by Sandra Balzo
A figure stepped out of the darker shadows into the lighter ones. ‘Maggy!’
In a romance, it would be Pavlik, who, unable to sleep, had come to the store to apologize. In a slasher movie, it would have been the bogey garbage man come to waste me.
But this wasn’t a romance or a slasher pic. It was my life.
‘Ted?’
What I could see of him looked like at least part of my scenario was true. He hadn’t slept. I felt a pang of sympathy, misplaced though it might be.
‘You scared me,’ I said, trying to fit the key into the lock by touch. ‘What are you doing here?’
I pushed open the door and picked my way through the tables and chairs to the wall next to the bean bins, where the light switches are. I normally would turn on just the back lights, so passers-by wouldn’t think we were open and stop by before I had the coffee ready. Given the lurker last night as well as Ted’s unexpected appearance, I figured flipping on all the lights was warranted.
My ex-husband still hadn’t said anything beyond my name. I turned to survey him. Sure enough, he still had on the clothes he’d been wearing yesterday.
‘Did you escape from jail?’
The old Ted would have rolled his eyes. Maybe even given me a little sneer.
The new unimproved Ted, though, collapsed in a chair, elbows propped on the table in front of him, head in his hands.
‘Oh, my God, you did!’ I gasped.
This time I got the eye-roll, thank the Lord.
‘I wasn’t arrested,’ he said. ‘The sheriff just wanted to ask some questions.’ He peered at me from between his fingers. ‘I don’t get what you see in that guy.’
‘Me, neither.’ I sat down opposite him. ‘So did Pavlik question you all night?’
Ted gave me a surprised look. ‘No, of course not. An hour or two maybe. Why would you think that? Do you know something?’
‘Believe me,’ I said, ‘I am the last person Pavlik is going to tell anything from now on. No, I asked because you look like you haven’t slept. You’re also wearing the same clothes you had on yesterday.’
Ted looked down at his blue golf shirt and khaki pants. ‘No, I’m not.’ He sounded offended at the idea.
‘You had on khaki pants and a blue golf shirt,’ I said.
‘I have eight pairs of khakis and seventeen golf shirts. And this shirt is navy. Yesterday’s was royal.’
Navy versus royal? ‘Geez, when did you get to be such a girl?’
‘Rachel said I needed to upgrade my wardrobe,’ Ted said, flushing. ‘She said she wouldn’t put up with my running around looking like a slob anymore.’
‘You’ve worn khakis and golf shirts ever since I’ve known you,’ I pointed out. ‘Now you just know what colors they are.’
‘And I don’t wear cargos anymore,’ Ted said, standing up to show me his flat-front pants. ‘Or pleated fronts. Rachel says no man should wear pleats.’
‘Except Sean Connery.’ But then that man could be ninety years old and in a wheelchair, and I’d still go to bed with him.
‘That’s a kilt,’ Ted said sourly. He was aware of my obsession with Sean.
‘Yes, it is,’ I said dreamily. Then I stood up. ‘You should call Eric this morning.’
Ted took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘I don’t want to involve him in this.’
‘I don’t either, but it will be worse if he hears it on the news.’
Ted bowed his head.
‘Listen, if you want to hang around, we can call him together,’ I offered. ‘First, though, I have to get through my checklist.’
‘What checklist?’ Ted seemed eager to contemplate anything but waking our son to tell him that his stepmother was missing and his father was being questioned by the police.
I opened the cabinet door over the sink and pulled a list off the inside of the door, where it was taped and safely protected in plastic.
I handed it to him, figuring it would keep him busy. ‘This checklist.’
Ted took it.
A.M. Checklist
Turn on backlights
Plug in and turn on coffee brewers (need 15 minutes to heat)
Turn on digital coffee scale
Grind coffee for brewed coffees of the day (one regular and one decaf – see schedule) on regular grind
Grind decaf French Roast for espresso (fine)
Cone grinder filled? Grind first lot
Run blinds for espresso
Run plain water through both brewers
Post names of brewed coffees (better to do the night before)
Fill bud vases and put on tables
Fill creamer and put on condiment cart
Brew coffees of the day
Fill baskets in bakery case
Put cash in cash register
Bring in newspaper (should arrive around 06:15)
Turn on front lights, music, flip sign and unlock door at 06:30
‘I guess I’m glad you didn’t run our household like a business.’
‘If I had,’ I said, plugging in the brewers and flipping on the scale, ‘you would have known exactly how many shirts you had and what colors they were.’
‘Rachel doesn’t treat me like a business. Besides, she’s missing,’ Ted said sternly. ‘Could you cut her some slack?’
He was right. ‘Did Pavlik say if they knew anything more?’
‘If they do, he’s not telling me any more than he’s telling you.’ Ted sounded like a sad puppy. ‘He says Rachel thought I was cheating on her.’
‘Weren’t you?’ I didn’t trust myself to look at him, just continued shoveling coffee beans into the cone grinder.
‘Of course not. I loved Rachel.’
‘I’ve heard that before,’ I mumbled, flipping on the grinder.
‘What?’ Ted yelled over the din.
‘I said –’ turning back to him – ‘that you said you loved me, too, but you didn’t have any trouble cheating on me.’
‘That was different.’ He stood up and rounded the counter to where I was.
‘Different? What was different about it? You were married to me and you said you loved me, but you had an affair with a younger woman. You are married to Rachel and you say you love her. Now she says you had an affair. What happened, Ted? Did you meet somebody younger again? What are you down to now? Twelve-year-olds?’
‘Why would I be interested in adolescents?’ He took a step toward me. ‘After all, I was married to one for nearly twenty years.’
Low blow. Though not completely without truth.
I brandished the coffee scooper at him. ‘Very funny. But the fact is that you slipped up. You were caught with someone – someone that Rachel thinks you were seeing when you and I were still married.’
Ted stopped dead. ‘She does?’
‘She does.’ I flipped off the grinder, which had run out of beans to grind. ‘Is she right?’
‘Who?’ Ted sputtered. ‘And where and when?’
Now if we only had ‘what’ and ‘why’, we’d have it covered. ‘I don’t know where or when, but I think the “who” is Emma.’
‘Emma Byrne?’
Yeah, like there were more beautiful raven-haired, blue-eyed Emmas that Ted had known since dental school. ‘Yes, Emma Byrne.’
‘But Rachel knows Emma,’ Ted protested. ‘She used to work for her.’
‘And I knew Rachel,’ I said, crossing my arms. ‘She worked for you. It not only didn’t stop you, but it was great cover. Just friends, right?’
If Ted was having an affair with Emma, it might have been going on for years. Maybe even dating back before we were married. She could be his Camilla Parker Bowles to my Princess Diana.
‘Is it all a lie?’ I asked Ted, a little dazed.
He’d been saying something I hadn’t heard. He stopped. ‘What’s a lie?’
‘Our story.’
‘I don’t understand.’ He was looking at me like I was crazy.
‘You know, the story
of “us”. The one I tell myself about you and me. How we met. How we fell in love. Buying the house. Having Eric.’
I moved closer to Ted. ‘I’d managed to salvage part of that. I honestly thought we had some good years.’
‘A lot of good years,’ Ted said softly.
As I looked up at him, the door tinkled.
‘We’re not open yet,’ I said, stepping away from Ted. I wasn’t sure if I should be grateful for the interruption or irritated by it. ‘I don’t have the coffee brew―’
‘Apparently you’re open for some people.’
This time, the visitor was Pavlik. But he sure didn’t look romantic. Instead, he looked official.
I tried to put the best face on it that I could. ‘Much as I love the fact that people seem to gravitate here,’ I said, ‘I’d prefer that both of you do it during business hours.’
‘These are my business hours,’ Pavlik said. ‘I know why I’m here. Why is he?’ He gestured to Ted.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Ted said.
‘So you come here?’
‘His mom is in Paris,’ I explained.
‘Berlin. Or London,’ Pavlik said dryly. ‘You already tried that one.’
‘It’s true,’ I said. ‘I mean, except for the city. The woman gets around.’
‘As does her son. How come when I go looking for Thorsen, all I have to do is figure out where you are?’
Good question. I looked at Ted. ‘Why is that?’
‘I’m not sure. I guess I just needed―’
Pavlik interrupted. ‘What you “need” right now is a lawyer.’ He signaled and two uniformed sheriff’s deputies stepped in. As they approached, Pavlik turned back to Ted.
‘Rachel Slattery Thorsen’s body was found in Lake Michigan an hour ago. Tor Thorsen, you have the right to remain . . .’
I don’t remember the rest of the rights Pavlik read to Ted. What I do remember vividly was the look on Ted’s face. Shocked. Frightened.
And totally alone.
I wasn’t sure what to do. I couldn’t leave the store, but should I call a lawyer for Ted? It really wasn’t my place any longer, but my ex-husband had looked so shell-shocked as Pavlik took him off, that he might not be capable of doing it himself.
Not that I was any better equipped. I didn’t know any lawyers besides my divorce attorney and Bernie, who did corporate work. I didn’t think either of them would be much help getting Ted out of the slammer.
Having no answers, I did the only thing I knew how to do. I tackled the checklist at hyper-speed. By the time Caron arrived at six thirty, I was filling the cash register. She had the newspaper in her hand and dropped it on the reading counter next to the condiment cart.
‘Good morning,’ she said cheerily, picking up the list Ted had left on the table. ‘Do you still need this after all this time?’ she asked, waving it at me.
‘Believe me, I know all seventeen steps by heart.’
‘There are sixteen,’ she said, hanging it back up.
‘Are not,’ I said. Focusing on minutia was a whole lot easier than focusing on the larger issues. Things like Rachel being dead. Or Ted being arrested for her murder.
‘There are sixteen steps on your list, not seventeen. By the way, did the bakery deliver the cookies in the shape of apples? People have been asking for them for teacher appreciation.’
‘No, I mean, yes. They’re there.’ I pointed at a white pastry box. ‘I’ve been calling it the seventeen-step checklist for a year now. Why haven’t you corrected me?’
She shrugged. ‘It didn’t seem important.’ She picked up her Uncommon Grounds apron and slipped it over her head, tying it around her waist. ‘So are you feeling any better? What’s new?’
What’s new? Let’s see . . .
‘Ted was at the door when I got here this morning. Then Pavlik arrived, really angry to find Ted here.’
‘Angrier than yesterday?’ Caron asked.
‘Oh, yeah.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He said that Rachel’s body was found in Lake Michigan and he read Ted his rights.’
Caron had gone white. ‘Are you kidding?’
‘I have a weird sense of humor, but not that weird. Do you think Bernie could recommend a lawyer if Ted needs one?’
Caron scrunched up her nose. ‘I don’t know if Bernie knows any defense attorneys, but I can ask him. Did Pavlik say how she died?’
Good question. ‘I didn’t even think to ask.’
She poured me a cup of coffee and handed it to me. ‘That’s because you’re in shock like I was when I found Patricia’s body last year. Your mind doesn’t work straight.’
I wished I’d been as understanding when she’d gone brain dead on me back then. It probably would have been a lot more effective than the passive-aggressive approach I’d taken with her.
‘Think it’s in the paper?’ Caron unfolded the newspaper she’d placed on the reading stand.
‘I don’t see how it could be. Pavlik said they found Rachel about an hour ago. The paper’s deadline is eleven p.m.’
That, at least, was good news. I needed to call Eric and tell him what had happened to Rachel, but I would almost certainly get his voicemail this early in the morning. I preferred not to leave a message or wake him up to tell him the news, but I also didn’t want him to see it in the morning paper. Not that Eric read news from anything but a computer screen. And that was usually accidental as he was logging on to e-mail.
Besides, Eric was in Minneapolis/St. Paul – the Twin Cities, or just the Cities to people up there. The Cities were five hours away from Milwaukee and served by a different newspaper and different television stations.
Still, judging by the news trucks at Ted and Rachel’s house yesterday, the discovery of Rachel’s body could well make the national news today. Especially given the Slattery and Whitaker family connections.
What to do, what to do.
‘We don’t have a television here,’ Caron said, as if she were reading my mind, ‘so we can’t even see if it’s on the news. Do we know who found the body or where?’
‘We know nothing,’ I said, ‘because I asked nothing. Not that Pavlik would have told me, the mood he was in.’
‘There is that.’ Caron had poured a cup of coffee for herself and now she took a sip. Finding it too hot, she blew on it and set it down. ‘So the body was found an hour before the sheriff came here at, what? Six?’
‘Maybe quarter to,’ I said.
‘Then that means somebody was near the lake at four thirty or five.’
‘An early-morning boater, maybe?’ I suggested. ‘The weather’s been really nice.’
‘Or maybe a fisherman or jogger.’
‘Which means the body was probably inside the breakwater.’ My brain was starting to function again. ‘Maybe near the park or the marina. Someplace downtown, at least.’
‘Probably,’ Caron agreed. ‘I’m surprised they were able to identify her so quickly.’
‘She was only missing for a day,’ I said. ‘So she couldn’t have been in the water long.’
I was thinking about the last time I had seen Rachel. The boots. The miniskirt. ‘I wonder if she was still wearing what she had on when she came by my house on Saturday.’
‘She’d have to have been, right? Ted says she never came home.’ Caron looked at me.
I looked at Caron.
‘You do believe him, right?’ she asked.
‘Of course. Why would he lie?’
‘Why would he?’ she echoed.
Only if he’d killed her and dumped her body in the lake.
Chapter Ten
Who needs a television when you have customers eager to bring you all the news that’s fit to repeat?
First up to the cash register was Laurel Birmingham, Brookhills town clerk. Laurel is a tall, well-endowed redhead, who delights in wearing low-cut tops. Her breasts had seemed especially perky since she came back from vacation. I suspected a boob job or a
really good sale at Victoria’s Secret.
‘Did you hear?’ she asked breathlessly.
Most of the time Laurel was first with the news, so her face dropped when I said I knew Rachel’s body had been found. Almost immediately, I realized my mistake.
‘But how could you have seen the news?’ Laurel asked. ‘Haven’t you been here since . . .’ A knowing look. ‘Ohhh, your sheriff.’
I did a quick mental tally. I could tell her the truth, but it would raise the question of why Ted was here at Uncommon Grounds in the first place. That, in itself, would inspire all sorts of gossip. Since people were already queuing up behind Laurel, I thought the simplest answer was the best.
‘Yes,’ I said, with what I hoped was a demure smile. ‘Pavlik told me.’
It was true. He’d told me as he led Ted off.
‘The sheriff arrested him here,’ Caron said from behind me.
I turned and gave her a look that should have turned her into salt.
She waved me away. ‘It’s impossible to keep secrets from Laurel. You might as well come clean.’
‘She’s right, you know.’ Laurel signaled that she wanted her usual. ‘It’ll be in the sheriff’s report anyway.’
Damn public records. ‘We don’t know that he was arrested. He simply went with the sheriff’s deputies.’
‘Holy crap!’ a voice exclaimed from the back of the line. ‘Did they read him his rights?’
Sophie.
Henry Wested, who lives at the assisted living facility on Poplar Creek, was standing next to her.
‘Even if they did,’ he said to her, ‘it doesn’t mean the man has been arrested, only that he was taken into custody for questioning.’
Henry was looking natty in his customary gray fedora, a little red feather in the brim. Sophie was wearing her Monday outfit – red pants and a black top with red cherries artfully scattered. They made a cute couple and I had my suspicions they actually were a couple.
‘They didn’t read me my rights,’ a man half-hidden behind Laurel said. ‘But then maybe I’m not a suspect.’
At the sound of his voice, Caron’s face went beet red. That alone would have been enough to tell me who the mystery man was, even if I hadn’t recognized the voice.
‘Roger Karsten, as I live and breathe,’ Sophie said. ‘What the heck are you doing back in Brookhills?’