You Say Goodbye

by Keith Steinbaum

  “I’m surprised you found that,” he said, nodding his chin toward the booklet.

  “I saw Martin’s name on the card,” she explained. “It was sticking out and...sorry, Sean, I guess I shoulda asked first, huh?”

  “No big deal, Kayleigh. I forgot it was there.”

  She reached over, grabbed the pamphlet, and turned the cover page. They both glanced at the full-sized photo of Martin with three men and two women standing and smiling between a wall display in back and a table in front, showcasing various products they sold. Kayleigh continued to turn a few more pages before placing the booklet on the cushion and leaning forward to plunge the tip of her spoon into the bright green scoop. Sliding the utensil into her mouth, she paused for a moment of flavorful appreciation. Her circular face took on a more triangular form whenever she flashed a full smile, the rounded tips of her puffy cheeks extending in an elongated manner while accentuating her bony, fulcrum-like chin.

  “This is the best ice cream I ever had!”

  After the Pistons called for a time out with a little under five minutes remaining in the third quarter, the phone rang. Sean looked at the screen and turned to Kayleigh before answering. “It’s your dad. Hi, Jason...Yeah, it’s a close one. Detroit looks like they came to play tonight...Of course,” he replied, chuckling. “She’s a nervous wreck, just like you’d expect...Okay, I’ll tell her...Oh, yeah? That’s great. I’m surprised she didn’t tell me...You got it, we’ll see you soon.” Hanging up, he turned back toward Kayleigh. “I didn’t know your brother’s coming into town for your birthday. You must be excited.”

  Bouncing on the sofa like a basketball, she answered in a sing-song voice. “I’m gonna see my brother, I’m gonna see Mr. Mari-ine!”

  “Your dad will come get you after the quarter’s over. Where’d you put your sweatshirt?”

  “Ummm.” Bringing her delicate finger to her lips, she squinted in contemplation, her narrow eyes turning into slits. “I think I left it on the table by the bathroom.”

  As Sean approached the crumpled pink sweatshirt, its tiny sleeve hanging down from the corner edge as if reaching for something on the faraway floor, he heard Hendrix’s muted cries from the adjacent room and pivoted toward the door in concern.

  “Hey, Kayleigh,” he called out, laughing. “Come here. I want to show you something funny about your poor friend, Hendrix.”

  Kayleigh waddled toward him, smiling in anticipation. Sean stood at the doorway and pointed.

  “He cracks me up when he does this. The dog has toys he forgets about until he rediscovers one he can’t reach and then whines about it.” As the dog continued nudging his nose and reaching his diminutive paw under the wooden dresser, the sad cries continued.

  “Help him, Mr. Music, he wants his toy!”

  The approximate two-inch area between the floor and the bottom of the desk prevented Sean from enough adequate space to reach underneath, so, rising to his feet, he secured the lamp with one hand and slid the table several feet to the left. The moment he looked down, his heartbeat accelerated into frenzied pumping as he lunged, wide-eyed, toward the object, just beating the dog’s mouth to the prize.

  Grasping the “toy” by its firm, flat edges, Sean’s fingers trembled as he stared in disbelief at the Jack of Hearts.

  ***

  After Kayleigh left, he wasted no time calling Detective Maldonado. “Should I put it in something for you?” he asked. “A Zip-lock bag, maybe?”

  “That would be one of the worst things you could do,” Maldonado replied. “If condensation forms in there, you’d probably destroy what little chance we have of finding any trace of fingerprints. Put it in an envelope of some kind. Paper’s a safe way to go.”

  “When can I get it to you?”

  “Are you working this weekend?” Maldonado asked.

  “Tomorrow, no, Sunday, yes.”

  “I’ve got a community affairs breakfast tomorrow with local veterans in the morning and meetings after that, but I can be there between five and five-thirty if that works for you.”

  “I’ll be here, Ray.”

  “By the way,” Maldonado said, “you saved me a phone call. We recently got some interesting information about Elliot Hayden.” After a brief pause, he added, “Interesting and confusing.”

  Sean’s eyes narrowed in curiosity. “What’s up with Elliot?”

  “Do you remember where Hayden told you he was the night of Ms. Franklin’s murder? That he couldn’t go with Martin to the Laker game because of a charity affair?”

  “Now that you reminded me. What about it?”

  “Yes, there was the event that night, that part of the story checked out. But what he didn’t tell you is that he left before dinner, claiming he didn’t feel well.”

  Sean stared into the nothingness of the blank beige wall across from him, trying to remember the details of his conversation with Elliot from months before. He didn’t recall that part of the explanation. “It seems strange that he wouldn’t mention that,” he remarked. “Especially when most of the night wasn’t even spent at the party.”

  “I agree,” Maldonado said.

  Sean closed his eyes and slid his hand down his face in disbelief. “We agree on it, Ray, but I know where you’re sniffing with this, and you’re on the wrong track. He’s gay!”

  An audible exhale followed. “How many times have you seen television reporters interviewing neighbors of some killer after he was shot dead or captured, and all they can say is what a nice, sweet person he seemed to be, how he always said hello, and they had no idea, et cetera, et cetera.”

  “Sorry, but I’m not convinced.”

  “All I’m saying is things aren’t always as they appear.”

  “Well, you better send the patrol cars tomorrow,” Sean said, a sudden weariness overtaking him, “because Elliot ‘Serial Killer’ Hayden will be here with his boyfriend in the morning.”

  A lengthy pause followed.

  “Your sarcasm aside,” Maldonado said, his tone brusque and resentful, “you need to find out where the fuck he went after he left the party that night. That’s a valuable piece of information gone missing, don’t you think?”

  Sean remained silent, his mental fatigue ratcheting up too fast to reply.

  “See you tomorrow, Sean.”

  Nursing his way through a second glass of Johnny Walker in the semidarkness of the room, Sean reflected on his conversation with Maldonado as the muted strains of Joe Bonamassa’s blues guitar provided a comforting soundtrack to work through the muddled landscape of his confusion. The obvious conundrum of Elliot’s involvement, a man whose homosexuality and love for another man seemed genuine, created a new, unexpected puzzle. By omitting the part about leaving the party early, did this really legitimize the possibility of his involvement? Or did the frustration and desperation of all these fruitless months make this seem a bigger deal than the situation warranted?

  Sean stared into his glass, feeling heavy-lidded and light-headed from the booze. He snorted a gust of air, chuckling at the ridiculousness of his paranoia kicking into overdrive from his conversation with Maldonado. Closing his eyes, he leaned back and placed his elbow on the top of the cushion, pinching the bridge of his nose as exhaustion enveloped him. He thought of Jenny, and his wish to move on and make her a bigger part of his life. She’d been the inspiration behind his invitation to Martin and the desire to upgrade his dated home with modern lighting. Elliot asked if he could tag along, and until Maldonado’s unsettling disclosure, the man’s presence meant nothing more than the likelihood of preparing an extra cup of coffee. Now he hoped to get the chance to talk with him alone.

  Still dubious at the idea of any culpability on Elliot’s part, Sean’s thoughts took a sharp turn, focusing on the irony of how things transpired with “Looking Glass,” and his concession about the value of the Wally’s Window Wipes earnings he’d received. Having already paid off his five-thousand-dollar debt to David’s firm, allowing the anonymous donati
on for Kayleigh’s procedure, his latest check provided the means to move ahead with the long-overdue home lighting upgrade.

  Rising to his feet, he noticed the Boyd’s Electronics booklet protruding from the split between the cushion and the armrest of the couch. Grasping the corner, he tossed it on the table before crossing over to Merissa’s picture by the door. But it wasn’t the photo captivating his unwavering Johnny Walker gaze--it was something he’d placed there before his first drink. Squinting through the lens of alcohol and mystery, he stared for a long while into the eyes of the Jack of Hearts, searching for clues, listening for whispers, waiting for answers.

  He yawned, held his eyes closed for several seconds, and rubbed his face as if washing it with a small towel. Throwing one more dart glance at the Jack of Hearts, he turned away and yawned again, comforted in the knowledge that the nearness of sleep offered one sure escape from his growing assemblage of doubt and confusion. He reflected on what Maldonado mentioned about things not always appearing as they seem, shaking his head at the bitter irony that “Looking Glass,” a song written almost twenty-four years earlier, echoed a similar sentiment. In a subdued tone, he sang the first two lines. “Can we ever trust our point of view, when what seemed real is far from true?”

  Approaching the light switch, he gazed at the black screen of the television and thought of Kayleigh. For her, tonight offered another example, albeit different and innocent, of things not always appearing as they seem. With the Piston victory, there went her belief in the Lakers’ chances for an undefeated season.

  Chapter 36

  A slight chill accompanied the gray slathered mid-morning sky as Sean opened the door for Elliot and Martin. Elliot’s usual stylish attire exemplified the perfect LA chic pairing to his equally debonair boyfriend, Martin, dressed in charcoal gray slacks, black and silver designer sneakers, red and black plaid buttoned down shirt, black corduroy jacket, and red cashmere scarf hanging down the front of both shoulders. Although Sean’s late autumn preference remained an old pair of jeans with broken-in sneakers and a flannel shirt, he acknowledged the appeal of a sharp-dressed man. Two gay guys weren’t what ZZ Top had in mind with their classic tribute, but the corner of Elegant and Refined has always been located in a neighborhood welcoming all sexual preferences.

  Closing the door as they entered the house, he nodded his head and extended his hands out with palms up.

  “Eleven o’clock on a Saturday and you guys are dressed for a party in Beverly Hills,” he said. “You take a wrong turn or something?”

  Elliot laughed. “It’s funny you say that,” he replied. “For some reason I drew a blank and forgot where your house was. I had to call Marty for help and he met me down the street.”

  “You came in separate cars?” Sean asked.

  “Elliot’s meeting with some new family members at the Center, so with great difficulty, I’ll pass on that excitement,” Martin explained, rolling his eyes.

  Shaking his head at Martin, Elliot blew into his hands as he looked back at Sean. “You almost got it right about going to Beverly Hills. We’re invited to a birthday party in West Hollywood for a dear friend of mine, so you’re just a few miles off.”

  “I wish we had a dog, Elliot,” Martin said, giving Hendrix a final few head scratches before rising to his feet.

  “We’ve talked about this Marty. It would be unfair to the poor thing if neither of us are home so much of the time.”

  “I know, I know,” Martin said, nodding. “I’m just not a cat person as much as you are.”

  “Just don’t let Princess hear you say that.” Looking at Sean, Elliot explained, “Princess is our Abyssinian cat.”

  “Would you guys like some coffee?”

  “That sounds divine,” Elliot replied, rubbing his hands together.

  “Your brochure’s on that table over there, Martin. Let’s get the coffee and talk some lighting.”

  As he turned and headed for the kitchen, he heard Martin say, “You’re only fifty-one cards short, Sean.”

  Looking back over his shoulder, Sean stared in alarm as Martin flashed a silly grin, pointing toward the Jack of Hearts.

  “Don’t touch it!”

  Martin lurched back with a startled expression, throwing both hands in the air as if the victim of a holdup. “Okay, okay.”

  Observing their confused looks, Sean scrambled for a plausible fabrication, intent on avoiding any discussion of Merissa’s murder, in particular the personal, heartbreaking reason for the original discovery of the card. Speaking in a slow, deliberate manner, he formulated a story.

  “Sorry for shouting at you, Martin, but someone broke into my house a few weeks ago, and I found that Jack of Hearts under my bed yesterday. I don’t even own a deck of cards, so I figured I should call Detective Maldonado. He’s coming to get it so they can check for fingerprints.” Sean initially glanced at Martin as he answered, but studied Elliot’s expression to gauge his reaction. A slight opening of the mouth and widening of his eyes seemed to suggest his belief in the manufactured story.

  Returning from the kitchen with their coffee, Sean placed his cup on the table and glanced for the first time at the page left open by Kayleigh from the night before. Photos of various security cameras, their model numbers exhibited under each one, appeared on the page.

  “Those are some of the best security cameras on the market,” Martin said.

  “Getting something for our library is long overdue, Marty,” Elliot told him, leaning forward from Martin’s other side. “We’ve been lucky so far, but that neighborhood has problems, especially at night.”

  Sean didn’t look up, his eyes scanning the various devices resembling futuristic objects out of Star Trek--cameras similar to ones he saw at Parkview Condominiums. “And here I thought you only did basic home stuff,” he remarked.

  “We’re a full-service company,” Martin explained. “And security installations are the fastest growing part of our business. Not just homes, but schools, apartments, condominiums, office buildings, interior, exterior, you name it.”

  “It’s good news and bad news as far as I’m concerned,” Elliot said. “The good news is Marty’s business is doing very well and all of his hard work is paying off. The bad news is he’s so busy nowadays that I hardly see him.”

  Reaching over toward Elliot, Martin smiled and stroked his cheek. “Just a busy time right now,” he said.

  Elliot grabbed Martin’s hand and held it to his face. “I just miss you, Marty.”

  Martin returned his attention to Sean. “The first time I came here I noticed your house wasn’t protected. Maybe you’ll consider doing something now that you’ve had that break-in.”

  Sean remained silent with his head down, his thoughts stuck in a muck of confused contemplation. Should I ask him or not? Yes...No...Yes...No...Yes...Yes!

  “Did you install the security cameras at Parkway Condominiums?” he asked. Lifting his head from the pages, he looked at Martin. “I went there a couple of weeks ago on Merissa’s birthday--October thirtieth. Just to walk around and remember her, you know? Reflect on the good times. I wasn’t aware they have a new security system with a guard shack and cameras all over the place.” Pointing toward a couple of them on the page, he added, “These two look like the ones I saw.”

  Martin glanced at Elliot before offering Sean a tight-lipped smile. Looking at Elliot again, he remained silent.

  Elliot reached for Martin’s hand and squeezed it before taking a sip of coffee and turning toward Sean. “I helped get that contract for Marty shortly before Merissa was killed,” he said. “His workload was getting to be too much for him and the deadline was looming. Two other companies had already submitted their bids, and Merissa was the one in charge.” Elliot looked at Martin, nodded his head, and stared back at Sean. “Marty came to me for help because of my relationship with her. We turned the proposal in just in time and, through her efforts, the board awarded Boyd’s Electronics the contract.”

  Sea
n lowered his eyes back toward the brochure. “Looks like you did a pretty thorough job over there, Martin.”

  Martin lowered his cup to his lap. “Look at me please, Sean.”

  Doing as requested, Sean looked up and observed a slight mist in Martin’s eyes.

  “I didn’t expect to ever have this conversation,” he said. “But now that it’s out there, now that you know, I can tell you not a day went by where I didn’t think about that terrible--” Martin swallowed hard and rubbed his hand back and forth across his forehead as he looked away. “And how I wished that our system, or something like it, had been in place before that night. We’ll never know, but maybe it could have made the difference.”

  As Martin turned away, gazing at the floor and running his finger around the rim of his cup in slow, continuous circles, Sean allowed himself a chance to focus on the once cherished specifics of Merissa’s fading memory; the soothing, feminine sound of her voice, the joy he derived from her laugh, the look and feel of her naked body, the escapist pleasure of her companionship--and it saddened him to think that life worked this way. As the passage of time diminishes memories, sometimes it’s a blessing for one’s sanity, other times, a sorrowful, regretful reality.

  Silence between the three of them ensued for several long moments.

  “Marty,” Elliot said, grasping his hand again, “maybe it’s best for the two of you to talk about your products another day.” He looked at Sean. “Your call, Sean. After this conversation, if you don’t feel up to it, it’s understandable, okay?”

  Sean took a deep breath, held it in as if it aided his judgment, and then exhaled in a hushed flow of decision-making. After this sad, what-could-have-been reminder of Merissa, he realized Elliot’s suggestion made sense. The thought of discussing recessed lighting and ceiling fans took on a sudden disinterest, even more, a vicious irrelevancy. Reaching down to close the booklet, his hair dangling in partial blockage of his vision, he held the strands back with his other hand, making a quick mental note to call for a haircut appointment with Dino.