Writing a Wrong

by Betty Hechtman

  She slid into the seat across from me and then noticed I didn’t have a drink. She rushed off and returned with two glasses of ice water with lemon wedges stuck to the edge.

  ‘I’m on my feet all the day. It’s good to sit for a while,’ she said, pulling out the chair. ‘You’ll have to excuse Rex. Expanding is a big undertaking. His sister is doing a lot, but he sees himself as the big brother who has to take care of things, even though he’s actually the younger of the two.’

  ‘I saw her when I came in. She seemed upset about something.’

  Irma shook her head. ‘She’s been in a snit about something all day. There’s a lot of stress about the expansion. It’s good she finally agreed to the spa day her brother suggested.’

  She handed me a sheet of paper with the names and ingredients of what was on the tray in front of me. And I began to taste while she talked.

  She began with the story I already knew. Jeanne LaPorte had lost her teaching job and as Irma put it ‘turned her spare time into spare change.’ She had started with the chocolate mint cake that was really her trademark and then added some other flavors. Eventually, she outgrew her kitchen and moved to a small storefront. She’d barely gotten set up when her husband died. ‘You can just imagine how scared she was with two kids and now the storefront. That’s where I came in,’ Irma said. ‘I was her first employee and did a little of everything, but it was Rex who really shone. He was only thirteen but became the man of the family. He made all the deliveries and helped his mother with managing the money. He was the one to suggest they add some of his mother’s sandwiches and salads. Cocoa just helped with the baking.’ Irma stopped and her expression dipped. ‘It’s always been hard for Cocoa. She’s always been in the shadow of her mother and her brother. Her mother created all the recipes and Rex ran the place with my help.’

  Irma went off on a tangent about Cocoa. I listened, but there wasn’t much that I could use. It was mostly about how different their lives were. Rex had backup from his family. His son had been working in the place since they were in high school, and his wife filled in whenever it was needed. Cocoa was divorced and her kids had no interest in being part of the place. She oversaw the baking, but there was a little bit of lost soul about her.

  The food chased away the last of the jittery feeling I’d gotten from all that coffee on an empty stomach.

  I scribbled down some notes about the food. There was no problem writing up the vegetarian versions of the salads because it was the background ingredients I needed to describe. The chicken Waldorf salad had crispy apple pieces, slices of celery, California walnut pieces and a creamy dressing. I would just add that there were generous hunks of white-meat chicken when I wrote up the actual description. I called the other one traditional chicken salad with a twist. White-meat chicken with celery and scallions in a mayonnaise sauce with a sprinkling of dried cranberries and slivered California almonds. The comforting warm potato salad had a dressing with the perfect mix of sweet-sour complemented by the smoky taste of applewood bacon. I had to fudge that one a little since the bacon bits didn’t have the taste of real bacon, but like with the ice cream, I remembered the flavor from before I’d become a vegetarian. Irma loved the descriptions.

  ‘Jeanne would definitely approve,’ Irma said.

  ‘Then she’s still living?’ I said.

  ‘They put her out to pasture and set her up at a posh retirement place on Lake Shore Drive. All very nice but not very good, if you know what I mean. She’s accustomed to working and being in the middle of things. I talk to her all the time and she’d come back in a second if they’d let her.’ She dropped her voice and it seemed like she said, ‘If Rex would let her.’

  Irma looked down at my empty plate. ‘We don’t really need a description of this, but you ought to taste it since it’s our trademark.’ She got up and returned with a slice of the chocolate mint cake. I’d had it numerous times before but I wasn’t going to say anything that might convince her I didn’t need to taste it.

  ‘That’s it, the cake that started it all. I don’t even know the recipe. Jeanne wrote it down, but Rex and Cocoa know it by heart anyway, since they both helped her. Cocoa oversees making the dry mix they use to make the cakes.’

  The first taste took me back to kids’ birthday parties as I savored the dense chocolate flavor with the perfect hint of mint. The white buttercream icing was rich and sweet and lick-your-fork delicious. That description was all for me since Irma was convinced they didn’t need it.

  After all I’d eaten, I was glad for the walk home. As I neared my building, I scanned the cars for Detective Jankowski’s black sedan and, as I went up the outside stairs, I glanced in the vestibule to check if he was hanging around waiting to grab me when I came in. It was negative on both counts. Sara didn’t open the door when I went past and I had the feeling Mikey was taking a nap with her sacked out in the chair.

  I checked Rocky’s food and water as soon as I got into my place, realizing I hadn’t checked before I left. My guilt was relieved when I saw that both were close to full. The cat seemed more interested in my company anyway and followed me back to the front. He hung by my chair when I sat at the computer, instead of hopping into the burgundy wing chair.

  I was trying to figure out what he wanted when he jumped into my lap and cuddled against me. He started to purr as I stroked his back. Finally, he stretched out in my lap, freeing up my arms so I could type. I transcribed my notes and then leaned back in the chair for a moment.

  I considered seeing what Derek Streeter was up to, but before I could open the file, something Zooey had said about Ted popped into my mind. She’d said he’d told her he was a pilot. It certainly would give him a reason to be gone a lot. I started searching around on the computer, seeing if I could get confirmation that it was true. I found out that I’d need his birthday to check if he had a pilot’s license. I considered if there was a way I could find it out. I couldn’t imagine how I could bring it up in conversation when I saw Zooey again. And that was assuming she even knew. It seemed I’d reached a dead end.

  My phone pinged and when I looked at it there was an invite from Tizzy. She had gotten into the habit of having a glass of sherry when she got home from work and invited me to join her. I knew what it was really about. She wanted a download of everything I’d found out.

  She lived down the street in what I called a twin house. It probably should be called a conjoined-twin house. The two identical houses shared a common wall between them. I was always fascinated by the different styles of houses in the neighborhood. Hers had two stories and two staircases which was quite common in the local houses. The front staircase was always quite nice and open and the back one narrow, steep and dark. Tizzy greeted me with a hug and took me into what she called the front room, which was accurate – it was in the front part of the house – but to me it was the living room or parlor. A large window looked out on the street and gave her a nice view of what was going on. Her kids were grown and on their own. Theo, the husband she’d offered to lend me, taught English at the downtown university I’d gone to. He was busy working out on his exercise bike in their basement when Tizzy let me in.

  Even though I’m sure she knew the answer, she offered me a glass of sherry. It wasn’t that I didn’t like wine, it was more that it didn’t like me. One sip and I felt uncomfortably fuzzy-headed. If I drank a glass, I’d have trouble finding my way home. Instead, she brought me a small pot of Earl Grey tea. I loved the fragrance of the oil of bergamot as it wafted up.

  ‘Isn’t this nice,’ she said as she sipped her sherry and I my tea. ‘I think it’s a nice transition to the evening. Then it’s dinner and writing time.’

  I thought of the story she’d brought in and repeated how much I liked it, which pleased her. We talked about the rest of the group, but she seemed most interested in talking about Ben. I cut it short and told her there was nothing going on. And after his hasty departure, it was absolutely true.

  ‘Have y
ou spent any more time with Laurel?’ she asked. I knew exactly why she was asking. It really bugged her not knowing whatever was bothering the jewelry designer and aunt of the pair running the shoe store.

  I shook my head and she seemed disappointed. ‘But you’ll tell me whatever you find out when you do,’ she said.

  ‘I’m not so sure her personal life will come up in conversation, since she’s supposed to give me information about the early days of selling kids’ shoes, but yes, I will report back to you.’ To make it up to her, I told her about my second meeting with Zooey. ‘She lives down the hall to where the dreamboat lived and unfortunately died.’ Tizzy leaned in and wanted all the details. I told her everything I knew.

  ‘So he was a pilot for a charter airline,’ Tizzy said. ‘He probably flew out of Midway Airport. That’s where a lot of charters operate.’ She took a sip of her amber wine. ‘I know because we flew private once. One of Theo’s rich relatives arranged it so we could come to a reunion. It is so nice. You can drive right up to the small terminal and then it’s right on the plane with no taking off your shoes and pulling out your computer.’ She looked upward, obviously remembering the moment. ‘And the plane,’ she said. ‘It felt like you were strapped to the back of a bird.’ Her attention went back to me. ‘Sorry, you were talking about a murder and I went off about tiny jets.’

  ‘He claimed to be a pilot, but I’m not so sure. He had several names, after all.’ I told her about trying to check if he had a pilot’s license, but getting thwarted by not having his birthday.

  ‘What would Derek Streeter do if he was trying to find out if someone like that guy was a pilot?’ Tizzy asked.

  I thought about it for a moment. ‘I guess I’d have him go to the airport and talk to people to see what he could find out. The dreamboat kind of stood out, so someone would probably remember him, even if there was some confusion about his name.’

  ‘Well, there you go,’ Tizzy said.

  ‘I should go to the airport and ask around?’ She nodded and I reminded her I didn’t have a car.

  ‘I could give you a lift and be your sidekick.’ Her dark eyes lit up. ‘It would be exciting.’

  I wasn’t sure why I wanted to know if Ted was really a pilot, but I did. Her offer of a ride and coming along pushed it over and I accepted. We agreed to go the next morning.

  ‘How do you manage to get so much time off?’ I asked, thinking of her being at LaPorte’s and then off to another meeting. And her boss hadn’t seemed to object when I was visiting with her in the office.

  Her face lit up in a grin. ‘It’s because I always finish my work, no matter what, and my boss likes to hear all the neighborhood news.’

  SEVENTEEN

  Night was falling as I walked the half-block or so back to my place. I saw Tizzy’s point about how nice it was to have a drink of something at the end of your workday. The only thing for me was that my workday never really ended. The whole conversation with her had inspired me to work on the Derek Streeter manuscript. Why not use what was happening? I dropped my jacket and went right into my office and looked through the last few pages I’d written. It was easy to switch things around a little so that Derek was dealing with someone who had claimed to be a pilot for a charter. Rocky came in and must have sensed that I was deep into what I was doing and didn’t jump in my lap as he’d done earlier, but curled up in the burgundy wing chair instead.

  I had no sense of time passing and was picturing Derek in his trench coat walking out on the tarmac at the airport. Suddenly there was fog and Derek Streeter looked like Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman had shown up and I realized I’d put my detective in a scene from Casablanca. I was so into it that I literally jumped out of my chair when I heard a knock at the front door.

  I pulled myself into focus as I went to answer it, thinking it was Sara looking to borrow something or grab a few minutes of adult talk. My heart did a flip-flop that I attributed to surprise when I saw Ben standing in the doorway.

  He peered past me into the dark apartment. ‘Were you sleeping?’ he asked.

  ‘No, writing,’ I said. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Dinner time,’ he said, holding up a covered dish. ‘Sara sent up some more of the quiche since she said you liked it so much.’

  After his abrupt departure the night before, I wasn’t sure whether I should just take the plate or invite him in. ‘You came for dinner at your sister’s again?’

  ‘She called me and said Mikey was asking for me. The kid does like me, but it seemed a little over the top. Still, I’m a pushover when it comes to him.’ He paused as if measuring his words. ‘We had dinner and the next thing I knew she was pushing this quiche on me, telling me to take it up to you.’ He was holding the covered plate up, waiter-style.

  I decided it was probably best to just take the plate and let him leave, but when I went to take it from him he pulled his arm back. ‘I have specific instructions that I’m supposed to stay while you eat it and then bring her plate back.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, knowing full well what was going on. Despite what I’d said to Sara when I dropped the plate off on my way out, she’d sensed that something had happened between Ben and me. This was her way of trying to fix it. There was no point in fighting it, so I invited him in, though I made him wait while I turned on some lights. There was something different about him. He seemed reserved again and had almost gone back to his neutral cop face. The dancing really must have traumatized him. He’d made it clear that he wasn’t ready for a relationship, and the plan to be each other’s plus one and then the slow dance must have made him feel he was being pushed into something.

  I was absolutely not the needy type, nor the type who saw being rejected as a challenge to try to win the person over. Most of all, I didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable around me or feel like he needed to drop out of the writers’ group, so I was determined to settle it all right away.

  ‘Let’s just forget last night ever happened,’ I said. ‘It was probably a bad plan for us to be each other’s plus one, anyway. We can just go back to the way things were. So we’re still friends?’ I said, looking him in the eye.

  ‘Yes, friends,’ he said, seeming relieved. ‘Being each other’s escort was pushing it considering how we feel.’ I invited him to sit and offered him a glass of my cooking wine. I waited to see if he’d pull a beer out of his pocket, but he didn’t, which made me believe he wasn’t that comfortable about staying. He accepted the offer of the wine.

  I went back into the kitchen to heat up the quiche and get him the wine. Often, he followed me back, but this time, he stayed in the living room and sat down.

  I came back with the warmed-up quiche and drinks for both of us. I noticed that he was sitting forward instead of leaning back on the couch. I thought his body language shouted that – despite what I’d said about erasing everything and going back to the way things were – he was still tense.

  ‘Anything up with the case of the dead Romeo?’ he asked.

  I was really relieved by the question. I had plenty to tell him and it seemed safe and not personal.

  I told him about my new client that Tizzy had found for me. He laughed when he heard our arrangement. ‘OK, it’s not going to make me rich, but I got a surprise benefit when I went there this morning to taste some of the coffee. I met Rita Sandusky.’ I waited a moment for it to sink in.

  ‘The dead Romeo’s roommate. What a coincidence,’ he said.

  ‘Not exactly. Zooey, the coffee person, lives down the hall from her.’ As I began to tell him what I’d found out about Rita through my eavesdropping, it seemed like the spell was broken and he began to relax.

  ‘A drug rep. Hmmm. The burglar could have been looking for drug samples.’

  ‘And if it was a burglar, I found out how they got in.’ I explained where the key had been left. He was curious how it had come up in the conversation between Zooey and Rita. I took a moment to remember.

  ‘Rita talked about not leaving
the key there anymore, as if Zooey knew about it. They were neighbors after all,’ I said.

  ‘Did she know Ted?’ he said.

  ‘It seems like she knew Rita better, but told me about an encounter she had with him. He was supposed to be out of town, but she saw him on the street with a woman. He told Zooey it was innocent, but then he also didn’t want her to mention it to Rita.’ I shrugged. ‘I still don’t know if Rita got the letters.’

  ‘Love letters seems kind of out of date with everybody texting, sexting and video calling,’ Ben said. ‘Why would a guy like him want love letters anyway?’

  ‘Yes, but you can’t hold any of those in your hand or keep them in a treasure box. That was kind of his point. He said that since nobody wrote letters anymore, they would seem special. He claimed he was old-fashioned and believed in romance. I fell for it completely and I wanted to help him win his girlfriend’s heart.’

  I put down the fork and put my head in my hands. ‘But if the letters weren’t for Rita,’ I let out a groan, ‘it kind of blows the whole scenario. Maybe the letters went to the mystery woman and Rita found out. Like Tizzy said, it seemed suspicious that Rita was the one who found him.’

  Ben was really into it now, any signs of his earlier discomfort completely gone. ‘It’s even better than that,’ he began. ‘When I got my inside information, I heard that Rita had the building manager with her. It’s pretty common that a killer gets someone to go with them when they supposedly discover a body.’

  ‘I heard that too,’ I said. ‘Rita could have killed him and made it look like the place had been ransacked, then come back later and got the building manager to go up with her.’

  ‘Or,’ Ben started, ‘the cops could have been right about their first thought that he’d interrupted a burglary. Just that it wasn’t random. The coffee girl knew Rita was a drug rep and she knew about the key in the umbrella. You said she’s struggling. She could have thought she would find drug samples she could sell.’