the bar starting at about 5:00 P.M. until there were enough to field a baseball team. They were drinking Grain Belt, an iconic Minnesota brand once brewed in Minneapolis but now made by Schell’s, and complaining about the Vikings’ quick exit from the playoffs. Yet despite their disappointment, to a man they predicted a Super Bowl appearance the following season. Which made me grimace. One of them must have noticed.
“What?” he asked. “You’re not a believer?”
“Let’s just say I’ve had my heart broken before.”
“You can’t live without hope, son.”
“Here we go,” the bartender said.
“You can last forty days without food. You can go four days without water; four minutes without oxygen. But you can’t last four seconds without hope.”
“Where have I heard that before?” one of his partners asked.
“You believe that, son, don’t you?”
“Not when it comes to the Vikings, no,” I said. “I appreciate the sentiment, though. Let me buy you guys a beer.”
I had never seen so many men drain so many glasses so quickly.
“Grain Belts all around,” one of them said.
The bartender started pouring them even as she glanced at her watch.
“Goin’ somewhere?” one of the regulars asked.
“I gotta date,” she said. “Need to go home and get ready.”
The announcement caused a commotion among the regulars, most of them wondering who the lucky man was.
“It is a man, right?” one of them asked.
The bartender asked if he knew any.
Another hoped that her leaving didn’t mean the Rathskeller was going to close early because he certainly didn’t want to go home early.
The bartender assured him that Philly would soon be there to sub for her, which caused another commotion among the regulars, most of them wondering how the young man had been doing since leaving for the big city, specifically Chicago and Northwestern University. The news made me smile, too. It meant my research hadn’t all been in vain.
I waved the bartender over.
“Why don’t you let me settle my tab before your replacement arrives,” I said. “So you get the tip.”
She made sure the regulars saw her pointing at me.
“This is what we’ve been missing around here,” she announced. “Class.”
I paid in cash, leaving her a twenty-five percent tip, which made her smile.
“Who’s Philly?” I asked after we became friends.
“Jalen Phillips. He’s the local fair-haired boy, although he really isn’t fair-haired.” She chuckled at her own joke. “Great baseball player for the Legion teams, and just the nicest young man. Him and his father. He works as a part-time bartender for us summers and when he’s back from school. You’ll meet him.”
I did, about ten minutes later. The regulars shouted his name like they did Norm’s in the classic Cheers TV show. He seemed to remember all of their names as well. He gave the bartender a hug and she kissed his cheek and then she left, leaving him in charge. First thing he did was make sure everyone’s glass was filled with the beverage of their choice. I ordered another Snowstorm.
“Be careful of that one,” a regular warned. “The way he was talking before, I’m pretty sure he’s a Green Bay Packer backer.”
“Hey,” I said. “Do I call you names?”
“You know where they hate the Packers even more than we do?” Philly asked. “Chicago.”
“About the only good thing you can say about Chicago,” another regular said.
“Man, that’s my home away from home you’re dissin’.”
That launched a discussion about the many different places one might choose to live, with the general consensus being that the number of assholes one encountered rose dramatically the farther away one traveled from New Ulm.
Eventually Philly returned to make sure I was happy with my beer.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
“New Brighton.”
“Hey, I’m from…”
And the smile ran away from his face.
“Shit,” he said.
* * *
The night began to drag. More customers arrived, yet the energy that had been in the Rathskeller earlier seemed to dissipate. Or maybe it was just me. For a while, Philly was quite busy, although he did take time to make a call on his cell phone from a corner of the bar where no one could hear his voice. Eventually the crowd began to thin out, along with the regulars.
“Supper’s on the table,” one of them said.
I was nursing my fourth beer when Philly said, “There’s always a lull about this time on weekdays. It’ll get busier again after people have had their dinner, about the time the Wild game starts.”
To emphasize his point, he aimed a remote at the HDTV in the corner and switched the channel to Fox Sports North. The Wild hockey pregame show was just starting.
“Need another beer?” he asked.
“I’m good.”
“Bar menu?”
“No.”
He stepped away and busied himself with some glasses. He was waiting for something. I didn’t know what until the black man entered the bar and sat one stool down from me. Philly smiled at him, and the man smiled back.
I said, “Mr. Phillips, I presume.”
“Dwayne. Who you?”
“McKenzie.”
“You police?”
“No.”
“What you want with my boy?”
Since he got to the point so quickly, I decided it would be better if I did the same.
“I want to know what your son saw that day,” I said.
“What day?”
“Mr. Phillips…”
“That was seven years ago.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Why anybody care all this time?”
“Do you remember Frank Harris?”
“Yeah, I remember him.”
“Malcolm’s old man,” Philly said.
“Prick,” Dwayne said.
“Yes, he was,” I said.
“Was?” Philly said.
“Someone stabbed him in the head with a knife and left him to die in the snow.”
“No way.”
“When this happen?” Dwayne asked.
“Year ago last Christmas,” I said.
“Who did it?” Philly said.
“No one knows.”
“What’s this got to do with my boy?” Dwayne asked.
“Probably nothing.”
“Then what you want here?”
“Jayne Harris asked me to find out what happened to her husband. Malcolm, too.”
“She’s a nice lady,” Philly said. “Malcolm’s kind of a jerk like his old man, but he played a solid second base.”
“This don’t answer my question,” Dwayne said.
“Neither of them cares if anyone goes to jail. They just want to know the truth.”
“People say that like it’s something you can hold in your hand; carry it in your pocket and take it out once in a while to look at. Don’t work like that.”
“I never said it did.”
“McKenzie,” Philly said, “do you believe that the person who killed that man in the park is the same one that stabbed Mr. Harris?”
“I honestly don’t know. That’s why I’m here.”
“I know how things work,” Dwayne said. “Citizen ain’t under no legal obligation to report a crime, and you can’t make him testify if he don’t want to.”
“That’s true.”
“Anything anyone says to you is hearsay; can’t repeat it in no court.”
“That’s true, too.”
“You ain’t no cop, anyway.”
“No.”
Dwayne was speaking to his son when he said, “What you want to do?”
“What happened before is one thing,” Philly said. “But if it’s happened again, that’s something else, man.”
“She’s your friend. You decide.”
“If it makes it any easier,” I said, “whatever you tell me in New Ulm stays in New Ulm.”
Philly hesitated for such a long time that for a moment I thought I had lost him. Finally he aimed the remote at the TV to increase the volume, leaned in close, and started speaking, his voice just above a whisper as if he were desperate that only his father and I would be able to hear him.
“What you need to understand is that I didn’t actually see anything,” Philly said. “It was after school, and I was cutting across the park. We had a lot of rain the last couple of days and we couldn’t get on the field, so the coach, he wanted everyone to get to the ballpark early for infield and BP. I’m crossing the park and I look up and I see Katie—”
“Katie Meyer?” I asked.
“Mrs. Meyer, uh-huh, and she was walking toward this shed. I called to her because Mrs. Meyer, she was so nice to me. And to Sloane. Sloane Dauria. She was like—I didn’t have a mother growing up, McKenzie, because of what the drugs did to her, but if I had, I would have wanted to her to be like Mrs. Meyer. It’s important that you know that because … I called to her, but she didn’t hear or see me. So I ran toward her, toward the shed. By the time I got there she was already walking back to the field. That’s when I noticed that she was carrying a bat, one of Critter Meyer’s baseball bats. And then I saw the guy…”
Philly paused as if he were seeing him again. I knew I was.
Are you frickin’ kidding me? my inner voice said. Katie Meyer beating someone to death with a baseball bat? How is that even possible?
“I called the emergency number,” Philly said. “I told the operator what I found. She asked for my name. While she was asking, I could see Mrs. Meyer. She had already returned to the baseball field and she was setting the bat against the backstop, and I decided there was no way. I didn’t even try to reason it out. I wasn’t going to give her up. I just wasn’t. You know, that woman hugged me every time I saw her. Even my old man didn’t hug me that much.”
Dwayne shrugged as if to say, “What do you expect?”
“I hung up and turned off my cell phone,” Philly said. “I went to the field, and she must have seen that I was agitated because suddenly she was worried about me and wondering if there was anything she could do. She hugged me—again—and I could smell the scent of her shampoo in her hair and I vowed right then and there that I was going to protect her no matter what. I went five-for-five that game, too; two dingers and six RBIs. That’s how upset I was about my decision. Anyway, I thought that would be the end of it until this fat cop from New Brighton showed up at the house and started acting, well, that doesn’t matter. I denied calling 911, and he left me alone after that.”
“Did you know that Katie had been raped?” I asked. I needed that to be the reason why Katie killed Raymond Bosh.
“Yeah. We all did. It wasn’t a secret. It happened right before one of our games, and when I got to the field, the cops were already there investigating. Only it wasn’t anything we ever talked about. Man, we were thirteen, fourteen years old at the time. We didn’t want to talk about it. Mrs. Meyer didn’t want us to talk about it, either. She kept telling us it had nothing to do with us; that we should forget about it and play baseball. She didn’t want the season to be about her, you see? That’s the kind of person she was.”
“Did you think that one thing might have been connected to the other?”
“Not at first, but later it occurred to me. Why else would she have done it? That wonderful, caring woman? It had to be because he was the one who raped her. The police hadn’t done anything about it; it was like three, four weeks later, and that fat cop—honestly, it made me feel better about it all. Like justice was being served. But now … If she also killed Malcolm’s old man…”
“She didn’t,” I said. I remembered Detective Downing’s supplemental reports. Among the fourteen New Brighton Hotdishers who were prepared to testify that Jayne Harris was with them when Frank was killed—Katherine Meyer.
“Are you sure?” Philly asked.
“I am absolutely sure. Tell me—does anyone else know what happened?”
“Who d’you mean?”
“I know you refused to talk to the police. What about the Hotdishers?”
“The parents? Hell, no. Are you kidding?”
“The other ballplayers?”
That slowed him down.
“It’s important,” I said.
“Critter,” Philly said. “He was really upset about what happened to his mother, never seemed to get past it, the fact that the man who hurt her never got caught, and going into the championship game he was in tears even, so, what I did—I told him that he shouldn’t worry about it, tried to make him feel better. Sloane and Malcolm were there, too, and I tried to tell them what happened without actually telling them what happened; dropping hints, you know, until they sorta figured it out on their own, and then we vowed, the four of us, we promised to never speak of it again. I kept my promise. Did they?”
“Yes, they did,” I said.
“What happens now?” Dwayne asked.
“I leave New Ulm and pretend that we never met.”
“You’re not going to mess with Katie?” Philly said.
“Why would I do that?”
“So you put us to a lot of bother for no reason,” Dwayne said.
“Good-bye, Mr. Phillips.”
* * *
Only it wasn’t good-bye. After I settled my tab, Dwayne followed me to my Mustang.
“Nice ride,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“You say you’re not a cop, but I know the look.”
“I used to be, in St. Paul. Not anymore.”
“St. Paul, you say. That’s where I’m from.” He named an intersection. “You know it?”
“I know it,” I said.
“I was standing on the corner when I was twelve years old and a guy drove by and shot me. Shot me twice. To this day I don’t know why. Did he mistake me for someone else? Did he just not like the way I looked? I spent four months in the hospital. Not once during that time did anyone come to visit me. That’s my childhood, McKenzie. The way I grew up. Five years later, I was standing on the exact same corner with a man owed me money over some coke he was ’spose to be movin’ for me. I shot him twice. Killed him. They put me inside for that. I had just turned seventeen, but it was adult time. Got out, went straight back to the life. Did another jolt for possession with intent. Got out. Went back to the life. Goin’ nowhere fast. Woman I was with, strung-out bitch got pregnant. Jalen born premature. You have kids, McKenzie?”
I thought about Erica and said no anyway.
“It changes a man—if he is a man,” Dwayne said. “I got outta the life. Tried to take my woman with me. She didn’t want to go. OD’d a few months later. Took Jalen to New Brighton. Don’t seem like that far, only twenty minutes by car from that corner. But it was a lifetime away. Tried to raise him right. Give him a chance. He took it, too. Scholarship at Northwestern University, man. He’s gonna be a fucking economist. Then this thing happened with Katie Meyer. All I could think about was that goddamned street corner. Right before school start, I got an opportunity to move to New Ulm and work for the brewery. Took it, man. Took it and ran. Now you show up, dragging the past with you.”
“Mr. Phillips, the past is in St. Paul and New Brighton. Not here.”
“You say that.”
“I told this to someone just a couple days ago and I meant it—you’re known by your children. I met your son. You’re a good man, Mr. Phillips. Neither of you will ever have a problem with me. My word.”
“You say that.”
“Maybe in twenty years when nothing happens, you’ll believe me.”