I hear the phone being handed to Marie and the words, “Cate Harlow for you.”
“Hi Cate,” I hear Marie’s voice. She sounds tired.
“Marie, how are you feeling? You sound as if you haven’t had enough sleep. You okay?” I realize my statement about not enough sleep can be taken two ways but I want to hear her reaction.
“Well I am a little tired but I’m okay.”
She’s too innocent to hear anything suspect in what I said. Sweet Marie. Obviously nothing happened in the sex department. That’s good though. She’s so fragile emotionally that she could be easily hurt.
I hear the man called David say he’s going to get the paper out on the front lawn, then that same squeak of a screen door opening and closing.
“That’s good. Myrtle and I were concerned about you.”
“I’m fine, really, Cate. I was just overwhelmed yesterday but I’m better now. Every time I get one of those letters, you know, I relive everything and that makes me feel worn-out for a few days. My doctor once said that strong feelings can do that.” She sighs deeply. “Please tell Myrtle we’re fine.”
“I will tell her,” I say making note of her use of the word we. “By the way, Marie, who’s David?” I ask her quickly so she can give me some details before he comes back in.
“Oh, David.” She pauses still with that sadness that seems so much a part of her. “He’s the man I told you about. He was so kind to drive me to your office yesterday. Would you believe that he even made dinner for me last night? I was so wiped out I couldn’t do anything. He insisted on cooking the roast I was planning to cook for us tonight. Then, after dinner, he took me out for cupcakes. I had a really nice time; we came back here and stayed out on my front porch just talking until almost twelve. And today, instead of me cooking dinner like I had planned, we’re going to picnic on the beach late this afternoon. He came by early to see how I was.” Deep ragged sigh. “I still feel guilty for enjoying myself though, Cate.”
“I guess he’s the man who picked you up from my office then. Myrtle mentioned someone named David.”
“Yes, he’s the one. It was just luck that he stopped at my house yesterday to ask me what kind of wine I wanted with dinner on Saturday. Wasn’t that thoughtful to come here in person instead of phoning? He said that sometimes talking on the phone is too impersonal.”
“A phone call can be pretty personal, too” I tell her, “but, yes, I guess it was thoughtful of him to come see you in person.”
“And, of course he had come here right after I found the letter. I was such a mess, crying and telling him that I had to go into the city and couldn’t stay with him. He insisted on driving me to your office. I told him who you are and how you’re helping me. And Joshua, I told him all about Joshua going missing. David was so kind.”
The squeaking door interrupts our conversation. David asks if Marie wants him to put the picnic things and blankets in the car and she says that would be good. She’ll be ready in a few minutes.
“I have to go now,” she says to me. “Thanks for calling me but don’t worry, I’m fine and I’m starting to feel a little better.”
“That’s good. Enjoy your picnic. I’ll call you soon. ‘Bye Marie.”
As I hang up the phone I think that I should feel happy for Marie. I should be truly glad that she has the possibility of having a relationship with someone; God knows she’s been through enough sadness in her twenty-five years of life. I should mind my own business. I should simply do what is, in essence, a job, but for some reason I can’t.
Call it instinct, that reactive feeling in my gut that lets me know that something is not quite right.; The male voice on the phone made me feel alert and suspicious. Why, I don’t know, but the feeling is there.
Suddenly I have the urge to meet him and make a visual judgment about him. Marie is too naive and too vulnerable. Who is this guy David? What are his intentions? She’s only known this guy for a few months. Jesus, I sound like my father! But who knows? Maybe a parent’s instincts are just as strong as any private detective’s.
If I had this guy’s last name I could run an in-depth check on him or even ask Will to have someone down at his precinct do it. But, surprising to many people, even the little bit of info I have can be helpful to me. What I do have, a first name and the fact that Marie met him at a community center barbecue, gives me something to go on. Someone may know who he is. I debate going out to Marie’s neighborhood and making some inquiries about him, but I’ve got so much else to do.
My bell rings and I look out the window to see Melissa carrying two couture shopping bags and a small, elegant make-up kit. My two cats, Mouse and Little Guy, turn alert heads towards the door as it opens and Melissa walks in depositing her things on the couch. I watch them slowly relax as she goes over to them. They purr, exposing soft white bellies to her caress. I can imagine them thinking “No danger here. We’re safe”.
I hope the same can be said about where Marie is with someone named David. No danger.
****
I observe myself in my bedroom mirror. Melissa has helped me to transform from my everyday jeans-and-sneakers self into a glamorous vision. The dress, shoes, and crystal bag create what I call “the Cate illusion”. A tasteful thick gold chain, small dangling earrings, and Melissa’s gold Rolex watch complete my look. I’ve got to admit that I feel beautiful and sexy.
“Are you driving yourself?” asks Melissa.
“I am. I didn’t want to have to deal with Will and his mom waiting here in my place while I got ready. That would make me uncomfortable. Besides, Regina Margherita has valet parking. I won’t have to hunt for a space.”
“Take my BMW,” says Melissa. “I’ll take a taxi back home.”
“You drove your car here? Where in the world did you park it?”
I had assumed she had taken a cab here. I go to the living room windows and see her sea-foam green BMW parked directly across the street from my brownstone. A man is sitting on a folding chair on the sidewalk next to her car. I know him. He’s always polite to me, but I’ve heard Will describe him as a “knuckle-breaker”. He supposedly works for some minor mob guys. His aunt lives two doors down from me.
Returning to the bedroom I ask Melissa, “How in the world did you get a space so close to my brownstone? Usually that one where your car is parked is never empty.”
“Well, there was a car there, but they moved after that nice gentleman watching my car told them I needed the space.”
Of course they did. “And he’s watching your car out of the goodness of his heart, right?”
“No, I paid him a hundred dollars to make sure it was safe. It’s just an incidental.”
A hundred dollars! I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have money for certain incidentals.
“So, take my car, alright? You’ll look fabulous driving it.”
“No-o-o-o.” I draw out and emphasize the word. “No, no, no. What if something happens to it? I can’t, Melissa, I’d be afraid of even the slightest nick. You know how New York streets are, not to mention parking lots, even secure ones.”
She observes me from the top of my head to my sparkling crystal heels.
“I just can’t see you driving your SUV dressed like that. It ruins the effect.”
“Believe me it won’t be a problem. I’ve gone out on cases dressed up and driving my Edge. Besides, I feel comfortable in my own car. The only small problem is getting in and out of the SUV in heels but I’ve managed that before.”
Melissa shakes her head and says that at least she offered. She takes out the new crystal evening bag. “You better get going. It’s almost seven-fifteen. What do you want in the bag?”
“Whatever’s on my dresser,” I say absent-mindedly looking in the mirror to adjust my earrings.
Melissa comes out of the bedroom with the things she brought with her, hands me the evening bag, and we go out the door together. She has to go home to get ready for her ten o'clock appointm
ent. Outside she gives me a careful hug, tells me I look fantastic, and we go our separate ways. Both of us, I think, will be dressed to kill tonight for our own personal reasons. Melissa’s is strictly for business, and mine? My reason is up for anyone’s interpretation.
Chapter 16
Traffic isn’t as bad as I’d thought it would be for a Saturday night and I arrive at the restaurant a few minutes before eight. I check myself once more in the driver’s side mirror. Good, I look like a woman who is doing well in life and, to quote Myrtle, a first-class lady. Fine, okay, let’s do this I say to psych myself up.
It’s always amazing to me that I’ve never had any trouble cracking an attacker’s ribs with a sharp jab of my elbow or shooting a man who is lunging at me with a knife, but I feel slightly dizzy about having dinner with my ex-mother-in-law. But then her son is a hardened detective who deals with all kinds of horrors on the job and he still hyperventilates when he has to see her. Go figure.
The valet waits while I rummage through my new bag for the key fob. It’s then that I notice Joshua’s key is in my card case. Melissa must have taken everything off my dresser and placed it all into my bag. Generally when I go out for the evening I leave my card case in a drawer on my night table and only carry one credit card and keys in a small bag. But tonight, because I didn’t want to be late, I failed to see what was in the new bag. I place the card case in a zippered section of the bag and hand the fob to the valet.
As I stretch one leg down to the ground the short skirt of my dress goes way up exposing a lot of thigh and my silky blue panties. I see the valet grin as he holds out his hand to assist me the rest of the way out of the car. Steadying myself on my new heels, I smile my thanks and walk towards the restaurant door.
Inside I greet Francesca with a hug and a kiss. She looks gorgeous, and we’re genuinely happy to see each other. There is a delicious whiff of lilac. Her perfume is expensive but subtle.
“Cate, you look lovely. How have you been? How are things in the world of private investigation?”
“I’ve been well, thank you Francesca. Business is good; I can’t complain. And you? Everything going well with you?”
“Oh yes, I’m in town for a short while mixing business with pleasure. The museum is looking at a new exhibition and I’m on the committee to approve it. That’s the business.” She smiles and looks at Will. “The pleasure is spending a little time with my son and having dinner with you both. Of course I don’t know how much time Will has to spend with me. That awful murder case! It’s all over the media, television, the internet, papers. And I understand that there was another one last month, correct?”
Will has on his professional face, the one he uses with reporters when he won't give any details on a case no matter how much they press for answers. “I can’t discuss any of it. Let me just say we’re working it.”
“Of course, Will. I understand," she says smoothly and, turning to me asks, “How’s your friend Melissa? Is she still in public relations?”
Will looks at me and lowers his eyes. He knows what Melissa does, accepts it, and lets it go. He’s a detective but not, as he tells me, vice. His attitude is live and let live and mind your own business unless it directly concerns you.
“Um, yes, she is. I’ll tell her you said hello,” I say too brightly. She’s met Melissa a few times and thinks she's wonderful. When she asked Melissa what line of work she was in, Melissa without missing a beat told her she was in public relations. And that’s not exactly a lie.
“Oh please do. Such a lovely young woman. You know, I wonder if she might be interested in doing a marketing plan for the museum. We need a fresh, modern campaign.”
“She’s incredibly busy right now,” I answer. “Lots of work.”
“I can imagine! She’s bright, articulate, and very personable. I’m sure that she’s in demand a great deal. Oh well, it was a thought.” I see Will muffle a laugh.
She turns to other topics and regales us with stories about the museum while we look through the menus that have been placed in front of us. I begin to relax. Will tells us a funny story relating to a suspect and I talk about the incident with the parking ticket. Maybe we can get through the night being pleasantly cordial. I hope so.
But then I see the look in her eyes as she glances from Will and then to me, as if she’s sizing up our feelings for each other. She pointedly looks at my hands, noticing that I’m not wearing any rings. Her smile is sweet but her eyes look determined and my hands begin to sweat.
Between the main course and dessert, and after we’ve killed two bottles of Merlot, she steers the conversation towards couples who have reconciled. Will tries to introduce other topics but Francesca is as ruthless in her personal interests as her son is in his police work. She may look delicate but inside she’s all steel. I can see where Will gets his determination and toughness.
“Love is funny, you know?” she smiles. “People make mistakes, it happens, but when you realize you love someone, well that’s what’s really important, don’t you think?”
She goes on to tell us about people who got back together after their divorces. After fifteen minutes of this I have to say something. Her ideas of true love conquers all is just too Disney-princess for me.
“What if love isn’t enough?” The false calm of the wine makes me ask the question, which I regret the second it is out of my mouth. I’ve fallen into her trap.
“But love is always enough!” Francesca declares. “If you love someone, truly love someone, anything, and I mean any problems, Cate, can be resolved. You,” she looks at me and then at Will, “just have to consciously work at it.”
“Mom, maybe there are some things that are harder to resolve,” says Will coming to my rescue. “People can love each other but that might not be enough to sustain a marriage. It’s complicated for a lot of couples. Marriages break apart because of a lot of different reasons. Constant fighting is one of them.”
Francesca sighs, then smiles. “Seriously Will, do you really believe what you just said? Your grandfather, my beloved father, was fond of saying, Marriages are made in heaven but so are thunder and lightning. I believe that’s true but I also believe that love is the glue that keeps it all together during, and after, the storms. Don’t you agree Cate?”
“I don’t think so Francesca,” I say firmly. “I think Will’s right about some things being harder to resolve in a marriage. There’s so much more to a relationship than love.”
Francesca takes what I’ve said and turns it to her advantage. “So … you and Will do agree on something!”
The server comes by just then to ask about desserts and after dinner drinks and I see my opportunity. I take a deep breath, excuse myself, and seek out that time-honored bastion of female sanctuary, the restroom.
Ten minutes later I’m adjusting my bustier top in the mirror when the door of the ladies room opens and Will walks in.
“Excuse me, didn’t you see the sign on the door? Ladies?”
“My bad, wrong room,” he says but makes no attempt to leave.
“Get out, now or I swear, damn it Will, I swear I’ll … tell Francesca!” I say stupidly, the wine blurring my thoughts and making me unable to think of anything else.
“She’d say go for it. It might help us to, what did she say, reconcile? Anyway she sent me to get you. She thought we needed some alone time to talk.”
“Someone might come in,” I warn.
“Not with the out-of-order sign on the door.”
“What out-of-order sign? I didn’t see any sign.” I turn, annoyed, and face him.
“The one I borrowed from the server. I gave him a twenty. Restaurants always have that type of sign available just in case of an emergency.” He takes my hand. “By the way, you look beautiful, really, really beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I say trying to pull my hand away. “This doesn’t qualify as an emergency. I think I’ll just end the evening now. I’ll tell Francesca that I have files to read and ne
ed time to work on a case.”
Will pulls me close to him and kisses me. “You’re tense, baby, relax,” he breathes into my ear. “We can get through this dinner without mishap, I promise you. Shhhh, baby. Let go. I was always able to get you to relax, remember? Just breath.”
He’s right; his hands know just what stress-relief buttons to push.
“This isn’t fair to Giles,” I protest.
“Giles isn’t here. I am,” he says before kissing me again. “By the way,” he whispers in my ear as his hand slides up the skirt of my dress, “How’s your tailbone? Still sore?”
After a few minutes and some close encounters of the erogenous kind, my stress is significantly lower and I feel more relaxed. I also feel like shit because of my relationship with Giles.
Will convinces me that we should walk back to the table together. “Look if we give Francesca some type of hope, even the smallest bit, maybe we can end the evening on a positive note.”
“But we’re giving her false hope.”
“That may be but, haven’t we done that in our work? Thrown someone off by lying a little, let the perp feel comfortable, so we can get what we want?”
He’s right. I know I’ve done it myself when I needed information. Make my suspect feel at ease. It’s kind of like good cop, bad cop except the good/bad cop is only one person. You let them see you as tough and then change your demeanor to let them see you as a person they can trust. It works very well.
I agree with him and we go back to our table together. Will even pulls my chair out for me and places my napkin on my lap. Francesca smiles warmly at the sight of the two of us.
“Everything alright?” she asks brightly. “You were gone quite a while.”
“Yes, everything is fine,” says Will before I can answer. “We were just talking.”
I hate to admit it but Will is right. Give a little false hope to someone and you are able to get what you want. He winks at me, Francesca takes it as a good sign, and the rest of the evening goes a little more smoothly.
For I Have Sinned a Cate Harlow Private Investigation Page 14
