by Brian Meeks
“I think we should give it one more night. I’ll get all pretty and try to cozy up to him at the bar.”
“You want to see if you can make him cheat on his wife? That hardly seems fair. The poor guy just wants to have a few drinks.”
“We owe it to the client.” She said and added, “Pleeeese.”
Henry knew he was outmatched.
CHAPTER 2
Celine was out grabbing some sandwiches from the deli, so when Henry heard the door open, he didn’t look up.
The woman’s voice was slightly unsteady. “Excuse me, sir.”
Henry looked up and saw a 5’ 7” woman, wearing black funeral attire. He stood, and asked, “How may I help you?” He noticed she had been crying.
“I want to hire you.”
Henry led her into his office and offered to get her some coffee. She declined. “Please have a seat, miss…”
“Sorry, I'm Miss Amy Silverton. I've just come from the funeral of Daniel Kupton.”
Henry stood holding an empty coffee cup. Hearing the name stopped him in his tracks. “Daniel Kupton, who killed himself by jumping out of the Woolworth building?” asked Henry. He tried to hide his surprise but failed miserably.
“He didn’t kill himself; he was murdered.” She said it with conviction, but Henry wasn’t sure he believed her.
“I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but all the papers this week have talked about his financial troubles. He wouldn’t be the first man to…”
“The papers have it all wrong. He wasn’t in trouble; well, not as bad as they say. I just know he wouldn’t kill himself. He was happy.”
Henry decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. Returning the coffee cup to the stack, he sat down and took out his notebook. “If I agree to take your case, and I’m not saying I'm gonna, but if I do. I'll need some particulars from you.”
She nodded.
“You said your name is Amy Silverton. What is your relation to the deceased?”
“I was his personal secretary.”
“Forgive me for asking, Miss, but how personal?”
“I forgive you. You aren’t the first to make such an assumption. I took care of his office duties. He had a wife and a mistress to take care of the rest.”
“Did the wife know?”
“I don’t think so, but I could be wrong. Mrs. Kupton is a bright woman, and she might have known without letting on. She isn’t the type of person one can easily read. I saw them together just two weeks ago. From all appearances, she still very much adored him and seemed happy. They had been married for thirty-seven years.”
“You came from the funeral?”
She started to weep a little. Henry handed her his handkerchief. She said, “Thank you.”
Henry let her get it out of her system, then continued, “I only ask because I wanted to know if the mistress was there. Did you know her?”
“Yes, I knew Cynthia Pollard, but she wasn't there. I'm not surprised though, as I suspect she has already got her talons into some other guy with money. She moved awfully quickly after they met. She is one year younger than me. It made me sick.”
“How old is this Cynthia Pollard?”
“Twenty-seven.”
Henry knew the deceased was Fifty-seven because he had a newspaper with the obituary in it on his desk. He had been reading it the day before.
“Why do you want to hire me? Have you told the police you suspect foul play?”
“I have not! I want to keep this confidential. The last thing I want is for his good name to be dragged through the mud. Those vultures at the paper never even figured out he had a mistress, and I would like to keep it that way. His wife is a nice lady. You understand, don’t you?”
Henry understood what she was telling him but was more interested in what she was trying not to tell him.
Celine wandered into the office humming a tune. She stopped when she saw that Henry wasn’t alone and closed the door to give them privacy.
“I know you said he was happy, but do you have any proof that his business wasn’t in trouble, that he didn’t kill himself?”
She stood, having regained her composure completely. “If I had proof, Mr. Wood, I wouldn’t need you. Will you take the case?” She took out an envelope with $2500 in it, removed the money, and handed it to Henry. “Will this be enough to get you started?”
Henry had more questions, but he had already made up his mind to take the case, and he could ask them later. “I’ll take your case. Please leave your number with my secretary, Celine.”
Henry could have just as easily asked her for her number, but he liked the sound of including Celine in the equation. A minute later he heard the outside door close. Shortly after, Celine was in his office with an excited look on her face.
“Who was that? She looked like a grieving widow?”
“A grieving secretary who has just hired us to find out if her boss, Mr. Kupton, was murdered.”
“His secretary hired you? Was she…”
“She says she wasn’t. She is hiding something, but I don’t think it’s that. Strange, though, her putting up this kind of cabbage to investigate the death of her boss.”
Celine took a sandwich out of the brown paper bag and set it on his desk. “If someone bumped you off, I think I would put up $20.00…though I would probably take it out of petty cash.” She whirled around and left the office.
Henry put the money in the safe. A quick call to Big Mike and he found out that the official report said suicide. Mike, who had recently been promoted after the Chief saw the job he did on solving Mickey’s murder, was one of Henry's best friends. Mike promised to give the case a second look. Henry thanked him and hung up the phone.
Henry continued to think about the case. He wasn't making much progress when Celine told him Luna was on the phone. He answered, “Hey, what’s up?”
“Henry, I hope you don’t mind, but I baked you a surprise and took it to your house. I used the secret key to let myself in.”
“I don’t mind; that's why I told you about the key, in case there was a pastry emergency.”
She giggled. “Not pastry this time, cheesecake. That isn’t why I called, though.”
“Oh?”
“I was putting it in your refrigerator, and I heard a loud sound…sort of a banging noise…coming from the basement.”
“When?”
“Just now, well two minutes ago. I sat and listened for anything else, but then it was quiet again. So I called.”
“Did you go look?”
“No, are you kidding?! I'm curious, but that closet still scares me.”
“I have some more work on the husband case tonight, and I just got a new one. What do you say I swing by and pick you up for some Chinese before I head back out?”
Luna clapped. “Shall I wait for you here?”
“Sure, I’ll head right out.”
Henry hung up the phone. Celine was opening a new case file, and Henry dropped his notebook on her desk. “Thanks.”
“You still want to do this tonight? He doesn’t get off until eight; we'll have to follow him from the plant.”
“I have the address right here. Shall I meet you there?”
“Why don’t I swing by and pick you up around 7:00. I don’t want you driving afterward.”
Henry knew she could handle her liquor, but he also knew she could drink like a Russian sailor if she put her mind to it. He had no idea what she would do tonight. Celine was a wildcard.
“Sounds great; I'll be ready.” She gave him a salute. Henry just shook his head, grabbed his hat, and headed out.
CHAPTER 3
Henry gave Luna a hug. “You cut me a piece of cheese cake. Thanks.”
“You must give it a try, before we go down and look at what’s in the closet.”
Henry maintained two residences, his apartment in Manhattan, and a tiny house in Brooklyn. Before Jan 1955 rolled around, none of Henry’s friends knew about the house. It was his s
anctuary, where he stayed most nights, with his books, woodworking tools, and his albums. Henry loved music and woodworking; they were his passions outside of work. In the basement of this tiny old house, he had a closet. It used to house some old boxes, from a previous owner, until one day in the fall of 1954, something happened.
Henry has only told three other people about the closet, Sylvia, Luna, and Winston. Winston was killed a few months back. It still haunted Henry. Having a secret closet isn’t such a special thing, as many people like to hide stuff away, just for themselves. What made this closet special, was it seemed to have some sort of connection with the future. Henry has received woodworking tools, magazines, newspapers, books, and a strange device called a DVD player. It was like a TV, but small, with a tray that pops out. One puts these tiny silver records in them, and then it plays a TV show. It showed up with a DVD about a great woodworker named Tage Frid. Henry has watched it a dozen times. Luna has watched it with him twice.
Henry called them ‘presents from the future’, but really they were usually clues. Someone was helping Henry with his cases. He didn’t know who, but hoped someday the closet would explain how it all worked. Right now however, there was something waiting for him. So Henry and Luna shared a piece of cheesecake, drank some milk, and tried to guess what might be waiting.
Henry went down the stairs first, with Luna close behind. She seemed a little reticent about opening the door, but he assured her it would be fine. On the floor he found a box with a picture of a man in a suit, sitting on a bed. Henry picked it up and turned it over in his hand. “The Stranger: 30th Anniversary Deluxe Boxed Set. It has two CDs and a DVD.”
“A DVD for the player?” Luna chirped. The woodworker one was nice, but not something she wanted to watch over and over. “What is a CD?”
“I don’t know.” Henry was a little bit excited too, though he didn’t show it. “It appears this is from 2008.”
Just hearing the date made Luna gasp. “I wonder what it means?”
“I wonder which case it’s for?”
“What's the new case about?”
“I had a woman come in today, hired me to look into the death of Daniel Kupton.”
“The guy who jumped out of the Woolworth building?”
“The very same.” Henry wanted to put in the DVD and watch it, but there wasn’t time. “We can give this a look tomorrow. Right now, we should go grab some dinner. I promised to pick up Celine at seven.”
Miffed, Luna asked, “Pick up Celine?”
“She wants to see if Frank will try to make a move on her. So we’re going to tail him to his bar du jour, then she is going to…well, I don’t know what she is going to do, but I suspect she'll talk to him, and have a drink or two.”
As they walked back upstairs, Luna asked, “You think he’ll take the bait?”
“I'm not sure. Gladys is a sweet woman but a bit shy. Maybe he’s looking for excitement?”
“So you think Celine is exciting?” The tone was unfamiliar to Henry, but he was pretty sure that his answer should not be made too quickly, without thought.
“What do I know? I don’t understand these young people, least of all her.” It seemed like a good answer.
“Oh really? Do you understand me Henry Wood?” She said while putting the plate in the sink.
He was beginning to think he didn’t, but said instead, “You are a mystery I'm slowly trying to solve.” He didn’t know what it meant, but when she gave him a kiss on the cheek, he knew she had found it to be an acceptable answer. Henry was sure he had just dodged a bullet.
He put the Billy Joel boxed set in the credenza, with the DVD player, and they went out for Chinese.
* * *
Around a table with six place settings, five men raised their glasses. “To Daniel Kupton, gone before his time.”
Martin Van Sythe had made millions by developing modest-sized real estate projects in southern New York and New Jersey. He had put the group together six years before. They met on the fifteenth of every month, but, today, they were gathered to honor their departed friend Daniel Kupton. Also at the table were Charles Wayne Hudson, a shipping magnate; William Darby, stock broker; John Fleming, banker; and Sir Richard Bessemer, from England, in the import/export business. Richard had brought Daniel into the group because he had done business with him for years.
Dinner was served but little was said among the men. To a man they thought about the future, and if his passing would make any difference at all.
CHAPTER 4
Celine screamed, “He’s turning left.” Celine, looking very pretty, determined to prove that Frank Pimpkin was a cheater, could barely contain her enthusiasm.
Henry shook his head and said, “This isn’t my first rodeo.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Celine said, more calmly now that Henry had turned left.
Frank parked his car and walked into a bar called "End of the Block," which was oddly located in the middle of the block. The wind had blown the trash off the tops of the garbage bins and it swirled around in the street. Only half of the street lights worked, and the entire neighborhood seemed deserted.
“Okay, I'm ready.” Celine said. Her left knee bobbed up and down.
“Slow down, missy. I’m going to go in first and find a good spot. You wait five minutes before you come in.”
“You don’t think I can handle it? You feel the need to keep an eye on me?”
“I don’t think Frank can handle you. I'm going in to watch his back.”
She laughed. “Well, then that's okay.”
“Don’t forget to lock your door, or we'll be walking home.”
The "End of the Block" was like a hundred other pubs. Wood bar, dart board, booths, sticky floor, and a bored bartender. It was dark; a jukebox sat silent in the corner. Henry counted three people besides Frank. The two drunks arguing in the booth were a little distracting, but Henry was sure he would be able to hear what Celine and Frank talked about. Henry picked up a newspaper and started to read.
Celine walked in, and the bartender straightened up. He looked Celine up and down. The toothpick nearly fell from his mouth. The drunks and Frank didn’t notice. The other guy said, “Hey, sweetie, can I buy you a drink?”
“No, thanks.” She smiled politely, then pulled up a seat at the bar next to Frank.
Frank looked at her briefly.
The bartender asked, “What can I get you, miss?”
“Tom Collins,” then, looking at Frank, she asked, "You have a light?”
Celine was cool and confident. She leaned in to light the cigarette, tilted her head and blew out a smoke ring, “Thanks, Hon.”
The bartender set the drink down in front of her and she paid him.
Henry thought she might try to get right into a conversation, a rookie mistake, but she just smoked and took slow sips of her drink. Her wet lips were brighter than the neon bar signs. Frank sat drinking his beer, staring off into space.
Ten minutes later, Celine pulled out another cigarette. “You mind?”
Frank took his lighter from the bar, lit her cigarette, and asked, “You waiting for someone?”
“Yes, but he stands me up all the time. I don’t think he appreciates me. What about you?”
“I’m married. I just stopped off after work.”
“How long you been married?”
Frank took a drag from his own cigarette, blew the smoke out, sighed, and said, “Ten years.”
Celine and Frank started to talk, but Henry couldn’t hear them. The bartender had gotten Henry another beer, and they started talking spring training. For Henry, this was a much more interesting conversation. Ninety minutes later, Henry decided the test was over. He could tell the conversation was slowing down, between Celine and Frank, so he paid his tab and left. Fifteen minutes later, she came out and got in the car.
Henry noticed that they both smelled of smoke and dive bar. “What did you learn?”
Celine sighed. "It’s so sad
. He and his wife were best friends before they tried to start having kids. They painted the nursery together, talked about names, bought tiny socks, and he said it was the happiest he had ever been. Then she lost the first one, which was devastating. Frank said they got through it, and she got pregnant again, but it didn’t go so well, either. She blames herself and there wasn’t anything he could do to convince her otherwise. Then she started to change. She became convinced he couldn’t love her anymore, started to worry about if the house was clean enough, if the food for dinner was perfect. She didn’t laugh anymore. She wouldn’t make any decisions. He told me they used to take turns picking out which movies to go see. Now, she just says ‘Whatever you want, dear.' It's like she is walking on egg shells. He doesn’t want a maid, he wants his wife back.”
Henry was impressed with Celine’s account. “Did something happen six months ago?”
“I asked him how long he had been feeling so sad. He said it had been a couple of years, but it got worse lately because of his job.”
“What is going on at his job?”
“He wouldn’t say, just that he was in an impossible position and missed being able to talk to his wife about it. He’s afraid if he tells her about work, she’ll worry more. It’s the last thing he wants to happen.”
“Well, it looks like you have put this case to bed. I'm impressed.”
She looked at him, shocked. “You mean we are done?”
“Mrs. Pimpkin hired us to find out if her husband is cheating on her. We can give her the good news that he isn’t. In this business, that doesn’t happen very often.”
“But…”
“What?”
“She didn’t really hire us to find out if he is cheating.”
“She didn’t?”
“She hired us to help her get her life back. She’s desperate. It took her months to save up the money.”
“We aren’t marriage counselors.”
“No, but you are the smartest detective in the world.”
