The next two days passed uneventfully. She went to work, ate alone in the evenings. She called nobody, and nobody called her. Nobody could call her. She’d left no forwarding address when she left her home in Minnesota. She had no email, no Facebook page, and no poste restante address. She was alone, but she was free. Free to start over.
It was shortly after eleven on Wednesday morning when she saw him again. She was dusting a tray of jewelry under the counter-top. She looked up and there he was.
“Hello Lisa,” he said.
“Oh, hi,” she said, feeling those butterflies again. “I didn’t expect to see you again. I thought you’d be on your way back to Boston by now.”
“Tonight,” he said. “My flight leaves at eight. I remembered you said you worked at a jewelers shop and so I tracked you down. The thing is I need to buy something rather grand for someone very special and I thought you might be able to help me choose.”
“I will if I can. What kind of item are you looking for? And what kind of budget?” she said.
“The budget’s not important. It has to be something exceptional; a ring.”
Lisa’s mouth went dry. Why here? Why here? It was cruel. She felt her eyes watering. She took a deep breath.
“Yes, of course,” she said, struggling to compose herself. “Well these are the finest stones.” She indicated a tray beneath the glass-top counter.
“Can you choose for me? I think a lady’s a better judge than a man for things like this.”
Lisa’s head was starting to spin. She breathed deeply again, trying not to let it show.
“Um, I think any of these would be fit for a princess,” she said, steadying herself by placing her hands on the counter top; “how about the diamond and twin sapphires. The diamond is one point one carats, it’s almost flawless.” I need to get this over with quickly, she thought; this is too much.
“Okay. Is Amex alright?”
“Yes, of course; but usually our customers want the ring made to a particular size.”
“No can do. As I said, I’m flying out tonight. Unless you can have it done this afternoon?”
“We can do that. Do you have the size?”
“Not really, no. I hadn’t thought about it to be honest. Let me see.”
He reached out and took Lisa’s hand. “I should think about the same as you,” he said. The flush came surging up Lisa’s neck again.
“Alright, it’ll be ready by six this evening,” she said, trying to stay calm.
“Can I have it delivered to my hotel?”
“I’m afraid we don’t deliver,” she said.
“Well, perhaps you could bring it along, and I’ll buy you dinner.”
Lisa couldn’t believe it. He was so different today. She’d taken him to be kind and thoughtful, but this was a hurtful thing to do. Was he blind? Couldn’t he tell what she felt? How could he put her through this? Well damn him.
“If you write down the hotel and room number I’ll bring it for you, but I’m afraid I have a dinner date already,” she lied.
“Yes, of course; that was thoughtless of me,” he said. “Anyway I’d appreciate it if you could bring it. I won’t keep you, unless you’d like a quick drink before I go. And thanks for your help.”
He tendered his card and paid for the ring.
“I’m in the Excelsior. You won’t need the room number. I’ll be in the lobby waiting for you; and thanks again.” He left without a backward look.
Lisa’s anger slowly dissipated after he left. She reasoned with herself. The afternoon they’d spent together had been lovely, but when all was said and done she’d been his city guide and he’d been pleasant company. She had no right to expect any special consideration. For God’s sake, she wasn’t his girlfriend. Anyway it was a compliment really, that he’d gone to the trouble of tracking her down so that she could help him choose a special gift for a special person. She wouldn’t let the morning’s events spoil her happy memories of Sunday afternoon.
By the time she arrived at the Excelsior she was feeling calm and relaxed. She was also feeling curious. She decided she wanted to know a bit more about him. She’d accept that drink; why not?
He was waiting in the lobby as promised. He had a cabin bag with him and a suitcase next to his chair.
“Thanks, Lisa,” he said as she approached.
“It’s okay. It’s on my way home anyway and the manager said I needn’t go back to work this evening.” Lisa stuck her tongue in the side of her cheek and then smiled up at him. “I’ll get a good commission too. Maybe I’ll have that drink.”
He seemed relieved. “Of course,” he said. He picked up the cabin bag and called over the bellhop and asked him to watch the suitcase. Lisa and Don walked up a gently curving staircase under an enormous chandelier to the bar.
“What’s it to be?” Don said.
Lisa suddenly felt her inhibitions leave her. “Sex-on-the-beach,” she said.
“Here’s to that. You heard the lady. Two of those please,” he said to the barman.
It was early evening and they were almost alone in the bar.
Lisa raised her drink. She handed him the box containing the ring. “Here’s to the lucky girl,” she said. “Is it her birthday?”
“No it’s um... an engagement ring.”
Lisa’s mouth went dry and she swallowed hard. She took a sip of her drink.
“So when’s the wedding?” she said, sipping her drink through the straw and avoiding his eyes; those cobalt eyes.
“I’m not sure. I don’t know for certain whether there’ll be one.”
“Why ever not?”
“I haven’t asked her yet. She may not have me.”
“Well you must be fairly confident to have bought her a ring like that,” Lisa said.
She glanced at him and saw that he had a distant look in his eyes and a serious expression on his face.
“She must be really special to you,” Lisa said, trying to bring him back.
“Yes,” he said, “she is.”
“Have you known her long?”
“No, not long,” he said.
She looked up at him and she knew instantly. She started to cry.
“Will you marry me Lisa?” he said.
She burst into tears. Don tenderly took both her hands in his.
“Well,” he said, “at least we know the ring fits.”
Chapter Two
The Agoraphobic
“But she’d be perfect, don’t you see?”
We were in my home and Lucy was on her favorite hobby horse again. Since we came back from the Philippines the previous month she’d been bugging me endlessly to elevate her from office secretary to investigator. Well, assistant investigator anyway. Prior to that she only wanted to get away from the office; the mausoleum as she referred to it. She wanted to work from home. The windowless office downtown was all that I could afford, and then only because I shared the space with a bunch of other hapless individuals. It made her claustrophobic, she said, especially since there was precious little to do most of the time since none of us went there much. But I’d foolishly promoted her to the temporary post of assistant investigator in the Philippines and, although I’d stressed that the position was only a temporary one, she argued that resuming work as a secretary, even working from home, would be tantamount to a demotion.
Lucy tends to take no prisoners in arguments (or differences of opinion as she refers to them), so I was now reluctantly prepared to compromise and let her work from home, provided my office colleagues agreed. But the bit was between her teeth; she’d found a potential new secretary to take her place.
“Why would she be perfect?” I said.
“Because she’s agoraphobic. You know, she has a fear of open spaces, public places, people...”
“You advertised for an agoraphobic secretary?”
“No, it was just a lucky chance. I told Eric that I wanted to find a repl
acement secretary but that I thought the mausoleum would put potential candidates off.”
Eric was one of my office colleagues. He was an investment analyst who worked mainly from home and went to the office rarely. He liked the office because it had a prestigious address. A prestigious address is an important accoutrement for an investment analyst.
“Eric said that his niece might be interested because she hated going outdoors and was virtually unemployable as a result. It seemed like the perfect fit. So I invited her for an interview and she enthused about it. She said she couldn’t believe her luck. Not just because of the lack of windows; the fact that hardly anyone ever goes there was the icing on the cake as far as she was concerned.”
“Does she have any secretarial skills?” I countered, raising my eyebrows.
“Not as such. Not yet. I can mentor her and she can do a postal course. She doesn’t like to attend classes; they freak her out.”
“So it’ll be a gradual transition then. Is that what you have in mind?”
“Eric says she’s a quick learner.”
I struggled to think of a way out.
“It’s not just up to me. We’ll have to run it past the others. They may not agree,” I said hopefully.
“I’ve already asked them. They’re fine with it.”
“Ten out of ten for efficiency,” I said coolly.
“Oh please say yes,” she said imploringly, making the best possible use of her doe eyes.
“Lucy, you’ve helped me out in a lot of cases over the years and in other ways too numerous to mention, and don’t think I’m not grateful; but at the end of the day it’s a matter of dollars and cents. If I have to pay for an assistant, as well as an office and a secretary, I’ll have to increase my fees. If I do that I’ll lose a fair amount of business.”
“Not if you’re better than everyone else.”
“Even if I were the bee’s knees a lot of potential clients just wouldn’t be able to afford me. I didn’t choose this line of work to become wealthy; no-one knows that better than you. I’m here for people who need a special kind of service that they can’t find anywhere else. Oftentimes the people who need me the most are the ones with limited means.”
Lucy pondered this for a few moments.
“If you gave up the office altogether,” she said slowly, watching me like a bird of prey about to strike, “we could manage. Working on your own means you can only take one case at a time – look at all the work you have to turn away. If I worked with you, we could expand the workload. I could handle some of the routine stuff and free you up to do more of the better-paid work. And if a client wants to hire us as a team he or she’ll have to pay more, because they’ll be getting more for their money. You already delegate a fair bit of work to freelancers – like routine surveillance. I could do that. I’ve been going through the books – it’d save enough to produce the bulk of my starting salary.”
“It’s pretty tedious work,” I said, worrying about the word ‘starting’ that Lucy had used.
“So’s working in the mausoleum; if you can call it work,” she said.
Touché, I thought. The bottom line was that I was lucky to have Lucy at all. She’d stood by me through a lot of difficult times and could certainly have found a more rewarding and better paid job if she’d wanted to. Plus, I had to admit that she’d helped me in many investigations in small ways – even if it was just having her nearby as a sounding board.
“You really want to do this, don’t you Lucy?” I said.
“You know I do. I’ll be an asset. I won’t get in the way.”
“We’d be letting down the others. They’d need to find someone to take my place. Don’t forget I’m the leaseholder.”
“I’m going to let you into a little secret, at the risk of busting your ego,” she said.
“What?”
“The other guys don’t even like you much; they think you’re not progressive enough.”
“I thought they adored me.”
“We all have our cross to bear, Kane,” she said. “It’s time for you to move on. You don’t need the fancy address anymore. You have a great reputation for thoroughness, fairness – and results. You shouldn’t underestimate yourself. The number of referrals we get has soared during the past two or three years.”
This was true. I was getting quite a few referrals from insurance companies, and law firms. The unofficial referrals from the police had been steadily growing too. I had Lucy to thank largely because she was much better at networking than I am; which is another way of saying better than nothing. My back was to the wall but I fired my final shot.
“We’ll give it a try,” I said. “No promises.”
Lucy knew she’d won. She’d won before the discussion even began. The situation reminded me of a televised interview with Lester Piggott, the famous English jockey, which I’d seen years before. He’d just ridden a blistering race on a rank outsider in one of the American Classics, coming from near last to win inside the final furlong. Immediately after the race one of the journalists asked him: ‘At what point did you know you had the race won, Lester?’ ‘About last Thursday’, he replied sardonically.
“I’ve arranged a little celebration meal,” Lucy said. “Just the two of us − my place at six for pre-dinner drinks − we can discuss the finer details.” She flounced out the door triumphantly.
I was round at Lucy’s place on the dot of six. I didn’t have far to go – we live a few doors apart in the same street. I had to hand it to her – she’d really pushed the boat out. Since her trip to Asia she’d got heavily into Asian cooking, especially Thai and Vietnamese food, although Vietnam hadn’t been on her travel itinerary. There was an assortment of dishes – pork, chicken, seafood, pan-fried vegetables and a large dish of freshly diced fruit. It produced a display of technicolor splendor. She even produced a bottle of my favorite Scottish single malt whisky which she’d gotten from the duty free shop at the airport, and there were twelve ounce cans of Coors in the refrigerator. But in pride of place on her counter-top was a brand new rice cooker which we’d brought back from Thailand, only to find it would have been cheaper on Amazon. She was as happy as a clam that’d just found out it had won the lottery and as excited as a teenager preparing for her first date.
“You realize this will mean we’re going to be in each other’s pockets a lot more?” I said.
“Lucky you.”
“I suppose you’ll want to move in with me next.”
“You wish,” she chuckled.
She left some dishes simmering on the stove and switched on the automatic rice cooker. We adjourned to the verandah with our drinks. It was identical to what I referred to as ‘the porch’ in my house but Lucy had decided, after visiting Asia, that hers would now be called the verandah. As I sipped my scotch I was relieved to see that Lucy was sticking to green tea. Lucy has a fairly low threshold for alcohol and the night was still young.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said.
“Congratulations. And cooking at the same time? That’s called double-tasking isn’t it?”
“As a matter of fact cooking is very conducive to thinking,” she said, as if addressing a class of philosophy undergraduates. “I’ve decided we shall still need an office of some kind. I suggest a unit with a reception-cum-waiting room and a single office which can double as a conference room. We should look for something in this neighborhood; it won’t cost much and we won’t have to waste time traveling. If a client comes to the office I can double-up as the secretary for no extra charge.”
“That’s very magnanimous of you,” I said. Lucy ignored the interruption.
“There’s a shop near the flea market that sells out-of-date legal books by the yard so we’ll line the back wall of the office with those. We’ll need a few filing cabinets and some plaques for the wall – you know, commendations from satisfied clients. We can fake them until we get some real ones. Then there’s your old p
olice graduation certificate. If you’ve still got the letter from Santos we could frame that and hang it in a prominent position − to give the business a kind of international flavor.”
Vicente Santos was a police superintendent in Manila. He’d taken a bit of a shine to Lucy and practically given me carte blanche to investigate a murder there. She noticed my somewhat hesitant expression.
“Don’t worry, I’ll organize everything.”
Lucy was nothing if not good at organizing. Organizing was her middle name.
“How about a couple of pictures of Bogart on the back wall,” I said sarcastically.
“Hmmm, good idea; I’ll see what I can do.”
“If you’re going to take over the surveillance work you’ll have to break the news to Tony.”
Tony Scipio and his wife were freelancers who handled most of my routine surveillance for me.
“You can’t please everyone, you know. You’ve helped him a lot; it’s time for them to stand on their own feet now. You should see this as a new beginning; a step forward. We’ll be like the Thin Man and his wife. What were their names?”
Lucy was referring to a television series which had somehow, inexplicably, metamorphosed from a book written by Dashiell Hammett and a film starring William Powell and Myrna Loy. Dashiell Hammett was a famous writer of crime noir mysteries in the nineteen thirties. He’s dead now.
“Nick and Nora Charles,” I said. “They had a dog called Asta.”
“We’ve got a dog called Skipper,” Lucy said.
Skipper was dead too. He was buried at the bottom of my yard. I never knew Skipper. I never knew Dashiell Hammett either.
Till Death - Mark Kane Mysteries - Book Four: A Private Investigator Crime Series of Murder, Mystery, Thriller & Suspense Stories...with a dash of Romance. A Murder, Mystery & Suspense Thriller Page 2