Shades of Grey

by Clea Simon

  Stacia nodded. ‘I’ve already spoken to Luke. But, I was wondering, you know, if Tim ever used your computer?’

  Dulcie shuddered. The idea of her late ex-room-mate in her room, not to mention messing with her computer, appalled her. All her notes were on that computer. And her journal, along with about a dozen photos of Mr Grey. ‘It’s actually an old machine, and I don’t think—’ He’d borrowed everything else she had though, hadn’t he? ‘I mean, I hadn’t thought. But I’ll go through my hard drive tonight.’

  ‘Thanks, Dulcie.’ The smile seemed real now, warming up Stacia’s dark eyes. ‘I really appreciate it.’ She reached forward to give the shorter woman a quick hug. ‘But please, if you find anything, don’t open it. Just delete it, or put it on a disk for me, will you?’

  ‘Sure, Stacia.’ Another half hug, and the other woman was gone, a look of genuine relief on her pretty face. Dulcie watched her retreating back and thought about friendship. Suze would go out of her way to get rid of embarrassing files for her, wouldn’t she? At any rate, she hadn’t been attacked – or warned off Luke. Who, she realized, was heading her way, two margaritas in hand.

  ‘Hey, Dulcie, I didn’t think I’d find you still here.’ He handed her one of the wide, green drinks. ‘In fact,’ he leaned closer and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, ‘I figured we’d both have fled this scene long before.’

  Dulcie sipped the margarita. It tasted as good as the first. ‘I didn’t think I’d last either, but Stacia sort of made me her project.’ She slipped him a look. He didn’t seem particularly interested.

  ‘Yeah, she’s like that. I got to know her a bit last Christmas, when Tim brought her and Alana around. She’s the one who invited me, actually.’

  That was interesting. ‘I think she masterminded this party. I guess she wanted to cheer Alana up.’

  ‘The grieving girlfriend? Hardly.’ They both looked over: the supposedly bereaved blonde was illustrating some story with wide gestures that had already doused one onlooker – Jack? Bruce? – in margarita. Luke coughed. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Dulcie felt her cheeks redden. ‘I know, he was your brother. I’m so—’

  ‘Don’t apologize. It’s OK. It’s – these people. I mean, I agree, none of them seem to have really noticed that he’s gone. It’s almost as if he’s just out getting more limes or something.’

  ‘They’re not the deepest crew. And it is a shock.’ Dulcie didn’t know why she was making excuses. ‘Maybe this is just their way of dealing with it?’

  Luke nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. ‘Yeah, I guess. They certainly seem to have moved on.’

  ‘Speaking of moving on.’ Dulcie wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. Certainly, Luke would want to know that everything was being done to find his brother’s killer, wouldn’t he? ‘I spoke with the police again.’

  ‘Oh?’ Luke was staring off at the horizon. The setting sun had burnished the State House to a warm gold.

  ‘I know they’re investigating, but I thought they might want to know what you told me. About how Tim had done a little dealing and—’

  ‘You what?’ Dulcie had his attention now. Luke’s grey eyes looked hard as stone.

  ‘Luke, I know he was small time, just selling to friends or whatever. But this is a big city. And I don’t know how streetwise Tim was.’

  ‘I can’t believe you talked to the cops about this!’ Luke was fairly spitting. ‘That was told to you in confidence.’

  ‘Luke, all we can do for him now is try to get him some justice.’ Dulcie couldn’t understand where this anger was coming from. ‘Tim is beyond anyone hurting him.’

  ‘But my family isn’t. My parents aren’t! If this gets out – if their friends hear . . .’

  Dulcie stepped back. She hadn’t thought about his family. Unlike hers, they were in the same city. And unlike her family, they probably cared about things like propriety and reputation. Could she be any clumsier? ‘I’m . . . I’m sorry, Luke. I didn’t think. I can’t imagine the police will make any of this common knowledge.’

  ‘You didn’t think is right.’ He stormed off.

  ‘Whoa, what was that about?’

  Dulcie turned, surprised to find one of the beefy boys right behind her.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’ Dulcie heard the shakiness in her own voice. ‘Bill?’

  ‘Bruce, we met earlier.’ He was another tall one, towering over her like Luke had. His muscles had made him look shorter from a distance, but when he took her hand, his grip was gentle. As was his voice. ‘You sure you’re OK? Would you like another margarita?’

  ‘Yes – I mean, no. Thank you.’ Bruce had blue eyes. Sky blue. ‘I think I’ve had enough.’

  ‘Probably wise. I think a lot of folks here have had enough.’ They shared a smile. He had dimples, too. ‘But I was meaning to come talk to you anyway.’

  She raised her eyebrows, not entirely trusting herself to speak.

  ‘I wanted to thank you for standing up for Luisa.’ She blanked. ‘You remember – the Spanish girl?’

  ‘Latina.’ She was getting flustered. ‘I mean, you’re welcome. She seems very nice.’

  ‘She is, I know.’ His grin turned sheepish. ‘She was very gentle with me when I was failing statistics, just like Tim promised she’d be. But this crowd . . .’ He shook his head and his grin faded as he looked around. Dulcie followed his gaze. Silhouetted against the reddening sky, the scene looked like a TV ad for summer. But the noise level was getting louder. ‘They can be, well, tough, if you’re not born on the Hill; or a linebacker – for the right school.’ He chuckled softly and leaned in. ‘Some of us get by on brawn. But Luisa isn’t one of them, and a lot of people here wouldn’t give her the time of day because of that. You must know what I mean, right? I see it in you, too. It’s just so rare that you get to meet someone who is genuine.’

  Dulcie felt her cheeks flushing and hoped she’d simply blend in against the sunset. She hadn’t expected this: gallantry – and blue eyes. Even Bruce’s bulk seemed more toned close up. ‘Well, we all have some part of us that’s not for general consumption.’ She was babbling, and she knew it. ‘I mean, we all want that.’

  He leaned closer still. Maybe she’d made sense? Maybe he didn’t care. ‘In fact, Dulcie, that’s what I was hoping to talk to you about—’

  They were interrupted by a musical tone. ‘Excuse me, please.’ He held up a sausage-like finger. ‘I’ve been waiting for this call.’ He turned away from her to answer and she found herself looking around again. She could see the attraction of living like this. Up here, the slight breeze kept things cool, and she hadn’t heard the buzz of a single mosquito. Maybe things were getting better, finally.

  ‘Dulcie?’ She turned back to find that Bruce had pocketed his cell. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve got to run.’ He paused, on the brink of saying something else. ‘I look forward to seeing you again.’

  ‘See you,’ she said, but he was already halfway to the roof door. He hadn’t asked for her number, but he knew how to find her. Maybe these people weren’t so bad. She licked the salt off her lips and thought about another drink. The sound of laughter caught her ear and she turned toward it. Luke was standing off by the railing, the golden dome of the State House still glowing behind him, and Stacia was by his side.

  ‘So, it wasn’t so bad after all.’ Suze deserved to gloat a little bit, and Dulcie was feeding her all the details. Luke might have a screw loose, but now there was blue-eyed Bruce in the picture, a muscle-man with dimples. And Stacia’s news had been a bit of a bombshell. Dirty pictures of the All-American Alana?

  ‘No, it was actually pretty fun.’ Dulcie had called Suze as soon as she’d gotten off the T. ‘Those people weren’t all half bad.’ She waited. Nothing. ‘Oh, all right. Susan Laurel Rubenstein, you were right.’ The silence on the line made Dulcie wonder for a moment if her cell service had dropped out. More likely, Suze was multitasking – they both tended to do that –
and had been distracted by an email. ‘Suze?’

  ‘Sorry, Dulce. That was just the strangest thing.’ Suze sounded disturbed. Maybe she’d lost something on her computer?

  ‘What?’ Dulcie stopped. She was half a block away from her building, but she didn’t want to risk losing reception again.

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe it was another network. It just sounded . . . creepy.’

  Suze was freaking her out now. What made matters worse was that she could see her own front stoop. On it, just as on the night when Tim had been killed, was a long-haired grey cat. He was staring straight at her.

  Please be careful, Dulcie. Trust, like faith, can weave spells.

  She heard the voice in her head, calm and warm, but with an overtone of urgency. ‘Trust can weave spells,’ she repeated.

  ‘That’s it! That’s what I heard just now. Did you hear it, too?’ Suze was talking, but her voice barely registered. What did that mean anyway?

  The cat on the steps had flicked its tail once, blinked its green eyes, and disappeared.

  Nine

  ‘Hangover? Must have been a good party, then.’ Joanie’s voice sounded unnaturally loud in Dulcie’s cubicle. But despite the throbbing headache, Dulcie wasn’t complaining.

  ‘Margaritas,’ she said as explanation, both to her office mate, who today had traded her customary black for a virulent purple, and to herself. Better the odd apparition should have been alcohol induced. Please be careful. The words came back to her. Who had she trusted? Why did cats have to be so enigmatic? She’d flirted with Bruce, sure. But that was it. She hadn’t even given him her number.

  Still muzzy-headed as the office day wound to a close, she decided to go directly to the library from Priority. Not that she’d get much work done in this state, but maybe the air-conditioning would clear away the fog.

  But once she’d climbed out of the T and hiked across the Yard, she began to have second thoughts. The broad stone steps up to the library entrance seemed particularly steep this evening, the marble foyer somehow chilling. It was better than going home, particularly after another sweatbox day, but the familiar comfort was lacking. As she swiped her student ID through the entrance turnstile, she found herself thinking about that feline vision once again. Was she losing her mind? Last night’s apparition had been disturbing, rather than comforting, appearing with a warning and then gone in a flash. And Mr Grey, no matter how much she missed him, was dead and gone. She had held his still body herself.

  She shook her head to clear it. That didn’t help the headache, but as she rummaged through her bag for yet another dose of aspirin, she realized the obvious. Dulcie Schwartz specialized in research. Why not look into what was bugging her? She’d given up the other day at work, but she was on her own turf now – and Widener was research central.

  A quick detour to the water fountain and she fairly bounced up the steps to the reading room, the huge, hushed heart of the library. Unlike the stacks, the reading room was never even close to empty. With its high, arched ceiling and skylights, the long hall felt like a cathedral, and here in its nave supplicants were always ready to worship. Passing by the great wooden tables, where summer school students had spread out their books and papers, she made her way to one of the computer terminals set against the paneled walls.

  ‘Paranormal, ghosts, sightings’. As she typed the words into the library database, she chuckled. She’d entered these very words before, only then she’d been looking for iterations in eighteenth-century fiction. Skimming through the listings, she also had to wonder, if she was going to be haunted, why would it be by her cat? Weren’t most ghosts supposed to be of those who had met a violent or untimely end? That question was at the core of The Ravages, provoking scholars to wonder whether that kindly old family retainer had met a bad end – or whether there were other spirits hanging around the mortal coil.

  Could the same rules hold true in her current situation? Much as Dulcie had loved Mr Grey, and as hard as it had been to let him go, she knew the grey cat had lived a good, long life. Tim, on the other hand, had barely begun his. If anyone was going to haunt her, it should have been her obnoxious room-mate, shouldn’t it?

  The thought was chilling. But as the counter passed 2,000 hits without anything interesting, she gave up and moved the mouse to click ‘Exit’. She might be a research wizard, but the ultra-modern Widener reading room was no place to search for ghosts. Instead, she pulled the ergonometric keyboard toward her and started typing in more earthly terms: ‘Crime, Cambridge, City of’. Now that might get her somewhere. Maybe Tim’s murder was part of a series. Maybe it was drug related, and some crime lord had set out to make Central Square his own.

  But if that was the case, the HOLLIS catalog had no word of it. Even when Dulcie clicked over to the library’s extensive periodicals section, the pickings were slim: a sexual assault down by the river; a rash of purse snatchings near the Porter Square mall; a mugging that had left the young victim without the twenty in his wallet or his new leather jacket (‘black, described as “biker style”’) according to the police report. The big, bad city just wasn’t that bad.

  Strange that Tim’s murder hadn’t made the news. Dulcie pushed her chair back from the carrel and looked around the reading room. Like the rest of the library, it had been renovated recently, the college’s deep pockets paying for not only these new computers but also the restored paneling that glowed with polish, the glare-free lighting over the communal work tables, and that wonderful air-conditioning that kept both temperature and humidity at constant, book-friendly levels. Come to think of it, maybe the lack of any news stories wasn’t that strange. Tim’s family was old Crimson. From what Luke had said, they’d prefer a low profile in this community, and they could afford it.

  But that didn’t mean that they were bad people. They just wanted privacy. After all, not all preppies were evil. Maybe it was the hangover, but Dulcie found her thoughts wandering to Bruce. He might belong to that crowd but he had seemed nice, and not just because he’d seemed interested in her. Dulcie gave herself a reality check; the big guy liked her at least in part because she’d befriended Luisa, an outsider. And that thought led Dulcie back to Tim again. He’d at least recommended the pretty Latina as a tutor, and something about Bruce’s tone of voice suggested that Tim had said more about her, too. Perhaps Tim had been serious about Luisa. Despite Alana’s confidence, there had been no evidence that the ring was for her. And actually, if Tim had been planning to dump Alana and he had compromising photos of her, well, that might be motive for some kind of violence, mightn’t it?

  She’d check her computer when she got home. Not that she wanted to see photos of Alana, but it was a point worth pursuing, and, besides, she’d promised Stacia. For now, she might as well try to get some work done. Thinking of work, Dulcie pulled herself back to the terminal. Nobody could watch her keystrokes here, and she typed in ‘Priority Insurance’ and ‘embezzle’. Nothing. She erased the second word and substituted ‘fraud’. Just then, the gentle hush of the reading room was broken by the jarring ring of a cell phone. All through the hall, heads bobbed up.

  ‘Shhh!’ They were all staring at her. One older man with a goatee was positively scowling, and Dulcie realized that the galling noise was coming from her phone. She reached into her bag and, with a quick fumble, turned it off. She shrugged and smiled; the silent version of an apology. The goatee guy shot her a look.

  Two minutes later, a quick glance around the room showed only a dozen bald pates, five scruffy hairy ones, and one woman who seemed to be sleeping. Dulcie snuck the offending phone out of her bag and into her lap. The missed call had come from the Cambridge Police. Well, good. She had been hoping they would follow up on the drug angle. And now she might have more to tell them: about Alana and Luisa, about the ring, and the possibility that blue-blood Tim might have had compromising material on a Beacon Hill deb. Should she call them back now? The terminal in front of her had finished its search. More than two dozen ci
tations linked her daytime employer and the word ‘fraud’. Most of them seemed to be news stories, the kind of reports that quoted insurance executives justifying their premiums by blaming consumer fraud. But one or two looked like they might go deeper. She hit ‘print’ and by the time she had gathered herself together and wandered over to the library’s print center, the sleek and silent machine had already spat out the pages. Stuffing them into her bag, she headed for the door.

  ‘Hello, this is Dulcie Schwartz. I’m returning Detective Scavetti’s call.’ There’d been a short queue at the exit as it was so close to closing time, and by the time the guard had checked Dulcie’s bag and let her through another fifteen minutes had passed. Dulcie stood on the Widener steps, looking up at the clouds.

  ‘Ms Schwartz? This is Detective Forrester. I’m afraid Detective Scavetti is gone for the day.’

  Dulcie sighed. Maybe Tim’s case wasn’t that high priority after all. She’d left the quiet cool of the library for nothing. Even though the summer twilight was fading, the humidity remained oppressive.

  ‘But I do know he would like to speak with you. Could you come in tomorrow at ten?’

  ‘Of course.’ Tomorrow was Saturday and she’d have preferred to sleep in but at least she was getting somewhere. Maybe Scavetti would prove to be her knight errant, righting wrongs around him. ‘Did he get my message about the drugs? Something else has come up, too. There’s something about Tim’s old girlfriend—’

  The voice on the other end cut her off. ‘I’m sure you can explain all that to Detective Scavetti. I don’t have his notes here. I just know that he is very insistent that you come in as soon as possible for questioning.’

  ‘Questioning?’ Dulcie straightened up. ‘Me?’ But the line was dead.

  As if on cue, the clouds cracked open and it started to rain.

  Ten

  Dulcie was still standing there, holding the open phone and staring at the torrent pouring down from the edge of the library portico, when the little machine came back to life.