by Frank Hughes
“He worked with Richard,” said Cory, now leaning against the bar while Tim organized the champagne.
“Imperatrice? That’s interesting,” said Canfield.
“Actually, Nick worked for me,” said Richard Imperatrice.
I hadn’t seen him walk in. Suddenly he was just there, standing beside Canfield, natty as ever in a midnight blue tuxedo.
“Good evening, Rich,” said Canfield, shaking hands. “Small world. Was this at Customs?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Nick was one of our top investigators,” said Imperatrice. “Drug smuggling was his specialty.” Canfield looked at him. “Uncovering it, I mean.”
“So, how do you two know each other?” I asked.
“Oh, I’ve known Rich for years,” said Canfield, “from my time in the House, back when he was still with Customs. He’s been a friend and consultant for many years.”
“And now he works for your wife? Any conflict of interest there?”
“Craig!” said Boyd.
“It’s alright, Jeff. That’s a legitimate question and Mr. Craig is not the first person to raise it.” He looked at me, completely relaxed and sincere. “I maintain a strict firewall between my responsibilities and my wife’s business activities. However, I do call on Rich from time to time, because I value his opinion on matters involving border security and law enforcement.”
“Uh-huh.” I turned to Imperatrice. “Mixing with the high and mighty. Guess that proves what they say about cream and bastards.”
I saw Boyd glaring at me, but Imperatrice just smiled.
“I sense you two did not always see eye-to-eye,” said Canfield.
“Not more than once or twice a year,” I said.
Canfield was unruffled. “I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as all that.”
“As long as you’re sure.”
The pregnant silence that followed was broken by a blur of red signaling Cory’s return. She had her bottle of champagne in one hand and four flutes in the other.
“Hey, Nick, want some champagne?”
“I’ll stick with a beer,” I said, pointing over at the bar. “This is probably an ideal time to go get it.”
I went to the bar and asked Tim for a Smithwicks. A busy man, he provided it without chit chat. When I turned, Boyd was standing back at his table and motioning me to join him. Canfield was deep in conversation with one of the couples, so I walked over to Boyd.
“I told you to behave yourself,” he said.
“Have you met me?”
“Son of a bitch,” he said. “Just be on the next cable car.”
He walked away. I turned to the windows and watched my reflection sip beer. Cory Canfield’s reflection appeared next to mine.
“What’s wrong with me that I’m the only one that seems to like you?” she said.
I turned to her. “I’d like to say you are an exceptional judge of character.”
She screwed up her face. “There’s a ‘but’ in there, I think.”
I shrugged. “My wife used to tell me I was a miserable prick.”
“Used to?”
“She died.”
She looked genuinely crestfallen. “Oh, Nick, I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.” That felt like yesterday.
“Why do you hate Rich Imperatrice so much?” she said, glancing over at the little group formed around Canfield.
“Hate is such a strong word. Let’s just say I have little time for smug, arrogant, ladder climbing weenies whose only concern is who they can screw over to get their next promotion.”
“Well,” she said, laughing, “I’m glad you don’t hate him.”
I laughed, too. We clinked glasses and drank.
A few more people entered the bar, led by Herr Kohl. It appeared to be a contingent of local VIPS. Among them was my breakfast companion, the Chief of Police. Only now she was in the blue dress I’d seen at the skating rink, hair done up nicely and makeup expertly applied.
Bryce Randolph sidled up alongside the Senator and whispered something in his ear. As he did so, he rested his hand lightly on Canfield’s forearm. Canfield nodded and looked over at the new arrivals. As he turned to move towards them, Randolph’s fingertips trailed lightly down Canfield’s sleeve and brushed across the back of his hand.
“What’s up?” said Cory.
“Sorry?”
“You were frowning.”
“Was I? It was probably Herr Kohl.”
She giggled. “I know, he looks so mean.” She touched my arm. “But, he’s a sweetheart, really. Such a dear.”
“It’s good to be you, isn’t it,” I said, smiling at her.
She looked at me to see if I was teasing her. “Yeah, I guess it is!” She laughed and we touched glasses again.
“It looks like the party is here,” said Catherine Masterson. She held up her own flute of champagne and we toasted with her.
“Hey, hi Catherine,” said Cory. “How are you? Oh, meet Nick Craig.”
“Good evening, Mrs. Canfield. And Mr. Craig and I have already met.”
“Really? And call me Cory, I’ve told you that. I hate ‘Mrs. Canfield’. Makes me sound like some old lady.”
Catherine smiled. “Okay, Cory. I’ll remember that.”
“Great.” She waggled her glass. “Need a refill.”
“Allow me,” I said.
“No, no, no. You stay here and talk to Catherine. I’ve got to mingle anyway.”
She bustled off in the direction of the bar.
“That woman is a force of nature,” I said.
“She is that. Rather beautiful, too, wouldn’t you say?”
“Is she? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Really? You might want to wipe the drool off your face.”
“Okay, I admit it, she’s one hot tamale.”
“Be careful you don’t burn your hands. Or some other part of your anatomy.”
I smiled at her. “I only have eyes for you, Chief. You’re quite the sight, all fahrpitz.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s Yiddish. Means dressed up.”
“I see. I’ll take that as a compliment. You, on the other hand, look seriously underdressed.”
“It was a last minute invite.” I stepped back and gave her a head to toe appraisal.
“That’s subtle,” she said.
“I’m trying to figure out where you’re hiding your gun.”
“Start some trouble and you’ll find out. Besides,” she said, pointing at Cory, “If I were you I’d be more interested in figuring out where she was hiding that camera.”
“Hey, you two!” It was Cory again, and indeed she had her camera out.
“Uh-oh, picture time,” said Catherine, under her breath.
“Move closer together,” said Cory, motioning with her hands. “No closer. Better. Now smile.”
I moved close to Catherine, who smelled really nice. The camera flashed and whirred. All I saw was blue dots for a few seconds. When vision returned, Cory was looking down at the camera. Her head down posture gave me a seriously stimulating look at her ample cleavage.
“Wow, you two make a really cute couple!” she said, holding the camera up to show us the LCD panel.
I looked at Catherine. “It’s fate.”
She rolled her eyes.
“I’m going to get some more pictures,” said Cory. She went over to the others and began arranging poses.
“So what’s going on here?” I said to Catherine.
“Little reception and dinner for the town fathers. Keep everybody happy and feeling like they’ve got a say in the matter.”
“Sounding a bit cynical this evening. What happened to the civic cheerleader of breakfast?”
“Tired. Been a long day.” She took a drink. “They get whatever they want so long as the money keeps flowing in. It’s as if the zoning laws were written in pencil just in case they need something changed.”
“Have some more bubbly, you�
��ll feel better.” I pointed at the other new arrivals. “Who’s who?”
“The blue blazer is the Mayor, Dave Spencer.”
“The guy with the douche bag beard?”
“I believe it’s called a Van Dyke.”
“Potato, patata. Wait, Dave of Dave’s Hardware?”
“The very same. He likes to be called Mayor Dave, by the way. His wife is the frilly dress. The one in the cheap suit is the EPA site administrator. Then we have the manager of Spanish Mountain and his wife, and the head of the city council. She’s the older woman in the black dress. Her husband is the bald, lost looking one with the plateful of shrimp.”
“Your husband couldn’t make it?” I said, as innocently as I could.
“I’m not married.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Do you?”
Mayor Dave came over, beaming. “Chief Masterson, don’t you look wonderful.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mayor. May I present Mr. Craig?”
The mayor grabbed my hand and pumped it enthusiastically. “Great to see you!”
“Nice to meet you, too, your honor, but in the interests of full disclosure, I’m not a constituent.”
His smile decreased by about thirty percent for a moment, then widened again to full beam. “Well, welcome to our little town.”
Behind him I saw Kohl drifting in our direction, hands behind his back, his bright eyes moving like searchlights.
“I passed by your store the other day on my way into town,” I said to Mayor Dave. “Things seem to be going well.”
“Very well, thank you.” He puffed with pride. “Our town is going places.”
“It must be to judge by that addition you put on.”
“I had to, we needed the room. Lots of construction around here. Not right now, of course, what with the snow and all.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Tell you the truth, this place keeps me going in the winter.”
“Really? How so?”
“Takes more than selling snow blowers and space heaters to keep a store our size going. That hydroponic garden of theirs keeps me in the black.”
“In what way?”
“They go through a ton of piping, and chemicals, and fertilizer, I’ll tell you.”
“Interesting,” I said, but I was watching Kohl approach.
Mayor Dave shook his head. “Must cost them a fortune to keep that thing going.”
“What thing are we speaking of, Mr. Mayor?” said Kohl.
“Oh, good evening, Arnold. I was just telling Mr. Craig about your hydroponic garden.”
“Ah, were you?” he said, his expression inscrutable.
“Come on over here,” said Cory. “Let’s get everybody.”
We spent the next couple of minutes posing with Canfield and the others as Cory snapped photos. Finally, I managed to slip away over to the bar.
“Another Smithwicks?” said Tim.
“Thank you, Tim. That would be great.”
As he went to pull me a fresh one, Boyd came and stood next to me.
“You will not be joining us for dinner,” he said.
“If Mrs. Canfield asks.”
“She won’t.” He looked at his watch. “Meet me in the dining room in five minutes. We can talk privately there.”
He turned and went back to the others as Tim placed a fresh glass of beer on the bar behind me.
“So, you in or you out?” he said. “I can’t tell.”
“Smart money’s on out, Tim.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Really?” I glanced over at the group clustered around Senator Canfield, then turned back to Tim. “Seem like a bunch of assholes to me.”
He laughed.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the sliver of yellow metal.
“What’s that?” said Tim.
“I don’t know. What do you think it is?”
He shrugged. “Beats me. Looks like an arrowhead.”
“That’s what I thought at first, but this looks like paint.”
“Where’d you find it?”
“Down where the fire was, stuck in a tree. Wish I could figure out what it is.” I put it on the bar and pushed it towards him with my finger. “Can you dispose of it for me?”
“Sure.” He slipped it off the bar and put it in his pocket.
“By the way, Tim, may I offer you some advice?”
“Certainly,” he said.
“Ever been to San Francisco?”
“Of course, great town.”
“Ever call it ‘Frisco’ while you were there.”
He grimaced. “Just once. They do not like that.”
“Uh-huh. People in Lom-poke are just as sensitive about people calling it Lom-pock, like you did. I would have thought someone from there would know that.”
He just stared at me, his face a stone mask.
“Take it from an old hand,” I said, “it never pays to get too cute with a cover story.”
I dropped a ten on the bar and walked out.
31.
The dining room was empty and lit only by the candles on the long banquet table in the center of the room. The other tables and chairs were pulled back against the wall near the kitchen doors. The windows here offered a nearly unobstructed view of the town below. At this distance it looked like a small galaxy, the lights spiraling out from a densely packed center, growing sparser and dimmer.
Someone came up behind me. I turned, expecting to see Boyd, but it was Catherine.
“Don’t like crowds much, do you?” she said.
“I think maybe it’s the other way around.”
“Could be. Quite a view, isn’t it?”
“Certainly is,” I said. “I can see my house from here.”
“I actually can, you know.”
“Really?”
She stepped forward and pointed with the hand holding the champagne flute. “See the blue light, off to the left?”
It took me a moment, but then I spotted it, near the outskirts of the town. “Yes.”
“My porch light.”
“Why blue? Because you’re a cop?”
“No. Tradition.”
“I know what a red porch light means, but this you need to explain.”
“I got lost once, in a blizzard, back in Illinois when I was a kid.” She got a faraway look. “It was not long after my mother died. We lived in one of those old postwar developments where the houses looked pretty much the same. I was walking home from a town skating pond – can’t skate there any more of course, too much liability - and the snow was so thick I couldn’t find my house. They were all just blurs. I kept knocking on doors. Finally, a man opened one, a complete stranger, and he invited me in.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Don’t worry, it’s not going there. Besides, I’d been properly taught. After some back and forth I consented to give him our phone number, which Dad had made me memorize. He went inside to call while I waited on the porch. Moments later my Dad came running out of our house.” She laughed. “It was just four doors down. I was nearly frozen, and my Dad was frantic.” She shrugged. “After that, he changed the front and back porch lights to bright blue bulbs, so I’d always know my own house. Silly”
“My Dad did something similar, except he changed the locks.”
“Everything’s a joke to you, isn’t it?”
“Not everything. Murder for one.”
“Murder’s no joke to me, either.”
“That’s good to know.”
She sipped some champagne. “I got a call from the county coroner today.”
“Was he prospecting for customers?”
“It seems one of our corpses has gone missing.”
“I’m not sure what that means.”
“Really? They discovered it because some smart ass named Somerset, whose description sounds pretty close to yours, showed up looking for an Army buddy.”
“Somerset?” I said. “I don’t believe I know the man.”
“You two make a nice couple,” said Richard Imperatrice.
We turned to see him striding towards us.
“People need to stop saying that,” said Catherine.
“Oh, Nick has his good points. I always found him a very straight arrow.” He smiled broadly. “His later slips were understandable, considering the circumstances. I heard he got that out of his system.”
Catherine looked from one of us to the other. She clearly didn’t like what she saw in my face. “This sounds like none of my business,” she said, finally.
“None of his, either.” To him I said, “Don’t you have an ass to kiss?”
His smile got broader. “Times change, Nick. Mine’s the one that gets kissed now.”
“If you meant to say kicked, I’ll be happy to oblige you.”
“Alright, boys,” said Catherine. “Don’t make me put the cuffs on you.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I was just leaving.”
“No you’re not,” said Cory, bustling into the dining room, champagne flute in hand. “I just talked to Jeff and I insist you stay for dinner.”
“I really shouldn’t. I’m not dressed for it and I’d be the odd man out.”
“Not true! You’ll fill the empty spot at the table.”
Boyd was standing behind her, shaking his head ‘no’. That clinched it.
“Thank you, Cory, I’d be delighted.”
32.
Cory placed me next to Mayor Dave and across from Catherine, who looked especially fetching in the candlelight. I made it through the first course, a tasty gazpacho, without having to say anything. Mayor Dave and the other locals were dominating the conversation, prattling on about the success of the winter season thus far and generally kissing the ass of every Verdugo representative in the room. Senator Canfield listened politely, making the occasional appropriate comment, while his wife gave him adoring glances between spoonfuls of the chilled soup. However, the magic couldn’t last, and during the lull caused by the clearing of the soup course Canfield suddenly addressed me.
“Mr. Craig, you’re from New York City, I understand.”
“Guilty as charged, Senator.”
“What is the view from the Northeast of what we’re trying to accomplish down on the border?”
All heads swung towards me.
“I’m hardly representative of the population.”