by M. K. York
Inevitably, the conversation circled around to him. “Are you getting out much?”
“Not a lot, with work as busy as it is these days.”
“Oh, that’s right! You’ve got that big case!”
“Well, it’s not that big.”
“It’s murder. I think that’s pretty big!”
“I’m just handling the DUI part. Lena Holbrook is handling the felony.”
“But you said she asked you to be her backup?”
“Uh, yeah. Sort of.”
“So there you go. It is a big deal.”
He laughed. “Sure, Mom. It’s a big deal.”
“Have you talked to Dylan lately? How’s he doing?”
“He’s, uh, he’s fine. He’s going to be in town for a little while around Thanksgiving, and he’s going to pick some of his stuff up.”
“Oh, that’s good. He should let you have your room back.”
“Yeah.”
“Such a shame the two of you broke up! He was such a nice boy.”
“Mom, you know he got that job offer.” He could hear the whine creeping into his voice—it was like he was a teenager again, every time he talked to her, getting grilled about the people he met, mentioned in passing, or could conceivably have met who knew people she had met. “He couldn’t pass it up.”
“But you could have been long-distance!”
“We decided not to. We’ve talked about this.”
“Well, I ran into your cousin Sadie, and she’s getting married. It just makes me feel a little something, is all.”
“It’s not like—we weren’t on the verge of getting married, Mom.” He rubbed his temples firmly.
“Of course, dear. Have you met anyone new?”
“Not a lot of time to meet people. I’ve been working.”
“Your cousin Sadie was in residency when she got together with her young man. I don’t think her hours are any better than yours.”
“I’ve been making some friends,” he said in increasing desperation. “I’ve been hanging out with some of the other attorneys from work.”
“Oh, that’s lovely! I’m glad to hear you’re getting out some. I worry about you, always in your office.”
“I’m still getting used to it. Settling in.”
“I’m glad.”
They talked a little more—the weather back in Cleveland, the friends with bad knees, his father’s new interest in fly-fishing that reduced his mother almost to tears of laughter—and when they hung up, he felt both warmed through and a little relieved.
He managed to make it through a good chunk of the book before he looked up at the clock and realized it was time to get ready for the party.
Chapter Seven
Lukas tugged on the cuffs of his shirt for the fiftieth time. Cuff links. Jesus. Lawyers probably wore cuff links all the time, but he normally wore T-shirts and jeans, maybe stretching it to business casual for meetings like the ones with the public defenders.
But tonight, Katie had said no suit—he’d decided to go for a nice button-up with a vest, instead, like a poor man’s three-piece, and he was terribly glad it was in a light gray, left over from Alex’s wedding. (It still fit, despite the years in between, which was a point of some small pride.) In black, he would have looked like an undertaker. He tended to hulk, even loom, and more than once in his life he’d been compared to Lurch, the Addams Family butler from the movies.
He twisted in front of his mirror. It wasn’t really large enough for him to get a good sense of how he looked, but it had been cheap, which had been the critical point at the time.
Finally, he took a deep breath, ran his fingers through his hair, and grabbed his coat.
The Uber pulled up smoothly right on time, an expense that was probably worth it to take the edge off the evening with some wine. The driver was a taciturn elderly man who obeyed the speed limit strictly, and offered Lukas a mint. He accepted, more to avoid any further conversation than anything else. The interior of the car smelled like Febreze.
When he climbed out at Katie’s, he spared a moment to be grateful that she’d given him a clear description of the house. It was otherwise nondescript, a brick box sitting on the edge of the hill. A view of the East side that probably sharply raised the property value. The promised black-and-orange luminarias lining the walkway up to the front door, and the wreath of skulls, were much more identifiable. The silhouettes of people were moving back and forth against the curtains, and a faint buzz of noise spilled out from the house.
There was just a breath of rain in the air. It hadn’t gotten really cold yet, slowly and steadily turning from fall weather into winter. The walkway under his feet was gritty.
He knocked gingerly with the doorknocker that protruded through the center of the wreath. The door swung open. It was Katie, thankfully, wearing a perfectly professional black dress that covered everything he would have been ambivalent about seeing, with a black feather boa tossed around her neck for what he could only assume was a seasonal flair.
“Lukas!” She threw wide the door and waved him in. “Coats go on the rack or wherever, drinks are on the table.”
“Thanks.”
He found a hook with only two coats on it and hung his up, noticed the Burberry label on one of them, and relocated his coat to another hook that had less rarefied items. Then he turned his attention to hunting up a drink.
He scanned the room for familiar faces. He spotted Jennifer almost immediately, the telltale flash of Mary Lynn’s burgundy hair next to her. Then there was a sharp pang of recognition in the pit of his stomach: Mark, pouring himself what looked like a glass of red wine at the long, glossy dining table pushed back toward a wall in the dining area adjacent to the living room.
He moved toward the table without really registering it, until he could tap Mark on the shoulder. Mark didn’t jump, just glanced up at him.
“Oh, hi!” called Mark over the general hubbub of voices and soft tinkling music, sinister tunes dimly recognizable from horror movies. “Did you want this?” He held up the bottle, smiling broadly.
“Yeah.” Lukas reached for a glass. “Merlot?”
“That’s what it says on the bottle. I wouldn’t trust my taste buds, though.” Mark lifted the bottle and poured for him without asking, stopping when Lukas nodded minutely.
“Don’t sell yourself short. If this whole lawyer thing falls through, maybe you have a career as a wine critic. ‘It’s a pinot noir, I think.’”
“Oh, are you an expert?”
“In pickling various forms of fish? Sure. Wine? No.”
“Oh, you have to be kidding me.”
“I wish I was.”
“Is that a Scandinavian thing?”
“Uff da.”
“What?” Mark was laughing a little, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He was wearing a black sweater, cashmere, maybe, and matching corduroy slacks. Taking their cue, his eyes looked almost black in the low light.
“Uff da. It’s a Norwegian saying. Like oy vey, kind of.”
“How...expressive? Is that accurate?”
Lukas laughed. “Yeah, pretty much.”
“Pickled fish. I know it’s a thing, but back home, the only things we pickle are pickles.”
“You realize those are actually cucumbers.”
“I do now?” Mark grinned. “Didn’t spend a lot of school time on agricultural production.”
“Then they let you down. This is knowledge you’ll use all the time.”
Someone behind them said, “Is that the Merlot? Can I get a glass?”
“Of course.” Mark turned, bottle at the ready. “Bill, have you met Lukas? He’s Katie’s newest PI.”
“Always good to meet a new investigator.” Bill shook his hand firmly. “I work with Lena. Felonies.”
“Nice to meet you.” Lukas returned the grip, then let Bill’s hand drop. “It’s been great working with Mark and Lena so far. I’m hoping to have the chance to work with you and your other c
olleagues as well.”
“I’m sure you will!” Bill clapped him on the back. “I see Arnie over there, I wanted to talk to him about my wife’s new project. Talk to you later.”
“Sure thing.” Mark watched him go and turned back to Lukas. “Arnie is Katie’s man. Have you met him yet?”
“No, not yet.”
“You should. We were talking earlier about the cheese plate, and he’s a hoot and a half.”
“I’d believe it.” Lukas looked across the room to where Katie had found a witch’s hat, somehow. “She’s got a good sense of humor.”
“Doesn’t she, though? Didn’t seem like it when I first met her. She was all business.” Mark smiled crookedly. “Like you.”
“Hey, I’m still all business.”
“Sure you are.” Mark unfolded himself from where he’d been leaning on the table, giving Lukas another one of those convivial backslaps that seemed to be the order of the day for the men circulating around. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to Arnie and then I’d better network.”
“Looking for future employers?” Lukas raised his eyebrows.
“Maybe. I’m not looking to change jobs right now, but attorneys are a very insular group. Risk-averse. It’s worth making sure they get to meet me now.”
“That’s interesting. I wouldn’t have figured.”
“Yeah, according to the TV we’re all a bunch of jackasses who drive much better cars than me.” Mark grabbed Lukas’s arm just above the elbow and tugged. “C’mon.”
Lukas let himself be pulled over toward Arnie, who turned out to be a man almost as tall as Lukas, with a pronounced case of male-pattern baldness, thin-rimmed glasses, and a twiggy mustache. Arnie smiled cheerfully as Mark introduced them, shook Lukas’s hand firmly, and then proceeded to grill him for what felt like an unbearable amount of time about his experiences in the PI business. It turned out they were acquainted with some of the same people, which gave them enough steam for a while.
Lukas kept finding his eyes darting around the room. Sometimes Mark was visible, and sometimes he wasn’t. Usually talking to the obvious lawyers, people wearing Rolex watches and tailored clothes. A few of them had gone so far as to wear a small homage to Halloween, a blinking LED bracelet here or there, a discreet pair of devil’s horns, a red necklace made to look like dripping blood from puncture wounds.
He wondered how long he would have to stay to be polite, and at the same time, he didn’t want to leave at all. Arnie wound up a story, and Lukas laughed obligingly. “I think I’ll just grab some of that cheese.”
It gave him an excuse to edge away from the bulk of the people and over toward the snack table. There were professional-looking cupcakes set out that had been very nearly demolished, and logs of fancy cheeses, and trays of pickled vegetables. He was in the middle of eating a cracker he’d loaded with as much cheese as he thought could reasonably fit on it when he heard Mark’s voice.
“Hey!” Mark sounded bright, warm. Lukas half choked on his cracker, swallowed hard, stole a look—Mark was a little flushed, maybe this was his second or third glass of wine. “Having a good time?”
“Oh, you know,” said Lukas noncommittally. “Meeting people.”
“Hah. Yeah, God, do I ever. I’ve met like fifty attorneys. I can’t believe Katie knows all these people! Her husband is a partner, I guess, so it makes sense, but there’s half the law firms I’ve heard of in Seattle represented here.” Mark swayed back to stare out over the crowd, which had gotten louder and more bustling since Lukas had arrived, helped on by new arrivals and quantities of alcohol. “Anyway, pour me another one?” He held out his wineglass.
“Same one?” Lukas reached for it. “Damn, bottle’s empty. How’s a cab sauv?”
“That sounds dandy.” Mark grinned at Lukas. His sweater looked so very soft. Lukas focused on the glass and poured a respectable inch and a half into it.
“There you go.” Lukas finished pouring and moved the bottle back away. Mark’s eyes were tracking it—no, wait. Tracking Lukas’s hand.
He shoved his hand in his pocket for lack of anything better to do.
Mark didn’t seem to notice, eyes wandering away, up to the cupcakes. “Damn, those look good.”
“I’m sure they are.”
“Not trying any?” Mark glanced at him sidelong. “You’re not on a diet?”
“Maybe a little. But mostly just not a huge fan of that bakery.” He nodded at the box. “They always get the frosting too sweet and the cake too dry.”
“Holy shit, I can’t believe you have an opinion on luxury cupcakes and it’s negative.”
“Not all of them.”
Mark was smiling again, leaning close, so their shoulders were almost brushing; he smelled of something expensive, the kind of cologne that would fill the air at Nordstrom. Lukas had noticed it at the bar, before.
Lukas wanted, very badly, to leave. Instead he waited.
After a few beats, Mark said, “Lena’s still talking to the section head about whether we can get a forensic accountant.”
“That’s—good?”
“It could be worse. At least they didn’t shoot us down. They’re always worried about money, and this is something the cops really should take care of, but it boils down to whether the DA figures it’s worth looking at until or unless we have more in the way of actual evidence.”
“Yeah, I guess it makes sense that they’d be concerned about the price tag.”
“Investigations aren’t cheap! You know that better than most.”
“Covering my daily expenses gets crazy pretty fast.”
“I bet.”
Lukas shrugged. “Consider yourself lucky if you never need a PI.”
“Oh, man, I try to live my life in such a way as to avoid needing either an investigator or an attorney. At least until I write my will. Right now there isn’t much to leave. Who wants my couch? Trick question, nobody does, it’s a piece of crap.” Mark laughed and took a drink of wine, humming softly with satisfaction. “God, I’m so glad I’m catching the light rail home tonight. This is good wine.”
“That’s good.” Lukas stared into his own glass. “I’m getting an Uber, I think.”
“That’s right, you’re out in Ballard, aren’t you?” Mark’s face creased in confusion. “Or are you? Are you just from Ballard, or are you living out there?”
“Both. Ballard bred and born, all my life.”
“I love it there. You can see the water from practically everywhere.”
“Yeah. My place isn’t far from Market either, so it’s a good location.”
“Except that getting anywhere has to be a bitch and a half. You’ve got to, what, either head all the way over to I-5 and drop down, or take 15th? With the drawbridge? That can’t be fun.”
Lukas shook his head. “Fun is not the word for it. It’s not convenient for work, but it’s great for living.”
“Do you end up doing most of your work in Ballard? Do people know you there and hire you?”
“Actually, I work kind of everywhere. I try hard to show up when people are Googling for PIs in the area.”
“I guess that makes sense. You’d want to maximize the client base, right? And how many people really need a PI at any given time?”
Lukas laughed. “Not enough of them.”
“Got any other hot cases right now?”
“Yeah, but I can’t tell you about them.”
“Oh, come on. I’ll tell you about my streaker. No names, no identifying details, it’ll be very professional.”
“... Your streaker?”
“See, you’re curious! Admit it.”
“I am. I’ll admit it.” Lukas smiled into his glass.
“Tell you what. I’ll tell you about my streaker, and you tell me, I don’t know, one case that was funny or weird or something.”
“Okay. Deal.”
Someone shuffled by them to get to the cheese. Lukas surreptitiously grabbed a handful of crackers and most of a hunk o
f Brie on a little paper plate decorated with skulls and bats before scootching off to the side to continue talking.
Mark grinned, gesturing with his glass. “So this client of mine. This is, like, my first week on the job, keep in mind. I go in to morning arraignments—I’m ready for nothing, of course, I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing at this point. And this is only, like, six months ago! I still don’t know what I’m doing. Anyway, I walk in to meet this guy. I know very little at this point.”
“Uh-huh.” Lukas raised his eyebrows in encouragement, taking another bite of cheese.
“And this guy. God help me, I ask him what his version of events is. That’s not a bad opener with clients, lets them tell me what they want to tell me, then we can start filling in the details, you know? Make a little more sense of it. But start with their spin. So I ask this guy. And the first words out of his mouth are, ‘I did not show my balls.’”
“Hoo boy.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought! Hoo fucking boy. I said, okay, so what did you show? And he goes, ‘Just my ass cheeks. It’s legal. I checked.’”
“Oh no,” groaned Lukas.
“Oh, yes. I say, okay, tell me more about this. Who did you show your ass cheeks to? Turns out he’d wandered into a convenience store buck-ass naked except for a G-string, and when they wouldn’t sell him, I am not making this up, a beef log—” Mark paused to crack up and Lukas laughed along with him “—he got huffy and drove off in his car, clearly drunk as a skunk. So that was how he ended up being my case. Otherwise, Gavin would have gotten him.”
“How did the trial go?”
“He did not go to trial. I looked it up, he was right about the indecent exposure thing. Get that, he was right! It’s bananas.”
“As long as he didn’t show his banana,” said Lukas. Mark reeled dramatically and punched his arm.
“Oh, fuck you! That was awful!”
“I stand by it.”
“Anyway. Plea deal, he did a little jail time on the DUI. Couldn’t afford bail or anything. It was like his fourth offense, he really should not have been driving.”
“Moral of the story, I guess. Shopping in a G-string: fine. Driving drunk: not fine.”
“Under state law, that is entirely correct.” Mark nudged his shoulder. “So tell me about one of yours.”
