Vulgar Boatman
Page 25
I took her hand. It felt cool and small in mine. “Of course,” I said. “Whatever I can do.”
You’ll get your ten bucks’ worth, Les, old pal, I said to myself. Pro bono work had never been a priority of mine. But this new widow would need an attorney, and it looked like she thought I was it. This was certainly no time to disabuse her.
The three of us stood there awkwardly for a few moments. Finally Kerrigan said, “Well, I’ve got to get going. If you remember anything else about the other night, Mrs. Katz…”
She nodded. “Sure.”
“Call me.”
“I will.”
Kerrigan shook hands with both of us and left. Rebecca Katz and I remained standing uncomfortably, watching him go. We turned to each other at the same instant. She said, “Well” at the same time I said, “Um…” We laughed quickly.
“Thank you for coming,” she said. She ran her fingers through her hair. “Oh, I am a mess. I haven’t slept. It’s—I haven’t realized it yet, I know. Everything happened so suddenly. It’s like I’ve been watching myself through the wrong end of a telescope. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” I said. “Would you like to get some coffee?”
“Actually, I’d like to eat something. The nurses have been very kind. But I haven’t been very hungry.” She shook her head. “Suddenly I’m famished.”
The nurse directed us to the cafeteria—down the corridor to the end, go right to the elevators, down to the lobby, take a sharp left…
She chatted compulsively along the way. The doctors had been so honest with her, the nurses so thoughtful, the chair she dozed in so uncomfortable. I murmured at the right places. If it hadn’t been for the way she kept digging her fingernails into the palms of her hands, she might have fooled me. That plus the fact that she avoided mention of Les.
I got a salad in a plastic-topped container with a little aluminum foil envelope of Thousand Island dressing and a cup of coffee. Becca took a chicken salad sandwich and tea. We transported them on tin trays to a corner table.
Doctors and nurses dominated a group of tables near the middle of the large cafeteria. They talked loudly and laughed often and were constantly coming and going. A bored female voice summoned them periodically over an invisible speaker. Here and there around the perimeter huddled citizens like Becca and me, mostly in pairs, picking absentmindedly at their food and whispering solemnly. They seemed to be waiting for bad news to find them.
I squeezed the dressing onto my salad. Becca tore the cellophane off her sandwich. She lifted it to her mouth, hesitated, then put it down. She said, “Dammit.” Tears welled up in her eyes and then spilled out. She neither wiped them away nor covered her face. She cried silently but without self-consciousness, and when I started to move to her, she gestured to me to stay where I was.
It probably didn’t last more than a minute. To me it seemed much longer. Then she fumbled a tissue from her bag and wiped her face.
She smiled wanly at me. “That’s been coming on for a while. Sorry.”
“You’re lucky you can cry. It’s supposed to make you feel better.”
“I’ll do it some more, no doubt.” She bit into her sandwich. “This is delicious,” she mumbled.
She wolfed down her sandwich while I ate my salad and watched her. She had once been beautiful, and perhaps she would be again. But time—or tragedy—had marked her, sucking the life from her skin and cobwebbing an intricate pattern of tiny lines onto her face. Tendons rose starkly from the backs of her hands. I wondered how she’d look after a good night’s sleep.
“We didn’t have a very good marriage,” she said abruptly. “I think Les was being kind to me by marrying me. I loved him in my simple, naive way, this brilliant, bizarre man. He was older than me. Experienced. Well traveled. Everything that I wasn’t. He had been married once before. Lester was not a conventional man. He liked to make his own rules. I never really got to understand him. At first it didn’t matter. Then it mattered desperately to me. He didn’t care. He never tried to help me. Oh, I think he cared for me. Or cared about me. But I didn’t really matter to him. I just wasn’t important. He knew how I felt about his—his eavesdropping, his skulking and sneaking and spying. I despised it. He didn’t care about that, either. I always knew something would happen to him. Whenever he was gone, I would wait there, waiting for what was going to happen. The other night was déjà vu. I’d seen it before. It had happened so many times in my mind already. It’s terrible to say, but I am so relieved that it won’t happen again.” She looked at me, and her smile momentarily transformed her face. “You see, Mr. Coyne, this has liberated me.”
I nodded, willing her to go on, sensing her need.
“After we got married, the magic went away. Les lost interest. I suppose I did, too, although now and then I tried to recapture it. We’ve been married six years. On our anniversary last fall, I prepared a special meal. Silly old broad. Candles, flowers on the table. I actually bought one of those Frederick’s of Hollywood things you could practically see through. Les had promised he’d be home for supper. I was going to seduce the bastard.” She smiled at me, and I wondered if she would cry again. “Of course, he didn’t show up. I guess he knew all along he wasn’t going to. I—”
“Omigod!” I said.
“Excuse me?”
“Gloria!” I don’t—”
“What time is it?”
She squinted at a clock on the wall. “Quarter of one. What’s the matter?”
I sighed heavily. “I had an appointment, that’s all. It’s okay.”
“Shouldn’t you call?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I’ll call later. Finish what you were saying.”
She shook her head, denying the significance of her thoughts. “I was just feeling guilty, that’s all. I suppose it’s a natural reaction.” She picked up her napkin and dabbed at her mouth. “Thanks for listening to me.”
“Don’t you want to talk some more?”
“I don’t want to keep you.”
I reached across the table and put my hand on hers. “You aren’t keeping me.”
She looked down and gently withdrew her hand. “No, it’s all right. I do hope that you will be able to help me with…”
“Sure. When you’re ready, call me.”
I took one of my cards from my wallet and gave it to her. She put it into her purse without looking at it. “I suppose,” she said, “we ought to discuss your fee.”
“That’s all taken care of. Les paid me a retainer.”
She smiled. “That’s uncharacteristic, I can tell you that.”
We walked out together into the sharp winter afternoon. I hailed a cab for Becca Katz. Then I walked back to my office. I took my time. I wasn’t eager to find the message I was sure Gloria had left for me.
Buy A Void in Hearts now!
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1987 by William G. Tapply
Cover design by Kathleen Lynch
978-1-4804-2740-2
This 2013 edition distributed by MysteriousPress.com/Open Road Integrated Media
345 Hudson Street
New York, NY 10014
www.mysteriouspress.com
www.openroadmedia.com
THE BRADY COYNE
MYSTERIES
FROM MYSTERIOUSPRESS.COM
FROM OPEN ROAD MEDIA
Available wherever ebooks are sold
Otto Penzler, owner of the Mysterious Bookshop in Manhattan, founded the Myst
erious Press in 1975. Penzler quickly became known for his outstanding selection of mystery, crime, and suspense books, both from his imprint and in his store. The imprint was devoted to printing the best books in these genres, using fine paper and top dust-jacket artists, as well as offering many limited, signed editions.
Now the Mysterious Press has gone digital, publishing ebooks through MysteriousPress.com.
MysteriousPress.com offers readers essential noir and suspense fiction, hard-boiled crime novels, and the latest thrillers from both debut authors and mystery masters. Discover classics and new voices, all from one legendary source.
FIND OUT MORE AT
WWW.MYSTERIOUSPRESS.COM
FOLLOW US:
@emysteries and Facebook.com/MysteriousPressCom
MysteriousPress.com is one of a select group of publishing partners of Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
Open Road Integrated Media is a digital publisher and multimedia content company. Open Road creates connections between authors and their audiences by marketing its ebooks through a new proprietary online platform, which uses premium video content and social media.
Videos, Archival Documents, and New Releases
Sign up for the Open Road Media newsletter and get news delivered straight to your inbox.
Sign up now at
www.openroadmedia.com/newsletters
FIND OUT MORE AT
WWW.OPENROADMEDIA.COM
FOLLOW US:
@openroadmedia and
Facebook.com/OpenRoadMedia