Des shook her head. “The man I’m looking for hasn’t got a love life. And you most certainly do.”
Kenny and Kimberly beamed at each other as the doorbell rang. Beth answered it and came back out onto the porch with Kimberly’s parents, Dex and Maddee. Beth’s smile seemed fixed a bit tighter now.
The notorious Dex Farrell wore a blue-and-white seersucker suit, red bow tie, crisp white shirt and polished cordovan loafers. His gaze was probing behind his rimless glasses. If Dex had been a Hollywood character actor, Mitch reflected, he would have specialized in playing judges and senators. He had a big head of neatly brushed white hair, a strong, decisive jaw. His manner was that of a man given to serious reasoning and sound judgment. All of which was a total deception. In reality he was none of those things. His wife Maddee was tallish and painfully thin. She wore a yellow summer dress, a pearl necklace and a truly alarming amount of bright magenta lipstick.
Kimberly went over to greet them with Des in tow. Animated conversation ensued. Mitch was about to join them when Kenny held him back.
“I know this comes out of nowhere, Berger, but I have a slightly humongous favor to ask of you. Would you be my best man?”
“Lapidus, I’d be honored. . . . Wait, do I have to wear a tux?”
“I’m afraid so. And if you want to pass I’ll certainly understand.”
“For you, it’s no problem. Consider it done.”
Kenny let out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank God. Seriously, I may not survive the experience if you’re not right there by my side. Maddee’s insisting on a full-frontal Yacht Club freak show. I love Kimmy to death but her folks are . . . scary. Dex isn’t what you’d commonly think of as All There. And Maddee’s just real tightly wrapped. Plus she’s one of those insular country club types who’s never worked a day in her life. Mom can’t stand her, though she adores Kimmy. Hell, how can you not? And as long as the two of us are happy, mom’s cool with it.”
Dex Farrell built himself a gin and tonic and sat on the wicker sofa with it, his gaze fixed out on the rather gaudy rose garden. Mitch fortified himself with four more devilled eggs and headed on over there. “Mr. Farrell? I’m Mitch Berger.”
He stared at Mitch for a second before he said, “Of course you are, sir.” Dex spoke very softly. And slo-o-owly. Forcing Mitch to lean in closer to him. “Please . . . join me, Mr. Berger.”
Mitch flopped down next to him. “Only if you make it Mitch, okay?”
“She’s a fine figure of a woman—your fiancée.”
“We’re not engaged. We were, but we’re not anymore.”
“My mistake. Sorry if I raised a sore subject.”
“You didn’t.”
Maddee Farrell swooped down on them now like a protective mother hawk. “And this must be Mr. Berger,” she exclaimed brightly.
“He prefers to go by Mitch,” Dex informed her.
“Mitch, I’ve had have numerous opportunities to meet your lovely fiancée but I’ve never—”
“They’re not engaged. They were, but they’re not anymore.”
“It’s just such a pleasure to meet you at long last.” Maddee was an anxious woman with a strained, almost desperate expression on her face. Tightly wrapped indeed. “I understand you’ve recently lost a good deal of weight. I mention this because if you have any clothes that no longer fit, we’re always looking for items for the Nearly New shop at St. Anne’s. Just drop them by any time.”
“I’ll be sure to do that,” said Mitch, who’d already deposited his former wardrobe on the sidewalk in front of his apartment on West 102 Street. Every item was gone in less than sixty seconds.
Maddee studied him with keen-eyed interest. Mitch was still waiting for the lady to blink. “I hope you have an open mind.”
“I certainly try to.”
“My Dex is neither a monster nor a thief. Merely guilty of behaving like a gentleman. And for that he has been demonized, ostracized and—”
“Dear, kindly go away, will you?” Dex said to her quietly.
Maddee’s eyes widened with alarm, as if he’d just smacked her in the face. “Why, of course,” she murmured, scurrying off to the hors d’oeuvres table.
“Please excuse my wife, Mitch. Myself, I ask for no sympathy. I merely wish to live the remainder of my life in peace. I often think of a favorite quote of mine by Mencken: ‘American jurisprudence has been founded upon the axiom that it is the first duty of every citizen to police his neighbors, and especially those he envies or otherwise dislikes.’ Often overlooked these days, Mencken. Quite a shame. He possessed a fine, clear mind.” Dex fell silent for a moment before he added, “I enjoy your essays on the cinema very much. I admire people who write with passion. Or do anything with passion. That’s something I’ve lacked my entire life. I never wanted to head up Farrell and Co., you see. It was expected of me. And so, like a dutiful son, I did what I was expected to do. Unfortunately, some of the fellows whom I trusted—classmates of mine, good friends—did not. They turned their backs on sound financial practices and made our credit rating system over into a trillion-dollar game of three-card monte. Lying thieves, the whole lot of them. They fed me a steady diet of disinformation. I should have figured out what they were up to. Rolled up my sleeves, knocked heads. But I never loved the business enough to care.”
“Forgive me for asking, sir, but if you didn’t know what was going on why didn’t you admit that to Congress?”
Dex stared at him in disbelief. “Point the finger at someone else? Where’s the honor in that?”
“But it’s cost you your career, your good name.”
“Perfectly appropriate under the circumstances. It was my name on the door. Although I refuse to beat myself up over it. I intend to thoroughly enjoy the time I have left on this Earth.” Dex sipped his gin and tonic, gazing out at the roses again. “Why are we here, Mitch?”
“I’m here because Kenny and I were friends back when we were kids.”
“No, I mean all of us. The human race. Have you a favorite thinker on the subject?”
“Yes, I do. My favorite philosopher has always been Mays.”
“Mays?” Dex repeated. “Don’t believe I’m familiar with Mays. First name is . . . ?”
“Willie. He captured the essence of our existence with eight simple words: ‘I see the ball. I hit the ball.’ ”
Dex stared at him blankly. “You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”
“Only a little. The truth is I have no idea why we’re here. Do you?”
“Yes, I believe I do,” Dex answered firmly. “Drop by some time and we’ll discuss it over a glass of lemonade. No need to call. Just come by. I cherish stimulating conversation.”
Beth’s doorbell rang once again. She went inside to answer it, and reappeared this time with Hal Chapman in tow. Mitch’s trainer wore a tight-fitting pink Izod shirt, tan shorts and flip-flops. His skullet was wet. He seemed to be fresh out of the shower. Also a bit ill at ease.
Mitch went over to say hey.
Hal bumped knucks with him, grinning. “How goes it, bro?”
“Good, thanks,” he said as the master sergeant joined them. “Hal, do you know Des Mitry?”
“We’ve never met.” Des studied Hal with those pale green eyes of hers. “But Mitch can’t stop raving about your skills.”
“It’s my man here who does all of the hard work. I’m just there for him, that’s all.” Hal pulled a cold Sam Adams from the washtub and popped it open. “Kimberly said to stop by after I locked up for the night. Free shrimp, right?”
“And devilled eggs.” Mitch helped himself to four more.
Kenny wandered over and said, “Good to see you again, Hal.”
“And you, bro. ”
“Lapidus, your mom tried to tell me what you do for a living. I didn’t understand one word of it.”
“I’m just a glorified geek, Berger. I used to work out of my rotten little apartment on Trowbridge Street. Now I have an office with thirty-two full
-time employees, contracts up the wazoo. It’s pretty neat.”
“And you and Kimberly are going to live up there?”
“That’s the plan. We’ll keep house there during the week and spend weekends here so Kimmy can still teach a few classes and see her folks. I should think you’d be happy about this, Hal.”
Hal stiffened, his nostrils flaring. “How would you know what would make me happy?”
“It’s a promotion, right? You’ll be in charge of the place Monday through Friday.”
“Meaning what?” Hal demanded angrily, thrusting his jaw in and out. Mitch hadn’t known this, but his trainer could turn from a gentle lamb into a red-faced rage monkey in the blink of an eye. “You think I’m some loser who’s starving for crumbs?”
Kenny was aghast. “No, absolutely not. You’re totally misunderstanding what I’m—”
“And why’s that?” Hal was breathing heavily now. “Because I’m some stupid pinhead?”
Kimberly darted over to them, her brow furrowing with concern. “Kenny doesn’t think that at all, Hal,” she assured him, her voice low and soothing. “No one does.”
Kenny nodded his head. “She’s right. Chill out, man.”
“Don’t tell me to chill out!” roared Hal, shoving him roughly.
Kenny staggered back against the food table, rattling the dishware and glasses.
Mitch stepped between the two of them, suddenly feeling as if he’d been teleported back to the Stuyvesant Town playground. “Dial it down, Hal. Just take it easy.”
Hal gave him a shove, too. “Don’t try to tell me what to do!”
Mitch shoved him back. “I’m not trying to tell you. I’m telling you.”
Des stood right there, in uniform, watching them—but opting not to intercede.
Hal took a deep breath in and out, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. This was a bad idea. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” Then he stormed out the screen door and out of there.
“Good lord . . .” Maddee Farrell gasped, watching him go.
“I shouldn’t have invited him,” Kimberly blurted out. “I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault, dear,” Beth said.
“No, it totally was. Hal used to think he had a crush on me. Not that anything ever happened between us. I-I thought he was over it. I was wrong.”
Kimberly wasn’t alone. There was plenty of wrongola to go around, Mitch realized. He’d thought Hal was easygoing. And Des had called him a man who was living the dream. He wasn’t. He was living the nightmare—in love with a coworker who had feelings for someone else. Clearly, the man was boiling with jealousy and resentment. So much that Mitch wondered if Kimberly was being totally candid with them. Had she and Hal been romantically involved at some point in the not-so-distant past? He wondered. Same as he wondered if Des could cross Hal Chapman off of her list of suspects after all.
He had no doubt that she was standing there thinking the very same thing.
CHAPTER 6
Real? Des was standing there thinking just how impossible men could be.
Because she’d been so tempted to step in when Hal went nutso on Kenny. It was her job to keep the peace. But she’d resisted the impulse, hard as that was. She had to. Men got into squabbles. They needed to blow off steam. They also needed to settle things in their own way. Which Mitch had done. If she hadn’t let him do that—if she’d played mommy cop—then she’d have made Mitch look weak in front of his friend. He’d have resented it. Yet if things had gotten out of hand—like, say, if Hal had started swinging—then she’d have been guilty of standing there in her uni doing squat.
Sometimes, her job made a relationship with a man into a tightrope walk.
“You handled that like a seasoned pro, Armando,” she said to him after Hal had fled.
“Thank you, master sergeant. Couldn’t have done it without you. I knew you had my back.”
“I’ve got your front, too, boyfriend. You’re all mine.”
There was a tap on the screen door now, but wasn’t Hal. It was Augie Donatelli. “I’m here, Mrs. Breslauer!” he called out, standing there in a frayed New York Yankees T-shirt and plaid shorts.
“What does that awful man want?” Maddee sniffed.
“Believe me, I have no idea.” Beth moved over to the screen door and said, “How may I help you, Mr. Donatelli?”
“It’s Augie, hon. How many times I got to tell ya? Jeez, everybody’s so damned formal around here.” He leered at Beth through the screen door. He was definitely leering. “Came to take care of your leaky kitchen faucet.”
“I’m entertaining guests right now,” Beth pointed out.
“Yeah, I can see that.” His eyes flicked around the enclosed porch. “How you doing there, Master Sergeant Mitry?”
“I’m fine, Augie,” Des answered cooly.
“So now is obviously not a good time,” Beth said to him.
“If you say so, hon, but I got a to-do list as long as my arm. Don’t know when I’ll be able to get back here.”
Beth sighed wearily. “Fine, come on in.”
He came on in, toolbox in hand, reeking of Aqua Velva and Ballantine.
“May I offer you something to drink?” Beth asked him politely.
“Nah, I’m good. Be out of your hair in a flash.”
Beth watched him strut inside to the kitchen. “My shadow,” she informed them miserably. “Wherever I go, he goes. If I’m at the post office, he’s in line behind me, blabbering away nonstop. If I stop off at the drugstore, there he is again—asking me which brand of medicated foot powder he ought to buy. As if I’m interested in the condition of his feet. Why, I even ran into him one night at the Mohegan Sun Casino. I was meeting a friend there from New York. And there was Augie with that same smirk on his . . .” She shuddered. “Whenever he looks at me I feel dirty all over.”
“You mustn’t,” Maddee said sharply. “He’s the dirty one.”
Dex, meanwhile, just sat and stared out at the Blush Noisettes. The man scarcely seemed there.
“Has Augie ever crossed over the line with you?” Des asked Beth.
“No, I can’t say he’s behaved inappropriately. It’s just his manner, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh, believe me, I know.” Des steeled herself and headed into the kitchen. She found Augie on his knees under the sink, turning off the water. Which meant he was treating her to a really unwelcome expanse of hairy white plumber’s crack. “We need to talk, Augie,” she said, turning her eyes somewhere, anywhere else.
“If you say so, sugar lips. But maybe I ought to have a witness in case you try to assault me again, like you did yesterday.”
“I never went near you, Augie.”
“I guess we just have an honest disagreement about that.” Mercifully, he climbed to his feet and went searching in his toolbox for a wrench. “Go ahead, say what you wanted to say.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Fixing the faucet. What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Giving Mrs. Breslauer and her guests the once over.”
Augie went to work on the faucet with his wrench. “And why would I want to do that?”
“You told me you have her under surveillance, remember?”
“Okay, true enough,” he allowed.
“Why, Augie?”
“I have my reasons. Good ones. I was going to share them with you yesterday but you weren’t interested—you and your fancy attitude.”
“I don’t have an attitude,” she responded calmly. “But you sure do. You go out of your way to antagonize these people. I’m warning you, Augie, keep it up and they will bounce you right out of here.”
“Don’t threaten me, homegirl. And don’t push your luck. I can still swear out a complaint against you.”
“A complaint for what?”
“You pushed me to the ground yesterday.”
“That’s bull. You fell over all by yourself.”
“Did n
ot. But where I come from, only the lowest form of rat bastard swears out a complaint against a fellow officer. So we’re good, you and me.”
“I appreciate it, Augie. That’s real decent of you. Since we’re good, how about if we start over?”
“Start over how?”
“If you want to talk, one professional to another, I’m here to listen.”
“No way,” he snapped. “That window of opportunity is closed.”
“What, you’re punishing me now?”
He turned to face her, his arms crossed, one hand clutching the wrench. “Let’s just say I don’t care what other people think of me. Especially when those other people happen to be you.”
“You have a grudge against me personally, Augie. Why is that?”
He stared at her with his cold, dark, cop’s eyes. They were bottomless pools. He had stared down killers with those eyes. “Are you playing the race card with me now?”
“I’m not playing anything. Just wondering why you have such a big chip on your shoulder. You keep acting like you’re the victim of some grave injustice. Want to tell me about it?”
He soaked that in for a moment before he said, “No. Are we done here?”
“Not quite. Did you stop by my house last night?”
“Why the hell would I want to do that?”
“You tell me.”
Augie raised his chin at her. “You’re talking about that little stink bomb somebody left you, aren’t you?”
“It wasn’t so little, Augie. And if you know anything . . .”
“If I know anything?”
“Now’s the time to get out in front of it.”
He shook his head at her in amazement. “You think I did it, don’t you? You’re actually accusing me of depositing my poop on your doorstep. Damn, homegirl, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.”
“Why don’t you try talking to me instead?”
The Shimmering Blond Sister Page 7