Bean There, Done That

by Sandra Balzo

  ‘She’s a lawyer Ted knows,’ I fibbed. I had no intention of telling Pavlik that I suspected that the blue-eyed brunette was Ted’s affairee. If that were a word. I wasn’t sure why I was trying to protect Ted, beyond the fact Pavlik was being an ass.

  As I turned to leave, I caught sight of a stack of key cards next to Pavlik’s computer. ‘What are those?’

  ‘You know what,’ Pavlik said. ‘They’re your ex-husband’s key cards.’

  I hadn’t literally meant ‘what are those’. I wanted to know where Pavlik had gotten them. Had Rachel found more than what she’d left with Stephen?

  ‘Did Stephen give them to you?’ I asked.

  Pavlik looked at me quizzically. ‘No, these were found in the victim’s purse. Why?’

  Before I could answer the office door flew open.

  The woman standing in the doorway looked just like her pictures on the society page. Petite, with upswept blonde hair. She was wearing a white wool suit and looked very chic. And very angry.

  Despite her diminutive size, Eve Whitaker Slattery managed to fill the room. And she hadn’t even stepped in yet. ‘Sheriff, we demand to know what’s going on. We understand our daughter’s husband has been arrested.’

  I didn’t know if the ‘we’ meant she and her family or she was using the royal ‘we.’ I was betting on the latter.

  Pavlik stood up. ‘Mrs Slattery. Won’t you come in?’

  Eve Slattery stepped in and finally noticed me. ‘Who’s she?’

  I was saved from answering by Stephen, who followed his mother in, and was trailed by a gray-haired man I assumed was his father.

  ‘Mother,’ Stephen said. ‘I know you’re upset, but don’t be rude. This is Maggy Thorsen. I told you about her.’

  ‘You’re that man’s first wife?’ Mother Slattery advanced on me.

  I stood up, more out of self-defense than politeness and stuck out my hand. ‘I’m so sorry about Rachel.’

  She slapped my hand away. ‘You! If you had been half a woman, he wouldn’t have gone after our Rachel.’

  Wait a second here. ‘I am half a . . . I mean, I know you’re distraught, but―’

  ‘Distraught? Distraught? Your husband kills my daughter and our only hope for a grandchild –’ she threw a look at Stephen – ‘and you wonder why I’m upset?’

  ‘Now, Eve,’ her husband said. The gentle-looking man apparently was used to being interrupted, because the preamble was all he had. He just left it at that and sat down in the chair next to me. His chair whistled, too.

  ‘Excuse yourself, Andrew,’ Mrs Slattery said.

  ‘I didn’t . . .’ Again, he didn’t finish the sentence.

  I’d had about enough of these crazies. And I thought my family was dysfunctional. I’d pity Rachel if she wasn’t already beyond that. As for Stephen, he had my sympathy.

  ‘Why don’t you take my chair,’ I said to Mrs Slattery. ‘I need to go.’ Boy-oh-boy, did I need to go.

  She didn’t even acknowledge me as she lit back into Pavlik. I slipped past her to the doorway, where Stephen still stood.

  I touched his shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry about Rachel, Stephen.’

  His eyes were already red and now they welled up. ‘Thanks, Maggy, and please forgive my mo―’

  ‘Stephen, would you please come over here. I need you.’

  Stephen mouthed ‘sorry’ and stuck out his hand to shake. In it, was his business card with his cellphone number scrawled on it.

  ‘Call me if you need anything,’ he said aloud. Then he reluctantly went to see what his mother wanted.

  Me? I made a beeline for the door.

  Chapter Eleven

  Frank, faithful dog and companion, was waiting for me when I got home. We went through our usual routine before I stepped in. Me, unlocking the door, Frank crashing into the door. Same old, same old.

  Once I wedged myself in, Frank did a little happy dance round and round as I attempted to scratch him behind the ear.

  ‘That’s a good boy, Frank. I’m glad to see you, too.’

  Overwhelmed by love, the furry lug jumped up to put his paws on my shoulders. That placed him eye to eye with me.

  His breath smelled of pigs’ ears and he was drooling a bit, but all in all, he was the most appealing male I’d been with today, with the exception of Stephen.

  ‘You’re always glad to see me, aren’t you, Frank?’

  Frank gave a full-body wriggle and licked my nose. ‘You love me no matter what. Don’t you, boy?’

  Another lick on the nose and another shimmy, this one strong enough to send a string of drool sailing.

  Grateful as I was to inspire this kind of mindless adoration, I was a realist. I moved aside a hank of hair and looked him in the eye. ‘You have to pee, don’t you?’

  Frank jumped down and ran for the door, woofing. So much for faithfulness and unconditional love, even from the canine set. All I was to him was the bathroom attendant.

  By the time I got there, the dog stood squared up to the door, top of his head pressed against it, nose pointed down to the floor.

  ‘You’ll have to move back, if you want me to open it,’ I told him.

  He didn’t move.

  I turned the knob and managed to get it open a crack. Frank shuffled back an inch.

  ‘More,’ I said.

  Another step. Or four, if you count all the feet.

  At this rate, it was going to take an hour to get him out. ‘You’re an accident just waiting to happen,’ I told him. ‘Shove back.’

  Another shuffle, but still no daylight between Frank’s nose and the door.

  Apparently Frank was frozen in the sheepdog equivalent of crossing your legs. I caught sight of his tennis ball behind the antique milk can I use as an umbrella stand.

  I gave the ball a nudge with my toe and sent it rolling out from behind the milk can and away from us.

  Frank instinctively started after the tennis ball, taking two steps before he realized he’d been tricked.

  Before his bladder had a chance to figure it out, too, I yanked open the door. Frank threw me a grateful look and ran out.

  ‘Whoa,’ a voice outside said.

  I stuck my head out and saw Stephen Slattery flattened up against the railing of the porch steps, looking after Frank.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Dog on a mission.’

  ‘I can see that,’ Stephen said, watching Frank water the red Maple. ‘Is he ever going to stop?’

  ‘It’s been a long day.’ I stepped out on the porch. ‘Longer for some than others. Want to come in?’

  Stephen nodded and mounted the stairs, briefcase in hand.

  ‘Wine?’ I asked, and immediately flashed back to two days ago, when I’d asked his sister the same question. ‘Or something else? Beer? Water? Coffee?’

  ‘I had enough bad coffee at the sheriff’s office.’ He settled wearily on to the couch. Then, seeming to realize what he said, he added, ‘Not that yours would be bad, of course. I’m sure being a . . . a. . . professional―’

  ‘Believe me,’ I interrupted, ‘no offense taken.’ I gestured toward the briefcase he was still holding. ‘Do you want to put that down? Or do you want me to take it?’

  Stephen looked at the case like he’d forgotten he still held it. Where his dark brown eyes had looked like glossy pools of chocolate when we’d met, now they looked dull.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, handing the case to me. ‘Your calendars are in here, the ones I didn’t give to the sheriff.’

  I opened the case. It looked like about three quarters of what I’d given him. Pretty much the first fifteen years of my marriage. ‘Did they . . . I mean, did you . . .?’ Now I was the one dithering.

  Stephen leaned forward. ‘After Rachel disappeared, I checked the last three years and found a couple discrepancies between the key cards and where your calendars said Ted was. I gave those to the sheriff.’

  ‘And these?’ I pulled out a handful of calendars.

  ‘I di
dn’t get a chance to check them, and I thought you would prefer they not have them.’

  He was right about that. What was going on between Pavlik and me was bad enough without his having access to the mundane details of my life with Ted.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, putting the calendars on the coffee table. ‘I appreciate that. The sheriff―’

  Stephen finished my thought. Or what he thought my thought was. ‘I know. He already seems out to get Ted. No need to give him more fuel.’

  I was startled. ‘So you don’t think Ted had anything to do with it?’

  ‘Do you?’

  I was still standing, empty briefcase in my hand. I handed it to him and collapsed in the chair opposite him.

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘I honestly don’t. It’s just that . . .’ I let it trail off.

  ‘That he lied to you about Rachel and –’ he waved at the calendars – ‘and maybe other things.’

  He saw my surprised look and smiled ruefully. ‘Hey, think you’re the only one? In poker terms, I see your cheating spouse and raise you a crazy mother.’

  He reached across and touched my hand. ‘I’m sorry she was so vile to you today. I’m so used to her that I don’t notice until she launches into someone I like.’

  He likes me, he really likes me, Sally Field screamed in my head. I ignored her. ‘You were married?’

  ‘For two years right out of college. My mother said Katrina was a tramp from the start.’ He closed and unclosed the latch on his briefcase.

  ‘And she was right?’

  Stephen shrugged. ‘Maybe. Or maybe being married to a Slattery made her want out in whatever way she could find.’

  I didn’t know what to say.

  Stephen laughed. ‘I know, I know. What a sad sack.’

  Not a sad sack, so much as just plain sad. ‘Sad sack?’ I said, wanting to support his attempt to lighten the mood. ‘I haven’t heard that term for years.’

  ‘I know, I’m a throwback. My dad had a collection of Sad Sack comic books I used to read.’ He stood up. ‘I’d better go.’

  ‘So you and your father are close?’ I asked, following him to the door.

  ‘Sure. There’s really nothing not to like about my dad,’ Stephen said. ‘My mother has worn him down for so many years, he’s pretty much ceased to exist.’

  ‘But you seem to have survived without losing yourself,’ I said. ‘And so did Rachel.’

  ‘Rachel got away.’ He was standing at the door.

  ‘How? By marrying Ted?’

  ‘Yes, and by choosing a career as far removed from the hotel business as she could manage. It worked for a while.’

  ‘Just a while?’

  ‘My mother said Rachel would be back and damned if she wasn’t right.’ Stephen gave me a rueful grin. ‘Listen, I’m sorry to have unloaded like this on you. This was way more than you wanted to know about the Slattery clan.’

  ‘The Family, with the capital ‘F’?’ I asked, smiling. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve heard worse.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe.’

  He was looking at me, seeming more like he had before Rachel died. ‘Would you have dinner with me tomorrow night?’ he asked abruptly.

  I must have looked surprised, because Stephen felt he had to explain. ‘I know it might sound like awful timing,’ he said, ‘but the next few days are bound to be pretty awful for everyone. It would be nice to get away for a few hours.’

  ‘I―’

  ‘It’s just dinner,’ he interrupted, and I realized that he was even more nervous than I was. ‘And I swear –’ he raised his hand appropriately – ‘that I’ll keep my crazy mother away.’

  I waited two beats to make sure he was done. ‘That it?’

  ‘I think so. Unless you think a fiver would sweeten the deal.’ He patted his wallet.

  I grinned. ‘I probably should wait to see if you up the ante, but the fact is I would love to have dinner.’

  ‘You’re a brave woman, Maggy,’ Stephen said, a smile of relief spreading over his features. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow and we can work out the details.’ With that, he pulled the door open.

  Frank, his full bladder a distant memory, had been waiting impatiently on the porch. When the door finally opened, he was taking no chances. He threw himself in, sending Stephen, who still had hold of the door knob, hurtling backwards.

  I was standing behind Stephen and a little to the side, so Frank didn’t take me out. Heroically, though, I threw a body block to prevent Stephen from landing on the glass-topped coffee table. Instead, I sent him headlong over the arm of the couch, where he bounced and rolled to the floor between the sofa and the table.

  Frank walked over him and settled next to the fireplace.

  I looked down at Stephen apologetically. ‘I guess we’ll see who’s brave.’

  After I’d gotten Stephen up and brushed off, he still wanted to go to dinner. I thought this might be the man of my dreams.

  Or at least my post-Pavlik dreams.

  I worked with Amy the next day. This time, she had the 05:30 a.m. duties, so she was just finishing up the checklist when I got there at six thirty.

  As Caron had done, I picked up the newspaper and tossed it on to the reading counter. When I did, I saw the headline: ‘Body identified as Slattery heir.’ The subhead read: ‘Husband named person of interest.’

  I scanned the story. Apparently dental records had confirmed that the body found in Lake Michigan was Rachel. The story didn’t say what the cause of death was, only that the autopsy results were pending.

  It went on to say that, according to sources close to the family, Rachel recently had announced her pregnancy. ‘The sheriff’s office would not say whether Slattery-Thorsen’s husband, Brookhills’ dentist Tor “Ted” Thorsen, was a suspect, but did say he was considered “a person of interest”.’

  Amy was peeking over my shoulder. ‘Sounds like those other girls. The pregnant ones whose husbands killed them. It’s an epidemic.’

  I pointed at the paper. ‘That’s exactly the inference they want people to make. First the story says Rachel is dead, then that she’s pregnant, and finally, that Ted is a suspect. What are people supposed to think?’

  ‘It doesn’t say he’s a suspect,’ Amy protested.

  ‘I know. A person of interest.’ I shook my head, turning to page six, where the article was continued. ‘They might as well have said he was suspected. It’s like when executives at the bank left to pursue other opportunities. We all knew damn well they’d been canned.’

  ‘Isn’t that you?’ Amy pointed to a photo. It was shot through the glass of a car window and clearly showed me, in all my make-up-less glory. The caption under the picture read: ‘Unidentified woman leaves house angrily Monday morning as questions are asked.’

  ‘You do look angry,’ Amy said. ‘But at least they don’t know who you are.’

  ‘That will last as long as it takes someone from Brookhills to read the paper and pick up the telephone,’ I said, tossing the paper in the trash basket. No use making it easier than it already was.

  I took my handbag and coat back to the office and came out with an Uncommon Grounds apron. ‘Kat McNamara is going to be all over this.’

  Amy flipped around the open sign. ‘Do you think it could have been suicide?’

  I mulled over that possibility, which hadn’t occurred to me until Eric asked me whether Rachel had jumped. ‘I guess I assumed Pavlik has a reason to think it was murder, but I don’t know whether that’s true.’

  ‘Caron said you saw Rachel the day she disappeared. Did she seem depressed to you?’ Amy was sliding baskets full of pastry into the glass cabinet under the counter. ‘Maybe she didn’t want a baby.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  I hoped Caron wasn’t repeating everything I’d told her. I didn’t so much mind Amy knowing the particulars. Piercings and wind-chime earring aside, Amy had a good head on her shoulders. Even better, she had a good heart. There were some people in Brookhills,
though, I couldn’t say that about.

  ‘I don’t know whether Rachel wanted a baby,’ I said, starting a latte, ‘but she didn’t seem suicidal to me. She was making plans.’

  Most of those plans involved proving Ted was a cheater and kicking him out, not that I was going to tell Amy that.

  ‘Plans for the baby?’

  ‘There’s construction work going on at the house and, according to Ted, it’s for a nursery.’

  I pushed the button to brew the espresso shot for my latte and turned back to Amy. ‘Rachel didn’t even tell me she was pregnant. I don’t know if she was being considerate because she thought it would upset me or she figured it was none of my business.’

  ‘Most likely the second, knowing Rachel.’ Amy slid a latte cup over to me.

  I was surprised. ‘You’ve met Rachel?’

  ‘We went to high school together. We weren’t really friends. We ran in different circles.’

  I was sure. Amy the tattooed, rainbow-haired, multiply-pierced environmentalist. Rachel, the well-coiffed blonde hotel heiress.

  ‘Yeah, I was a cheerleader and ran track. Rachel was in the band and the chess club.’

  I paused with the shot in my hand, about to pour it into the cup. ‘You were a cheerleader and Rachel was the nerd?’

  Amy took the shot from me and dumped it in the mug. ‘We’re human beings, Maggy. We evolve.’

  She pointed at the big stainless frothing pitcher. ‘You forgot to froth the milk. You’re going to have to let it rest before you pour it.’

  ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘On both counts.’

  Properly chastised, I poured skim milk into the pitcher and positioned it under the steam wand. As the milk frothed, I tried to imagine Rachel throwing herself into the lake.

  ‘I don’t buy it,’ I said, setting aside the milk to let it settle. As Amy had said, the milk has too much air in it right after frothing. If I used it in a drink, it would deflate, leaving me with a half-size latte. And a half-size latte wasn’t enough.

  ‘If Rachel wasn’t thinking about the future,’ I said to Amy, ‘why would she have come to see me?’

  ‘True.’ Amy stirred a raw sugar into my latte mug. ‘Caron told me about the key cards and all. Is that why you think Ted killed Rachel?’