“She certainly puts herself there. And it’s not just when Mike is running for office. You know about her charitable work.”
“Yes. That’s one of the things about her I like. She does a lot with children. They don’t have any, you know. She apparently can’t.”
“That’s too bad.”
“She told me that they are thinking of adopting. But there must be something else bothering her. She never used to drink like she does now.”
Our table was ready. We were seated in a small alcove by the front window. There were blessedly few specials to hear about. We both ordered house salads. Alice had the coq au vin and I went for the striped bass. It was a special and the waitress said “it was flopping when they brought it in this afternoon.” The service was quick and efficient and the food, set off by a bottle of champagne, delicious. The waitress hadn’t lied about the bass.
“This place should be in New York magazine,” Alice commented.
“It is. That’s how I found it.”
“Some goddamn detective.”
“Hey, you said you didn’t know baseball.”
I enjoyed talking with Alice. Hell, I enjoyed just being with her. The meal went too quickly and toward the end I caught her looking at her watch. I asked her if she wanted dessert.
“It’s getting late,” she said. “I have a busy day tomorrow. I’m going to work with some of my swimmers.”
That explained the overnight bag. She was planning to stay the night in a Wagner College dorm and meet her swimmers for a Sunday practice.
“Aren’t classes over for the summer?”
“Yes, but the kids who live on Staten Island want to stay in shape and they use the Wagner pool. Keeps me in shape, too.”
“I’ll run you over to the school,” I said, hopefully keeping the disappointment out of my voice. I felt like a high-school kid who just had a screen door slammed in his face while he still had his lips puckered.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why take me to the school? Don’t you want to sleep with me?” She leaned across the table and kissed me. “I sure as hell want to sleep with you. Let’s go to your place.” Her voice grew husky. “I can be your dessert.”
I signaled our waitress.
“Check, please.”
CHAPTER 8 – EMOTIONAL LAND MINES
I have two rooms made up for visitors. While my own bedroom isn’t a man cave and I keep it in pretty good order, the others are neutrally decorated and have a bit more ambiance. Not that Alice was looking for ambiance. We barely got up the stairs to the nearest guest bedroom. After we stopped kissing and pawing, we undressed in front of each other, eyes locked. Then two sets drifted down for a full-body scan. I heard her breath catch. She looked back up and saw where I was staring.
“All the girls on the team shave,” she said, huskily. “It’s the suits.” She took my hand and led me to the bed, laying back across it sideways and lifting her legs. “I think you can skip the foreplay.” Her voice was very tight. I had no voice at all. A moment later she made a sound half way between a sigh and a moan and said, “perfect fit.”
After the natural progression of events and a brief respite, we rearranged ourselves properly on the bed and decided to catch up on the foreplay.
“It’s like having the salad after a meal, very Tuscan,” I said as I began my explorations.
“I don’t suppose a cannoli remark would be appropriate,” she giggled.
The respite hadn’t been quite long enough, but I was rallying.
“At least you didn’t say linguini.”
After that we were mostly silent until things got interesting again.
***
“What are you thinking?”
It’s not the first time I’ve ever been asked that by a woman with whom I’ve just had sex. Alice was lying on her side with her head on my chest. I was stroking her back and getting my breath under control. The question was casual and I couldn’t detect any dangerous undercurrents, but post-coital terrain is strewn with emotional land mines and I’ve made a wrong answer before. “I was wondering how Derek did against the Orioles tonight,” is never a good response. “That was one of the greatest screws I’ve ever had,” is also a poor choice, even though in this instance it might have had a ring of truth to it. I opted for honest humor.
“I think I may get this room sound-proofed.”
Alice raised her head and looked at me, then colored. But she laughed. Her hand drifted toward my groin and she gave me a playful tweak in an area where playful was all it could take.
We lay there a while and Alice’s fingers traced the scars in my side and probed a nearby indentation. She then felt around my back and found the exit wound.
“I remember the first time I saw you, at the pool, with my swim team. The girls all asked me about your bullet holes. They were very impressed.”
“If I recall, you once told me they thought I was a bank robber. Apparently an unlucky one.”
“No, I said they thought you resembled Johnny Depp, who played a bank robber in that movie. Only taller and more rugged-looking.”
“The Johnny Depp thing is good?”
“Hell, yes. One of the girls even asked me later if I knew how to get in touch with you. She said you seemed so dangerous.”
“In a bathing suit?”
Alice laughed.
“I told her to behave herself. She was too young for you.”
“You will be hearing from my attorney.”
She kissed my chest.
“Truth is, I didn’t want any rivals, especially 19-year-old with legs up to her neck.”
“Your gams ain’t bad, lady.”
“Gams?”
“I’m a film noir nut. That’s the way they talked in the 1940’s. But what’s this rival stuff. You had no idea you’d see me again.”
“I was pretty sure you’d track me down. You had that look in your eyes.”
It was easy to understand why most men don’t stand a chance. But it had worked out pretty well for me, so I let it go. Especially since Alice’s hand had moved south. A few minutes later, grasping my shoulders, she looked down at me and said hoarsely, “I’ll really try to be more quiet this time.”
She wasn’t.
***
We slept late the next morning. I shook Alice gently but she merely mumbled incoherently, rolled on her side and scrunched her pillow around her head. She was still naked. I spent a few moments looking at the pleasing lines of her back, buttocks and long legs. She had svelte, taut swimmer’s muscles. She had certainly proved her athleticism the night before. I pulled up a sheet to cover her but it was unceremoniously kicked away. She liked being naked, a trait I find admirable in a woman.
I padded downstairs to see about breakfast. I looked out the kitchen window to my deck. Scar was sitting on the top step. He was staring intently at a robin that was poking for a breakfast worm in my lawn. The robin was inching closer to the steps, where it stood a good chance of becoming Scar’s breakfast. I like robins. I opened the door and the bird flew off. The cat looked at me. His opinion of humans, probably never very high, was reinforced. I went back inside, emptied two cans of Bumble Bee tuna in a dish, mashed some Saltines into the mix, and brought it out to him with a bowl of water. I was in a generous “morning after” mood, but it was obvious that I would have to spring for some cat food soon.
Scar did an admirable job of suppressing any gratitude. As he ate I noticed that he seemed to have some new notches on his face.
“Had a good night myself,” I said. I don’t kiss and tell, but feline confidences don’t count. “If you stick around, I’m making bacon.”
I went back into the kitchen and started breakfast. I put on a pot of coffee, squeezed some oranges, started frying some hand-cured bacon and threw some biscuits in the oven. Hungry as I was, I began salivating like one of Pavlov’s dogs. Luckily, the smells also worked on Alice, who soon appeared, wearing gym shorts and a sweatshir
t, tousled, but lovely. I wasn’t worried about her being a health nut. The beer and hot dogs at the ball game proved she wasn’t a granola girl.
“How do you want your eggs?”
“Fast,” she said.
We settled on lightly scrambled with fresh chives. We were almost finished when there was a scratching on the rear storm door. It was Scar, who had apparently stuck around for the bacon. He was stretching and reached halfway up the glass.
“Good Lord,” Alice said. “Call the zoo. Something escaped.”
I got up and made a plate for the cat and brought it out to him.
“I didn’t know you had a cat,” Alice said when I sat back down.
“I don’t. He’s got me, and a few others in the neighborhood. But he seems to be showing up here more often.”
“It’s probably the chives.”
After a second cup of coffee, Alice said, “I need a shower. My practice is at noon.”
“Are you going back into the city?”
I said it casually, hoping she wouldn’t take it the wrong way. She didn’t.
“I don’t have to be home until Monday. I’m taking an afternoon class at the New School.” She smiled. “I thought that if you had nothing better to do I could come back here and we could make love.”
Which is what we did.
CHAPTER 9 – ELIZABETH OLSEN
I dropped Alice off for the 8 A.M. ferry Monday morning.
“Do you think I’m a hunk? I’ve always thought of myself as the wiry type.”
We were a little early. The ferry drop-off area was almost deserted so we sat a few minutes in the car.
“To Peggy Mancuso, a hunk is any male under 60 not on a respirator,” Alice said. “I think that the phrase cat’s meow better describes you.”
“Well, Scar likes me, I think.”
She leaned over for a kiss.
“You are wiry. There’s not an ounce of fat on you. And believe me, I looked. I think you could use a little more hunk, if that’s the word. I don’t know how you do it. You eat like a racehorse.”
“That’s not the equine comparison I was hoping for.”
“You do have good teeth.”
We could see the ferry pulling in.
“I can’t make out that name on the side of the boat.”
I told her.
“Who was he? A war hero?”
“No, they used to do that. Now they name them after former Island politicians who have screwed the borough. Kind of a tradition now.”
“Got to run,” she said.
We kissed, long and hard. It was unspoken, but we both knew that there was now something between us. Something that hadn’t been there before, even during the abandon of the previous days. She got out and walked away quickly.
“Jesus,” I said.
***
Abby was working the security desk when I got to my building.
“How’d your hot date go?”
“I had a nice time.”
Abby gave me the “who you think you’re kidding smile” women have patented.
“That good, huh, you dog.” Cats, horses, dogs; I was beginning to wonder if I was human.
When I got to my office there was a message from Steve Long. I called him. He asked me to meet him at Konrad Olsen’s house at 11 A.M. to interview Elizabeth.
“That’s not how I work, Steve. I want to talk to her alone.”
“Her father wants me present for all official contacts. In fact, I had a hard time convincing him that I had to talk to her alone.”
“Will he be there?”
“No, he’ll be at his office.”
“Does she know what her old man wants?”
“Maybe. But it probably doesn’t matter. She doesn’t usually do what he wants.”
“So, what’s the problem? We’ll start out together. You go take a leak, and I’ll tell her the facts of life. Then you don’t have to know the rest.”
“Works for me. See you at 11.”
***
A sad-faced man wearing a black lounge jacket and a black bow tie answered the door when I rang.
“May I help you, sir?”
“It depends. Who are you?”
“Robert. Mr. Olsen’s butler.”
It was my first butler on Staten Island. Maids, yes, but no butlers. I told him who I was.
“You’re my first butler,” I said.
“I’m not surprised,” he replied after looking me over. “Please follow me.”
I followed Robert the butler through a front hallway past a staircase that led up to a second floor. At the top of the stairs was a landing bordered by a rounded white banister supported by a series of ornately carved mahogany balusters. Just off the front hall was a den where Steve Long and Elizabeth Olsen were sitting on opposite ends of a leather sectional in front of a pedestal table with a wooden base and bluestone top, on which a coffee service was set up. There was a platter of tea sandwiches. Or coffee sandwiches, I suppose. Introductions were made and I sat in an arm chair that had been moved closer to the table. The wise-ass butler poured coffee, then left, closing the sliding doors to the den. No one made a move on the sandwiches. I was soon itching for someone to break the ice, because they looked pretty good. I love sandwiches without crusts.
Elizabeth Olsen was wearing grey slacks and a white blouse. She was wearing no jewelry and very little makeup, probably at Long’s direction. He was probably going for the mousey look, which might sway a jury in a battered-woman defense. The mousey look needed more work. She was petite, but had a full figure. She sat with her legs crossed and the slacks couldn’t conceal their good definition. They also didn’t conceal the slight bulge on her left ankle where the monitoring device was attached. She wasn’t classically pretty. Her nose was a little long and her eyes set wider than her thin face called for, but she had a strong mouth and piercing blue eyes. It all worked. She’d have no trouble attracting any male.
“Elizabeth, Mr. Rhode wants to ask you some questions. Tell him everything you’ve told me. There is no reason to hold back anything. He’s on your side. If there are flaws in the prosecution case, he will find them.”
“The major flaw is that I’m innocent.”
Her voice was deeper than I expected for such a slight woman. Cigarettes?
“Yes, of course. But I’d like you to bring Alton up to speed.”
“Alton Rhode? What an unusual name. English, isn’t it?”
“Alton is. The Rhode is Latin, or so I’m told.”
“I’m sure it is. The Romans had quite an influence on Britain. Hadrian’s Wall and all that. Have you been on Staten Island long?”
“My family goes back a few generations.”
“Mine, as well. We’re a Danish German mix. It always amazes me that people assume Staten Island is only about Italians and Irish. They see those stupid reality shows. We have such a history. Did you know that the Huguenots settled here in the 1600’s. Well, of course you do. There is even a town called Huguenot. And that this house is on Todt Hill, which, of course, is German for “Death Hill,” because some early Dutch settlers were massacred here.” She was silent for a moment, then smiled. “Of course, it has a whole new meaning now, doesn’t it.”
Long cleared his throat.
“Perhaps we can discuss your case, Elizabeth.”
“Of course. What do you want to know, Mr. Rhode. May I call you Alton?”
“Yes. Tell me exactly what happened the night you found Denton’s body.”
She smiled at my phrasing. Then took me through it, in a quiet dispassionate tone. It didn’t sound rehearsed, only made familiar by countless repetition. She had entered Denton’s home with her key after he didn’t answer the door. The house was dark, which was unusual. She called his name and got no response. There was a shimmering glow from the fireplace in his study. When she got there, he was sitting in a chair facing the fire. She smelled something she assumed came from the fire but later understood to be cordite. She turned o
n the light from a wall switch and went over to the chair. That’s when she saw the gun on the floor next to it.
“Did you recognize the gun?”
“Yes. It was John’s. He was quite proud of it. Took me to a shooting range once in New Jersey and showed me how to use it. Kind of big and heavy and makes an awful racket, but I got the hang of it. He said I was a natural.”
The irony of that statement didn’t escape any of us. I looked at Long and knew what he was thinking. He didn’t want Elizabeth Olsen convincing a jury she was Annie Oakley.
She then said she walked around to face Denton, and he didn’t have one, or at least much of one. Before she could even scream, the light went out and she heard someone opening one of the doors that lead out to a rear patio. She instinctively picked up the gun and shot at a shadowy figure. She pulled the trigger again but the hammer only clicked. She stood there a few minutes, too frightened to move. Then she ran out the front door, where the security guard grabbed her and held her for the police.
She finished and looked at us.
“It’s not too promising a story, is it?”
“I’ve heard worse,” I lied. “Can you think of anything else that was unusual?”
“Well, John had an erection when I found him. It was quite impressive. He was obviously just about to have sex. Steve, I suppose you could argue that I’m not the kind of woman who wastes a good erection.”
“Let’s see what Alton can come up with first,” Long said.
“How did you get to Denton’s?” I said.
“I drove.”
“Your own car?”
“Yes, a BMW.”
“The police impounded the car,” Long interjected. “They said they found nothing of interest. It’s been returned.”
“Why didn’t you turn on the lights in the hallway when you first walked in?”
“I didn’t have to. I knew my way around and I could see the light from the fire in the den.”
“The police said there was considerable blood and …. other matter …. splattered about. Didn’t you see it when you walked over to Denton.”
“It was a high-back recliner. His favorite. John liked it because he claimed he had a bad back. The back of it looked normal. I didn’t see anything on the floor, blood and such. I only could see the top of his head. It was tilted to the side. His arm was hanging over the side of the chair. I thought he might be asleep. There was a glass on the floor under his hand. There was a stain by the glass, wine I think. When I went around the front, that’s when I saw everything.”
LAURA LEE (ALTON RHODE MYSTERIES Book 2) Page 5