Writing a Wrong

by Betty Hechtman

The detective wore a dark suit with a fit that said it had been bought off the rack with no alterations. I guessed the material was synthetic that fought off stains and refused to wrinkle. His dark hair had a touch of gray and was cut in a no-fuss short style. In other words, he looked like what he was, and I was pretty sure everyone in the place had it figured out.

  I could only imagine what they thought I was. I was probably around twenty years younger and, since I hadn’t expected to have any professional encounters, was dressed in leggings, a sweatshirt and sneakers with a down jacket on top.

  He led the way to a table in a corner with a window that looked out on the street and went to get the drinks. I was left with a few minutes to think about what I was going to say. I was a very bad liar. I could leave something out or put a spin on the truth to make it sound better, but if asked a direct question, I had a hard time doing anything but telling the truth.

  He returned with two cups of coffee. ‘You drink yours black, right?’ he said holding out one of the cups. I nodded and took it from him. He took his back to the counter to doctor it up.

  He noticed me looking at the light beige color of his drink as he poured in two packets of sugar. ‘Otherwise it has no nutritional value,’ he said with a half-smile.

  He slid into the seat across from me and didn’t say anything more.

  It was making me nervous and I knew I should wait for him to say something, but I couldn’t help it. ‘So how does this go? Are you going to ask me questions?’ I said.

  ‘I don’t know if they’re questions exactly. I was thinking more of like talking over things. You mentioned that you wrote letters for Mr Roberts. I know you said they were of a romantic nature, but I was wondering if you could tell me more about them. To begin with, who were they to?’

  He’d already asked me that the first time we met. Was he trying to see if I gave a different answer? I shrugged. ‘Like I told you before, I don’t know. He never used her name. It was always something like “dearest” or “my angel”.’

  ‘He must have told you something about her,’ he said.

  ‘No.’ I was going to leave it at that, but I couldn’t help myself and started explaining that it wasn’t the way I usually worked.

  ‘Then why did you agree to it?’

  ‘In my business, the client is the boss. If he was OK with non-specific letters, who was I to object?’

  ‘Did he ask for anything in them?’

  ‘Why all the questions about the letters? I thought they didn’t matter. That he interrupted a burglary and was stabbed by the burglar.’

  He seemed surprised. ‘Where did you hear that?’

  I didn’t want to tell him about Ben. ‘It’s just the word on the street,’ I said. ‘Everybody knows everything that happens in this neighborhood.’

  ‘Well, they shouldn’t know that. It wasn’t meant to be made public. Anyway, we’re not so sure that’s what happened. You probably know that most murders happen between people who know each other, seeing that you write mysteries. We’re just checking around to find out about people he was involved with,’ he said. He was all friendly smiles now, which made me even more sure he was trying to do what that cop at the conference had talked about.

  I hated to think that the letters I’d written were involved, but I really had nothing to hide. When I didn’t seem to be answering, he rephrased his question. ‘Were there any requests in the letters?’

  ‘Indirectly I suppose, he was asking for the woman’s love.’

  The detective closed his eyes for a moment and was clearly not happy with my answer.

  I probably shouldn’t have, but I began to volunteer information. I explained that Ted had told me he traveled a lot and he was afraid his lady friend was going to break up with him. The letters were meant to make her feel valued when he wasn’t around.

  ‘Where’d he go?’ the detective asked and I shrugged.

  ‘He never told me. He just wanted me to come up with lovey-dovey words,’ I said. I was itching to ask him about Rita Sandusky now that I knew Ted had been living with her and she was the one who found his body. What had she told him when he questioned her? Did he ask her about the letters? And I wanted to ask him who the woman with the red scarf was. But I knew there was no chance he’d tell me anything.

  ‘Did he owe you money?’ the detective said.

  ‘A little bit,’ I said. The detective had touched a sore spot, but I wasn’t about to admit it and let him think I had an issue with Ted. ‘I figured he was going to pay me when we were done with the letters,’ I said, keeping my tone light.

  ‘And when was that going to be?’

  ‘We didn’t exactly talk about it, but I thought when he’d achieved his goal.’

  Detective Jankowski sat forward and had a gleam in his eye, as if he was going in for the kill.

  ‘And that goal was?’

  ‘He talked about her making a commitment. I figured he meant that they’d get married.’

  The detective seemed disappointed. ‘It would probably help if I could see them. Can I see them?’ I got it. He was asking because he couldn’t demand them without a search warrant.

  I took a moment to answer. I didn’t want to be too abrupt, but I didn’t want to leave any doubt to my answer either. ‘I’d rather not,’ I said finally.

  His bland expression flashed a moment of annoyance and he took a sip of his coffee to cover it.

  ‘Then I guess we’re done … for now,’ he said. He emphasized the for now and it was obvious he was trying to intimidate me, and maybe to imply that I was a person of interest, which was just another way of saying suspect.

  All this had taken so long, there was no time to go home and spruce up my look to meet the potential client that Tizzy had talked about. I wasn’t surprised that they’d changed their mind about the randomness of Ted’s death, but I also wasn’t happy about it, since it seemed to have pulled me into it. I began to think about everything I didn’t know about Ted. Why did he travel so much? Did he have a profession? What about Rita? It made sense that the letters were meant for her. I was so lost in thought I barely noticed the walk to meet Tizzy.

  I entered the campus through the Gothic-style gateway on 57th, which led directly to my favorite spot. Botany Pond was nestled next to an ivy-covered gray stone building. It had recently been refilled after being mostly drained for the winter, and it was coming back to life. A sweet little curved bridge went over a narrow portion of it and seemed like something out of a fairy tale. I’d spent many hours hanging over the side of it, watching goldfish swim by. I loved the fan-shaped leaves of the ginko tree that grew at one end of the small body of water. It was always my first stop whenever there’d been a leaf-collecting project for school. Right now, the lily pads looked a little sad and the bushes around the perimeter were bare, but soon there’d be blossoms, leaves and baby ducks swimming behind their mother.

  The campus was a big square divided into small squares called quadrangles. It had been like my backyard growing up. After my mother died, I’d gone to my father’s office after school and done my homework while he taught a class or met with students. I’d spent many a happy hour wandering through the quadrangles as a kid.

  But oddly enough I hadn’t been a student there. It was too familiar, too close to home, so when it came to college, I’d gone downtown to Roosevelt University.

  Classes must have been in session because there were only a scattering of students walking toward me as I crossed through the large center area. Squirrels skittered across the ground. A particularly frisky one rushed up to me and got on its hind legs, begging for a treat. I used to always carry some nuts in my pocket for them. All I could do was offer the gray creature an apology and promise of next time.

  The door to Tizzy’s office was open and she was staring at a computer screen. She looked up as I came in and her face became animated. ‘Sit, sit,’ she said, pointing to a chair next to her desk. She left whatever she was working on and turned her attention
to me. ‘No one’s here, so we can talk.’

  I knew how it went with Tizzy and, before we got enmeshed in conversation, I wanted to ask her about Rita Sandusky.

  Tizzy let the name roll around her mind for a moment before she answered. ‘No. The name isn’t familiar. Who is she?’

  I told her what little I knew.

  ‘So she was the dreamboat’s girlfriend,’ Tizzy said.

  ‘I think so. It appears they were living together.’

  ‘That high-rise building,’ she said, shaking her head with distaste. ‘Have you seen how it towers over everything around it?’ She did a few minutes on the style and the placement of the building before stopping herself abruptly. ‘I do go on,’ she said with a laugh. ‘I’d much rather know what you wanted to talk to Laurel about?’ she asked.

  I chuckled to myself. I was seeing firsthand how Tizzy gathered her information.

  ‘I’m doing some work for Handelman’s Children’s Shoes,’ I said. She nodded in understanding before taking off on Emily and Lewis and how they’d been friends with her kids. ‘I hope you can help them keep that store going.’ She went off on a tangent about how the flavor of the neighborhood came from having small individual businesses compared with the sameness of chain stores. Something popped up on her computer screen and she glanced at it before turning back to me. ‘Laurel’s had something on her mind lately. I’ve known her for years. I tried to get her to talk about it, but she just changed the subject. I thought maybe it came up in your conversation with her.’

  ‘Mostly, we just talked about the shoe store,’ I said.

  ‘I think it has something to do with a man she was seeing,’ Tizzy said. ‘She stopped talking about him a while ago. I don’t think she has the best sense about men. Her focus was always on her career. You know, she’s a very successful jewelry designer,’ Tizzy said, looking to me for acknowledgment.

  ‘I knew she was a jewelry designer.’

  ‘She never seemed to have time for a relationship. She even joked that her only social life came from all the neighborhood committees she was on. And then she got involved with this guy. I never met him and, from what I gathered, nobody else around her did either. They were in their own little cocoon. She didn’t say much about him, but she had a sort of glow that said more than words could about their relationship. I did see her scribbling drawings of wedding rings. And then a month or so ago, she suddenly seemed different. The glow was gone and her brows seemed glued into a permanent furrow.’ Tizzy stopped and I thought she’d reached the end, but her eyes lit up as she did a pivot.

  ‘What’s going on with you and Ben? You seem to be spending a lot of time together.’

  ‘It’s just a friend thing,’ I said, figuring I might as well fill her in on what was going on. ‘He’s never talked about his personal life to the writers’ group, but he’s messed up from a divorce and not interested in getting involved with anyone. You know that his sister lives downstairs and I run into him a lot when he visits,’ I said. ‘We realized we could help each other out by being each other’s plus one when we get invited to events or parties.’ I mentioned the engagement party and how it would look if I came alone.

  She nodded with a smile. ‘The queen of romance letters has no romance in her own life. I get it. I’m so grateful for Theo,’ she said, referring to her husband. ‘If you need someone in a pinch, I could lend him out.’ Then she laughed at the idea.

  ‘You were going to give me a lead on a client,’ I said, trying to get the subject off my barren love life.

  ‘Of course, that’s what you’re here for,’ Tizzy said, hitting the side of her head in a gesture of remembering. ‘Her name is Zooey. She was a student here and now she’s running a coffee stand in the food area off of the Reynolds Club. She did the business plan as part of her class work and then decided to make it real. She’s a good kid and it’s a great concept, but I think she needs some help bringing in more steady business.’ Tizzy’s face brightened. ‘I forgot. She lives in that red-brick high-rise. We were talking about neighborhood architecture and apartments like yours and she told me how cramped her studio unit was in comparison.’

  I saw that Tizzy was going off on a tangent again and tried to reel her back into the matter at hand. ‘So she knows what I do and she’s interested?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m sure she will be as soon as you meet her. Don’t worry, I’ll pitch her on your skills. I thought we could go over there now. We could have coffee and strike up a conversation with her.’ She started to get up, but just then her boss walked in. He nodded an acknowledgment at me as if he was used to Tizzy having company, and asked her to come into his office.

  Tizzy looked back at me. ‘I’m sorry, you’ll have to do it yourself.’

  THIRTEEN

  The Reynolds Club was the student activity center and was almost back by Botany Pond. The food area she’d talked about was off to the side of the main building, which housed an auditorium and assorted lounges and meeting rooms. It faced a small quadrangle with a fountain in the middle. In the summer there were umbrella tables outside, but now the paved area was bare except for a number of benches.

  I hadn’t been in the food area lately and was surprised to see it had changed into little boutique stands with some tables and chairs for all of them. There was a vegan burger place, another that featured sub sandwiches, and something called the Pudding Place. There wasn’t a sign over the coffee stand, but the fragrance gave it away, along with the espresso machine on the counter. An odd wooden plank hung over an open area of the counter. When I got closer, I saw that it had a series of holes.

  ‘What can I get started for you?’ the person behind the counter asked. She had a brick-red scarf tied over her hair, and wore a paisley print jumper with a black turtleneck. I guessed she was in her early twenties. Tizzy had said the idea for the coffee place had been part of a school project. She slid a menu across the counter that amounted to a piece of paper in a plastic sleeve. I glanced over the list of drinks. I expected the usual cappuccinos and lattes, but the list included names like Chocodelite and Lost in the Fog followed by a whole list of different coffees and tea blends.

  ‘You’re new. I don’t think I’ve seen you before.’ Her smile broadened. ‘I like to treat my customers like friends, so I try to get to know them.’ She glanced toward the windows. ‘Are you visiting the campus?’

  I laughed. ‘Hardly. I grew up here and my father used to teach English. I live a few blocks away.’ I was still holding the menu.

  ‘Tell me what you like and maybe I can assist you in deciding what you want.’ She did a little bow. ‘Zooey at your service. And you are?’ She smiled at my surprise. ‘I like to call my customers by name.’

  ‘Veronica,’ I said, glancing down at the menu again. I looked over the different coffee offerings. ‘You really have all these?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, but I should explain. I make it a cup at a time.’ To demonstrate, she put a mug under one of the holes in the hanging wood plank and then dropped a filter holder in the hole. ‘I measure the coffee and pour in the hot water and, voilà, you have a cup of French roast or Sumatra or whatever you fancy.’

  ‘What about this Chocodelite?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s the best. You really have to try it to understand what it is,’ she said.

  ‘OK, I’ll try that,’ I said.

  ‘We have treats, too,’ she said pointing to a shelf in a glass case sitting on the counter. Inside there were some cookies and some mugs filled with something. ‘The cookies are great, but the mug cakes are exceptional. They’re made to order and I have chocolate, vanilla and cinnamon coffee cake.’

  ‘You have really managed to come up with something special,’ I said. I instantly liked Zooey and was impressed at how she had created a coffee stand that actually was different.

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ she said, sounding a little deflated.

  I decided to just be straight with her. I told her that Tizzy had sent me. ‘Sh
e mentioned that you might need some help.’ Then I explained what I did.

  ‘Tizzy’s the best,’ she said. ‘She’s always trying to help me.’ She leaned across the counter. ‘She said I need to pull in people from the neighborhood and get some business from people going to the hospital complex.’ She pointed vaguely west to the massive group of hospitals connected to the university that were within walking distance.

  There were several stools pushed under the counter. I pulled one out and sat down, watching as she went through the motions of making the drink.

  I glanced down at the menu again and noticed that she listed the names of the special drinks and the kinds of coffee, but there wasn’t any description. ‘I was just thinking that it would be great if you had a description for each of your drinks.’ I mentioned doing something similar for other food places in the neighborhood.

  Her smile faded and she started to look defensive. ‘I’m sure you’re right. I was in such a rush to open.’ She let out a sigh. ‘And Tizzy was right for sending you here, but I can’t afford anything right now. I get a burst of customers in the morning before their first classes and another bunch of business in the late afternoon when the students and staff need another jolt of caffeine, but I need more of a regular flow. It would be great if people from the neighborhood stopped by, and a game changer if I could get people from the hospital.’ She seemed distressed and I felt for her. And wanted to help her if I could.

  She finished making the drink and handed me the cup. Chocolate froth was piled above the rim of the mug. I took my first sip and got a wonderful mix of flavors: espresso, intense rich hot chocolate with a touch of cinnamon. ‘This is fantastic,’ I said, and she started reeling off how she made it with Mexican chocolate she ground up. I looked around at her little area. She really had come up with a great concept, but it needed some tweaking with the descriptions and some publicity to let everyone in the area know she was there. ‘We could work out a barter deal. I give you copy and you give me coffee,’ I said with a smile.