A Fine Fix

by Gale Deitch

  “Let me think. Robert, that is Mr. Lewis, had already been speaking with Melvin for a time. They were having words, and I wanted to step in to change the tone of their conversation. I mentioned that the margaritas were wonderful, but I wondered if there was a wine that would pair nicely with Mexican food.”

  “And that’s when he sent Brad—I mean the bartender—to the wine cellar,” Zach prompted.

  “Yes. That is correct. Lovely young man.”

  Zach gave me a glance that said, “See, everyone likes Bradley better.”

  I turned back to Barbara Lewis. “And did you continue to talk with Mr. Schwartz after that?”

  She shook her head. “Oh no. Melvin excused himself to speak to other guests. Then Robert and I sampled your marvelous hors d’oeuvres. We can’t wait to serve your food to our guests on Saturday night.”

  “Thank you. I’m so glad you got a chance to taste some things.” I was proud of our food. We worked hard to make every dish unique and delicious, and a compliment from someone who probably dines at the finest restaurants meant a lot to me.

  I saw her glance at her watch, definitely a signal meant for us.

  “Just one more question, Mrs. Lewis.” I leaned forward. “What do you think Mr. Schwartz and your husband were discussing so seriously?”

  She sat up straighter. “Well, if I could take a guess, it was probably business-related. They had dealings. Buildings. Real estate. That sort of thing.” She waved her hand through the air as if whisking away those pesky subjects, then stood. “Thank you for being so prompt with the contract. Good day.”

  Duly dismissed, Zach and I left.

  “Zach, did you hear Mr. Schwartz and Mr. Lewis ‘having words,’ as she described it, at the party?” I asked after we’d gotten into the car.

  “When she mentioned that, I did remember Mr. Schwartz getting into it a little with some guy. Their voices were raised, and Mr. Schwartz’s face was red.”

  “And then what happened?”

  Zach squinted out the front windshield as if trying to picture the scene. “Nothing after that. A couple of guests came over to the bar and gave me their orders.” He turned to me. “That must have been about the time Barbara Lewis interrupted them to defuse the argument.”

  “And probably about the time that Bradley arrived,” I added, giving Zach a meaningful smile.

  He just rolled his eyes at me and shook his head. “Let’s go.”

  THAT AFTERNOON I was back at my desk working up the Lewis party shopping list when the door jingled someone’s arrival. “Please, have a seat,” I said, focusing on the computer screen. “I’ll be with you in a moment.” I clicked the save icon and glanced up.

  Detective Goldman was surveying the room.

  I inhaled a big gulp of air. What was he doing here? “And to what do I owe this pleasure?” I hoped he heard the sarcasm in my voice.

  “Just in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop in to say hello. Nice place you have here.” He’d had that same mocking smirk the last time I’d seen him at the police station.

  “You know, some of us have work to do,” I said.

  “I’m working, too. Just wanted to ask a few questions. Can you take a break?” He appeared to be wearing the same wrinkled jacket and pants from Saturday night.

  “How long of a break?” Zach was doing some errands for me, and I was afraid he’d be back soon. He might freak out if he saw Goldman’s car parked outside.

  “Have you had lunch?”

  Had lunch? I was starving. That was the main reason Zach had gone out—to pick up grilled chicken salads at the deli around the corner. “Not yet.”

  “Me neither,” he said. “Why don’t we go up the road to the Silver Diner? I don’t make it out to the ‘burbs too often, and we don’t have anything like it in the District.”

  He wanted to have lunch with me? Why? If he had more questions about Saturday night, I didn’t have much to tell. I’d already told him everything I knew, which wasn’t much since I’d been in the Schwartz’s kitchen cooking all afternoon and evening. Anything else he wanted to know he could ask here, right now.

  “I’ll give you one hour and that’s it.” I scribbled a note to Zach, “Couldn’t wait. Remembered something I had to do.” I felt bad bailing on him when he’d offered to get us lunch, but more importantly, I wanted to get the detective out of here before Zach returned.

  The thought that Goldman might actually want to have lunch with me made my stomach feel like a pot of water about to reach the boiling point, little bubbles forming around the edges. Like hope bubbling up inside that someone would actually be interested in me, Trudie Fine. Not that the detective was someone I’d be interested in, with his snide remarks.

  SITTING IN A booth across from Daniel Goldman, I flipped through the songs on the mini jukebox attached to the wall. He’d ordered a burger, fries and a black and white milkshake, while I had asked for a bunless burger with coleslaw and a diet coke. I was determined to stick to my low-carb plan. “Got a quarter?” I asked.

  He reached into his pocket and tossed a coin to me. Fumbling to catch it, I plucked it from my cleavage before it could take the fatal plunge. I felt my face redden and was not surprised to see the detective grinning at me. He’d probably intended that as the target all along.

  I turned away, inserted the coin into the jukebox and pressed A12, Love Me Tender. All the songs were from the fifties and sixties, and I was a sucker for Elvis with that deep, mellow voice, vibrating through my body. “By the time the song comes on, we’ll probably be gone,” I said. “But I’ll risk it.”

  “Hey, that’s my quarter you’re risking.” He nodded toward the jukebox.

  “If they don’t play it, I’ll owe you. So, Detective, how is the investigation going? Do you know how Mr. Schwartz died yet?”

  “Too soon to tell.” He stared at me with those intense eyes just like the other night in the Schwartzes’ living room.

  I looked down and ran my finger along the creamy swirled pattern on the Formica table. “What about the autopsy?” I asked, peering back at him. “Have they done it yet? I know Mrs. Schwartz and Ally were both very anxious about that.”

  “The ME is performing the autopsy today. Of course, it will take a couple days to get lab results, pathology reports, that kind of thing.”

  “Finally,” I said, relieved. “At least we’ll know how the poor man died. That should close the case. Right?”

  “Should,” he nodded. Getting information from him was like trying to squeeze juice from an unpeeled pineapple.

  “You wanted to ask me some questions?” Supposedly, that was the reason he’d asked me to lunch. Of course, now I did have new information—the cookie bars Ally had made for her father. Just an innocent piece of information but one that could incriminate Zach, and I wasn’t going to be the one to tell the detective about it. “Remember, you only have an hour.”

  “You have to eat, don’t you? We’ve got time.” He took out his notepad and pen.

  “So this is part of your official investigation, I see.” The bubbling inside me deflated as I realized Detective Goldman’s true intention for having lunch with me. Not that I was interested in him, but the reality of the situation did hurt my pride. Just another guy pretending to like me for his own purposes.

  “I want to get everything down correctly. Don’t worry. I’ll put this away when the food comes. So, Miss Fine. May I call you Trudie?”

  “I guess.” I certainly didn’t want to be called Miss Fine.

  “Trudie, how long have you known Zachary Cohen?”

  “What? You’re back on that kick about Zach? What kind of detective are you? Zach is the kindest, most harmless person I know. For you to accuse him of something is…is…” I could feel my blood pressure rising.

  “Trudie, I’m not accusing Zach of anything. I’m just asking you some questions. I’m trying to eliminate him as a person of interest. That’s all. And you can help with that.”

  �
�A person of interest? That’s the same thing as a suspect. I cannot, for the life of me, understand why you keep focusing on him. If you think there was some kind of foul play, shouldn’t you be out there pursuing the real person of interest?” I was losing my appetite, an unfamiliar sensation.

  His voice became very quiet. “Trudie, just let me ask you a few questions. You know Zach better than anyone, don’t you? He’s your partner, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Then let’s get this over and done with, check his name off and move on to someone else. Okay?” His voice was almost soothing.

  “Okay.” I released a deep sigh. “I’ve known Zach since we were kids, maybe six years old.”

  “You’ve remained friends all these years?” His face was serious now, but there was a definite glimmer in his eyes. Hazel eyes, I noticed for the first time.

  “Yes.” What kind of interrogation was this?

  “Ever gone beyond friendship?” There was that smirk again.

  “What?” My voice was pitched higher than a tuning fork. “How dare you ask me that? Fudge you, Detective Goldman.” I grabbed my purse, slid from the booth, and turned to leave.

  I could walk back to the office. It wasn’t that far.

  Aretha Franklin’s voice sang out in the background, R-E-S-P-E-C-T, find out what it means to me…oh, a little respect, yeah, baby, I want a little respect…

  “Trudie, wait.” His hand grazed my shoulder.

  I swung around. “Wait for what? For you to harass me some more? Every time I agree to cooperate, I feel as if you’re pouring hot gravy over my head.”

  All I want, ooh yeah, I want a little respect.

  He took a step back, his hands up as if to shield himself from my onslaught.

  The waiter arrived with our lunches and placed them on our table. He looked back and forth between us. “Are you leaving?”

  People in adjacent booths were watching us, too.

  Goldman gazed down at me. “I have a confession to make. I lied to you.”

  “About what?” I peered at our uneaten food on the table. My stomach growled. I could hear it above Aretha’s voice.

  “Sit down and I’ll tell you. Please.” He gestured to our booth.

  We returned to the table.

  “Go ahead. I’m waiting.”

  He picked up his straw and thumped it on the table until it poked through the paper at the top. “I led you to believe this lunch was all about getting information. That wasn’t my real purpose.”

  “It wasn’t? Then why…?”

  “I wanted to see you again. And I didn’t think you’d go to lunch with me if I asked.” He tied the white paper around the top of the straw.

  “It would have been a heck of a lot easier if you’d just asked.”

  “Would you have said yes?”

  “Try me.” I squeezed ketchup onto my burger and layered the lettuce and tomato slice on top.

  “Trudie, will you have lunch with me today?”

  “Absolutely not, Detective Goldman,” I said, cutting into my burger and placing that first juicy morsel into my mouth. “But I can’t let this food go to waste.”

  “Daniel. Call me Daniel.” His bangs had fallen over his forehead, and I noticed his eyes were more bronze than hazel. When I’d first met him Saturday night, I thought he might have been about forty. His eyes drooped a little at the corners, giving him a weary look. I guessed a job like this takes its toll on a person. Now I realized he was probably younger, maybe thirty-four or thirty-five.

  “Daniel,” I said.

  He waved the straw like a flag, the white paper dragging through the air. “Truce?”

  I smiled. I guess my intuition had been correct after all. He was interested in me.

  The music changed, and Elvis poured his heart out from the speakers. Love me tender, love me sweet, never let me go….

  Chapter Nine

  “Good afternoon, A Fine Fix,” I answered in my most professional voice. It was almost five o’clock. I had already powered down the computer and was anxious to get home, change into something comfortable and grill myself a thick, juicy steak. Why do people insist on calling at the end of the day?

  “Trudie?”

  “Ally?” I knew the voice right away. After all, we’d been roommates for four years at Johnson and Wales. But I don’t remember her ever calling me at work and wondered what she wanted, or needed, from me. “Is your mom okay?” I hadn’t called Mrs. Schwartz today to check on her.

  “Yes, she’s fine—considering we’re still waiting for the autopsy results.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  She hesitated. “I need to talk to you if you have a few minutes.”

  “Sure,” I said. “I’m listening.” I wished she would get to the point already. I’d found a new steak seasoning at the Penzeys Spices store on Rockville Pike and was dying to try it. My mouth watered at the thought.

  “Not now. I mean, not on the phone. I need to speak to you in private. Can you meet me?”

  “Meet you now? Where?” Allison lived in a condo on Connecticut Avenue in northwest D.C. At this time of day, in rush hour traffic and with all those stop lights, it would take me forever to get there. “I have plans.” She didn’t have to know that I had an appointment with a twelve-ounce rib eye.

  “Please, Trudie. I really need to see you today. I promise not to keep you long. We can meet half way. There’s a wine bar in Chevy Chase, on Wisconsin Avenue. Free hors d’oeuvres until six-thirty.” Ally knew my weaknesses.

  “Okay. I’ll give you half an hour. Then I’ll have to go.”

  “Great. And, uh, Trudie, please don’t tell Zach you’re meeting me. Okay?”

  I glanced up. Zach had just come in from the warehouse to prepare the display area for the prospective client we’d be meeting with in the morning. He glanced at me, his eyebrows raised in a questioning manner, silently asking who was on the phone. I felt my face color. I wasn’t used to keeping things from him. In fact, until the Schwartz party, my life and my comings and goings had been an open book to Zach. In the past few days, however, I’d been forced by circumstances to keep secrets from him, and I didn’t like it one bit. I hoped that my abrupt wave of a hand and shake of my head would signal him that this call was nothing worth sharing.

  Still, I worried about why Ally would want our meeting kept from Zach. Was she going to share their relationship with me? Or did this have something to do with her father’s death? Some information she had? A confession?

  “Who are you giving only half an hour?” Zach asked when I’d hung up.

  “Just a new seafood vendor. Said he’d come by sometime next week.” I avoided eye contact with him, neatly stacking the folders on my desk and retrieving my purse from the bottom file drawer. One look into my face and he’d know I was lying. “See you tomorrow,” I called over my shoulder as I walked out the door.

  ENTERING THE DARKENED bar, I stood for a moment waiting for my eyes to adjust. Several people sitting at the bar turned to inspect me. In my turquoise outfit, I must have resembled a rainbow-sprinkled birthday cupcake amidst a sea of decadent chocolate mousse desserts.

  I spotted Ally in a dark booth at the back corner of the restaurant. When I reached her table, she stood to give me a quick peck on each cheek. Her blonde hair spilled over the shoulders of a short, black sleeveless sheath.

  I had always envied women who could effortlessly slip into a dress and heels and look gorgeous. For me, getting dressed involved several attempts and a bed covered in garments that were too tight to button or that exposed flabby arms that resembled legs of lamb.

  I slid into the semi-circular booth next to Ally, and the waiter placed a glass of cabernet and a plate of wings in front of me.

  I glanced at him and then at Ally.

  “I took the liberty of ordering your wine to save time,” she said. “The wings are complimentary.”

  Her serious demeanor prompted me to get down to business. “So what’s up
?”

  She waited until the server walked away and then bent her head toward me. “I think I may be in trouble,” she whispered.

  Was she pregnant again? By the dark expression in her eyes, I realized it was something else. Anyway, she’d never told me about the first baby. Why would she tell me about another? “What kind of trouble?”

  “That pesky Detective Goldman keeps questioning me.”

  “You, too?” It surprised me. I thought Zach was the only one he’d been bombarding. I also felt a tinge of jealousy. Had he been bugging Ally just so he could spend time with her, too? Did he use his job as a ploy to be with women? Certainly Ally was a lot more desirable than I was.

  “He’s been interrogating you?” Her blue eyes were wide.

  “Not me. Zach. But what is he questioning you about? You weren’t even at the party.”

  She took a sip of her chardonnay, sighed and gazed down at her lap. “He suspects it was something Daddy ate that caused his death. He knows that I baked cookie bars and asked Zach to deliver them to Daddy.” She faced me and took hold of my arm. “Trudie, I knew Daddy was deathly allergic to peanuts. I would never knowingly put peanuts in the ingredients. Do you believe me?”

  Her expression was guileless and open. “Yes, of course I believe you.” And now that I was with Ally, I did believe her. When we were at school, she talked to her father almost every day on the phone, and she spoke about him all the time—Daddy did this and Daddy said that. He was her hero, and she loved him. “But what difference does it make what I think?”

  She sat up straighter. “Because Goldman’s going to ask you about me, and you know me best. Trudie, you can vouch for me, and he’ll believe you.”

  I turned to sip my wine and feeling a rumbling in my stomach, plucked a chicken wing from the plate and took a bite. Hmm. Nice recipe, just the right amount of spicy heat. The skin could be crispier, though.

  “Trudie, would you vouch for me?” she persisted.