Smoke Screen

by Suzanne Ouimet

  “Like, for instance?”

  “How long have you managed this building?”

  “Been manager for five years, lived here for eighteen.”

  “You were living here when the fire occurred then.” Mary said.

  “Yep.”

  “That must have been awful. Did you lose everything?”

  “Well, yeah,” she answered sarcastically, then suddenly suspicious again, asked, “You’re not here for the insurance company are you?”

  “No, nothing like that,” Tom assured her. “We’re trying to locate one of the people who resided here at that time.”

  “And who might that be? I didn’t know everybody well, but knew most of them to say hello to. Some moved back in after the building was rebuilt, some didn’t. Some moved away, some passed on. Who are you looking for, anyway?”

  “Actually, we’re trying to find a Frannie deJean.”

  “Oh, you mean the girl who was rescued with her baby! That baby died, you know. From smoke inhalation, I think they said. Shame that.”

  “Yes. We know. Did she, the mother, move back in?”

  “No. It wasn’t her apartment, anyway. She was staying with her aunt who was away when the place burned down. They didn’t move back in.”

  “Do you recall what her name was? The aunt?”

  “Same. DeJean. Marilyn deJean. Nice lady.”

  “What about the apartment below theirs? Do you recall who lived there?”

  “If I recall correctly, it was empty at the time. The guy who lived there was an unruly drunk. Got evicted. He was tossed out a week or so before the fire, I think.”

  “Do you remember his name?”

  “No, actually I don’t. As I said, I knew most of the tenants, but not that one. Didn’t like the look of him.”

  “Would you be able to find out his name for us?”

  “I don’t have the records. The complex is owned by a different company now.”

  “A lot of trouble to locate old records, I guess?” Tom commented hopefully, but the biddy didn’t bite.

  “Well, thanks for your help, Mrs…. Sorry, we didn’t get your name.” Marybeth said.

  “That’s right. I didn’t tell you. It’s Trenton. Alice Trenton. Mrs.”

  “Well, thanks, Mrs. Trenton.”

  “I wonder if you might have any idea where this Marilyn deJean or Frannie, might have gone to?” Tom asked.

  “Sorry. I don’t. They had friends or maybe relatives over at the reservation, though. I know that because some of them came visiting after the baby was born. That Frannie looked a bit native, if you ask me. Maybe not full native, but a ‘breed’ for sure. You know those kind.”

  Tom stiffened and his face went blank. “Like me, you mean?” he asked. “A half-breed?”

  “Whatever.”

  “Well, thanks for your time, Mrs. Trenton. You’ve been a big help.” Marybeth said, taking Tom’s arm and pulling him quickly away.

  Once back on the road, Marybeth said to Tom, “What a bigot! I don’t know how you can stand it.”

  “You get used to it, eventually. But have to admit it still bothers me sometimes.”

  “Like now. I felt like slapping the bitch, she made me so mad.”

  “Wouldn’t help a thing, MB. They expect you to react so best you don’t.”

  “Well, somebody should do something to smarten her up…” Marybeth continued to fume so Tom artfully steered the topic back into safer waters.

  “What do you think? Should we go over to the reservation and ask around?”

  “I’m not sure of the protocol for that. Let’s discuss it with Ken, first.”

  “It was a long time ago. Might not be there anyway, if they ever were.”

  “That’s true. But it’s a lead. Could even be a decent one.”

  “Hey, an idea! Lisa Kelly might know Frannie. She’s about the same age. And what about her brothers? No, they’d be too young, I guess…”

  “Good plan, MB! If Pam can’t find her, we’ll see if Lisa can fill in some blanks. She might have heard of her. Who knows?”

  “Change of subject, Tom,” Marybeth said. “Want to have dinner out tonight?”

  “Don’t we always eat out?”

  “Well, yes. But I mean dinner, not just junk food.”

  “Sure. Someplace different, someplace nice for a change. It’ll be a date.”

  “It doesn’t need to be a date, Tom.”

  “Yes, it does. I insist. A date. My treat. And let’s make it a late dinner, okay?”

  “Well, if you insist, fine. How about eight-thirty?”

  “Great.” Tom smiled to himself. That was easier than I thought.

  Chapter 3

  Getting to Know You

  The two young officers sat sipping Campari and soda at Dionysus, a new Greek restaurant in Leffler –a far nicer venue than their frequent lunches and suppers at McDonald’s or Burger King. Intending to make it a late evening, they’d agreed to meet there at 8:30, a fashionable hour for dining. Both were happy to be out of uniform and enjoyed being ‘dressed up’ for a change.

  Marybeth wore a long, rich wine-colored velveteen skirt with a black lace top, while Tom sported a blue, button-down dress shirt, no tie and navy trousers.

  “You’re looking pretty spiffy tonight, Tom.” Marybeth observed.

  “You look more than just ‘spiffy’, MB. You look positively beautiful.” he blurted, unable to keep the admiration out of his voice.

  “For some reason I feel we should celebrate. I don’t know why, but somehow tonight seems special. How about you?”

  “We’re on the same wavelength.” Tom, nervous, looked around. “What do you think of this place?”

  “It’s pretty ‘Greek’, don’t you think?”

  “You mean the Mediterranean murals on the walls?” Tom asked.

  “Yes, those and all this blue paint everywhere, even on the ceilings. You heard anything about the food here?”

  “A couple of the guys at work mentioned it’s pretty good. Plus, the place got a nice review in the paper a few weeks back. Do you have any idea what you’d like to eat?”

  “I’ll wait a bit before looking over the menu. Let’s enjoy our aperitifs before ordering,” Marybeth suggested, wanting the evening to last.

  “Good plan.” Tom said, laying his menu aside and wondering what they should talk about. For some reason, his mind had gone blank. Again. He hated it when he couldn’t think of something to say.

  Marybeth knew Tom was feeling uneasy, so she asked, “Do you think you’ll always be a cop, Tom? Do you want to do this for the rest of your life?”

  Tom thought for a moment or two. He knew she was drawing him out again, was relieved she was able make him comfortable so easily.

  “Actually, now that you mention it, I don’t think I want to be doing this for the rest of my life. It was more fun in the Rural Unit, but now it’s so organized. I find it a bit stifling, don’t you? So many rules and regs?

  “I’m okay with it for the time being. In some ways, I like it more. So, if not this, then what?”

  “What I really want to do is design and build furniture. I built a few small pieces when I was in high school and really enjoyed it. Actually, I designed an armoire when I was at college and just finished it a few months ago.”

  Marybeth’s eyes lit up. “An armoire! Where is it? I’d love to see it.”

  “It’s in my apartment. I’ll show it to you sometime. The trouble is I have no place to work right now, no workshop. I’ve done a few designs – on paper, of course – and I’m thinking maybe I should buy a place where I can have a shop. Start out part-time, see if it takes off, maybe turn it into something full time. Get out of the police business.”

  “You’d need to outfit it. Probably put you out a few bucks. Do you think you could afford to buy a house?”

  “Not yet, but I can dream, can’t I?” Tom replied, with a grin. “I have some tools, power equipment and other stuff stored at my f
olks’ place. If I do get a shop one of these days, I have almost everything I need.”

  “Was your Dad a carpenter, too?”

  “Yes, but what he did and what I do is called cabinetry. Both he and my uncle still build furniture as a hobby. Good solid stuff, useful pieces, such as pine tables and chairs.”

  “Hey! I’ve got an idea.”

  “What?”

  “You could use my garage. There’s plenty of space – it’s large enough for two cars and more. There’s already a workbench in it. Let’s go over later so you can check it out.”

  “How about if you look at my work first, then decide if you think it’s good enough for me to continue,” he suggested. Reaching over, he touched her hand, letting his fingers linger for a moment or two. He was pleased that she didn’t pull away.

  “I’m no expert on furniture, but I can tell when something is well built and finished nicely. I’m sure I’ll like your stuff. Let’s go over to your place after dinner and you can show me your designs. Okay?”

  “Sounds like a plan. You can look at my ‘etchings’,” Tom leered, then picked up his menu. “Let’s see if this place lives up to its décor. I’m getting hungry.”

  Marybeth asked, after perusing the menu, “What do you fancy?”

  “You, my pretty,” Tom grinned, raising and lowering his eyebrows in a fine Groucho Marx impersonation. Marybeth blushed, so her dinner companion got serious.

  “I think this ‘mixed plate for two’ looks good. Lamb Souvlaki, Moussaka, Roast Potatoes, Greek Salad, Greek style Lemon Chicken, Rice. What do you think?”

  “Seems like a lot of food for two people.”

  “If we can’t eat it all, we’ll get a doggie bag for later. What about wine? Do you like Greek wine? Retsina?”

  “I don’t know. What’s it like?”

  “It’s usually a white - flavored with pine resin. Shall I ask the waiter?”

  “Go for it.”

  The waiter appeared shortly, notepad in hand.

  “Do you by any chance have any Retsina?” Tom asked him. “I don’t see any on the list.”

  “Yes we do. We have several brands, white and rosé.”

  “Would it be possible for us to sample a good white, to see if the lady likes it?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll bring you some to try. Are you ready to order yet?”

  “We’ve decided on the ‘mixed platter for two’. A dry white wine will be suitable but we’ll decide after we taste the Retsina.”

  The waiter returned a few minutes later carrying two small glasses with just a mouthful of Retsina in each. Tom swirled his glass then sniffed from it. Marybeth copied him, not sure what the sniffing was all about.

  “Good. Very nice. Have a taste, MB.”

  Marybeth sipped, then made a face. “I don’t really like it. I think I’d prefer just a plain dry white, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not a problem. White wine for the lady, this Retsina for me. Half a carafe of each,” he told the waiter.

  “The Greeks used to store their wine in amphorae, with a green pine cone as a cork, which flavored the wine. That’s how Retsina came about,” Tom informed his companion, showing off, hoping to score points.

  “Interesting. Amphorae are those old-fashioned clay bottles, right? Used to store oil, perfume and other stuff in Biblical times, right?” Marybeth countered, not to be outdone.

  “That’s right. Don’t think they’re used anymore, though.” Slam dunk.

  As they ate, Marybeth asked Tom when he’d like to start setting up his shop. She was excited about his plans and wanted to help him get started.

  “You’re sure you’ll want me to work in your garage? It can get kind of noisy, you know.”

  “Well, check out the space first and see what you think. I’m pretty sure it’ll be large enough. Noise won’t bother me, not the kind you make,” she answered, flirting.

  “I’ll have to look around for a source of good materials,” Tom mused, almost to himself. “I don’t know what the lumber yards here are like, what kind of wood they stock. I’ll need mahogany, oak, some teak and a few other exotics eventually, as well as good clear pine.”

  “They can order whatever you need if they don’t have it in stock.” Marybeth shot Tom a worried, questioning look. “You don’t seem all that excited about the idea.”

  “I am, MB, I am. I just never dreamed it would be possible I could start this soon. It doesn’t feel real. I’ll probably be more excited when I start moving my equipment in.”

  They continued eating, Tom describing the various pieces of furniture he had built and those he had designs for.

  “It sounds like a lot of hard work.”

  “Yeah, but I love it. I’m ‘gone’ while I’m working. You know, really into it?”

  “I can’t wait to see that armoire. We’re going to your place when we leave here, right?”

  “We can, if you want. You’re slowing down, kiddo,” Tom observed, aware suddenly that Marybeth had hardly touched her food in the last few minutes.

  “I’m stuffed, I can’t eat another bite.”

  “No room for dessert?”

  “Well… maybe a little room. A gal’s gotta leave a little room for dessert! You know what a sweet tooth I have…” she added with a grin.

  “Don’t know where you put it!” Tom again jerked his eyebrows up and down. Marybeth grinned at him.

  Their waiter approached, asked if he might refill their water glasses.

  “I think we’re finished,” Tom replied, looking over at Marybeth, who nodded. “We weren’t able to eat everything. Could we, perhaps, take the rest in a bag for Fifi?” he asked.

  “Fifi, sir?” the waiter asked, mystified.

  “You know – a doggie bag?”

  “Oh. Right sir,” the waiter smirked, as he cleared their plates from the table. “No problem. Would you like to look at our dessert menu?”

  “A bag for Fifi?” Marybeth chuckled when the waiter left. “You don’t even have a dog, let alone a French poodle.”

  Upon his return, Marybeth told the waiter, “I think we might have room for dessert and coffee. Maybe some Baklava. What do you think, Tom?”

  “Okay, Baklava for me, too. And coffee,” he told the waiter. “But allow us to finish our wine before bringing it, would you?

  “I’m enjoying this evening so much, Marybeth. I hope you are too,” he said, gazing into her eyes. He reached over and took her hand again.

  “Me too,” Marybeth replied, wondering where this was leading. I’m not ready to go any further, not yet. If I go over to his place, I hope he won’t think I want to stay. Maybe this shop idea isn’t such a good one after all… he’ll be around all the time. Oh, what the hell! I can handle it. Anyway, he may not like the garage. It may not be large enough.

  When the waiter came with their Baklava and coffee, Marybeth withdrew her hand from Tom’s, felt a little bereft at losing the contact, knowing Tom probably felt the same.

  They’d come in separate vehicles, so after leaving Dionysus, Marybeth followed Tom home in her car. He led the way into his apartment where his two cats immediately surrounded the couple, rubbing and bumping, obviously happy to have their owner home.

  “I remember the day we picked these two up, don’t you?” Marybeth commented. “The day we found the Kelly twins’ dog.”

  “Right,” Tom answered absently.

  “The armoire is in here,” he said, leading her into a bedroom. “The guest bedroom. I’ve never had any guests, but Penny left the bed and dresser and I never got rid of them. It’s a bit of a mess. I store stuff in here, as you can see.” He seemed a bit embarrassed.

  “Tom!” Marybeth exclaimed when she saw the tall, elegant cabinet. “This is absolutely gorgeous! My God, it must be worth a fortune! Did you really make it?”

  “Yeah, I did.” Tom stood beside her as she examined his handiwork. When he circled her waist with his arm, she didn’t pull away, even leaned into him a little.


  “It must have taken you a long time!” she exclaimed, turning to look at him, eyes shining.

  “Well, about four months, give or take. Not full time, though.”

  “What woods did you use?”

  “Mostly oak. Some of the trim, this here,” he said, pointing, “is pecan. And this is birch, believe it or not.” He opened the doors so she could view the interior.

  “I love these inlays. Are they Indian motifs? They’re very unique.”

  “Yes, they are. This one here, just inside the door is my ‘sign’. It means White Hawk – my name - Waabishkaa Gekek – in Ojibwe. See? It’s a bird’s wing.”

  “Nice. I like it. Waabishkaa Gekek. Did I pronounce it correctly?”

  “Close enough.”

  “Do you have any idea how much you could sell this for, White Hawk?”

  “Not really,” he grinned. “Possibly five hundred or so.”

  “Are you kidding? I’ll bet you could get fifteen hundred for it, probably more. It’s amazing. Now, I have to let you use my garage, for sure. You must make more of these, Tom. Is this one for sale?”

  “No, not really. I’m rather attached to it, actually. Maybe I could use it as a sample of my work? I’m not sure where the customers will come from anyway.”

  “Hey, we’ll show a few key people this piece. Do you have any pictures of it?”

  “No, not yet. But I can take some.”

  “Do that. Right away. Then we’ll hit the high-end furniture stores, upholstery shops and show them what you can do. I’ll bet you’ll have custom orders in no time...”

  “Hey, slow down, MB! How about we have a glass of wine first?” Tom suggested.

  “Sure, but I want to look at your designs. Are they here?”

  “Yeah, over in my studio,” he answered. “But first, let me get our wine, then I’ll show you.” Maybe I should mention my ‘etchings’ again.

  “This is so exciting. I can’t believe you never told me about all this before. You’re always surprising me, you know that?”

  “I didn’t think it would interest anybody but me.”

  “Are you kidding? I’m interested in everything you do!” Marybeth blurted as Tom headed for the kitchen. She put her hand over her mouth. Oh, oh. Am I being too exuberant? He’ll think I’m in love with him or something. Maybe I am.