The Unprintable Big Clock Chronicle

by Unknown

  She paused before getting into her car and said, “Do you feel better at all?”

  “I do,” I admitted. “I guess I was just looking for some kind of absolution, really. Because I plan on doing a lot more lying tomorrow.”

  Chapter 20

  Hans Christian's was typically crowded and tonight was no different. When I'd gone there in the past, I'd sat in the dining room part of the restaurant. Tonight I was meeting Bill in the large bar area, which was packed. Happy Hour was in its last quarter, though, and within forty minutes or so, the crowd would have thinned out by half. Hans Christian's was a fun place, sort of a hybridized knockoff of Houlihan's and Applebee's, with lots of wood beams, brass railings, mismatched wall art, and loud Nineties music.

  I found Bill waiting at a round table in the corner of the bar. “Hey there. So how did it go with Dede today?” he asked once I hopped up on my chair to join him. “Do you think you got the job? By the way, what can I get you to drink?”

  “Oh...” As I unwound my wool scarf, I considered my options. I could be a very level-headed Buddhist type of investigator—or I could be happy. “Cabernet,” I said. “Thanks.” He motioned for the waitress, who came right over. Once Bill placed my drink order, I answered his question. “I'm not sure if I got the job. Dede said she'd pass my resume onto Fritz, and you know, she'll let me know.”

  “Ah,” Bill said with a nod. By the vague traces of pity that seeped onto his poker face, I'd say he interpreted that as rejection.

  “But Dede seems really nice,” I added. “She's got a very upbeat way about her. Her office is certainly decked out for Christmas.”

  “Yeah. She's really into it, I guess.” He spoke with poorly disguised apathy. I had a feeling he was ready to talk about something other than work. Unfortunately for him, my banal observations about Dede were just my lead-in.

  “And she happened to mention that Suzie Diamanti's resignation came as a real shock to her. She brought it up,” I threw in. (Was that too defensive? I wondered.) “Seemed like Dede was sorry to see Suzie go.”

  Bill said, “Yeah, Dede was probably the only woman in the office who didn't dislike Suzie. At least as far as I could tell.”

  “What about the other Diana—Diana Dupont?”

  “No way, she couldn't stand Suzie. She was always snapping at her, badmouthing her behind her back. But Diana pretty much snaps at everyone, 24-7.”

  “God, what's her problem?” I said.

  “I haven't figured that one out yet,” Bill replied. “Literally, Caitlyn, the only time the woman smiles is when she's talking about Brian.”

  “Who's Brian?”

  “Diana's son—who apparently tap dances on water.”

  “Oh really?” I said, grinning.

  “Yeah. You know, while teaching Braille to blind kittens and reading by the light of his halo.”

  I gave a laugh at that. “Hmm, does she ever brag about him?”

  With a chuckle, Bill said, “I'm not exaggerating. It's shameless. Brian this, Brian that. Oh, I forgot, he's also apparently a 'huge basketball star,'” Bill added. “Too bad it's on a dinky high school team nobody cares about.”

  “So you're moonlighting as his publicist?” I joked.

  Bill laughed. “Nothing against the kid...I'm just saying.”

  “I know,” I assured him, smiling. Suddenly I recalled the midnight-blue CR-V that I'd seen in the Metropolax parking lot. The one with the “Proud Parent of a Butler Honor Student” bumper sticker. More than likely, that vehicle belonged to Diana Dupont.

  Just then the waitress came back with my glass of wine. Bill ordered another beer. “Well, I know for a fact that Kendall disliked Suzie,” I said. “She mentioned it the night that I drove her home. She also said that Suzie was bad at her job.”

  “That's Kendall's story, anyway.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged. “I don't know, it just seemed like there was always some kind of conflict or tension about the spreadsheets they shared, you know, the expense reports and the big accounts. Kendall would complain that Suzie forgot to input numbers and how now she had to fix it, blah, blah, a lot of whining and jealousy. You know how girls are.” As obnoxious as that sounded, I couldn't exactly slap his face and yell, “I'm offended!” if I wanted to get any more information. So I smiled without comment. He continued, “The thing is, Kendall never had the guts to confront Suzie to her face. She would just complain constantly behind her back. But rumor was, Kendall wasn't all that great of an accountant herself. So who knows what to believe with those two?”

  “You said jealousy? Why do you think that?”

  “Because Kendall liked that guy Stu over there,” Bill said, motioning in the direction behind me.

  “Stu's here?” I nearly yelped and whipped my head around.

  “Uh, yeah...” When I turned to face Bill again, he had a questioning look. “Why, are you interested in him, too?”

  “No, no,” I said, “I don't even know him. It's just that Kendall went on about him—that night I drove her home?—and I was just curious what he looked like.”

  “Oh. Well, he's that guy over there in the bright green shirt, standing by the railing,” Bill told me.

  I found myself a bit surprised. That was the “mutant” whom Kendall supposedly found “extremely ugly”? Okay—there was protesting too much, and then there was being delusional. It was plain as day that Stu was a good-looking, muscular guy with a shaved head, handsome smile, and clear blue eyes I could see from here. Mystery solved: Kendall Wallingham had been sweating this guy hard.

  “And I take it that he didn't like her?” I asked, turning back to Bill.

  “He's friends with her, I guess. But he's not into her.”

  “He told you that?”

  “No, but it's obvious. He only came upstairs to see Suzie.”

  “Were they dating or...?”

  “I don't know what was going on.”

  “But he definitely liked her?”

  “Big time,” Bill replied. “Actually, James asked Suzie out too, once. But she turned him down. She was just one of those women who flirted but in a way that you couldn't tell if she was really interested or not—you know the kind.” More sexist stereotypes from Bill; I smiled happily along (barf).

  “What do you think of Kendall anyway?” I asked. “Are you two friends at work or—she seems kind of young to be so bitter,” I threw in lightly. “Is it just me?”

  “Now that you mention it, she is sort of bitter,” he said with a laugh. Took a swallow of beer. The glass thudded as he set it down. “Kendall's cool, though,” he added, stretching back in his seat a little. “She's really sarcastic. Sometimes she's funny as hell.”

  “Hey, I just realized—it seems like the people in your office are pretty much all single. Is Diana Dupont the only one who's married?”

  Bill shook his head. “She's divorced. And Dede was married a while back, but her husband died, I think. She doesn't really talk about it. James told me he was engaged once. Not sure what happened there. I got the impression it was pretty messy, though.”

  “And Fritz Sachs?”

  “Fritz is married. Kendall's single, obviously. And of course I'm single right now, as well...” His tone had changed to slightly playful.

  Just then a bright green shirt crossed my line of vision, and I rose an inch in my seat. Stu was heading toward the restrooms, which were behind Bill, several yards away. “Um, will you excuse me?” I said abruptly and slid off my chair. “I have to run to the bathroom.”

  “Sure. Do you want me to order appetizers or anything? Another drink?”

  “No, I'm good for now,” I said hurriedly. “Be back in a second.” From the brief glance I got, Bill didn't look too thrilled. So far, all I'd done was ask nosy questions about his colleagues. But in my defense, didn’t guys usually like talking about their jobs?

  Once I got to the hallway, I meandered around the water fountain until Stu came out of the men's
room. “Stu!” I called with a certain clunky desperation.

  He turned—tipped his head with confusion. “Hi...do I know you?”

  “No...um...I don't think we've officially met, per se...” I struggled for a moment, having every desire to be honest. “I'm Caitlyn. Suzie Diamanti's cousin.” (I'm sure the angel on my shoulder had her head buried in her white tulle gown by now—I was on my own with this one.)

  Meanwhile Stu's face came alive. “Really?” he said, blue eyes wide. “Hey, it's great to meet you!”

  “Yes...distant cousin, more so, once or twice removed, I guess you'd say...we mostly call each other cousins,” I rambled.

  “Is Suzie here?” he said, turning his head, clearly excited at the prospect.

  “No, I'm here with another friend.”

  “Oh,” he said, clearly disappointed. “Well...how's Suzie doing anyway? I haven't heard from her since she left Metropolax.”

  “I'm not sure. I haven't talked to her either. By chance, have you seen of any of her friends around?” I fished.

  He shook his head. “I didn't know her friends. She and I only got together a few times outside of work. I work downstairs at Al's Imports & Exports,” he explained.

  “So you never met any of her friends in town,” I repeated. “Did she ever mention any of them to you?”

  Stu shook his head. “Suzie would never get too close.” He looked down-in-the-dumps at the memory. “She used to joke that she didn't have a lot of friends or enemies—but she had one or two of each.” He shook his head at the loss of Suzie's company.

  “Did she ever mention someone named 'Sox'?” I asked then. Since Stu had brought up Suzie's enemies, I hoped he might recognize the moniker.

  “Sox...” he repeated. “Oh, yeah. It was someone she worked with, right?”

  “Yes, uh-huh,” I bluffed, “how did you know?”

  “Because I heard her getting off the phone with someone once, when I was coming up behind her. She used the name 'Sox.' When she saw me, she told me it was someone she worked with.”

  “By chance, do you remember anything she was saying on the phone? Did you hear anything when you were approaching? The reason I'm asking is because I think Suzie might have been up for a promotion, and I wanted to plan a surprise party for her.”

  That confused Stu. “But she doesn't work there anymore.”

  “I know, but...I still want to have the party if she was offered the promotion,” I fumbled. “But whenever I talk to her, I don't want to come out and ask, of course...” God, this made almost no sense. Luckily Stu was so sweet and helpful, his standards for verisimilitude seemed less rigorous than the average individual.

  “Um, let me think...well, I came up behind her to tap on the shoulder, say hi, and I remember I heard her saying something like, 'What do you mean? I think it's working out fine for now. Do you have a better idea?' When she saw me standing there, she ended the phone call and said, 'Bye-bye, Sox. Until later.' That's all that rings a bell with me.” Then his face brightened, as he recalled, “You know she loved Marmaduke, just like me.”

  “What...?”

  “The comic strip Marmaduke? We used to read it in the morning and laugh hysterically,” he told me, then giggled, which was perhaps a demonstration of their daily ritual.

  “Actually, Stu—I wanted to stop by and see Suzie. I'm sort of new in town. Do you know where she's living now?”

  “Yeah, she's in Garden Bridge Apartments.”

  “That's right!” I said, slapping my hand to my thigh. “Garden Bridge,” I echoed. “I just forgot the name of the complex. Number 220, right?”

  “Uh, I think it's 40B,” he said. “Unless she moved...?”

  “40B, that sounds right,” I said brightly, using a laugh to recover. “Jeez, what was I thinking of? I guess I'm still all scattered from, you know, jet lag,” I improvised. Luckily for me, Stu had this trusting, simplistic look on his face. It was the expression of a man who didn't think deeply enough to question my veracity. Your basic meathead-with-a-heart-of-a-gold. (Was I being too sexist now?)

  “Hey, I just got a new phone. I haven't put Suzie's number into this one yet,” I added, pulling my cell from my pocket. “Do you have it?”

  “Sure,” he said, reaching for his own phone. He pulled up Suzie's name from his Contacts list and I copied the info into mine.

  “I really miss her,” he said. The trusting face turned sad, as though Stu had the emotional range of a Schnauzer. And let's face it, Schnauzers were damn lovable, straightforward creatures. “Will you tell her to email me?”

  “Sure,” I told him. “If I talk to her, I will.”

  “Thanks, Caitlyn,” he said with a warm smile. “See ya.” As I watched him walk back to the bar, I couldn't help thinking that Stu seemed too good-looking to be this wounded. Accepting I was as guilty as Bill of sexist observations, I headed back to my seat. As I approached, I saw Bill putting money on the table and reaching for his coat.

  “Bill, I'm sorry I took so long!”

  “No problem,” he said. “But listen, Caitlyn, I actually have to go.”

  “Oh, okay. Is everything all right?”

  “Yeah, but I just got a text from...just this person...it's a long story,” he finished vaguely.

  As I put on my jacket, I said, “Is it that woman who was texting you at the party?”

  He appeared surprised, momentarily. “Yes—I forgot you were there for that. You're pretty observant. Anyway, it's just someone who needs to get the hint, once and for all... Ready?” he said, motioning for me to go first.

  “By the way,” I said, “does the nickname 'Sox' mean anything to you?”

  “Wha...nickname...?” He sounded a little impatient with me now. “No. Sorry.” I thought I heard his phone buzz inside his pocket. Again, he held his hand out for me to step forward. He tried to smile chivalrously, casually—but it was clear that he was agitated.

  Chapter 21

  I gained access to Garden Bridge Apartments the following morning after only ten minutes of loitering outside, and then assisting an elderly lady into the lobby with her groceries. “Thank you sweetie, what a good soul you are!” she gushed, before continuing to her ground-floor apartment. It warmed me to believe there was truth in her statement.

  A short elevator ride later, I was on the fourth floor, wrapping around the white-painted corridor until I reached Apartment 40B. I knocked, but there was no answer. I hadn't expected it to be as easy as that. But there had always been the chance that Suzie Diamanti was alive and well and sitting home watching talk shows and eating peanut butter from the jar (no judgments).

  I tried the door, but it was locked. Knocked twice more. Then went in search of the landlord.

  “You know Suzie?”

  Surprised, I turned.

  A gray-haired man holding a laundry basket waved to me. “I saw you knocking on her door. I live in 40D. When's she coming back?”

  “Um, I'm not sure,” I replied.

  “You a friend?”

  “Yes,” I said, walking closer to him. “I'm Caitlyn.”

  “Wendell,” he said.

  “Nice to meet you. Did you happen to see Suzie before she left?” I asked.

  Wendell shook his head. “Not right beforehand, no. But she's been gone a coupla weeks now. Her car's been gone, that's how I knew she went on some kind of trip.” With a wheezy chuckle, he added, “Now that I'm retired, I got time to watch the comings and goings around here. Her car's a beauty, eh?”

  I nodded. “Oh, yes, definitely.”

  “I worked for forty-seven years on every kind of car you could imagine and I know a fine machine when I see one,” he went on. “People may call me a grease-monkey even to this day and you know something? I'm darn proud of it!”

  Sociably, I laughed along. “Wendell, were you close with Suzie?” I asked, even though I figured it was a long-shot that they were.

  “She was always real sweet,” was all he said. “Tell her she's missed aro
und here.”

  “Wait—can you tell me where I can find the landlord? Does he have an office in the building?”

  Wendell nodded. “He does, past the mailboxes in the lobby. But if you need to talk to him now, I happen to know that he's on the third floor fixing Louise's sink. Apartment 32C. He should still be working on it, I'd say.”

  “Oh, Wendell, thank you!” I said.

  “Come on, we can ride the elevator together.”

  Before I stepped off on the third floor, I thanked Wendell again. I waved goodbye as the elevator doors closed. I spotted a tall, burly man with a box of tools, coming down the hall. Impulsively, I accosted him.

  “Excuse me, are you the landlord of this building?”

  “Yes. Ken Larsen. How can I help you?”

  “Mr. Larsen, I'm a friend of Suzie Diamanti's—in Apartment 40B?”

  “Right, right. Is she all right? Gone on a trip, has she?”

  “I'm not sure where she is exactly, at the moment...but I wanted to make sure that her rent is up to date.”

  “Of course. She would have been evicted if it wasn't,” he stated plainly.

  I doubled back to walk with him toward the elevator. “So she was able to get her payment in for December with no trouble? No late charges? Because if there are any, maybe I could settle them up for her. Just so Suzie won't have any complications when she returns.”

  I knew there were privacy laws that prevented landlords from divulging tenant information. But I also knew that people were generally loose-lipped and flawed—and that privacy laws were often bent, twisted, and mangled without much comprehension. Hey, I didn't condone it. But right now, I was just using this global reality to my benefit.

  “I brought my checkbook,” I added to endear myself to Ken Larsen even more, and prayed he wouldn’t call my bluff on this.

  “Well, that's very considerate of you. You must be a good friend of hers. But like I said, Suzie's current with her rent. Dropped her payment in the drop-slot around the fifteenth of the month, like always.”

  “Drop-slot,” I remarked, more to myself. “So she didn't come in person...was it a personal check?” I knew I was pushing my luck, but sometimes delivery was everything. I asked the question casually, innocently, and Ken Larsen didn't even flinch.