Hunting for Hemingway

by Diane Gilbert Madsen

  "Bye, you two," I said, wanting to get Mitch Sinclair out of there. I still couldn't be positive he wasn't ripping off Barry, but seeing as he'd been with Glendy and Lucille for the past hour, I was certain he wasn't the one who'd hit me on the L-train stairs.

  We walked down the hall to my door and waited until Glendy and Lucille, reluctantly, closed theirs.

  He handed me a small box of Godivas. "The flowers were for you, too, to make up for last night. But I couldn't resist giving them to the twins. They're really pretty special, aren't they?"

  "Look, it was nice of you to come and the flowers and chocolates and all," I said, unlocking my door. "And don't get me wrong, I appreciate it."

  "Aren't you going to ask me in?"

  "I've had another rotten day. I just want to go to bed."

  "Do you always go to bed so early? What happened to our truce?" he asked gently, looking into my eyes.

  Overtired and despondent, I wanted to agree. Could I take the risk? He was so damn handsome, standing there, trying to be nice. I felt a little like I was betraying Scotty, but in another way he was so much like Scotty, I couldn't help but be attracted to him. I wanted to say yes. But I said nothing, and I said it for much too long.

  He shook his head. "Frankly I don't even know why I bother with you. I took time tonight from a big job I'm wrapping up with Barry to see you." He turned and walked away.

  "Wait," I called after his handsome back.

  He stopped but didn't turn around.

  "My apartment got burgled yesterday. That's why I didn't invite you in." I kicked my door wide open. "I think it might have something to do with that murder case I'm working on, and I don't want to get you involved. It could be dangerous. Please try to understand."

  Mitch came back. His soft brown eyes were guileless as he surveyed the apartment.

  "The girls told me, but I didn't want to pry. How can you be sure this isn't connected to what you're trying to do for Barry. Maybe it's not your other case."

  "No. I'm sure the same somebody who did this to me did it to somebody else, too."

  "What were they looking for?"

  "I think you probably can guess. It's all over the newspapers, TV, and the Internet. The Hemingway papers. Somebody thinks I've got the Hemingway papers."

  "Wow." He stepped in and I shut the door. My apartment was still the same mess as when I'd left this morning.

  "I'm going to ask you one question, DD. Do you have the Hemingway papers?"

  "At least you didn't ask me if I killed David. Almost everyone else has." I sat down and signed deeply.

  "About the papers. No, I don't have them. And I don't know who has them or where they are. David had a lawyer-somebody named Mike Ekins, I think, was his name. One of the attorney firms I'm working for is contacting him. Hopefully David told him where they are, but I'm not sure."

  "Why wouldn't his attorney know?"

  "David was being really cautious with the original materials. He told me he didn't trust anyone. I thought I might get some answers from a certain computer, but it wouldn't even turn on."

  "What computer?"

  "David's laptop. I turned it on, but it was just snow."

  "Well, today's your lucky day. You know I'm the expert on computers. Let me help you."

  "Thanks, but I can't..."

  "Don't say no, DD. Let me help. I'm being very selfish. The sooner you clear this up, the sooner you can go to work on Barry's problem full time. I can't convince him to drop you from the case, so I figure I better join you."

  Maybe Mitch was right. I decided to accept his help. "Okay, if you're really game. I need a look at what's in David's laptop, but my car's laid up. Could you drive me to City College?" I didn't tell him the computer was in a room sealed off by the police. The truth and nothing but the truth. Just not the whole truth.

  We walked down three flights and out of the lobby into the humid evening air.

  "It's hazy, but you can just see the big dipper right there," Mitch pointed as he unlocked a dark green Jaguar, parked right in front of my building.

  "Great car," I said, running my fingers along its curvy front fender and admiring its sleek rear end. I wondered if it was true that you are what you drive-like Sanpaku, you are what you eat.

  "However did you get this parking space?" I asked him. "I've been here over three years, but the closest I've ever parked is a block away."

  "This car's a company vehicle, and it's always lucky about parking spaces." He smiled and turned the air on full blast as we got in. I gave him directions, and he pulled into traffic.

  "Give me the lowdown on what you need from this computer, so I can plan what to do when we get there."

  He was a good, fast driver, and his clean, masculine scent mixed with that of the car. I decided to tell him everything, and left out only the parts about the "no entry, crime scene" tape across David's door and the fact that we were going to commit not only breaking and entering, but burglary as well. Or was it grand theft? Maybe I should be seriously thinking about a career in criminal law.

  When we reached City College, he skillfully guided the Jaguar into a parking space near the entrance.

  "See what I mean?" Mitch smiled. "This car always finds a good spot to park."

  He held the door open and waited for me to get out. I was having a sudden attack of conscience. I wasn't sure why I'd involved him in this. Even though I suspected he might be ripping off Barry, in my heart I was hoping madly he wasn't the one. In spite of our earlier spats and differences of opinion, I was strongly attracted to him. And Cavalier liked him, and I tend to rely on his cat-stincts. But if this caper went wrong, Mitch could be facing real problems. I saw myself having to tell Barry what happened. Worse yet, telling my Aunt Elizabeth, who would definitely not approve of breaking and entering. "Life's a test, DD," she's always telling me. "And you're failing it." But we were here now, and I did want that laptop.

  "Thanks," I said and slid out.

  The clock on the first floor read nine p.m., consistent with the quiet corridors and the scattered students quietly milling around. Once again there was no security and we entered without challenge. The air conditioning had apparently been fixed, and as we retraced the route to David's office, the halls weren't nearly as uncomfortable.

  "It smells awful in here," Mitch said.

  "Yeah, they've had problems with the air conditioning," I explained as we approached target. The yellow "Police Line-Do Not Cross" tape was still strung across the door.

  "Wait" Mitch grabbed my arm and pointed at the tape. "We can't go in here, DD."

  Houdini-like, I unfastened the tape and unlocked the door faster than he could say illegal. I pulled him in and closed the door.

  The mass of paper was gone. Everything was now spotless, all traces of David's existence wiped clean from what had once been his domain, neatened no doubt as an act of respect for the dead.

  "I don't like this, DD. I might be able to talk my way out of this if we get caught. But with your connections with this case, they'll put you in jail and throw away the key."

  "Maybe. Maybe not" I turned on the computer. "I'm sorry you're involved. But I've got to see what's in here." The laptop beeped loudly as it tried unsuccessfully to boot itself up. Mitch and I looked warily at each other as the screen on the monitor dissolved into a snowy static, just as it had done before.

  "See what I mean," I said as Mitch bent over and fiddled with the keyboard.

  "I could fix this," Mitch said.

  "Really? Then let's go." I turned off the computer and closed it.

  "What are you doing?" Mitch asked as I handed him the laptop.

  "Just take it." I ordered. "Let's get out of here."

  "You can't do this, DD. This is nuts," he insisted. "We'll get caught. They'll throw away the key on both of us."

  I pulled him out the door and closed it. Then I refastened the tape. Mitch rolled his eyes and said, "I'm calmly planning what to say in my one phone call after the ar
rest."

  "If we get out of here in under ten seconds, we're definitely going to make it. Don't worry, I've already got a lawyer on retainer that we can both use."

  "What about the cameras in the parking lot?"

  "They can't identify the computer from those cameras. They're too fuzzy. Anyway, almost everybody who comes in and goes out is carrying one. How are they going to know it's us?"

  "Are you a Catholic, DD?" he asked softly as he trudged gamely alongside me down the corridor, carrying the prize.

  "I'm not, but what does that have to do with anything?"

  "If you were, your penance would be Hail Mary's twenty-four seven from now to the end of your natural life."

  We hurried to his car without looking back.

  TWENTY-NINE

  THE COMPUTER SAT NEATLY In the backseat of Mitch's Jaguar on the way back to my place.

  "I can't believe I helped you hijack this thing," he said for the second time.

  "I'm shocked at your complicity, too"

  "I don't know why, DD, but I like you. I like you a lot, and I'm beginning to see why Barry thinks you're so special. But this isn't a joking matter if we get caught. Stealing from a government office is a felony."

  "The City College is only quasi-governmental;" I corrected him. "So it's only a quasi-felony."

  "See what I mean? I suppose you'll wisecrack the Angel Gabriel when your time comes."

  Mitch's cell phone rang. As he fished for it, mine rang too. I grabbed it and said hello, only to realize I was hearing Mitch's conversation through the Cell Spy Pro software. All the jostling in my purse must have put my phone on ring. I mumbled a few words, and listened shamelessly in on both sides of the conversation. It was Herman at Barry's office calling. He needed to check a figure with Mitch, who promptly gave him the answer off the top of his head. Herman said thanks, and they hung up. It didn't sound suspicious to me. I mumbled a few things into the dead phone, then said goodbye and hung up too.

  I was glad the call hadn't incriminated Mitch. I smiled at him and started to put my cell back into my purse when it rang again. This time it wasn't the Cell Spy Pro doing the calling. It was Karl Patrick. And he told me that David's attorney, Mike Ekins, had just been found dead in his garage of carbon monoxide poisoning.

  "I gotta go now," Karl said. "But I want you to promise me you'll be careful. I think you're in danger, too. Do you have someone you can call?"

  "I'll be fine. Thanks for letting me know. Bye."

  "Who was that?" Mitch asked.

  "That was my attorney, Karl Patrick."

  "Oh, does he call you every couple of hours to see if you're in jail?" he laughed.

  "He said that they found David's attorney dead in his garage."

  "Oh, sorry, DD." He frowned. "What was it? Not a heart attack. Suicide? Murder?"

  "They don't know yet. Carbon monoxide, and Karl suspects murder. He thinks I'm on the list."

  "With all this stuff happening to you, I wouldn't be surprised if you are.

  I was going to say something smart-alecky to relieve the tension, but I heard a siren and looked in the rearview mirror. A cop car, mars light flashing, was coming up on us fast.

  I thought of the stolen goods in plain view on the backseat. Surely those rinky cameras didn't pick us up. Or did they? Maybe I was going to need Karl Patrick again today.

  "It can't be us he wants to pull over," I said hoping it was true.

  "Is that a statement or a question?"

  When I didn't reply, he said, "Don't worry. I'm sure you'll have some quasi-amusing lines for this cop."

  Mitch pulled to the side of the road, killed the engine, and stared at me. "Even though you're not Catholic, DD, a prayer might not be out of order right now."

  In the rearview mirror, I saw the cop exit his vehicle, put on his hat, square his shoulders, and adjust the billy-club at his belt.

  "This could be trouble," Mitch said and rolled down his window at the cop's approach. "Yes, Officer? What's the problem?"

  "Show me your license and registration," the officer said, playing a flashlight around the car. His name badge read Weinberg, and he was going by the book.

  "Look in the glove compartment for the registration, will you, DD?" Mitch asked while Officer Weinberg was busy illuminating the laptop in the backseat with his high-power beam.

  Mitch handed his license to the cop.

  Officer Weinberg reattached the flashlight to his belt as he grabbed it.

  "Ouch," he yelled, holding up his finger. "I'm bleeding. That damn license cut me." He scowled at Mitch.

  Remembering the teeth marks Cavvy had left on the license the first night I met Mitch, I leaned toward the open window and interjected: "Oh, sorry, Officer. My cat did that."

  "So her cat drives your car? Probably uses the computer, too. All right sir. Step out of the car."

  Mitch glanced at me as Weinberg pulled open the door and motioned him to exit.

  "What am I supposed to have done, Officer?" Mitch asked, getting out.

  "First of all, you made an illegal left turn back there on Broadway. Second, you got some explaining to do about a few things that don't seem right."

  I continued searching frantically for the registration card in the glove compartment, praying Mitch wouldn't say anything about breaking and entering.

  "I'm gonna have to ask you to do a field sobriety test. I think maybe you and the cat lady over there's been drinking. Drinking and driving is one big no-no."

  "Officer, I didn't-"

  "Have you taken this test before?"

  "Well, no, but I-"

  "Then walk this line, sir."

  "Believe me officer, I-"

  "Are you refusing to take this test, sir?"

  "No. I'll do it," I heard Mitch reply.

  "Okay, that's good," Officer Weinberg said, watching Mitch walk the line in perfect order. Meanwhile I located the registration card and jumped out of the car to join them.

  The cop was saying, "Now about that laptop in the back seat. Is it yours?"

  "Here's the vehicle registration, Officer." I shoved the card into his hands, hoping to divert him before Mitch could answer and say it wasn't his. But I was too late.

  "It's really very simple," Mitch began. "You see, we were..."

  Mitch grabbed his leg where I'd kicked him and glared at me. I pressed my lips together, signaling him to keep quiet.

  "I see this vehicle's registered to a company," Officer Weinberg said. "We don't see many company cars that are luxury Jaguars. What kind of company is it? Computer Solutions, Inc. Never heard of it."

  "They do computer repairs," I offered. "They're one of the leaders in the industry."

  "Is that right? And this laptop is company equipment?" he asked, shining the flashlight again in the back eat.

  "That's correct, Officer."

  "Mind if I search the rest of the car?"

  Mitch pressed his key fob and popped open the trunk. "Be my guest."

  His trunk was loaded with books, printouts, a thick briefcase, and a mass of assorted cables and computer spare parts. My head swam when I saw the title of one of the books: Nine Aspects of Boolean Algebra.

  Officer Weinberg appeared equally dispirited. "Okay, close it. There's nothing here that doesn't tie in with what you've told me. And you passed the sobriety test. You're not drunk, but you're acting strange, and you did make an illegal left turn back there on Broadway."

  "I'm not too familiar with this area, Officer. It's her fault," he pointed at me. "She was giving me directions."

  "Wait a minute. I don't remember any No Left Turn sign," I defended myself.

  "Well, uh." Officer Weinberg swallowed hard, and I sensed a gaping hole in his case.

  "I've lived here all my life," I went on, "and I've never seen a sign there."

  "Yeah, well, you've got a point. Those crazy right wing students at Northwestern University are always stealing it. If we put one up, they take it down. Must be some kind of collec
tor's item. But that doesn't excuse what you did. It's real dangerous, and you were driving erratic. That's why I gave you the field sobriety test. You need to watch yourself and not act stupid again."

  "Yes, Officer," Mitch said.

  "I'm gonna let you off with a warning. But the next time somebody stops you, it could wind up costing you five or six hundred bucks. That is, if you haven't killed somebody by then. Here," he returned the license and registration to Mitch. "And get that license fixed up before it really hurts somebody. You two be careful now."

  We went back to the Jaguar, keeping our eyes on Officer Weinberg, afraid he was going to change his mind and haul us away in cuffs. But Weinberg threw his hat into the front seat, jumped in, shut off the mars light, and pulled away before we could say, "that " was a close call."

  I sense you have a knack for finding someone's weak spot," Mitch said, his nice brown eyes laughing, at least a little. "Why does that make me worry?" he asked as we buckled up and the Jaguar engine purred into action.

  I smiled. "Getting a lecture from that cop definitely beat getting a ticket."

  "By a very big margin," he agreed, smiling back.

  THIRTY

  THE POWERFUL JAGUAR EASED into a parking spot across from my building. Mitch got out and opened the rear door to remove the computer from the backseat.

  I got out and closed the car door. As I turned to step around the car onto the curb, Mitch grabbed me and lifted me off my feet. My blouse ripped loudly, and my purse dropped into the street. I fell on top of Mitch and saw a dark car speed past, running over my purse. It had missed me by millimeters.

  "Jeez," Mitch said, as we regained our balance. "That was close. He came out of nowhere. Are you okay?"

  I tried to stand on my own, but my legs were rubbery. "What the hell just happened?"

  He picked up my purse. "Here, lean against me," he said, tightening his arm. "That damn fool was speeding, and he didn't have his lights on. You're still trembling," he said, holding me gently but firmly.

  "You saved my life," I said, looking into his strong face and tingling at his touch. If it hadn't been such a dangerous moment, it might have been fun.