Cold Snap

by J. Clayton Rogers

  As she spoke, Madame Mumford had taken a short turn around the kitchen. Returning to the Indian stew, she leaned down for a closer inspection. "A worthy attempt," she repeated.

  "But a failure?" Ari said tentatively.

  "Of course. And you would be the first to know."

  "Alas," Ari confessed succinctly. His heart caved even further when she raised kind but doubtful eyes to him.

  "There is no ambience."

  "Pardon?"

  "I have cooked individual meals for people before, but there was...mmm..."

  "Precedent?" her husband suggested.

  "Exactement. I had met them at functions, like the Mackenzie party."

  "That's where you met me," Ari ventured.

  "True..." Madame Mumford seemed to suffer through her words. "But a proper meal includes some kind of ambience. A proper setting, preferably with guests. I'm afraid this..." She looked at the kitchen, its aluminum-legged table and weary ladderback chairs—one looking much wearier than the other, since it had been battered in a fit of rage.

  "Is a desert," Ari said. Then he lifted his head. "But a desert can bloom, Madame. If I repair my ways...make it as you wish, with proper furniture and a guest list..."

  "Please don't go to so much trouble," said Madame Mumford. "If you are comfortable with a bachelor hole—"

  "'Pad'," her husband amended.

  "Well, who am I to ask you to make such drastic changes? Especially for something so unimportant—"

  "It is of great importance to me!" Ari exclaimed. "Man can live by bread alone, if it is exceptional bread."

  Bill emitted a small laugh, but Madame responded with a look of sympathy.

  "I hope you don't mean that, Monsieur. What one does on a full stomach makes all the difference. You don't have any family here?"

  "Circumstances have forced us apart, for the time being."

  "You should do your utmost to amend those circumstances."

  "My utmost is what I am doing." Ari drew himself up. "I will correct what I can correct. When you return, this will be a new home."

  "A new home?" said Madame Mumford, giving Ari's domestic cavern another glance. "That will take much effort."

  Ari sensed she was talking about more than furniture.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Howie Nottoway, Ari's neighbor on Beach Court Lane, was rolling his large green trash can down his driveway. Shivering in his robe, he offered a greeting as plastic as his receptacles as Ari walked past his house. It had been months since Ari found out Howie had been pressured into sneaking into his house in search of hidden cocaine. Howie didn't know if Ari knew, which had severely damaged his placid certainty. Ari knew what it was like to be stuck in limbo, but thought a dose of uncertainty did Howie a world of good. Not that it had helped Ari very much.

  "You're not wearing your jogging gear," Howie observed. He leaned meaningfully in the direction of Rebecca's house, as though suggesting it would not be pleasant for Ari (or his neighbors) if he embarrassed himself again on her doorstep. He was under the misconception that Ari had been violently turned away for making a gauche advance upon the woman of the house. In fact, it was much worse than that. He had been playing suitor to a cat.

  "There will be no mayhem this time," said Ari. "I called in advance."

  "And she's letting you in? Interesting..."

  Ari's cell phone rang. He took it out of his coat pocket and opened it.

  "Hello?" he said, frowning at the display. It read: Caller ID Unknown.

  "We don't need any more espresso niggers in this town," said the voice at the other end.

  Ari nodded at Howie. "Pardon me. It's my interior decorator."

  "Sure?" said Howie, matching Ari's frown almost line for wrinkle. He knew there was nothing in Ari's house. Why would he need...? But then he remembered he was wearing only a robe. A bitter gust exposed his pajamas. On them was a design of a little boy on a tricycle. "See ya," he said hurriedly and raced back inside.

  "You hear me?" said the voice on the phone.

  "Yes, you were ordering coffee, extra black."

  "I said we don't need any more espresso niggers—"

  "Even if they come with a complimentary pastry?" said Ari, and closed the phone. He stared at it for a long moment. He had been expecting an anonymous threat ever since the night in Cumberland. But not this: simple rudeness. The caller would have to go much further than a bland epithet to ruffle Ari's feathers. Ari was a past master of riling enemies with well-placed bon mots (he thought of them as bomb mots). If a man's preference for bonking goats didn't get a rise, a rude comment about his deity usually proved sufficient to kick up some dust.

  It was the fact of the call that was intended to unnerve Ari. See? We found you. And it wasn't all that hard, either.

  Reluctantly, Ari broke the phone in half and put the pieces in his coat pocket. When he got home, he would activate one of the twenty or so cell phones from the plastic bag Abu Jasim's nephew had given him.

  Rebecca opened the front door as he came up the sidewalk.

  "Come inside quick!" she called out, shivering. Ari hastened through the door. A yellow tabby bolted up the hallway as he entered the foyer.

  "The beast of controversy," Ari commented as Rebecca took his coat. "Why is he running away from me?"

  "Because in this house you're a stranger, and it doesn't like strangers. Come into the living room."

  Now that he knew Rebecca appreciated fine cuisine, Ari decided she was a woman of taste and suburban refinement. Keeping Madame Mumford's admonishment in mind, he studied the room and furniture closely. He was bemused by some of the framed pictures on the wall.

  "French Impressionists with some De Stijl prints in between, anything to lighten up the place."

  "They succeed admirably," said Ari from his deep well of ignorance. While he had come here expecting to be to some degree mystified, it was not in the realm of art. Rebecca was a woman of contradictions. She liked fine food. She also liked pistachio ice cream.

  A yellow face peered around the corner.

  "Sphinx!" Ari called.

  The cat backed out of sight.

  "Sphinx?" Rebecca inquired. "If you're talking about the cat, the Rigginses called it 'Marmaduke'."

  "Of course."

  "Please..." With a broad sweep of her arm she offered him the seat of his choice. Ari sat on the ottoman.

  "Well...I guess we'd better get this over with." Raising her voice slightly, she called out, "Diane! Our visitor has arrived!"

  Diane peeked around the same corner used by Sphinx the moment before.

  "Don't be shy."

  "You told me he was a monster."

  "I didn't use those words, young lady."

  "And now he's in the house!"

  Rebecca gave Ari an apologetic look. Then she added: "Perhaps you should tell her what a sweet, harmless man you are."

  Ari slapped a sweet, harmless smile on his face. "Hello, Diane. I'm here to help find your father. You want to find him, don't you?"

  Diane edged out a little further. She was wearing her favorite rumba dress. Looking into her shrewd eyes did nothing to change his opinion of her wickedness. But she was still just a child, and the things she knew and the things she thought she knew came from a very small fund of experience. Rana, too, was shrewd. He found himself wondering if anyone had ever considered her wicked when she was a little girl. He found the idea charming.

  "Mr. Ciminon has some friends with the police," said Rebecca in a reassuring tone. "He thinks they can help him find Daddy."

  "Aren't you divorced?" Diane said—a little too cagily, to Ari's thinking. "You wouldn't want to find him very hard."

  There was an odd absence of accusation behind this severe judgment. It was a simple announcement of fact. Using the same voice, she could have said, 'If you don't like carrots, you won't buy any.'

  "I never told you I was divorced from your father."

  "I heard you tell one of your friends he had run
away."

  Rebecca gave a start. What else had her daughter overheard?

  "Divorce is permanent. Usually. Running away is temporary."

  "Not for grownups."

  "Please come and sit with us."

  Diane hesitated, looking for all the world like she wanted to follow her father's example and run away. Then her eyes widened in alarm. Sphinx had circled through the kitchen and was entering the living room from the hallway. After pausing to assess the visitor from a distance, he approached and rubbed against Ari's leg. Unable to resist, he leaned down and stroked the tabby's fur from the head to the base of his tail.

  Diane's self-control was astonishing. Stifling a shout of protest, she pulled away from the wall and strolled into the center of the room. She plopped herself on the carpet and with a great show of indifference leaned forward and dragged Sphinx onto her lap.

  "Poor Marmaduke," she said, as though Ari had jammed his heel on the cat's tail. His only comment was a grunt. Rebecca, interpreting this as a sound of disgruntlement (it was) and wanting to ward off any controversy between her guest and daughter, quickly interjected:

  "I'm glad you decided to join us, Your Highness."

  It took Ari a moment to realize she was talking to Diane.

  "Mr. Ciminon...you had some questions for Diane?"

  "Yes..." Ari donned the guise of a friendly authoritarian, a difficult pose to maintain. "Little girl," he began.

  "Diane," Diane and her mother said in unison.

  "Diane...I believe you learned about computers on your father's knees."

  Rebecca and Diane looked at him closely.

  "You don't have this expression?" Ari inquired.

  "Yes..." said Rebecca doubtfully. "But the way you said it..."

  "Then...Diane...your father...he is much interested in computers?"

  "Well, yeah," Diane answered, giving Sphinx a long swipe of her hand.

  "I must confess, these devices are a great mystery to me," Ari said truthfully. "I used to work with a great many computers, but I was only responsible for passwords. You understand passwords?"

  "Duh," said Diane.

  "Okay, Your Highness," said Rebecca. "Mr. Ciminon is a guest. And how to we treat guests?"

  Judging from Diane's expression, guests were to be treated like complete dolts. But she said, "Respecterfully."

  Ari gauged the mispronunciation to be intentional. So did Diane's mother.

  "Right," Rebecca sighed. "Now, you know and I know you spent a lot of time with Daddy on the computer. Way too much time, actually. I think what Mr. Ciminon wants to find out is if there is anything you saw that might help us find him."

  "What would that have to do with him running away?" asked Diane, giving Sphinx a hug. Ari tried to hide his scowl when the cat absorbed the affection with all the alacrity of a sponge.

  "Well, as you know, Daddy hasn't been all that...communicative since he—"

  "You mean he hasn't called," said Diane flatly.

  "And we both know how much he doted on you, right? Now, that doesn't sound normal, does it? Him not calling to see how you are doing?"

  There was a trace of desperation in Rebecca's voice that he wished she would eliminate. An act of will would suffice. There was no need to bully Diane. But one should not be fearful of a child. Perhaps she thought her husband would swoop down one day and make off with her, the child fully participating in her own kidnapping. Ari had learned from milk cartons and signs posted in malls that most kidnappings were committed by one of the parents. He found this a very odd notion, almost inconceivable. How could a mother or father kidnap their own child? And why would anyone care?

  Mulling over her mother's words, Diane agreed that her father had missed the bus big time by not checking in with his family.

  "Just like Marmaduke, going off without telling anyone and not coming back for weeks!" She gave the cat a soft rap on the head.

  Rebecca did not think much of the analogy, but she stuck with it.

  "Remember when you stopped thinking Marmaduke was being bad, but might be hurt somewhere?"

  Diane froze. "You think Dad's hurt?" Ari could almost see an image of Ethan Wareness stretched out in the dark woods cross Diane's mind.

  "We don't know, Honey."

  "And Mr. Ciminon wants to find out if Dad is being bad...or something else?"

  "Well...yes."

  "I hope he's just being bad," Diane asserted.

  Foreseeing no good outcome, Rebecca was not so sure of this. Deciding the stage was now properly set, she turned the show over to Ari.

  "You want to know if Diane might have seen something while her father was on the computer. Something that might help us find him."

  "Yes," said Ari. He turned back to Diane and waited politely, wondering if he would have to become a bully, after all. Would giving a girl a good smack be going too far? It would be suicidal in Iraq...if the father was around. It was the father's duty to do the bruising. Otherwise, hands off.

  Diane was frowning. "I don't know...I would have to be at the computer..."

  Ari gave Rebecca an inquiring glance.

  "All right," the mother sighed. "Run on into his office and boot it up."

  Diane brightened. Pushing the bemused Sphinx off her lap, she hopped up and ran out of the room.

  "She seems to like computers more than filthy animals," Ari noted, giving Sphinx a consoling sweep of his hand.

  "'Filthy animals'?" Rebecca inquired. "Are you sure you want Marmaduke back in your house?"

  Ari followed her into the study and found Diane already flying her small fingers over the computer keyboard. He caught a brief glimpse of the login screen. There were two options: 'Guest' and 'Dad'. Diane clicked on 'Guest' and a dozen or so lozenge-shaped icons popped up.

  "Mrs. Wareness, I noticed different—"

  "Please, have a seat." Rebecca pulled up a chair on rolling casters. "We call this our kibitzer chair. No, you take it. You need to be able to see the screen."

  "Thank you."

  The instant he lowered himself into the chair Sphinx leapt onto his knees. Smiling, Ari pulled the cat against his stomach. Diane offered a sharp scowl, but was immediately diverted by a voice from the computer speaker.

  "Let's play 'Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego'!"

  Ari twisted around in his seat and asked Rebecca, "Who in the world is Carmen Sandiego?"

  "You haven't been here long, have you?" She tapped Diane on the shoulder. "Honey, I don't think Mr. Ciminon is interested in this game."

  Diane emitted a bubbly laugh as she worked the cursor over multiple icons. Ari was startled. This was the first truly childish sound he had heard her utter.

  "Honey..."

  With a squeak of frustration, Diane stopped the game and logged out. Once again, they were looking at Guest and Dad.

  "Diane and I are the 'guests'," said Rebecca, a little embarrassed. "Diane has her games and some of her school work. And I only use it to find recipes or look up something in Wikipedia. We don't have to enter passwords."

  "Ah," said Ari. "But if you click on 'Dad'...?"

  "I'm afraid I don't know the password. And Diane shouldn't know it..."

  Diane looked innocently at a Pokémon picture above the monitor. Reading her daughter's expression, Rebecca exclaimed, "How do you know it?"

  "But..." Diane stuttered, aghast that her sweetness and light had been so quickly seen through.

  "How is it you didn't tell me, before...?" Rebecca began.

  Before we allowed a tall, dark stranger into our house to view our secrets? Ari mentally finished for her.

  "But..."

  "No more 'buts', Your Highness."

  Ari refrained from comment. He was reflecting on the fact that Rebecca did not know her husband's password. It might mean nothing, but it was obvious Rebecca felt the lapse keenly.

  "It was an accident," Diane said soulfully. "I was playing my piano one day and Dad came in and said he had to look at something real
quick. When he logged in, he forgot to turn the piano off and I heard his password."

  "Piano?" Ari asked.

  "A virtual piano," Diane explained. She ran her fingers over the keyboard and an image of piano keys popped up on the screen. Using the keyboard, she performed a quick version of 'Mary had a Little Lamb'.

  "Ah," said Ari. "Very clever."

  "Ain't it?" Diane said delightedly.

  "Isn't it?" Rebecca corrected.

  "So when Dad logged on, he played music. It wasn't real music, but I heard the notes."

  "And you remembered them?"

  "I couldn't help it!" Diane alt-tabbed back to her father's login screen and played a ten-digit atonal melody. A new screen appeared. "He opened his browser, but that's all I know, because he asked me if I wanted to play in the yard like he really knew I wanted to play in the yard, only I didn't want to..."

  "He was asking you to leave the room," Ari observed.

  "Yeah..." Diane pouted. "I don't know what he looked at after that."

  Ari leaned forward and pointed at the small images on the screen. "And these?"

  "Those are desktop icons."

  Ari read the small captions under the icons.

  "I don't know these," he admitted.

  "It's just programs. If I open his Explorer, we can see his Favorites..." She twisted in her chair and gave her mother a silent call for permission. Rebecca's response was equally silent: a pensive nod. Diane moved the cursor to the upper right hand corner and a list of Ethan's favorite websites appeared in a drop-down menu.

  Rebecca watched nervously, tapping her finger against a tooth. She started suddenly. "What's—no!"

  But Diane had already clicked on the link. A gorgeous blonde in the buff filled the screen.

  Come join our gentlemen's club, where only the finest entertainment is offered....

  "Oooh," said Diane.

  "Get out of that site, now!" Rebecca shouted.

  Diane quickly backed out.

  "What the hell was he doing...?" hissed Rebecca, her face a coarse red.

  Ari gave a small cough. "I believe it is commonplace for American men to view such things."

  Rebecca glared at him.