All Things Lost

by Josh Aterovis

  “What kind of arrangement?” I asked warily.

  “I find out the information you need. That won't be a problem. I just wait until Walters goes home for the day and go through his files. I know where he keeps his files for his working stories. They're locked but I know where he keeps his spare key. I make copies of the relevant info and lock everything back up just the way I found it. He never knows.”

  “Uh huh, and what do you get out of this? You said it was mutually beneficial.”

  “You mean besides the satisfaction of knowing I screwed Walters over.”

  “Yes, besides that. I get the feeling that there's a rather big `but' coming.”

  He spun around and twisted to look at his posterior. “Looks fine to me,” he said lightly. I tended to agree but thought it best not to say so. “Ok, ok, seriously,” he went on, “It's simple really; you get the better end of the deal.”

  “Why do I feel like someone's trying to sell me a used car?”

  “No, really! All I want is information. I want to be in on the rest of the investigation.”

  “What?”

  “I want to be kept abreast of things, maybe even be involved, although that isn't a deal breaker.”

  “I dunno,” I said dubiously.

  “Come on, these kinds of arrangements are made all the time. It's an exchange of information, a give and take, cooperation. How else are you going to get what you need? What have you got to lose?”

  “Well…” I said slowly.

  He sensed my weakening and pounced on his opportunity. “Just tell me what you need to know and I'll hand it to you on a platter.”

  I sighed and he grinned triumphantly; he knew he had won.

  “Ok,” I said, “We need to know everything there is to know about Rachel Cohen, Ira's wife and Caleb's mother. Specifically, we need to know her maiden name, when she was last known for a fact to be alive and with Ira, if anyone has any idea where she is, that sort of thing.”

  He frowned. “I thought she was dead,” he said. Obviously he'd been keeping up with the case.

  “If she is then we need some proof of that, death notice, obituary, whatever. Vital statistics has no record of her death, though, so we're thinking she still might be alive.”

  “Whoa, a real mystery. I can't believe no one would have checked that, though. Where's she been all this time? And why did she leave in the first place?”

  “We don't know where she is, that's what we're trying to find out. And we know that her husband was abusive to Caleb, so it's possible that he abused her too and she ran to escape it.”

  “And left her kid behind?”

  I shrugged. “It happens.”

  “Ok,” he said, sounding a little less enthusiastic than he had before. Maybe the reality of the situation was starting to sink in. “I'll see what I can come up with. It may take me a while to go through his files though. You might have to give me a few days.”

  “Why don't I give you my card and you can call me when you have something?”

  “Good idea.”

  I dug out a card and handed it to him. He studied it a moment then looked up with that charming and disarming smile of his. “Is this a home number or a work number?” he asked.

  My heart skipped a beat as I tried to figure out if he was flirting with me or if that was just his personality. “Work,” I finally managed to spit out. “Uh, do you have a card or something? I don't even know your name.”

  “Oh! Geez, how could I be so stupid?” he exclaimed. “My name is Micah, Micah Gerber, like the baby food,” he said as he rummaged through his wallet.

  That name rang a bell but I couldn't quite place it. Where had I heard it before?

  “Ah, here we go,” he said as he produced a slightly tattered business card and presented it to me on his open palm with a flourish.

  With an amused smile I picked up his card and looked at it. As I did I suddenly remembered where I had heard his name before. About a month ago when Kane had tried to fix me up with the cute reporter he'd met at the library. He had been sure that he was gay. Could it be that this beautiful guy really was flirting with me? I raised my eyes to study his face.

  “Um, why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, sounding slightly self-conscious.

  “You're gay, aren't you?” I asked.

  Chapter 17

  Micah's eyes widened and for the briefest second I thought I saw something akin to fear in them.

  “What did you say?” he asked in an off-hand manner. His easy-going smile was already back in place which made me wonder if I had just been imagining the alarm I thought I had seen.

  “I asked if you were…never mind.”

  He studied me a moment and I got the feeling that he was measuring me in some way. Then he said, “You asked me if I was gay.”

  “Um, yeah. Look, I'm sorry.”

  “I'm curious, why did you ask that? Do I act gay?”

  I sighed. “How does one act gay? I only asked because, well, I wasn't sure if you were flirting with me.” His eyebrows raised and I realized how conceited I sounded, so I rushed on. “And my little brother met you like a month ago at the library. I think you helped him find something and he thought you might be gay.”

  “He actually told you he thought I was gay? And you remembered that? Are you sure it was me?”

  “He gave me your card.”

  He shook his head slightly, looking completely baffled. “He gave you my card? Why would he do that?”

  I blushed. “He, uh, though that, um-” I stammered and broke off.

  Understanding flooded Micah's face and he finished my sentence, “And he thought that you might be interested, right?”

  “Something like that,” I mumbled, my face felt like I would need a fire extinguisher to put it out or maybe the whole damn fire brigade. I couldn't believe I had gotten myself in this situation. I prayed the earth would open and swallow me whole, but of course it never does when you really want it to.

  “Hey, there's no need to be embarrassed,” he said. He looked like he was fighting a grin and losing.

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “No, really, I'm serious. Don't be embarrassed. For one thing, I'm really flattered. For another, I think it's really sweet. Lastly, and most importantly, I am gay.”

  My mouth flew open, “W-w-what?”

  “I said I am gay,” he laughed. He seemed to be enjoying my reaction. “I didn't mean to give you a hard time or anything but since I moved to the Shore, well, I've been a little careful. Not that I'm in the closet or anything, but I'm not exactly waving the rainbow flag either. There's a lot of homophobes around.”

  “Yeah, I guess there are,” I said. My face was beginning to feel like it might not burst into flame.

  “One time of almost getting the shit beat out of me because I flirted with the wrong guy was enough for me. It's really hard to meet people here.” He smiled at me and something in his eyes had changed, there was a slight twinkle now. “Well, look, I'd better get back inside before they send out a search party, but I'm really glad we met.”

  “Um, yeah, me too,” I said vaguely since I wasn't quite sure how he meant that. I didn't want to send the wrong signals. I'd done enough damage for one day.

  “Great, so I have your number. I'll give you a call.”

  I blinked in surprise for a second before I realized he meant our business arrangement and not a personal call. At least I think that's what he meant. I gave a nod as he started backing away from me. There was definitely a grin playing around the corners of his mouth now.

  “Don't look so worried, Killian,” he said, “I'll get your information for you; you can count on me.”

  I smiled back but my mind was already a million miles away. It was on Planet Asher to be precise, where I seemed to have lost my residency. Was it really over between us or was there still something there to salvage? The reason for my sudden interest in the status of my relationship-or non-relationship as it were-with Asher
was still backing away from me, grinning in that totally amazing way he had. He stumbled over the curb, almost falling, and I couldn't help but laugh out loud. With a sheepish smile and a final wave he disappeared into the building.

  As I climbed into my car I thought about Micah Gerber. I hadn't been that attracted to someone in a long time. It had awakened feelings in me that I had almost forgotten existed, forgotten what they felt like. The only problem was I just didn't know where I stood with Asher and I still loved him…didn't I?

  * * *

  The house was in an uproar when I got home later that afternoon. Mom was loading her car to leave. It seemed my aunt had called and one of my younger cousins had fallen off his bike or skateboard and broken something. Mom was a little vague on the details so I was unclear what exactly had been broken and how.

  Meanwhile, Steve was pacing the hall again, occasionally raising his voice or yanking at his hair in frustration. From the looks of his locks he'd been on the phone for a while.

  Kane was frantically running up and down the stairs in his boxers asking Adam where various items of his clothing were, as if his father would have some miraculous knowledge of the whereabouts of his good pair of khakis. I deduced from his semi-frenzied that he had a big date planned for that night.

  Adam seemed an island of calm in the midst of all the confusion. He expertly juggled helping Mom take her luggage to the car, smoothing Steve's hair down in vain, and locating Kane's favorite blue Hawaiian shirt. It was in the dryer.

  I waited for a lull in action, which finally came after Mom had said good-bye and Kane had disappeared upstairs to fix his hair, to ask Adam what was going on with Steve.

  “I'm not sure exactly,” he said, “but I think one of his crews quit today and he's having a hard time finding a replacement.”

  “Quit? After one week? Good grief! Do you know which crew it was?”

  “I'm not sure but I think I heard him bellow something about painting so I would assume it's the painters.”

  “Why'd they quit?”

  Adam shrugged. “I don't know but I'm sure we'll find out in due time,” he said philosophically.

  Sure enough, we didn't have to wait long before Steve came charging into the living room with a beleaguered expression on his face.

  “The damn house isn't just haunted, it's cursed too,” he announced melodramatically.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  Before he could answer, though, Kane skidded into the room. “How do I look?” he asked breathlessly.

  “Great,” Adam said without hesitation. Kane rolled his eyes and turned to face me. I guess he thought he'd get a more impartial opinion from me.

  He was wearing his blue Hawaiian shirt over a white T, off-white cargo pants, brown leather sandals and a shell-bead necklace. His hair had been freshly gelled and unless I was mistaken he'd even shaved, although what he'd shaved was beyond me. Whoever this girl was, she must be something special.

  “You look great,” I told him and he grinned.

  “I do, don't I?” he said.

  “So who's the girl?” Adam asked.

  “Her name is Stacia and she is so hot.”

  “At least you're dating her for the right reasons, son,” Adam commented sarcastically.

  “Yeah, see ya,” he said as he started for the door, “Don't wait up.”

  “Eleven o'clock!” Adam yelled after him. “I swear, that kids going to make me old before my time.” Then to Steve, “You were saying?”

  “I was?” he looked up, surprised out of whatever thoughts he'd been entertaining.

  “About the house?”

  “Oh, yeah. Someone must have talked to crews and spooked them because one of them quit today.”

  “Which one?”

  “The painters. They called me up and just told me they weren't going back. Said they couldn't work under those conditions.”

  “And what conditions would that be?”

  “Strange sounds, footsteps when no one else is supposed to be in the house, small items missing or moved. I tried to tell them the house is over a hundred and fifty years old so it's going to make strange noises. And small items go missing on every job, especially when there are that many crews on site. Someone borrows something and forgets to return it or puts it back in a different place.”

  “They didn't buy it, huh?” I asked.

  “What's to buy? It's the truth, damn it.”

  “Maybe, but it's also the truth that the house is haunted,” I pointed out, reasonably I thought.

  “Killian,” Adam began.

  “Don't start, Adam,” I cut him off, “You weren't there, you didn't hear it and…and feel it.”

  “You have an overactive imagination, that's all.”

  “Meanwhile,” Steve said, drawing our attention back to him, “I've lost my painting crew and so far I haven't been able to find anyone to take over. If word gets around that the place is haunted I'll be lucky to find anyone, these guys are so superstitious.”

  “Surely they can't all be that irrational,” Adam said.

  “It's not all that irrational, if you ask me,” I insisted, “And it's definitely not just a matter of superstition. Maybe Amalie doesn't like what you're doing to her house.”

  “It's not her house! It's mine now. And she's dead so she doesn't have a say in the damn decorating anymore.”

  “I wish you'd listen to yourself,” Adam said, “Besides, this won't really hold anything up will it? I mean, they really can't paint until all the other stuff is finished anyway. The other crews can keep on working.”

  “Assuming they don't quit too,” Steve said darkly. “And I still have to find another painter.”

  “Start again in the morning. It won't seem like such a crisis after you've calmed down and you'll be more apt to catch someone in their office.”

  He sighed, “I guess you're right. There isn't anything more I can do tonight.”

  “You could always just ask Amalie to stop it,” I suggested and was rewarded with a dirty look in stereo.

  * * *

  I didn't have to wait long for Micah to get in touch with me. The very next day at work I got a call mid-morning.

  “I've got something for you,” he said as soon as I answered.

  “Micah?” I asked.

  “Yeah, it's me. Can you meet me today at the Plaza Café around 12:30?”

  “You mean afternoon, right?”

  He laughed, “No, I mean midnight. Of course I mean afternoon. It's my lunch break and I thought we could talk while we ate. Is that ok?”

  “Yeah, no problem.”

  “Great, then it's a date.”

  “A date?”

  “It's just an expression, Killian. In the words of the great literary genius, Douglas Adams, don't panic. See you at 12:30…p.m.”

  “Way to go, Killian,” I thought as I hung up. “Keep this up and he's going to think you're a total dork.” Then I wondered why I cared so much what he thought of me.

  “Who was that?” Novak asked as he emerged from his inner sanctum with a stack of paperwork.

  “A possible source,” I said distractedly.

  “Ooo, a source. How very cloak and dagger. Are you meeting him in a dark parking garage?”

  I gave him a look and said, “No, I'm meeting him at the Plaza Café at 12:30…p.m.”

  “And what exactly is he a source of, pray tell?”

  “I'm doing what you told me to do, following up on the Rachel Cohen angle.”

  “The Rachel Cohen angle?” he laughed, “You've been reading too many detective novels.”

  “Sure, pick on Killian. That seems to be the favorite pastime around here.”

  “All in good fun, kid. Don't go getting testy on me now. I wouldn't tease you if I didn't think you knew I was just kidding.”

  “Oh, I know. Don't mind me. I just have a lot on my mind.”

  “If this case is starting to get to you we'll back off for a while. You can't let yourself get
too caught up in things. It's not worth it. We're not even getting paid for it.”

  “It's not just the case, it's personal stuff too. Don't worry, I'll be fine.”

  “Don't overdo it, kid. If you ever need to talk about anything, I'm here for you.”

  “Thanks, Novak.”

  He went back into his office, ruffling my hair as he went. I realized how fond I was becoming of him. He was more than just a mentor; he was fast becoming a good friend.

  I arrived downtown a little early; I had overestimated the amount traffic for that time of day, so I decided to visit Nikki Avanti at her art gallery, Avant Guard. It was right on the plaza and I hadn't seen her since Aidan and Will's wedding. Nikki was the person who had given Will his big break into the art world, which he had failed to follow up on after Aidan's death.

  She was busy with a customer when I slipped in. Native American flute music was wafting hauntingly through the air, a perfect compliment to the prominent display of Native American art. It seemed to be the theme of the month here at Avant Guard.

  Nikki herself looked unique as always. I don't think I had ever seen her look the same twice. The last time I had seen her, her bright yellow hair had been short and spiky. Today she had it platted into hundreds of tiny multicolored braids that tumbled around her bare shoulders. She wore a brightly colored peasant blouse over faded form-fitting jeans that laced up in the front with a leather thong. Her black horn-rimmed glasses and silver feather shaped earrings completed the ensemble. Only Nikki could have carried it off so convincingly. She looked stunning.

  She finished with the customer, who left with a large clay pot that had been decorated with a geometric design, and turned to me with a pleasant, generic smile. It took her a second to recognize me.

  “Killian!” she exclaimed brightly.

  “You remembered my name,” I said in mild surprise. We had only met a few times.

  “Of course! How could I forget a cutie like you? Besides, I almost never forget a name or a face. How's Will?”

  “Better than he has been, I guess. It's a slow process.”

  “I can't even imagine. Poor kid. Is he painting at all?”

  “Not since Aidan died. I think he's almost ready, though. It will be a big step for him. Maybe you should go visit him, give him a gentle push.”