Copyright Information
The Question of the Dead Mistress: An Asperger’s Mystery © 2018 by E.J. Copperman and Jeff Cohen.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
First e-book edition © 2018
E-book ISBN: 9780738755267
Cover design by Shira Atakpu
Cover illustration by James Steinberg/Gerald & Cullen Rapp
Editing by Nicole Nugent
Midnight Ink is an imprint of Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Copperman, E. J., author.
Title: The question of the dead mistress / E.J. Copperman.
Description: First edition. | Woodbury, Minnesota : Midnight Ink, [2018] |
Series: An Asperger’s mystery ; #5
Identifiers: LCCN 2018014116 (print) | LCCN 2018015717 (ebook) | ISBN
9780738755267 (ebook) | ISBN 9780738750613 (alk. paper)
Subjects: | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3603.O358 (ebook) | LCC PS3603.O358 Q44 2018 (print) |
DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018014116
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For Terri Bischoff.
Acknowledgments
It’s always hard to thank everyone who helped with the creation of a book; inevitably some are omitted not because of a lack of respect but due to a faulty memory (or two). But no book since the printing press has ever gotten to a reader without help from someone other than the author. And that is just as true here as ever.
Samuel Hoenig’s journey began with our idea and that’s the fact. But it was Terri Bischoff at Midnight Ink who saw something special in Samuel and wanted you to read his thoughts and exploits. There is no higher level of gratitude we could feel. Thank you, Terri.
Great thanks also to Josh Getzler and the team at SKG Agency for getting the book to Terri to begin with and for continuing to believe in us and champion our work throughout the publishing world. We’re nowhere without you, Josh.
Thanks to Nicole Nugent for her diligent editing and to Shira Atakpu for the cover design. The cover illustrations by James Steinberg/Gerald & Cullen Rapp made you look, didn’t they? Thanks very much.
We would have nothing to do at all without readers, librarians, booksellers, and reviewers. Thanks to all. We’d name names, but then there would be no room for the book.
It’s been a blast bringing Samuel to an unsuspecting world. His growth reflects that of so many we know with ASD or related personality traits. We are proud of all of you and hope you found Samuel’s stories entertaining and respectful. Don’t ever think the world is against you; they just don’t understand yet. Give the neurotypicals a little time and a little patience and they’ll discover the wonderful person you are. It’s not always easy but it’s always worthwhile.
—E.J. Copperman and Jeff Cohen
May 2018
one
I received an email message.
To be more accurate, my business, Questions Answered, received the email message. But since the business’s personnel consists entirely of myself and my associate Ms. Washburn, such a communication would undoubtedly arrive where either she or I would discover it. In this case, because our company account was set up before Ms. Washburn joined the firm, it came to me.
I have a question that I desperately need answered, it read. May I come in for an appointment?
Since my business is located in a storefront that is part of a strip mall on Stelton Road in Piscataway, New Jersey, and there is no requirement of a prearranged appointment, the message was a trifle baffling to me. I looked over at Ms. Washburn, who was at her desk eight feet to my right in the repurposed pizzeria.
“I have received an email asking if the person can come in for an appointment,” I said. “We do not require an appointment to ask a question.”
“Is the person a man or a woman?” Ms. Washburn asked.
“The message does not specify.”
Ms. Washburn waved a hand, a gesture she has told me is intended to deem the previous statement (or, in this case, question) irrelevant. “Just tell them they don’t need an appointment and can come in anytime we’re open,” she said.
I had believed that should be the proper methodology so I nodded thankfully at Ms. Washburn for confirming my theory. Then I sent a reply to the email that conveyed the information we had discussed. I went back to my previous task, which was determining the reach in millimeters of the average orangutan. A client was interested in such a statistic to surprise his wife, he said. Ms. Washburn was skeptical, and I was also making some inquiries to determine if the man had ulterior motives. So far I had found none.
The email reply came much sooner than I would have expected. It read, I’m coming now. Since I had explicitly stated there was no need for advance notice, I found the new message superfluous. I looked briefly at the door to our office in anticipation, but no one entered immediately.
Thirteen minutes later, after I had glanced at the door sixty-seven more times, a woman walked to the doorway of the Questions Answered office. She stopped for a moment, contemplating the hand-drawn sign on poster board in the window (something Ms. Washburn had been suggesting rather forcefully that I have replaced), then shook her head and walked through our entrance. The bells over the door rang and Ms. Washburn looked up.
The woman was in her early forties, I’d guess, although my estimates in such matters have often proven to be inaccurate because I rarely look at an unfamiliar person’s face for more than a second. Her manner was somewhat nervous; she looked at Ms. Washburn and then at me as if trying to decide which one of us could answer her question more accurately. Clearly that person was me, but the woman couldn’t have known that unless she’d done research into our business.
She walked to the center of the room, almost equidistant between my desk and Ms. Washburn’s. “Who should I ask a question?” she said.
I immediately knew she should have said, “To whom should I ask a question?” or
“Of whom should I ask a question?” Over a period of years it has been proven to me that such a correction made aloud would simply slow down the conversation and fail to make any change in the speaker’s grammar going forward. So I did not make the observation.
“Why don’t you ask both of us?” Ms. Washburn said, gesturing toward the chair I keep for clients in front of my desk. Ms. Washburn walked in front of my desk and leaned on it as she continued to stand, smiling at the potential client. “This is Samuel Hoenig and my name is Janet Washburn. Have a seat.”
The woman nodded. She sat in the client chair and did not try to use the one I reserve for my mother, an easy chair to better soothe her back and leg issues. I appreciated the fact that our prospective client had not assumed she could sit in the place I keep for Mother despite the fact that Mother had not visited the office in five weeks.
“My name is Virginia,” the woman said. “But please call me Ginny.”
“Thanks, Ginny,” Ms. Washburn said. “Call me Janet.”
Virginia glanced in my direction. “May I call you Sam?” she asked.
“No, thank you.” Ms. Washburn had taught me to add the thank you because she said my answer until that point had sounded “abrupt.” I thought it was direct and to the point. “I am Samuel Hoenig. What is your question?”
Virginia’s look averted eye contact, something I understand because I do the same thing many times per day. But her motivation was not, as far as I could discern, caused by Asperger’s Syndrome or any other autism spectrum disorder. She simply did not want to see our facial reactions when she spoke.
“I think it would be best to give you a little background first,” she said. At that point I was tempted to interrupt because it has been my experience that clients want to convey more information than I actually need to answer a question. But Ms. Washburn, probably anticipating my thought process, shook her head negatively in a very subtle gesture. I doubt Virginia noticed at all.
“I have been married to Brett Fontaine for seven years,” Virginia began. Already I did not see how the information was relevant, but I waited. “They say men cheat at the seven-year itch, so I guess he was right on time.”
“You believe your husband is having an affair?” Ms. Washburn asked.
Virginia’s eyes closed, either to hold off tears or conjure them. “I’m not sure that’s how you would describe it,” she said.
I do not respond well to coyness. It is a tactic that would never occur to me and as someone with Asperger’s Syndrome (which technically is no longer a clinical diagnosis but best describes my personality traits), I find it a waste of time. What Virginia was doing was simply meant to prompt a question that did not need to be asked, but Ms. Washburn provided the question anyway. It is invaluable to me to have Ms. Washburn in the office to help me through moments such as these.
“What do you mean?” she asked Virginia.
“Brett is involved with another woman,” Virginia answered. “I can tell that from his behavior. But whether or not you would consider it an affair is, well, sort of out there. I think it qualifies as infidelity, but I don’t think anyone else would believe me.”
I had heard enough. “I’m sorry,” I told Virginia. “We are not a detective agency. We answer questions. And we are not equipped or inclined to follow your husband so we can take what you would consider ‘incriminating’ photographs. I can direct you to a very reputable investigation agency not far from here.” I looked to Ms. Washburn, who reached into her pocket for the business card of a firm we recommend under such circumstances.
“No,” Virginia said. “I don’t need a detective. I need to have a question answered.” She seemed quite determined and certain in her assertion. Ms. Washburn took her hand out of her pocket. “It’s just that I don’t know how to phrase it.”
“As simply and directly as possible, please,” I advised.
Virginia nodded and for the first time in the conversation looked me directly in the eye, which made me vaguely uncomfortable. “Okay, then,” she said. She took a visible breath in and sat up straighter than before. “Mr. Hoenig, is my husband having an affair with his dead girlfriend?”
two
“No,” I said.
Ms. Washburn turned her head rather abruptly to look at me. Virginia Fontaine did not avert her gaze again. I sat in the chair behind my desk and glanced at the computer screen; it was estimating more orangutan reach probabilities as I watched.
“No?” Virginia repeated. “Do you mean you won’t answer my question?”
I did not look back at her because I didn’t want to. “I am answering your question,” I told her. “No. Your husband is not having an affair with his dead girlfriend.”
Ms. Washburn, who knows me better than anyone besides my mother and in some ways better than even her, pursed her lips. “Samuel,” she said. I do not process tone of voice very well, but I have known Ms. Washburn for some time. She was admonishing me, but I could not understand what I had done wrong.
“How can you know?” Virginia demanded. “You’ve never even met my husband and you don’t know the details of my situation. Do you just answer questions like that for all your clients and expect them to pay you?”
“I do not expect any payment from you, Ms. Fontaine,” I said. “And you may rest assured that any client who walks through that door will get my full attention and an accurate answer to his or her question. In your case the answer was so obvious that it seemed foolish to continue with the interview. No. Your husband is not having an affair with his dead girlfriend.”
“I’m going to ask again, Mr. Hoenig,” Virginia said. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because it is physically impossible for a living man to have a mutual relationship with a dead person,” I said, marveling at the idea that I even had to point out such an obvious fact. “If your husband is being unfaithful, I would assume it is with a living person. But the notion that he might be carrying on an extended affair with a deceased woman is literally impossible to consider.”
I fully expected Virginia Fontaine to rise out of the client chair, thank Ms. Washburn and me for our time, and leave. Instead she settled back and folded her arms across her chest, a gesture that I have learned through study is meant to show at least a small degree of defiance or unwillingness to cooperate.
“Mr. Hoenig,” she said, “I would appreciate it if you would hear me out. I know how crazy the suggestion sounds and believe me, two months ago I would have thought a person who asked that question was just as crazy as you think I am now.”
“I do not believe I am qualified to diagnose any mental illness,” I said.
Virginia did not respond to my statement. “Let me tell you how I reached my conclusion, why I’m certain that Brett is in love with a woman from his past who happens to be dead, and if you still think there’s no point to your taking on my question, I’ll leave and never bother you again. But I think you’ll be interested and I think you’ll answer this question for me once you hear what I have to say.”
Ms. Washburn made a tiny sound in her throat. When she first did so it alarmed me because I thought she was choking or in some way ill. Now I know it is a subtle device meant to attract my attention. I looked in her direction and she nodded, her eyes darting in the direction of Virginia Fontaine. She was suggesting I listen to the prospective client’s story. I saw little point in the pursuit but mentally acquiesced to Ms. Washburn’s silent plea. She is often, if not always, a better judge of human emotion and social interaction than I am.
“Very well, Ms. Fontaine,” I said. “Why do you believe your husband is carrying on with a dead woman, and why do you think such a thing is possible?”
Virginia’s eyebrows lowered at my tone, I suppose. It can be an expression of disapproval or contained anger. I have seen the face charts.
“I know what it sounds like,” she said. “I’m not cra
zy.” I let that remark go despite having refuted it once already. “I know Brett well. Better than anyone else on this planet, after all this time. And I started picking up signs that he was looking in other places a few months ago. As you would imagine, I assumed he was simply bored with our marriage as men tend to be and would be trying to find someone he could have a fling with.”
Ms. Washburn settled more heavily on the front of my desk. “Didn’t that bother you?” she asked.
“Of course it did. I didn’t feel that kind of boredom. Sure, you live with a person for seven years and you get to know their patterns, in life and in bed. I’m well aware of Brett as a lover and I know what he’s good at and what he’s not.”
I was uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going. I did not like to discuss matters of sexual relations with anyone, least of all a woman I had met less than five minutes earlier. But I reminded myself she was a potential client and wanted me to hear her story despite my having answered her question as soon as it was asked. My strategy became, then, to listen to her increasingly detailed explanation, have her ask the question again, answer it the same way, and then politely usher Ms. Fontaine out of the Questions Answered office. Interrupting would simply prolong the process. I did my best to look attentive and nodded for no particular reason.
Ms. Fontaine seemed to take that as encouragement. “About three months ago I noticed he was less present when we were eating dinner or just watching television. He didn’t seem to be part of us anymore, just him. I tried to say something about it, but Brett said he was under stress at work and his mood didn’t have anything to do with us.”
“What work does your husband do?” Ms. Washburn asked. She had retrieved a client intake form from her desk drawer and was securing it on a clipboard. Apparently Ms. Washburn believed we were actually going to accept Ms. Fontaine as a client.
Virginia answered, “His specialty is in refurbishing existing properties for better use by students and then providing the property with clients.” Her tone was flat and rehearsed as if she had recited it many times before.
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