Vultures at Twilight

by Charles Atkins

  ‘You know what they say about denial?’ Mattie commented.

  ‘Yes, it’s a big river in Egypt.’

  ‘As long as you know that. Then comes drugs. Any sense that he’s stoned or high? Any clues like red-rimmed eyes, slurred speech, grades taking a nosedive or tickets for driving under the influence?’

  ‘No, that’s not it; at least I haven’t seen anything, and Susan – that’s my daughter – hasn’t mentioned it.’

  ‘Well, that leaves the third one which has to do with sex. Any chance he got somebody pregnant?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is he gay?’

  Ada paused. ‘Bingo.’

  ‘And you’re OK with that?’

  ‘He’s my grandson. I’d love him if he were an axe murderer. God, that’s so politically incorrect going from gay to axe murderer. I don’t know if he is gay, and I don’t think it makes a difference, although . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I sometimes think Aaron’s more than just a grandson. After Susan had him she went back to school; I’d take care of him and his sister in the afternoons. This is probably more information than you want from a relative stranger, and you’ll think I’m a nut case, but I believe that there’s a purpose why he’s in my life and I’m in his. If he’s gay, or dealing with something else, I don’t think it’s going to be his parents – certainly not his father – who are going to be there for him.’

  ‘He’s lucky to have you.’

  ‘That’s kind of you, but I still feel out of my element.’ There was more Ada wanted to add, but realized Mattie was truly a stranger.

  ‘I don’t think you need to do much. Just listen and set a few limits. It sounds like he may not have been getting a whole lot of support at home.’

  ‘My son-in-law is a piece of work,’ Ada blurted angrily, remembering how hurt and furious she’d been as Jack had essentially banished her from their home, not liking her politics, or that unlike her daughter, Ada would not hold her tongue. He’d made it clear that he felt she was corrupting his children, and it was only his views that were welcome around the table.

  ‘That puts you in a weird position.’

  ‘Mattie,’ Ada asked, ‘I know you’re probably very busy but would you like to join us for dinner?’

  She hesitated, having been at this boundary many times over the course of her career. She remembered something her first partner, the now retired Dan Malvoy had told her: ‘It’s OK to get friendly but not be friends, because today’s informant can be tomorrow’s perp . . . or corpse.’ Still this town was hard to crack and Lil Campbell in particular had the inside track. With her thoughts zipping fast she realized it was unlikely that either of these women were responsible for the murders, which left the other half of Dan’s truism. ‘Love to,’ she said. Part of her was simply eager for a meal away from her too-cute hotel room at the Grenville Inn, but she also realized that she’d get more information over dinner than in a taped interview at the local police department.

  ‘Let me give you directions. I hope you like Chinese, as with few exceptions I’m a famously bad cook.’

  The detective laughed. ‘I love Chinese.’

  TWENTY

  ‘I got a job,’ I told Ada, unable to contain my enthusiasm, and a bit apprehensive, as well.

  ‘What? Lil, I had no idea you were looking,’ Ada responded while putting out napkins and her good sterling flatware.

  ‘I wasn’t,’ I admitted, glad for these moments alone with her. There was so much I wanted to say, and wasn’t sure how it would come out. ‘I just thought that if you were serious about maybe going back to New York, I needed to find something for myself.’ There was this pressure building, and before I could stop myself, ‘I don’t want you to leave. I know it’s selfish. I know family has to come first, but I don’t want you to go.’

  ‘I didn’t realize.’ She looked up, and our eyes connected.

  It felt like time was suspended. I desperately wanted to go to her, to hold her . . . kiss her. But fear held me to the spot.

  The silence was broken by her: ‘Do you think anyone would mind if I left the food in the cardboard containers?’

  ‘No,’ I said, realizing that what I felt must never be voiced, that to do so would be to lose the best friend I’d ever had. ‘It’s fine, less to wash.’

  ‘So tell me about this job. Are you planning to take up Calvin on his offer?’

  ‘No.’ I was annoyed that she’d even bring that up. ‘You know the new multi-dealer shop that opened at the end of Town Plot?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’m going to work there four half-days a week.’

  Her response was not what I wanted or expected. ‘Have you lost your mind? Doing what?’

  ‘I’m not entirely certain.’ Noting real alarm in her eyes as she stared slack jawed. ‘And yes, I’m aware the antique industry in Grenville may not be the safest at the moment. But this job has nothing to do with any of that. It’s a lot of showing people things inside the cases, ringing up sales. It sounds easy, and not the kind of thing to get me killed.’ I knew I wasn’t being honest, but how to admit that part of this move came from morbid curiosity. But deeper, and hard to articulate. Grenville was my town, and someone was messing with it. I needed to understand why and who.

  ‘Lil, I’ll say it again. Are you out of your mind?’

  ‘You don’t sound exactly thrilled for me.’

  ‘No, really, I think it’s great.’ Her tone was sarcastic. ‘But do you think with all these murders that a job in an antique shop is safe? If anything happened to you . . .’

  ‘Oh please, you know as well as I do that they’re not killing the lowly shop girl.’

  ‘That’s the job title?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, feeling an ache in my chest as the doorbell rang, and wishing she didn’t look so worried. ‘Lillian Campbell,’ I continued, keeping my tone light, ‘shop girl. It has a certain . . .’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure it does. Can you carry a gun?’ she retorted.

  ‘You’re over-reacting. Let me get the door?’ And I let in Mattie Perez who stood holding a bottle of wine, dressed in a navy suit over a gray turtle neck. Her tightly curled hair reminding me of the very first Barbie dolls, but the analogy going no further with the compact woman with her intense eyes and thick brows.

  ‘Someone trained you well,’ I remarked, relieving her of the zinfandel.

  Ada yelled in the background, ‘Aaron, supper.’

  ‘It smells great,’ Mattie commented as I showed her into the dining room. ‘Your home is lovely,’ she said to Ada, taking in the gleaming mahogany and her array of iridescent backlit art glass.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Tiffany?’ the detective asked as she examined a shelf of free-form vases and bowls.

  ‘Good eye,’ Ada commented. ‘Grenville’s starting to wear off.’

  ‘And these?’ she asked moving to a display of delicate glass covered with a meshwork of filigree.

  ‘Loetz,’ Ada instructed. ‘They’re from Bohemia. Used to be cheap. I don’t think I ever paid more than forty dollars when I bought them.’

  ‘Ada,’ I interrupted, ‘that was in the seventies.’

  ‘Time flies.’ She shook her head at me, clearly not over my revelation about the new job.

  ‘Is it rude to ask what they’re worth?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Ada turned back to Mattie. ‘That’s the fun. The small pieces probably run around a thousand each and they go up from there.’

  ‘Based on size?’ the detective asked.

  I couldn’t stop myself. ‘Yes, with glass and ceramics size does matter.’

  ‘Lillian, don’t be crude,’ Ada scolded. ‘They don’t like that in lowly shop girls. She got a job,’ Ada added by way of explanation. ‘And where is my grandson? Aaron Michael. Supper! Now!’

  ‘You got a job?’ Mattie asked, still perusing the glittering art glass.

  ‘Nothing earth shattering,’ I admitted
, wishing Ada would just let this drop, and feeling a resistance to telling this detective about it. ‘It’s more to keep me busy than anything else.’

  ‘Shop girl?’

  ‘Ada’s making fun. I’m going to be a floor person at the Grenville Antique Center.’

  ‘The big shop on the green?’ The detective gave me a searching look. ‘Kind of an odd choice, isn’t it?’

  ‘Thank you,’ Ada said. ‘Why on earth someone would deliberately take a job where—’

  ‘Enough,’ I said, feeling the color rise in my cheeks. ‘It’s a multi-dealer setup and they’re forever advertising for help.’

  ‘Multi-dealer? How does that work?’ Mattie asked, her tone making me realize that her visit was more than social. She was here for information and details she thought only Grenville insiders would have.

  ‘It’s simple. Dealers rent booths or cases, fill it with merchandise and then we try to sell it. They also post and sell over the Internet.’

  ‘So the dealers aren’t actually there?’

  ‘Not unless they want to be.’

  ‘It sounds convenient for the dealers.’

  ‘That’s the point,’ I said. ‘I had actually thought about doing that myself. I’ve accumulated so much stuff and some of it’s too good for a tag sale.’

  ‘But if the store makes its money off the rentals, what’s the incentive to move the merchandise?’

  ‘They take five percent of all sales, half for commission and half to the shop.’

  ‘That makes sense. Are they making money?’

  ‘I suspect so. These multi-dealer megastores seem to be the wave of the future, that and the Internet.’

  ‘I wonder what the dealers with shops think about them?’

  ‘Hard to say. On one hand it’s good for business, on the other; it could be overkill.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘The antique business is different from most in that you don’t want to be the only shop in town. With antiques it’s always been “the more the merrier”. People go out of their way to come to Grenville because they know they’ll eventually find what they’re looking for; there are over a hundred shops. If there were only one or two, who’d bother to come?’

  ‘If that’s true, why would the local dealers not want the multi-dealer shop? Seems like it would be a selling point.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Ada said as she reappeared from the kitchen with a blue-willow platter laden with open cartons of Chinese. ‘I spent decades in retail, and I think the dealers in the Antique Center have an advantage. Their overhead is minimal; they pay the monthly rent and that’s it. Shop owners have to deal with staffing, utilities, all the hidden costs and insurance. That’s what drives up prices.’

  ‘That’s the other thing,’ I added, helping Ada unload supper. ‘Prices in the Antique Center are lower than in the shops.’

  Aaron, guided by smells of dinner, made his entrance. He grunted a hello to Mattie, sat down and proceeded to heap his plate.

  I could see that Ada wanted to comment on his manners, and his choice of an oversized tee with a graphic of a skeleton writing graffiti with a spray can and jeans, but after a moment’s hesitation she shrugged and said, ‘I guess we should start.’

  It was our usual smorgasbord from the Happy Moon Restaurant. The only addition was the fine sterling that Ada had placed as an afterthought into the white cardboard containers.

  Ada looked across at Mattie. ‘How goes the investigation?’

  ‘It’s moving.’

  ‘You sound discouraged,’ Ada commented.

  ‘A little. I’m really aware of being the outsider.’

  ‘Don’t you get that a lot?’ I asked. ‘I mean, going into a strange community. It seems like that alone would be an obstacle.’

  ‘At times,’ she admitted. ‘Small towns are the hardest.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ I said. ‘We tend to take care of our own.’

  ‘Scary, isn’t it?’ Ada said. ‘But I’m not so certain that’s all there is.’ She looked at me. ‘I know this is your town, Lil, but I’ve been here over eight years and I still feel like an outsider.’

  ‘You’re right,’ I admitted, but her words hurt. ‘We’re a snobbish lot.’

  ‘Do you mind if I ask a couple more questions about what we discussed at lunch?’ Mattie asked between bites of beef and broccoli.

  ‘Fire away,’ Ada replied.

  ‘Did Mr Caputo ever get back to you? Even leave a message?’

  ‘No. I’ve pretty much given up on him. Why?’

  ‘Just trying to pull together loose ends.’

  ‘Do you think he’s still alive?’ I asked, horrified at the possibility that he might not be.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘I have no reason to think that he isn’t. Apparently it’s pretty common for him to disappear for extended periods.’

  ‘You’ve got a weird job,’ Aaron commented having already devoured his first plate of food. ‘Do you get to look at dead people and all that?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘That’s pretty cool.’ He reloaded his plate with egg foo young, moo shoo pork and steamed dumplings. ‘You have three dead people, maybe more, this seems big time, like CSI. On those shows there’s always this intense pressure to arrest someone.’

  ‘You got it,’ she said, looking at the teen and thinking of her own son, Oscar, now a sophomore at UConn. ‘Although here, it’s strange; typically there’s a real push at the local level to make an arrest. Sometimes it can get so bad it interferes with the investigation. If you move too quick there’s a chance that something will be missed or that evidence or a suspect might not be handled right. It gets complicated because even if you catch the perpetrator, it just takes one procedural slipup to lose the case. I’d hate to tell you how often people get off on technicalities.’

  ‘Like PD Martin?’ he asked, referring to the high-publicity murder involving a sports celebrity who murdered his wife.

  She laughed. ‘I can’t even begin to discuss that.’

  ‘Why is that?’ Ada remarked.

  ‘It makes me furious. I spent five years working domestic abuse cases. Whatever anyone says, the PD Martin case was about spousal abuse. Through that whole circus I kept thinking about all the battered women I’ve worked with and how the story fit the pattern.’

  ‘Is it a crime if there’s abuse but no one gets hit?’ Aaron asked.

  ‘There needs to be some infringement on another person’s rights for it to be illegal, like stalking or assault,’ Mattie explained. ‘Now reportable is another story. For that all you need is a reasonable suspicion. That’s the more common scenario. Most abusive relationships don’t progress to legally punishable acts.’

  ‘So what happens in those cases?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing, and people stay in awful and degrading situations, a lot of times women stay because they’re terrified of what will happen if they leave; and they’re right. Abusive men up the ante when they fear they’re losing control.’

  ‘Control has a lot to do with it,’ Aaron stated, pushing his food around his plate.

  ‘That must be hard work,’ Ada commented, her gaze fixed on Aaron.

  ‘It’s frustrating,’ Mattie said. ‘When this position on the Major Crime Squad opened, I grabbed it. You have no idea what it was like seeing all these women who knew they had to get out or they’d wind up dead, but they just couldn’t leave. And it was always the same story: “I can’t.” “I don’t have any money.” “I have to stay because of the kids.” “Maybe if I tried harder.” “Maybe it’s my fault.” I’d get sick worrying about cases and then the call would come and the woman would be in the hospital . . . or the morgue. This probably isn’t the best dinner conversation. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ I said. ‘It’s not like we don’t see it in Grenville.’

  ‘I’m sure of that,’ Mattie agreed. ‘That’s the whole point of the PD Martin case; it can happen to anyone, and the stor
ies are the same, rich or poor. You hear women talking about “choosing their battles” with their husbands, women who let power-sick men drain them of all their self-assurance until they’re so riddled with doubt and anxiety that they can’t see a way out. They’re like a bunch of scared rabbits.’

  Ada and Aaron shot looks across the table. He spoke up. ‘It’s something my mother says.’

  We grew silent. Ada nodded her head imperceptibly.

  I looked at her closely and could see her jaw clench and moisture glittered in the corners of her eyes.

  He looked at the detective. ‘Ever since I was little my mom has “picked her battles” with my dad. And you want to know the truth?’ The words choked in his throat and he fought hard to not let the tears come. ‘She never wins.’

  Mattie met his gaze with a look of understanding. His black eye – now a faded patchwork of yellow and brown – had not gone unnoticed. ‘Is that what happened Aaron? Did your father hit you?’

  ‘No.’ He stared down at his plate. ‘But I wish he had.’

  TWENTY-ONE

  ‘Lil, it’s not hard,’ Belle Evans said, from beneath her shoulder-length blonde wig. She handed me the bulky set of keys. ‘All you have to do is keep an eye on things. If someone asks for something specific, like an Art Nouveau table lighter and you don’t know if we have one or not, just get Fred or me. After a while, you get to know what’s in the shop. Other than that, keep an eye out for shoplifters; some of the smaller pieces that aren’t in locked cases have been disappearing. I keep telling the dealers to use the cases, but most of them are too cheap. I’ll hold off on showing you the cash register.’ She shuddered. ‘It’s a beastly thing. Other than that, any questions?’

  ‘No,’ I said, wishing I had stuck to flats. Instead, I had unburied a pair of pumps from the deepest recesses of my closet. What was I thinking? My ankles and calves burned, and it was only ten.

  I thought back to my breakfast conversation with Ada that morning. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she’d asked, weirdly upset. ‘You don’t need the money.’

  ‘True, I just want something different.’