“Is he wearing glasses and carrying a clipboard?”
“No. What?”
“Who is he?”
“His ID reads Ian Gotz.” His voice dropped a couple of octaves. “He looks like an accountant.”
“He is an accountant.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Send him up, Jonesie. Send him up.”
* * *
A few minutes later, Ian knocked on my door. I opened it. He smiled at me. I smiled back and told him to come in.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” I asked. “In the middle of a workday.”
“I was in the neighborhood.”
“Sure you were.”
“I was just wondering, you know, how Erin was doing.”
“Call her and ask.”
The expression on his face suggested that he couldn’t think of anything more inappropriate.
“Ian?” I said.
“Erin was upset that I spoke to you. She said that what she tells me in private is supposed to stay private.”
“She has a point.”
“She told me to stop interfering.”
“I doubt she thinks that way now.”
“Why not? What happened? Did something happen?”
“I’m kind of caught in a difficult spot here, Ian. I’d like to tell you what’s going on, but I can’t without sacrificing client confidentiality.”
“You’re not a real private investigator, McKenzie. You’re not bound by those rules.”
“That’s true. But I discovered a long time ago that it’s better all around if I behave as if I were.”
“You’ve told us stories in the past.”
“Not all of the stories, and not the deep dark secrets that the people I help want hidden.”
“We’re friends, though.”
“Ian, there are things I haven’t even told Nina. My advice—if you want to know what’s going on, ask Salsa Girl.”
“I told you, Erin doesn’t like that name. Anyway, she won’t tell me. I’m afraid she’ll become angry if I ask.”
“What do you know about her, anyway?”
“I know I love her.”
Ian flinched visibly. His eyes darted about as if he were searching the air for the words he had just spoken so he could snatch them back.
“I didn’t mean to say that,” he said.
I patted his arm. “It’s okay,” I said. “Everyone knows.”
“Erin doesn’t.”
“I’m sure she does. Do you want a drink?”
I led Ian to the island in the kitchen area of the condo. He sat on a stool while I fetched the Summit Ale he requested. He was surprised when I didn’t join him, pouring a glass of iced tea instead.
“Not drinking?” he asked.
“I’m going to a party tonight. Best to keep my wits about me.”
“What party?”
“The Bignell family is having some sort of gathering.”
“You’re going with Erin, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“She’s never taken me to one of those parties.”
“It’s strictly business, Ian.”
“Are you sure? Just business?”
I gave it a couple of beats before I answered.
“Yes, I’m sure. And please don’t ask me again, because it’ll piss me off. And then you’ll get pissed off. And then we’ll be pissed off together. Why would you want that? C’mon. You need to remember, I’m not helping Erin because she’s my friend. I’m helping her because you’re my friend.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s just that—I see the way men look at her.”
“They look at Nina and Shelby the same way. And Erica. And Bobby’s daughter Victoria for that matter, and she’s only sixteen. You can’t let that bother you. It’ll drive you nuts. What you need to notice is if the woman is looking back. Erin doesn’t, does she?”
“No, not that I’ve ever seen.”
“Well, then.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“Stop it.”
He took a long pull of his ale and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
“I’m an idiot,” he said.
“I don’t know, Ian. Women always seem to make life more complicated than it needs to be. Not because they’re dumb and foolish, but because they make us dumb and foolish.”
For a moment, he stared at me as if he were trying to guess my weight. I knew what he was thinking. I said, “Go away, Ian.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I better.”
I walked him to the door.
“See you around, McKenzie. Don’t worry about me. I’m just being dumb and foolish.”
“It’s okay,” I said again.
Only it isn’t okay, is it? my inner voice said after he left.
It wasn’t okay because while Ian was talking, I was remembering Erin’s hug that morning, her arms wrapped around my waist, my arms wrapped around her shoulders, the look in her eyes, and how close I came to acting dumb and foolish myself.
Something rare for me: I felt a moment of panic.
I grabbed my smartphone and called Nina.
“Hey, you,” she said.
“Hey. Listen, the Bignell family, which distributes Salsa Girl Salsa through Minnesota Foods, has insisted that Erin Peterson attend a party they’re throwing tonight. I’m supposed to go with her, but I won’t if you don’t want me to.”
Nina paused for what seemed like a long time before she said, “Why are you telling me this?”
“I just spoke to Ian, and he’s not happy about it.”
“That’s because he’s jealous.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you asking if I’m jealous?”
“No. I’m just—”
“Because I am.”
“What? You are? Why?”
“Look at her.”
“Look at you.”
“McKenzie, I know who I am. I know who you are. I know the world is filled with temptation…”
For some reason, I was reminded of the evangelist Billy Graham. I heard a story where he was supposed to meet with a female reporter, but instead of his suite, he chose to greet her in the hotel lobby. When asked why, he said it was because he wanted to avoid any appearance of impropriety that might harm his ministry. I always wondered, though, if that was the entire truth. One of Graham’s most frequent sermons involved the psalm Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me. I’ve always wondered if Graham met the woman in the lobby instead of his hotel room because, his faith in God notwithstanding, he understood that the best way to avoid impropriety was to stay the hell out of the valley.
“I don’t need to go with Erin,” I said. “I don’t know if the Bignells have anything to do with her problems.”
Nina paused again. She sighed as if she had come to a decision and said, “If you promised to help her—”
“It doesn’t matter. If being with her causes you even a moment of anxiety—”
“I’m not anxious.”
“I don’t want this to be a thing between us.”
“It won’t.”
“Just out of curiosity, I’ve been in close proximity to a lot of women since we became a couple, and you’ve never been jealous. Not once. Not even of Heavenly Petryk. Why now?”
“All those other women—none of them were even remotely your type. They were all too young or too old or too needy or too dumb or too married or too dishonest. But Salsa Girl…”
“What about her?”
“She’s a certain age, single, smart, and tough enough to build and operate her own business—independent minded, self-sufficient, and God knows she’s beautiful.”
“So?”
“McKenzie, she’s me.”
I started laughing.
“You think that’s funny?” Nina said.
“Yeah, I do. A little. You are the most intelligent
, most kind, most beautiful, most most most most most remarkable woman I have ever known or heard of. No one else is even on the same continent. You might not believe it, but I do. You know, Nina, talking to you always makes me aware of how great my life is.”
You do have a great life, my inner voice reminded me. And it won’t be some nerd with glasses and a clipboard who screws it up. Only you can do that and you’re way too smart, sure you are.
“I feel better now,” I said.
It was Nina’s turn to laugh.
“So, do I,” she said.
“It’s an early party, supposedly for the Bignell niece. I don’t expect to be out too late.”
“Maybe I’ll come home early myself. Make Jenness happy.”
“Who’s singing in the big room tonight?”
“Connie Evingson.”
“I love her.”
“Don’t push your luck, McKenzie.”
FIVE
Cambridge, Minnesota, was far enough away from the Twin Cities to be considered one of those small towns “up north.” It was fifty miles from Salsa Girl Salsa, where I retrieved Erin, and took us over an hour to reach it because the first twenty miles of the drive were through heavy rush hour traffic. I asked Erin why the Bignell family lived way out there instead of Lake Minnetonka, Sunfish Lake, North Oaks, or any of the other areas of the Cities where the one percent tended to gather.
“They’re simple folk,” she said.
I didn’t believe her, especially after I first saw the enormous family mansion. It was located northeast of town and surrounded by a vast field of tall grass—the only structure of any kind in sight.
“You’re supposed to be impressed,” Erin said.
“I am.”
“Eight bedrooms, nine baths, four partial baths, over twenty thousand square feet, in-ground swimming pool, six-car garage, two hundred and seventy acres.”
“You know these details because…”
“It’s my hobby. Stop the car.”
I did, pulling to the shoulder of the single-lane road that led to the Bignell mansion and nowhere else. Erin stepped out of the car. I asked what she was doing. She answered by releasing the top three buttons of her white shirt; if she twisted her body just so it would open, and the casual observer would notice the lace bra she wore underneath. She pulled out the shirttails, rolled up the waistband of her dark blue skirt until the hem was inches above her knees, pushed back the sleeves of her jacket to her elbows, and pulled her hair into a loose ponytail, making sure that several unruly strands hung down along her cheek. She appeared younger; how much younger depended on your imagination. She slid back into the car.
“What are you doing?” I asked again.
“I told you before, it’s called branding.”
“You look like a student in an all-women’s prep school flouting the dress code. All you need is a red tie with the knot pulled down to your cleavage.”
“I’m just a naïve little girl, inexperienced in the ways of the world, who needs a strong man to advise and guide her as she attempts to grow her fragile boutique into a full-fledged business. Pretend that you’re my big brother coming along to keep me out of trouble because you know how impetuous and flighty I can be.”
“This is going to be fun.”
“We’ll see.”
I continued driving toward the mansion. With nothing to compete with, it seemed to grow even bigger and grander as we approached—which, I’m sure, was the point. We parked next to a couple of dozen other cars, most of them a lot more expensive than mine. We didn’t walk to the front door but instead circled the house to the back, where we found red, white, and blue bunting, folding tables and chairs, and plenty of white canopies. Under the canopies were bars and tables loaded with food and plates. Men and women attired in white catering outfits stood behind them. There was no one standing at the bars or eating the food, however. Instead, the guests mingled in small cliques around the canopies. Most of them were dressed for an Easter parade. The breeze coming off the fields made their clothes flutter.
“Who are all these people?” I asked.
“Family; a few friends, I suppose. Mostly they’re business associates, though—people who are beholden to the Bignells for one reason or another. If you’re involved in any way with the selling of food products in the Upper Midwest and Great Lakes Region, you’re likely to be involved with the Bignell family.”
“Speaking of food, I notice that no one is eating or drinking.”
“It’s not allowed until after prayers.”
We moved among the other guests. Erin often received the once-over, that look most men and some women automatically bestow on pretty girls. The eyes of one man in particular grew wide with recognition when he noted her presence, yet he quickly looked away. He was in his midfifties with hair that was more salt than pepper. He was wearing a blue collarless shirt and black jacket. I noticed that he kept repositioning his body as he spoke to his companions so that he could track Erin’s progress as she meandered through the crowd while pretending not to. I was going to ask who he was, except Randy Bignell-Sax interrupted.
“Erin,” he said. “You’re here.”
He hugged his partner too tightly. Erin didn’t seem happy about it yet said nothing. Once again I was impressed with how young he seemed compared to his physical age.
“I told Grandfather to make you come,” he said. “I didn’t think he would, though.” Randy saw me standing behind Erin. “I remember you. What’s your name? McKenzie. I’m still annoyed at you for the way you interrogated me last night.”
“Is that what I did?”
“I’m not a child, you know. I suppose you were looking out for Erin, though, so I forgive you.”
“I appreciate that.”
“So, we’re friends now?”
“Why not?”
“Randy, we need to talk,” Erin said.
“You’re not still mad because I stole some of your tomatoes?” he said.
Erin rested her hand on his arm. He seemed to like that.
“Of course not,” she said. “You’re my friend. Besides, like you said, ten percent of them were yours anyway. I just worry knowing that you’re wandering the plant alone at night. What if you get hurt?”
“I’ll be fine. I know my way around pretty well now.”
You do? my inner voice asked.
“Ms. Peterson,” a woman said. The three of us turned to face her. Another fifty-plus, I told myself, whose hair and makeup looked like they were done by professionals and not too long ago. She was wearing a body-hugging top with a long skirt that was tight around her hips and flared outward. She wore so many bracelets that when she moved her arms she sounded like a wind chime.
“Marilyn,” Erin said.
“It’s Mrs. Bignell-Sax.”
“Of course.”
I gave the woman the once-over. She seemed to enjoy the attention.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” Marilyn said. “You don’t usually grace us with your presence.” She stepped back and gazed at Erin as if she were appraising her body. “Have you been dieting?”
“No. I prefer to look healthy.”
“You do, too. As healthy as a horse. And you are?”
Since Marilyn was staring at me I answered, “McKenzie.”
I offered my hand. She didn’t seem to know what to do with it.
“And you are?” she repeated.
“An invited guest. Mr. Bignell insisted I attend.”
“Which one?”
“How many are there?”
“Bruce invited us both,” Erin said.
“I wonder why.”
“He asked that I spare him a few moments to discuss a business matter. Perhaps you’d like to sit in on the conversation.”
“I care nothing about your business.”
“I didn’t think you did.”
“Seeing you two behave this way makes me sad,” Randy said. “People I care about so much. I wish you liked
each other. I wish you would be friends.”
“I choose my friends very carefully,” Marilyn said. “You should do the same.”
“Mother, you’re being rude.”
“Am I?” Marilyn seemed jolted by Randy’s remark, although she tried hard to hide it. It was as if she had never heard him speak up like that. It didn’t stop her from speaking up herself, though. “I’m sorry, dear. But it’s time you learned the difference between your friends and the people who are trying to take advantage of your good nature.”
“Mother.”
“Your grandfather is about to come down. You must be sure to greet him at the stones.”
“I will, Mother.”
“You should go now.”
“In a moment, Mother.”
Marilyn turned and walked away.
“That went well,” I said.
“Fuck.” Randy’s eyes darted to Erin’s. “Sorry.”
She pressed her hand against his arm again. “It’s okay. I’ve heard the word before.”
“It’s just that my mother has become so very cynical. I don’t know why. She wasn’t like that when I was young.”
Erin moved her hand from Randy’s arm to his chest and leaned in.
“Your mother cares about you,” she said. “She doesn’t want to see you hurt.”
Randy covered Erin’s hand with his own and gave it a squeeze.
“It’s about time she let me grow up,” he said.
“Go meet your grandfather.”
“Will I see you later? I think there’s going to be dancing.”
“Then we’ll need to dance.”
Randy left, but he did it reluctantly.
“Why do I have the feeling that this is about more than a simple business arrangement?” I asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Erin said.
I was looking directly into her eyes and smiling when I said, “About thirty feet off your left shoulder there’s a man dressed in a blue shirt and black jacket who has been watching every move you make.”
Erin smiled in return and refrained from doing what most people would have done—she didn’t look.
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