Cutter's Run

by William G. Tapply

  If she hadn’t waved and called my name, I probably wouldn’t have recognized her. I held my hand across the table to her, and when she took it and smiled, she looked younger and prettier than I’d remembered.

  “Thank you for coming,” I said.

  “No,” she said. “Thank you. I called you, remember?”

  Her eyes matched the turquoise in the earrings and the kerchief. They crinkled when she smiled. She was sipping from a dewy glass through a straw. “What’re you drinking?” I said.

  “Gin and tonic,” she said. “It’s about my only indulgence. Isn’t that sad?”

  “Everybody needs a few indulgences,” I said. “The best kinds are those that don’t bother anybody else.” I looked around and spotted a college-age girl wearing a white T-shirt and black Bermuda shorts standing near the wall and holding a tray. I waved at her, and she nodded and came over. “Drink, sir?”

  “Gin and tonic sounds good,” I said. I turned to Ellen. “Ready for a refill?”

  “Sure,” she said. “I don’t mind.”

  When the waitress left, Ellen said, “For courage, I guess.”

  “The drink?”

  She shrugged and nodded.

  I leaned forward. “In the first place,” I said, “I’m a lawyer. Nothing you say to me will get back to the wrong people. I promise you that. In the second place, I’m sort of a temporary law-enforcement person. I have just one case. I’m trying to figure out what’s happened to Charlotte. I hope you can help.”

  “I trust you,” she said. “I trusted you when I met you the other day. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here. But I really don’t know if I can help you or not.” She reached down beside her and pulled a big leather bag up onto her lap. She rummaged inside it, slipped something onto her lap, and put the bag back on the floor. She glanced around the veranda. Then she picked up her napkin, dabbed her mouth, and put the napkin on her lap. She darted her eyes around again and then picked it up and put it on the table between us. “It’s under the napkin,” she said. She gave a small nervous laugh. “I’m being silly, I know.”

  “It’s good to be cautious,” I said.

  I waited for a minute. Then I reached for her napkin, felt something small and square under it, picked it up inside the napkin, and put them both onto my lap.

  When I looked down, I saw a floppy disk. I looked up at Ellen. “For me?”

  She nodded.

  I slipped it into my pants pocket. “What’s on it?”

  Ellen glanced up. Our waitress deposited gin and tonics in front of us. “Something to eat?” she said.

  I glanced at Ellen, who shook her head. “Not yet,” I said to the waitress. “Maybe later.”

  After she left, Ellen said, “I think I mentioned to you that Charlotte and I used to go out after work on Fridays. Not every Friday. But more often than not. In the summer, as a matter of fact, we liked to come here. We never saw anybody we knew here. We liked that.” She bent to her straw and sipped her drink. “The day she got fired, she left the office around noon. She’d been in a meeting with Mr. Keith all morning, and when she came out, she just said, ‘He fired me. The Mexican place at six, okay?’ When I met her there, she gave me that disk. Asked me to hang on to it for her. Didn’t say why, didn’t say what was on it. And I didn’t ask. And stupid me, it didn’t really occur to me that it was her way of saying she was worried, that she might be in some kind of danger, that the disk was—I don’t know—insurance, or something. Not until you came in the other day. Remember what you told me?”

  I nodded.

  “You said you thought she was in danger,” she said. “Or that, God forbid, something had already happened to her. Then I remembered. And I thought about it. And then I decided I’d better call you.” She shrugged. “And here we are.”

  “What’s on the disk?”

  She smiled. “Charlotte didn’t specifically forbid me from looking at it. But I figured it was none of my business. After I called you, though, I booted it up.” She shook her head. “I only glanced at it. It’s accounting stuff. Just a lot of numbers. Means nothing to me.”

  “Nothing?”

  “I’m only a secretary, remember? Maybe you can figure it out.”

  “Well,” I said, “I’ll try.” I took out my cigarettes and held them to Ellen. She shook her head.

  “Do you mind?”

  “Not as long as we’re outdoors,” she said.

  I got one lit. “Tell me about her getting fired. Your boss told me one of her clients complained about her work. He said he had no choice but to let her go.”

  She nodded. “That’s basically what Charlotte told me. She didn’t tell me which client or what the complaint was about. That was Charlotte. Discreet no matter what the situation. But I gather that she was preparing their quarterly figures, and the client wanted her to fudge them. She refused, of course. That would violate the ethics of her profession. So the client complained to Mr. Keith—gave him an ultimatum, according to Charlotte—and he went along with it.”

  “And presumably assigned the account to one of your firm’s other accountants who had fewer compunctions about fudging figures.”

  Ellen shrugged.

  “Did Charlotte seem frightened that night when she’d been fired?”

  “Frightened?” She looked down at her nearly empty gin and tonic. “No, I wouldn’t say frightened. Angry, depressed, stunned. Betrayed, mainly. That was the big emotion I recall. She told me that after the client complained, she was eager to meet with Mr. Keith, explain the situation to him. It was reasonable for her to expect his support.”

  “And instead of commending her for a job well done and for sticking to her guns,” I said, “he canned her.”

  Ellen nodded. “I don’t like him. If jobs weren’t so scarce…”

  I noticed our waitress hovering nearby. “How about some supper?” I said to Ellen.

  “I wouldn’t mind. Gin and tonics make me hungry.”

  We both ordered lobster rolls and a side of onion rings. Beer for me. Ellen switched to Diet Coke.

  When the waitress left, I said to Ellen, “Could you find out who that client was?”

  “The one that got Charlotte fired?”

  I nodded.

  She studied her hands, which were rotating her empty gin-and-tonic glass. When she looked up, she nodded. “I’ll have to wait till Mr. Keith is away from the office. The billing records should do it. Each accountant bills his own clients, so I can check Charlotte’s old accounts, see who’s got them now, and work at it from there. Ask a few innocent questions, cross-reference the correspondence.” She nodded. “It might take a day or two. But, yeah, I think I can do it.”

  “Don’t get yourself in trouble,” I said.

  “At this point,” she said, “I don’t care. It hasn’t been much fun since Charlotte left.”

  “Be careful anyway.”

  “Oh, I can take care of myself,” she said. “Believe me.”

  A few minutes later our waitress came with our lobster rolls and onion rings. While we ate, Ellen told me about her friendship with Charlotte. Both women had been divorced fairly recently when Charlotte joined the firm a little more than two years earlier. Two fortyish divorcees working closely together naturally became friends. They didn’t actually socialize with each other except for their Friday after-work outings. “Charlotte is a very private person,” said Ellen, giving a little emphasis to the present-tense verb. “She sometimes talked about personal problems or issues, but she always managed to keep them vague and general, as if they were someone else’s problems. For example, for a while she was involved with a man, and it was bothering her, making her unhappy. But she never let her hair down and just spilled it out to me, or asked for my advice or anything. When it ended, she didn’t even tell me for over a month. And I was never clear who broke it off, or why.”

  “How soon was that before she was fired?” I said.

  Ellen looked up at the sky, which had become dark while we’
d been sitting there. “Oh, quite a while. Last summer sometime.”

  “That man,” I said. “It wasn’t…?”

  “Mr. Keith?” She smiled. “I really, seriously doubt it. He’s just not Charlotte’s type, and I don’t think she’s his, for that matter. Anyhow, he’s married. Charlotte would never get involved with a married man.”

  “So you have no idea who it might’ve been?”

  “I think it was a client.”

  “The one who—”

  “Who got her fired?” She shrugged. “That would fit, wouldn’t it?”

  I nodded. “Did she ever go away with that man?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like for a weekend, or for a vacation?”

  Ellen looked up at the sky, which was darkening overhead. Then she turned to me. “I think she did, yes. Last summer. She was gone for a week, and it was soon after she came back that she mentioned that she was no longer involved with that man.”

  “Who might’ve been a client.”

  She nodded.

  “Who got her fired,” I said.

  Ellen shrugged. “I don’t know any of this. But, yes, that would fit.”

  “She didn’t tell you where she went for that week, did she?”

  She shook her head.

  “A cabin in the woods, maybe?”

  “She didn’t talk about it. Charlotte never talked about her personal life with me.” Ellen smiled. “I’m sorry. I really don’t know. Like I said, Charlotte was super-discreet, and I never pressed her for details. Our friendship wasn’t like that.”

  “What about her former husband?” I said. “Did she ever talk about him?”

  “All I know,” she said, “is he abused her.”

  CHAPTER 23

  IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL late-summer evening out on the patio at Pine Point, and Ellen Sanderson and I lingered there after we ate, sipping coffee and watching the tide change directions in the river. I asked her a few more questions about Charlotte, but she couldn’t think of anything else to tell me. So we lapsed into long silences, which were not uncomfortable.

  A few fishermen came in, backed their trucks down to the water, and trailered their boats. A few others arrived and untrailered theirs for a try at night fishing.

  When one of those comfortable silences was interrupted by our waitress, I accepted a coffee refill, took a sip, lit a cigarette, and said to Ellen, “You’re a woman.”

  She smiled. “Why, thank you for noticing.”

  “I’d like a woman’s perspective. Hypothetical situation.”

  “Sure.” She nodded. “Hypothetical.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Suppose a guy is involved in a relationship. He’s married, say. He’s not looking for it, but he finds himself attracted to another woman. This other attraction takes him by surprise, and he—he responds to this other woman.”

  Ellen was watching my face. A little smile played around her mouth, as if she wanted to laugh but thought it would be rude. “Responds to her,” she repeated. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh,” I said, “say he kisses her a couple times. Deep, passionate kisses.”

  “And?”

  “That’s it.”

  “They don’t…?”

  “No. Just the kisses. But these are not what you’d call chaste kisses. He is aroused. He wants to. She does, too. But they don’t.”

  “Then what?” she said.

  “That’s all. He’s had this encounter. What does he do?”

  “Easy,” she said. “He avoids seeing this other woman in any situation where they might get intimate. Assuming, of course, that he cherishes his relationship with his wife.”

  I waved my hand. “Sure,” I said. “But what does he say to his wife?”

  Ellen reached across the table and put her hand on top of mine. “You’re feeling pretty guilty, aren’t you?”

  I shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “Do you want to confess? To your wife, I mean?”

  “I feel like that would be the right thing to do.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’ve always had an honest relationship. Because I’m too grown-up to play games. Because I don’t want secrets between us.”

  “And because you’d feel a lot better if you confessed,” she said.

  “Well, sure.”

  “How do you think—tell me your wife’s name.”

  “We’re not married. A friend of mine says I should call her my virtual spouse. Her name’s Alex. Alexandria.”

  “Pretty name,” said Ellen. “So how do you think Alex would feel if you confessed to her?”

  “I think it would hurt her terribly. She knows this other woman. Susannah’s her name.”

  “Do you want to hurt Alex?”

  “Of course not.”

  “It was a serious question,” she said. “Think about it.”

  I looked at her. “I understand what you’re getting at,” I said. “No. I really don’t think I want to hurt her. I have no reason to hurt her.”

  “So spilling it all out to her would hurt her but make you feel better.”

  “There’s more to it than that.”

  She smiled. “Sure there is. You’re attracted to this other woman, and you’ve got to figure out what that means. But, okay. You asked for a woman’s opinion. I don’t pretend I can speak for all women. But if it was me, I can tell you this. I would not want to know. If you were actually having an affair with—Susannah, is it?—with Susannah, then I would definitely want to know. If you were in love with Susannah, if you were sneaking around behind my back, if you’d stopped loving me and wanted to leave me to be with Susannah, you’re damned right I’d want to know. But if you’d kissed Susannah, gotten aroused, felt guilty about it, knew you would not pursue it—hell, no. Don’t tell me. Call it ancient history. Let it pass. Let me keep being happy.”

  “You’re saying I shouldn’t tell her?”

  “Hey, I’m not Alex. I’m not Solomon, either. I’m not even Ann Landers. But I’ll tell you what.” She patted my hand. “I’d bet a hundred dollars that Alex has something she’s decided not to tell you. And she’s probably wrestled with her conscience, just like you are.”

  “It’s hard for me to think that Alex would have a secret from me.”

  “And it’s hard for her to think you’ve got a secret,” she said. “Sure. But we all have secrets. And some of them should always be secrets. Even if it’s painful to keep them. Even if confession is good for the soul, it can be bad for the relationship.”

  “I should just suffer in silence, then.”

  “You’re the one who sinned,” she said. “Why should someone else suffer for it?”

  I leaned back in my chair and shook my head. “You are either one very wise lady…”

  She smiled and nodded. “Or else I’m completely full of kaka.”

  “You’ve given me something to think about,” I said.

  “I know. And truthfully, I’m glad it’s your dilemma, not mine.” She shook her head. “Although I sure wouldn’t mind having a virtual spouse in my life.”

  I pondered what Ellen had told me and watched the river flow by, and when I glanced at my watch, it was after eleven. I looked up and saw her smiling at me. “I’ve kept you up after your bedtime,” she said.

  “It’s been a nice evening,” I said. “And instructive as well. But I think I’d better get going. I’ve got an hour’s drive ahead of me.”

  I paid the bill and we headed for the parking lot. Ellen held on to my arm, and when we got to her car, she turned to me and held out her hand. “I had fun,” she said. “Even if the circumstances are unfortunate, this was the nicest date I’ve had in years.”

  I took her hand. “Me, too. I enjoyed talking to you.”

  “Sometimes,” she said, “it’s easier to talk to someone who you don’t know that well. Someone who doesn’t have any stake in it. You know what I mean?”

  I nodded. “I don’t think I could have had that conversation
with a friend.”

  “Does that mean we aren’t friends?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “That’s not what I meant. I’d be honored to consider you my friend.”

  “Me, too.” She unlocked her car door, then turned to me. “Keep me posted on Charlotte, okay?”

  “Sure,” I said. “And if you can figure out who that client was…”

  “I’ll figure it out,” she said. “You’ll hear from me.”

  I held the door for her as she slid in. She looked up at me. “I hope it works out. With Alex, I mean.”

  I nodded, touched her shoulder, then closed her car door. She smiled at me through the window, started up the engine, turned on her headlights, and pulled out of the parking lot. I waved, and she tooted her horn as she disappeared around the corner.

  Then I climbed into my car and headed back to Garrison.

  It was close to twelve-thirty when I pulled into the driveway. Except for the porch light, Alex’s house was dark.

  I closed the car door quietly, slipped inside, and took off my shoes. I went into Alex’s office, sat in front of her computer, turned it on, and slid in the disk Ellen had given me, and when the icon appeared on the screen, I double-clicked it.

  In a few seconds I saw what Ellen had described—columns of figures and meaningless acronyms. Accountant stuff. I scrolled through it all. It did not name people who spray-painted swastikas on outhouse doors or poisoned dogs or took women from their homes.

  But I hadn’t expected it to.

  If I was going to make any sense of it, I’d have to study it, think about it, execute some deductive reasoning worthy of a York County deputy sheriff. Even then, I probably wouldn’t be able to make sense of it. But I’d give it a shot.

  I copied the disk onto the hard drive, ejected it, turned off the computer, and tiptoed back upstairs. I undressed in the bathroom.

  Then I went into the bedroom. In the silvery light from the skylight, I could see that Alex’s eyes were open and following me as I approached the bed.

  “Still awake?” I said.

  She nodded,

  I sat on the edge of the bed. “Are you okay?”

  “Sure,” she mumbled. “I’m fine.”