Writing a Wrong

by Betty Hechtman

  ‘And Ted walked in on it,’ I said.

  ‘He could have tried to force himself on Zooey, threatening to call the police if she didn’t go along with it. She grabbed a knife in the kitchen and stabbed him as they struggled.’

  I hadn’t considered the idea she could have been involved. I saw his point, but I didn’t agree. Or maybe I didn’t want to agree. Something pinged in my thoughts from my conversation with her. She’d mentioned that she took a couple of hours off during the slow time in the middle of the afternoon, which could have been when Ted died. I decided not to bring that up to Ben. He’d gotten the information he’d given me from a source in the police and I was concerned he might feel obligated to give some back as well.

  Besides, Detective Jankowski had already talked to her. I wasn’t happy with what he was saying, even though I knew it could be true. I liked Zooey, but that didn’t really preclude that she could be a burglar and a killer.

  ‘That was fun,’ Ben said. ‘Maybe fun wasn’t the best word. Interesting might be better. I mostly deal with traffic stops and domestic violence and not much investigating.’

  It was the most he’d opened up about his job. I really wanted to hear more, but he shook his head and seemed distressed. ‘You don’t really want to hear about it. It’s pretty dark.’ He let out a heavy sigh. ‘And I guess I don’t want to talk about it. Except to other cops. They understand.’

  There was a knock at my door and Ben shook his head. ‘I think I know who that is. What now?’ He got up and went to the door. Sara was holding Mikey. She leaned in and called out a greeting.

  ‘I hope I’m not interrupting anything,’ she said, looking around. ‘Mikey wanted to say goodnight to Uncle Ben.’ Ben glanced back at me and rolled his eyes. He took the little boy out of his sister’s arms and walked him to the window. Together they found the moon in the sky and said goodnight to it, along with bidding goodnight to the tree out front, the person in the window in the building across the street who was looking at their computer, and a plane that flew by on the way to Midway Airport. Mikey loved it, and it seemed so did Ben. It was too bad he had such a lock on his emotions when it came to relationships.

  Sara made a big deal about leaving. ‘Now you can get back to whatever you were doing,’ she said. ‘Don’t you think it’s kind of bright in here?’ She actually switched off one of the lights before she went to the door.

  ‘That’s my sister,’ Ben said, shaking his head with amusement. ‘Hardly subtle.’

  He looked at the plate which was now empty. ‘I’d better get going.’

  I left him to finish the last of the wine as I went to wash the plate. He was standing when I brought it back. ‘So we’re good now?’ he said. ‘Sorry if I let you down about the escort thing.’

  ‘We’re good,’ I said. ‘It was a bad idea.’

  We knocked elbows and he went out the door.

  When I looked out the front window, another plane flew over on its way to land at Midway. I had deliberately not told Ben about my planned trip to the airport. The cop in him wouldn’t approve.

  EIGHTEEN

  The plan was I would do my coffee tasting at Zooey’s coffee stand and then meet Tizzy on the campus.

  Tizzy had arranged to leave her office for a few hours on Thursday morning. Her boss must have really liked the stories she brought back because she seemed to be free to decide when she was going to be in the office. It was no problem using the car since Theo took the train downtown.

  Zooey had been a little surprised at my attire. I’d gone with what I called my ultra-professional outfit of a pair of black slacks, a black turtleneck sweater and a piece that was either a short coat or a long jacket. It was dark gray and made of boiled wool. It was also the one designer piece I owned and added a touch of class. I’d gotten it on sale, of course. I added a silk scarf for color.

  She gave me a cup of Cuban coffee and one from Brazil. They were both strong but smooth. I commented on the lack of bitterness and she smiled. ‘It’s my secret touch,’ she said. She held up a small tin.

  ‘Are you going to tell me?’ I asked as I drained the second cup.

  Her smile broadened. ‘It wouldn’t be a secret then, would it?’

  ‘How about calling it Fairy Dust?’ I said.

  ‘Good idea,’ she said, and took a marker and wrote it on the tin.

  I closed my notebook and got a cup of the Cuban coffee to go for Tizzy. As I was waiting outside the business school building, I realized I probably should have talked to Tizzy about clothes and suggested she tone down the colorful kimono jackets she wore all the time. But it turned out to be unnecessary; when she came outside she was wearing a trench coat and a black fedora hat.

  She beeped the white Prius parked on the side street and we both got in. With all the one-way streets, she took a circuitous route to get to 57th Street. As we crossed Cottage Grove and passed through Washington Park, Tizzy gave me a tour guide’s rundown on the beautiful old park. It had been designed by Olmsted and Vaux with a lagoon and assorted recreational buildings along with all the green areas. The buildings had been designed by Burnham and Root who were renowned architects. Sheep and cows had roamed the open fields, both to keep the grass short with their munching and to give a rural feel to the park.

  I didn’t think those sheep and cows would have been happy with all the traffic in the present day as we cruised through the park. The streets were convoluted and when we came out of the park, we were on Garfield Boulevard. A center green space separated the two directions of traffic. What had once been a nice neighborhood of apartment buildings and businesses, now looked sad.

  ‘Have you got a plan for what you’re going to say?’ Tizzy asked. The boulevard continued and we passed into another neighborhood that seemed better kept.

  ‘I thought I’d go with a variation on the truth,’ I said.

  ‘I like that,’ she said with a laugh. ‘You can just say I’m your assistant, though you probably ought to give me an idea what I’m assisting you with.’

  I briefly considered asking Tizzy to wait in the car, but since she had generously offered me a lift, she ought to get in on the adventure.

  We kept passing through different neighborhoods as I noted planes flying lower and lower. The airport had been the city’s main one until O’Hare was built. It had been modernized, but was still kind of like the stepsister of the much bigger O’Hare.

  ‘I’ll just follow your lead,’ Tizzy said when I’d explained my plan to her. She drove around the perimeter to a driveway that took us to the private terminals. She pulled up next to a small building that looked like a miniature of the main airport. The hangar next to it was open and I saw the nose of a small jet. We walked into the terminal and I noted that it was decorated to be elegant and had a wall of windows that looked out on the tarmac. A fire burned in the fireplace beneath a TV hanging on the wall that was tuned to CNN. A small bar area was set up in the back with a few stools in front of it.

  As Tizzy was deciding whether to help herself to the dish of candies on the table next to one of the chairs, a door opened and a tall dark-haired woman came in. She was attractive enough to be a model and made me think of how flight attendants used to look when they were still called stewardesses. She was even wearing a blue pencil skirt and jacket similar to what their uniforms used to look like.

  She was all smiles and gracious as she greeted us, but her eyes had a steely look and I knew she was wondering what we were doing there.

  I began by introducing myself and explained I was a writer. I offered her a business card as proof. I was afraid that Tizzy was going to chime in that I wrote all different kinds of things including love letters, but Tizzy was subdued as I introduced her as my associate. I thought it sounded better than assistant and it really said nothing. She gave her name as Jewel Stevens.

  ‘I’m working on a mystery. The second book in the series,’ I said, hoping that would make me seem legitimate.

  ‘Really?’ she s
aid sounding impressed. ‘I used to read Nancy Drew books when I was growing up, but now I’m more into romance. What kind of book are you working on?’

  ‘The niche is called traditional. There’s not a lot of gore and the reader can follow the clues. My detective is investigating a man who witnesses a crime on a private plane. I wanted to get an idea what a terminal looked like.’ I glanced around as if taking it all in. ‘I was actually talking to a pilot about what kind of people he flew. I’d really like to get some more information from him, but I lost his card. Maybe you know him. His name is Ted Roberts.’ I let it hang in the air, hoping she wouldn’t focus too much on what I’d said since I’d left it all pretty vague.

  Her long hair brushed her shoulders as she shook her head. ‘The name doesn’t ring a bell.’

  I saw Tizzy’s eyes widen at the cliché. Did she really think I was going to say something? Just for a moment I thought back to the list of attributes I’d come up for myself to imply that I was a stuck-in-her-ways spinster. Certainly attacking a stranger for her word-use fit right in there. I tried to give Tizzy a nod to let her know I wasn’t going to react.

  I was also remembering that Ted went by several names, maybe even more than I knew. ‘He’s hard to miss,’ I said.

  ‘A real dreamboat,’ Tizzy chimed in. ‘Kind of a mixture of Brad Pitt and Cary Grant.’

  ‘Very charming and a great dresser,’ I added.

  Her face lit with recognition. ‘I know who you mean. You’re right about Brad Pitt. He has the same kind of eyes and that easy smile. I’ve always known him as T.R. We always joked that he looked like who you’d cast as a pilot in a movie. He really killed it in his uniform.’ She glanced around the empty space. ‘I haven’t seen him lately though.’

  ‘Then he was a pilot for your company?’ I said.

  ‘Sort of,’ she said. ‘He was on our standby list. You know, when someone calls in sick. He might have worked for some of the other charters, too, in the same capacity.’

  ‘Do you know how often he worked?’ I asked.

  She shrugged. ‘Probably a few times a month.’ Her brow furrowed as she seemed to be thinking about something. ‘I think he used his pilot status to impress his girlfriends. He brought one around once when I was here, and someone else mentioned him coming another time. He acted like he owned the place as he showed them around.’

  ‘Really? I’m just curious as to what his girlfriend looked like. It’s for the book,’ I added quickly.

  Jewel smiled. ‘I’d like to help, but honestly I don’t remember much about her other than she had dark hair and seemed a little older than him. I can see if we have a phone number for him.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, and went back through the door she’d come in from. Tizzy smiled and gave me a thumbs-up.

  ‘You were great.’ She cut herself off abruptly as the woman returned and gave me a piece of paper with a phone number. I thanked her and we left.

  ‘Mission accomplished,’ Tizzy said with a giggle as we got into the car.

  ‘Well, sort of. We found out he was really a pilot, but that he didn’t work that much. So where was he during all that time he told his girlfriend he was off traveling? And I don’t think the woman she mentioned was his girlfriend, unless she dyed her hair and got older.’

  Tizzy dropped me off at my place and went back to work. As soon as I got upstairs I tried calling the number. I expected about what I got: a generic message and a full mailbox. After giving Rocky a few minutes of attention, I sat down at the computer and stared at the dark screen, thinking over the morning. Tizzy had asked why I was so interested in finding out about him. I didn’t really have an answer. Detective Jankowski wasn’t hovering over me which made me believe that he’d given up the idea of me being a person of interest. It was curiosity and because I wrote the love letters for him, but maybe it was something else, too. It was inspiring me to work on the Derek Streeter book.

  I might not have gotten all the answers I wanted about Ted, but I had gotten some information I could use for my detective. Now that I knew what the terminal looked like, I rewrote what I’d worked on before and took away the fog and scene from Casablanca I’d imagined and had them standing outside the very modern hangar. Then I threw the fog back in for atmosphere.

  My stomach rumbled and I remembered all I’d eaten was a KIND bar to fight off the jitters from all the coffee. I changed out of my professional outfit to a pair of comfortable jeans and an old soft-from-wear gray sweatshirt. Instead of eating a proper lunch, I poured out a plate full of popcorn and doused it with grated cheddar cheese. A short time in the microwave and it was ready. Instead of sitting at the dining-room table, I took it in the living room and ate it standing up while looking out the window at the street below. I had to fight the feeling of strangeness, but told myself it was good to do something different. Best of all, it took away the hunger and was light enough not to make me go into a food coma.

  I was congratulating myself on not being in a rut when my landline rang. I waited a moment to see if it was a junk call, but when the mechanical voice said Quentin Wright, I rushed to answer it.

  It was actually Sara, who sounded breathless. ‘It’s Quentin’s father again,’ she said. ‘He’s back in the hospital. I hate to ask you like this, but could you take care of Mikey? Ben will come over when he finishes his shift and take over.’

  ‘Sure, of course,’ I said, and told her I’d be downstairs momentarily. After I hung up, I looked over at Rocky in his chair. ‘Who says I can’t be spontaneous?’

  Sara gave me a quick hug when I walked in her place and offered me a lot of thank-yous. She was trying to get ready and give me instructions at the same time and then she stopped cold. ‘Did something happen between you and Ben?’ she asked.

  ‘Why don’t you ask Ben?’ I said.

  ‘I tried to, but he answered with a shrug.’ She rolled her eyes.

  I hesitated, thinking about answering her in the same way, but I decided to go with the truth. Maybe if she understood how he really was, she would finally stop the matchmaking. I laid out the whole plan of how we’d agreed to be each other’s plus one, but told her that he’d freaked out when we tried practicing a slow dance. ‘He actually ran off,’ I said.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realize he was that bad.’

  ‘He’s fine if we talk about my client who got murdered.’

  Sara suddenly looked uncomfortable. ‘I’m really embarrassed to admit this, but we sort of talked a few times.’ She let out a groan. ‘It was more like flirting. Don’t tell Ben.’

  ‘I won’t tell him any more than I’d admit Ted charmed me,’ I said.

  She let out a concerned sigh as she came back to the moment. ‘I have to go.’ She leaned down to explain to Mikey that I was staying with him. Mikey seemed unconcerned as he built a tower with his cardboard blocks. ‘I promised to take him the playground before I knew I’d have to leave. Is it too much to ask for you to take him there?’

  ‘It’s fine. Mikey and I will have a good time. Auntie Veronica will take you on an adventure,’ I said, looking down at the little boy. She was calling out where the stroller was and what jacket he should wear as she was pulling on her own. She rushed to the front window and looked out.

  ‘Quentin’s here. I don’t know about the cell reception at the hospital,’ she said before rushing out the door.

  I knew enough to check Mikey’s diaper and to pack up some snacks before we left. He was a little angel for me, letting me put on his jacket and strap him into the stroller when we got outside. It was a short walk to Bixler Playground. It was fenced in, which meant the kids could run around with no worry they’d go into the street. Mikey just wanted to go on the swings.

  He really wanted the big kids’ version that was just an open seat, but was talked into the little kid version which reminded me of underwear or maybe what Sumo wrestlers wore. Once I got Mikey seated, he was fine, and I took up a position to push him.

  I looked
over at the woman and man pushing kids about Mikey’s size in the adjacent swings. It was a perfect set-up for them to talk since the girl and boy in the swings seemed content to keep going back and forth. I was curious what their relationship was and tuned in to try to catch what they were talking about. It became clear that they weren’t a couple. The man talked about his husband coming home and fussing if dinner wasn’t ready and the woman said her husband was about the same. I gathered that they lived in the same building and when I heard the word police, my ears perked up.

  ‘Poor Lois,’ the man said. ‘She was with his girlfriend Rita when she came home and found him.’

  ‘If that’s not bad enough, the cops kept questioning her,’ the woman said. I made a point of keeping my gaze straight ahead so they wouldn’t think I was listening. ‘Do you think Lois had something going with him? His girlfriend was on the road a lot, so he certainly had time.’

  ‘I heard he interrupted a burglary,’ the man said. ‘But who knows? It could have just been a cover. I’m not sure what’s more upsetting – that a burglar was able to get in or that someone killed him and made it look like a burglary. I mean, either way it makes our building not seem very safe.’

  ‘You’re right if it was a random burglary, but if he was murdered it was probably by someone who knew him and you can’t expect a security door to protect someone from that. I don’t think it was a burglary anyway,’ the woman said, seemingly to calm him.

  ‘You know Rita’s a drug rep, somebody might have been looking for drugs,’ the man still seemed worried.

  ‘Then it would have had to be a desperate teenager. I heard the only samples she had were for an acne cream,’ the woman said with a smile.

  I was listening so hard that I forgot to push Mikey’s swing and it came to a stop which led to a loud protest from him. I gave the swing a quick push and tried to pick up on their conversation, but they’d moved on to some other neighbor who apparently practiced the bongo drums late at night.

  Eventually, Mikey wanted out of the swing. After letting him run around the playground for a while, I loaded him back into the stroller. I’d gotten a text from Haley that she had the deposit check for me. When someone had a check, I never wanted to delay picking it up, so I wheeled Mikey down the street.