by Dorien Grey
“Do you have any reason to think Taylor’s death might not have been accidental?” I asked, getting to the core of my call.
I could almost see him shaking his head. “None at all. But Irving McGill and Glen O’Banyon apparently had sufficient concerns to convince me to agree to have it looked into. We certainly can’t afford even the hint of a scandal.”
I didn’t see any particular point to setting up a face-to-face meeting, based on our phone conversation, but I gave him my phone number and asked him to please call me if he remembered or thought of anything that might be pertinent. He agreed, I thanked him for his time, and we exchanged good-byes and hung up.
The fact that he had some dealings with Taylor Cates, however peripheral, might warrant a follow up later, depending on what more I might find out about Cates’ life. And that Teddy Wilson…T/T as I always called him…had known Taylor definitely warranted a follow-up. Besides, it would be great to see T/T again.
I got out the piece of paper on which I’d written down Cates’ phone number, picked up the phone, and dialed.
It rang four times, then, “Hi. I’m not in right now, but please leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
Never having heard Taylor Cates’ voice, I didn’t know if the voice was his or his roommate’s.
“Hi,” I said. “My name is Dick Hardesty, and I was hoping to speak to someone about Taylor Cates. I’d appreciate it if you could give me a call sometime either today or tomorrow—Thursday—at my office.” I left my number, and hung up.
Within ten minutes, the phone rang.
Busy day, I thought as I picked up the phone.
“Hardesty Investigations,” I said.
“Dick! This is Tom McNabb, returning your call. Sorry I wasn’t in when you called earlier.” The voice was warm, friendly, and reminded me of the phrase “hale-fellows-well-met.”
Considering that we had never met, the first-name familiarity threw me off for a second. I suppose he probably tailored his personality to fit his perception of the people he was dealing with—which again may be one of the reasons he’d become so successful.
“I appreciate your calling,” I said, avoiding using either “Tom”…with which I’d feel a little uncomfortable since I didn’t know him (call me old-fashioned)…or “Mr. McNabb” which might seem a little awkward since he’d called me “Dick.”
Get on with it, Hardesty, one of my mind-voices said impatiently.
“I was wondering,” I continued, “if you might have any information about the incident at the Burrows’ opening involving Taylor Cates’ death.”
There was only the slightest of pauses, then, “I’m afraid not. Evan Knight introduced us, once, and I had seen Taylor a couple of times shortly before the opening when I had occasion to be at the library, but that was it. His death was a real shame, though, and especially so that it had to happen at the Burrows.”
Well, I hadn’t really expected that he’d be able to shed much light on the matter, but I found the fact that Evan Knight had introduced him to be most interesting. “You say Evan Knight introduced you to Taylor…at the library, I assume?”
“No,” McNabb replied, “I was out to dinner one evening about three months ago and ran into Evan at the restaurant. Taylor was with him.”
“Interesting,” I said. “Did you get the impression they were dating?”
McNabb laughed. “I know Evan too well,” he said. “I have no doubt Taylor was his date that evening, but that it might have been anything more than that is highly unlikely. I found it interesting, though, that Taylor seemed like such a serious fellow…not the kind of personality Evan is usually drawn to.”
“So you and Evan are friends?” I asked.
“I don’t know that I’d go so far as to say ‘friends,’ but we’ve known one another for a long time, and I must say he’s come a long way.”
“How do you mean?”
“Evan worked for me for a short time when he first got out of college,” he explained. “He has a real way with people when he wants to apply himself. His problem was that he couldn’t be bothered most of the time. I liked him, but he was just too unpredictable when it came to his work, and I had to let him go. He went through a series of jobs and never stayed with any of them very long. Then he met Chester Burrows and went to work for him as his personal assistant. Chester was more than a little reclusive, as you know, and Evan was his bridge to the ‘outside’ world for the last years of Burrows’ life. And then, four or five years ago, Evan’s first book was published. Frankly, I was impressed. I never knew he had it in him. But I’m glad he’s finally pulled himself together on at least one level.”
I took a moment to mull that over before asking, “Do you recall anything unusual the night of the opening, before Taylor’s body was discovered?”
“Not a thing,” McNabb said. “I didn’t even know Taylor was in the building until I heard that he’d died.”
I couldn’t think of anything further for McNabb at the moment, so I thanked him for his time, and we said good-bye and hung up.
The phone had no sooner hit the cradle than it rang again.
“Hardesty Investigations.”
“Dick, it’s Jonathan.” Of course it’s Jonathan, I thought with mild frustration over why he always found it necessary to identify himself. “I was wondering if you could pick Joshua up from day care and then maybe stop at the store and get some milk. I’m with my boss and we’re on our way over to Evan Knight’s place to give him a quote on his landscaping.”
“How come you’re going?” I asked, immediately regretting letting my Scorpio petty jealousy spring to the fore. I usually kept it under pretty strict control. But for some reason, with Evan Knight….
Luckily, Jonathan didn’t seem to pick up on it. “My boss was supposed to go over by himself, but he and I had to go pick up some mulch and he was running late, and…”
“That’s okay, Babe,” I said. “I’ll go get Joshua. No problem. We’ll see you when you get home.”
Damn, I hate being a Scorpio at times. I’ll bet my bottom dollar that Othello was a Scorpio, and we all know what happened to him.
Time to go home.
*
Joshua was his usual effervescent self, giving me a detailed account of his day at “school,” as he always called it, which as usual seamlessly blended reality and imagination as only a four-year-old boy can blend them. And stopping at the store for milk was, as usual, an adventure in itself. I deliberately only took a basket rather than a cart in hopes it might dissuade Joshua from trying to put everything within reach into it. Of course, I wasn’t much better. I can never go to the store and just buy what I went there for—a fact of which the stores’ owners and designers are very well aware. We ended up with the milk, a large box of a new cereal being advertised on all the kids’ shows on TV, which Joshua spotted half an aisle away, a dozen chocolate-covered donuts, a package of knockwurst, and a can of sauerkraut. (No, I have no idea why, either. It just seemed like a good idea at the time.)
Jonathan arrived home shortly after Joshua and I had declared a truce in a battle over his insistence that he eat the entire box of cereal the minute we got home, despite the proximity of dinner. He settled, after rather heated negotiations, on a small glass of milk and a plum.
Between the battle and Jonathan’s arrival, I managed to put in a call to Tim and Phil. I knew they wouldn’t be home yet, and that Tim probably wouldn’t have the information I needed at his fingertips anyway, but I left a message telling him what I needed and asking if he could give me a call when he found out.
After our group hug and settling down in the living room with my Manhattan and Jonathan’s Coke—Joshua was playing in his room—I had a chance to ask Jonathan how it had gone at Evan Knight’s place.
“Fine,” he said. I noticed a certain…hesitation…in the way he said it. “We got the job, and we start tomorrow. It’ll be a pretty big project, and he wants it done by this Saturday. He’s hav
ing a big party.”
I looked at him closely. “Anything wrong?” I asked.
He didn’t look directly at me when he said: “No. Nothing.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” he said. “He asked us to the party.”
He what? “He asked you and your boss to a party?” I said, confused, sensing my Scorpio rising.
Jonathan shook his head and took a long swig of his Coke. “No. You and me. My boss had to run out to the truck for his calculator, and Evan asked me while he was gone.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I said I’d ask you.”
“You don’t sound too enthusiastic about it,” I said.
He looked at me. “Oh, I am!” he said. “There’s going to be a couple other writers there and some other important people. I’d really like to meet them.”
I could still sense something in there he wasn’t saying. “So you want to go?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said, though with just a hint of hesitation, “if you do.”
Well, let’s see here. Something was going on that Jonathan wasn’t telling me. I didn’t trust Evan Knight for one second when it came to his motives, and I felt like saying “No, I don’t want to go,” but realized if I did, I’d be giving in to those Scorpio qualities I’ve worked so hard to overcome. Besides, I’d like to get a little closer look at the situation, to see how Jonathan and Evan Knight interacted. I trusted Jonathan completely, but…
“Sure,” I said. “It might be fun.”
Liar! my Scorpio said.
CHAPTER 4
“I’d better call to see if Craig can come over to watch Joshua,” Jonathan said, setting his Coke down on the coffee table and getting up from the couch. “Saturday’s kind of short notice, but we’ll see. And if he can’t make it, we don’t really have to go.”
What is going on, here? more than one of my mind-voices wanted to know. To say I was more than a little confused and more than mildly uncomfortable for no specific reason is an understatement. I knew Jonathan was easily impressed, and that to actually know someone as “famous” as Evan Knight meant a lot to him, and the idea that there might be other well-known writers at the party was probably an irresistible draw. So why the perceived hesitance?
“That’s great, Craig!” I heard Jonathan say. “Around six thirty or seven, then? Thank your mom for us.”
He hung up the phone and came over to take his seat next to me. “We’re all set. His mom will drop him off here,” he said, as Joshua suddenly appeared in front of us, holding Bunny.
“We’re hungry,” he announced.
*
After dinner and dishes, I remembered about William Pearson saying that T/T would be back in town in two weeks for an appearance at Steamroller Junction.
“As long as we’re on a roll with our social life,” I said, “I was thinking maybe we could get the gang together to go see T/T when he’s in town in two weeks. But we’ll have to act fast so we can get tickets before they’re sold out.”
“Sure!” Jonathan said enthusiastically. “I really like him.”
So did I, and the fact that he had known Taylor Cates and might be able to tell me something about him made the prospect of seeing and talking with him even more appealing.
While Jonathan was giving Joshua his ready-for-bed bath, I called Jake to ask if he and Jared would like to go to the benefit.
I wasn’t sure that he’d be home, but dialed his number anyway, and was glad to hear him answer on the first ring.
“Jake, hi…it’s Dick. How’s it going?”
“Hi, Dick,” he said, sounding glad to hear from me (okay, so I still harbored my little fantasies). “Everything’s fine. Been busy as hell, but that’s okay. How about you?”
“We’re doing fine, too,” I said. “We haven’t talked to you since the Burrows opening, and thought we should give you a call.”
“Glad you did,” he said. “It was a nice event, except for that accident. I even managed to make a contact and land a job.”
“Oh?” I said, curious. “Who with?”
“Evan Knight, the author. He came over to us after the ceremony, and when I told him I was a contractor, he told me he was considering converting his basement into a ‘playroom’ and wondered if I might be interested in doing it for him.” He paused for just a moment. “Well, that wasn’t all he wanted…he made that pretty clear from the get-go…and he’s a pretty hot guy, so I took him up on the contracting offer, and Jared and I took him up on the other.” Another pause, then, “Hey, like I said at the opening, I’m not above mixing a little business and pleasure. He’s invited us to a party he’s having this Saturday.”
Small world! I thought. And I also began to wonder just what kind of party Evan Knight was planning.
“Yeah,” I said. “We’ve been invited, too. Jonathan’s boss is doing some landscaping for him.”
“That’s great. It’ll be good to get together again.”
“Ah, and speaking of which…,” I began, and told him about T/T’s upcoming appearance at Steamroller Junction.
“Sounds like fun,” he replied. “I’ll ask Jared when I talk to him.”
“I’ll be talking with Tim tomorrow, I hope,” I said, “and I’ll check with Bob and Mario, too. I can pick up the tickets for everybody, as soon as I know for sure if we all can make it.”
“I’ll get back to you as soon as I can,” he said.
Joshua, scrubbed, hair slicked back, skin polished to a high shine, and wearing his Dr. Denton’s, came running from the bathroom to tug impatiently at my pants leg. “Story time!” he said.
I heard Jake laugh. “Ah, the joys of uncle-hood,” he said. “I’d better let you go. Give Joshua—and Jonathan—a big hug for me.”
“Okay,” I said, bending down to pick Joshua up with my free arm. “We’ll see you Saturday.”
“Story time! Story time! Story time!” Joshua sing-songed as I carried him to his bedroom.
*
I was standing by the coffee maker, cup in hand, staring at it intently in hopes my concentration might speed up the burp-and-hiss process, when the phone rang. Breaking off my battle of wills with the machine, I stepped to my desk and, reaching across it, picked up the phone just before the answering machine could click on.
“Hardesty Investigations,” I said, coffee cup still in hand.
“Hi,” the male voice said. “I got a message to call you.”
Great. I’d left messages for several people the day before, but I thought I recognized it as the voice on Taylor Cates’ machine and took a chance.
“Thanks for returning the call,” I said. “You were Taylor Cates’…roommate…I assume?”
“Roommate, yes,” the voice said. “Why are you calling me?” He had a slight…what? Not an accent, but…I pegged him as being Afro-American. Interesting in that I realized I had no idea whether Taylor Cates himself was black or white, and why that might surprise me slightly I had no idea. Why had I assumed he was white? What the hell difference did it make?
On with it, Hardesty, a mind-voice prodded impatiently.
“I was hoping you might be able to tell me a bit about him,” I said.
“Like what?”
Obviously he wasn’t going to make this easy.
“Like how long you were roommates, how you met him, what kind of guy he was, whether he had a lover or was seeing anyone, if he’d been acting any differently in the weeks leading up to his death. That sort of thing.”
“What business is it of yours?” he asked.
This is definitely not Mr. Warmth, here, I thought.
“It’s my business because I’ve been hired to look into anything that might have contributed to his death. His employers want to be certain there is no possibility that it was anything but an accident. I’m sure you can understand.”
There was a very slight pause, then, “Yeah, I suppose so. But there’s not much I can tell you. I answered a classified in Th
e Rainbow Flag about a year ago. Taylor and I didn’t have all that much in common. He was way too quiet; never let himself just relax and have a good time. Always working, or running up to Carrington for classes. We didn’t really see that much of one another—I work the night shift, for one thing—but it all worked out and we got along okay when we did see each other.”
“So he didn’t have a lover, or wasn’t seeing anyone?” I asked.
“Nobody special, that I know of. The only guy I ever knew about was some writer, but that was only for a couple weeks, but that’s about it. An occasional date now and then.”
That “some writer” was, I assumed, Evan Knight.
“Did you ever meet the writer?” I asked.
“Yeah, one time. I wasn’t impressed. The guy was a real arrogant asshole—the kind of guy who thinks his shit don’t stink.”
“Any idea why they stopped seeing each other?”
“Nope. I guess Taylor just got wise to him. I don’t know…he never said.”
“And did you notice anything different about Taylor in the couple of weeks before he died?” I asked.
A longer pause. “Not really. After he got that new job, I saw even less of him than I had before. But that last week or so, he was a little…I don’t know how to describe it…wound up, maybe? Like he’d been drinking too much coffee, ya know?”
“But he never gave you a clue as to what about?”
“Nope. Like I said, we shared the apartment but not much else.”
I decided I’d kept him about as long as I needed to. “Well, I appreciate your talking to me,” I said. “I’d like it if you’d keep my number, and if you think of anything, please give me a call.”
“Okay,” he said. “That’s it?”
“Uh, yeah, I think so,” I said, and I heard the click of the receiver as he hung up.
*
Well, that was helpful, I thought as I replaced the phone on its cradle…but not very. Other than coming to the conclusion that Taylor Cates was black—which had absolutely no bearing on anything except my tendency to too often assume things that turn out to be incorrect—and reinforcing my opinion of Evan Knight—there really hadn’t been much there. Another teasing tap dance around the strong probability that something was going on in Taylor Cates’ life toward its end, but without getting one inch closer to what that something might be.