Flat White

by Sandra Balzo

  ‘Because he never had one,’ Helena said, her eyes getting moist. ‘Barry was a victim, not a cheat.’

  ‘We’re saying Christy’s whole dating thing, the new love of her life, was a ruse?’ I asked. ‘Why bother? Why not just steal the money?’

  ‘To explain the gifts and trips maybe,’ Sarah suggested. ‘I have to hand it to Christy. That was one hell of an act.’

  I wasn’t quite buying it. At least not all of it. ‘But I talked to the man on the phone.’

  ‘You talked to Barry?’ Helena asked.

  ‘Or somebody who said it was him,’ I said, turning to her. ‘Do you have a recording of Barry’s voice?’

  ‘Probably somewhere on my phone,’ Helena said. ‘I’ll—’

  ‘You know what this means?’ Sarah interrupted. ‘Our gal Christy had a motive for killing Margraves.’

  ‘Wait. Identity theft and stealing is bad enough,’ I protested. ‘But murder? Besides, Christy was with me when Barry was hit by the plow.’

  ‘You saw it?’ Helena’s voice was quiet as she traced a zig-zag pattern on the table with her index finger. The leg had crossed again.

  I put my hand over hers to still it. ‘Yes. I am so sorry.’

  ‘Was it …’ She cleared her throat. ‘Did he suffer?’

  Assuming Barry Margraves had died at first impact, as I’d told Sarah, I was certain he literally didn’t know what hit him, but that would sound too pat. ‘No, he didn’t suffer. It was just all too quick. Over in a second.’

  ‘Good.’ She was staring down at the table.

  ‘Let me get you a latte,’ Sarah said, taking Helena’s undrunk, if not untouched, flat white.

  One might think my partner was being sensitive to Helena’s feelings, but I knew she was escaping them.

  ‘It was eas—’ Helena struggled to get the words out. ‘It was easier to be angry with Barry. To think that he’d been cheating on me when he died. Now … I feel like I’ve betrayed him by believing the worst of him.’

  ‘You had every reason to be suspicious,’ I said. ‘No use beating yourself up for being human.’

  ‘Human is one thing,’ Helena said, meeting my eyes. ‘But I flew here like a crazy woman instead of sitting down with my husband of more than a decade and asking him to explain. I’m the one who betrayed him by not giving him the benefit of the doubt.’

  ‘So you ask, and he denies. It gets ugly.’ Sarah had stuck her head out of the service window. ‘As it is, Barry died never knowing what you suspected, right?’

  Helena blinked. ‘Well, yes. I guess.’

  ‘Then no worries.’ Sarah disappeared.

  Helena turned to me with a frown. ‘Did she say, “no worries”?’

  ‘I think she means it could have been worse.’ I said. Explaining Sarah was always a challenge. But this time, I thought she was right. ‘As it is, Barry didn’t believe you betrayed him, and he apparently didn’t betray you.’

  ‘Apparently,’ she repeated. ‘But he’s still dead, and I don’t know why.’

  ‘We will find out,’ I told her.

  ‘Yes, we will.’ She seemed to rally. ‘I’m going to cancel my flight.’

  Sarah came around the corner with the latte. ‘Now where did we leave off?’

  ‘Trying to figure out how Christy could have killed Barry,’ Helena said. ‘While standing with Maggy.’

  ‘Cahoots,’ I said, glancing across the street.

  ‘Cahoots?’ Helena’s forehead wrinkled.

  ‘It’s apparently the word of the week,’ Sarah explained.

  ‘I’m just saying that Christy, if she did this, would have needed a partner,’ I said.

  ‘She did have a partner: Ronny,’ Sarah said. ‘I told you.’

  ‘I mean a physical partner who isn’t behind bars. One who could drive a snowplow,’ I said.

  ‘What about that driver? Harold?’ Helena asked. ‘Are we absolutely certain that he wasn’t driving the truck?’

  ‘“We” are,’ I said, suppressing a smile. Now I knew how Pavlik felt when I invited myself into his investigations. ‘Harold Byerly was in our bathroom from twenty minutes prior to Barry being killed until maybe thirty minutes after.’

  ‘The room smelled like dead skunk a full three hours later,’ Sarah assured her. ‘This was no quick drop-one-and-out, believe me.’

  ‘I … I do, I guess,’ Helena said, wrinkling her nose.

  Movement on Christy’s porch across the way caught my eye. The door had opened and now she stepped out. As she lifted the lid of the mailbox, she seemed to sense me watching and turned to look, shielding her eyes against the glare of the sun off the snow.

  I raised my hand to wave, but she apparently didn’t see me, just retrieved her mail and went back inside.

  It triggered a memory. ‘We should talk to Christy. I’d like a look at her notebook.’

  ‘What notebook?’ Helena had gotten to her feet and now paused. ‘Sorry, I keep asking the questions, but I have absolutely no answers.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ I said, standing myself. ‘I think we’re going to get those answers very soon.’

  EIGHTEEN

  I had to ring the bell twice before Christy came to the door, her phone in hand.

  ‘… how long?’ she was saying into it. ‘Of course. You should.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, after another three minutes of one-sided banalities before she finally hung up. ‘Rebecca was on the phone, and I didn’t want to be rude.’

  ‘To her or us?’ Sarah asked sourly. ‘We’re still standing on the porch. You could at least have let us in while—’

  ‘That’s fine,’ I said to Christy with a smile. ‘Could we come in now?’

  ‘Of course.’ She stepped aside to let us pass by. ‘I’m afraid the house is a mess.’

  ‘This is a mess?’ Helena whispered to me as we passed through the living room.

  ‘By Christy’s standards.’ The only furniture in the room was Christy’s grand piano and its bench. If I squinted, I might be able to see a speck of dust on the piano’s lacquered finish. But I doubted it.

  ‘Are you moving?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘No, why do you ask?’ Christy led us into her kitchen and waved for us to sit. Since there were only two chairs at the table, we all stayed standing.

  ‘Because there’s nothing here,’ Sarah said, scowling. ‘Did you list the place again?’

  Sarah deemed any listing she didn’t have as traitorous. Even though she was no longer practicing real estate.

  ‘No,’ Christy said, shaking her head. ‘But I put a lot in storage when it was on the market. I think it makes the house seem ever so much larger.’

  ‘You didn’t get it out of storage when you decided to stay?’ I asked. ‘That was a year ago.’

  ‘I know,’ Christy said, her eyes wide. ‘Can you believe I never really needed all those things? I feel so much freer now.’

  I was saved from answering when she turned to Helena. ‘Has Barry’s body been released? I’d love to attend the funeral if you don’t mind.’

  ‘I mind,’ Helena said.

  ‘Oh, OK.’ Christy pointed again to the table. ‘Please, Maggy and Helena, sit.’

  ‘And me?’ Sarah asked sourly.

  ‘Help me get two more chairs?’ Christy asked, opening the still-splintered back door and leading the way out.

  Helena and I looked at each other, before taking our seats as ordered. At Helena’s place was a single placemat with a setting of plate, knife, spoon and fork. A cloth napkin that had been tortured into the shape of a rose adorned the plate.

  ‘This is so, so sad,’ Helena said, shaking her head.

  ‘I used to think so,’ I said. ‘But Christy is Christy. And that means if she’s eating by herself, she’s not going to do it sitting on the living room couch watching television for company like the rest of us do.’

  ‘She doesn’t have a couch. Or a television,’ Helena pointed out.

  ‘True. I’m just saying
that I kind of respect that even eating alone, she sits down at the table and does it up properly.’

  ‘Does what up properly?’ Christy asked, coming in with a folding lawn chair. Sarah was behind her with an oversized bucket with the hardware store name on it.

  ‘The rose napkin is beautiful,’ I said with a genuine smile. ‘I hope we didn’t interrupt your lunch.’

  ‘Not at all,’ she said, unfolding the green and white checked lawn chair. ‘Please, Sarah sit.’

  Sarah set down the bucket. ‘No, I’m fine—’

  ‘Please.’ When Christy used that tone, you didn’t mess with her.

  Sarah sat on the lawn chair, her butt hitting the floor as the woven plastic webbing stretched. ‘Thanks.’

  Christy flipped over the bucket and sat on it. Then she stood up. ‘Oh! Would anybody like something to drink? I can wash the glass.’ She pointed at a tumbler draining in the rack by the sink.

  ‘No, thanks,’ I said, as Sarah opened her mouth to say worse. ‘We were just concerned about you. With the police and all.’

  ‘It is worrisome,’ Christy confirmed, re-centering herself on the bucket. ‘The police think I stole Barry’s account information. But he gave it to me. Honestly.’

  This last was directed to Helena.

  ‘How did he give it to you?’ she asked. ‘On the phone? Email? Text?’

  I was impressed that Helena was asking pertinent questions instead of knocking Christy right off her bucket. The two women were about the same height, but I thought the brunette could take the redhead easily if she wanted to.

  ‘Over the phone,’ Christy said. ‘But what’s odd is that the sheriff’s department can’t find any record of the calls from Barry’s side.’

  ‘What number did you have for him?’ I asked.

  Christy recited it, and I glanced at Helena.

  She shook her head. ‘That’s not Barry’s number. At least not the iPhone.’

  ‘And the sheriff’s department hasn’t found another,’ I said.

  ‘No, they haven’t, that’s just the problem,’ Christy said. ‘They think I’m making it up.’

  ‘And you’re not?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Of course not,’ she said indignantly.

  Sarah raised her hands. ‘Just making sure. What about Ronny?’

  ‘I told you,’ Christy said. ‘I don’t love him anymore. I know he’s your cousin, Sarah, but that’s just the way it is.’

  ‘I meant is Ronny involved?’ Sarah asked. ‘Did he maybe feed you the account numbers and tell you how to use them?’

  Christy’s head snapped up. ‘Whatever are you talking about? This had nothing to do with Ronny. I haven’t talked to him for months.’

  ‘We can check, you know,’ Sarah said. ‘The prison keeps records.’

  ‘Of course, I know,’ Christy said, angrily leaning forward on her bucket. ‘I’m the one who went to see Ronny every visiting day. I didn’t see any of the family doing that.’

  ‘He’s … not … my … family,’ Sarah said, bitingly.

  ‘That may be,’ Christy said, folding her hands on her lap, ‘but you’re all the family he has. Has ever had.’

  Sarah opened her mouth and then closed it again.

  ‘Yeah, Sarah,’ I said, and got a dirty look. It was reward enough.

  My partner finally cleared her throat. ‘Fine. I’ll visit him. Once. If you tell us the truth.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Christy said. ‘And I am telling you the truth. Barry gave me the account numbers and access information. I sold what he told me to and transferred the money. Two transactions, that was it.’

  ‘Two transactions?’ Helena’s forehead wrinkled as she leaned forward. ‘I thought you were going to tell us the truth.’

  ‘I am,’ Christy said, turning to her.

  ‘You emptied all our accounts.’ Helena was unfolding the rose.

  ‘I did not,’ Christy said, scowling.

  ‘Did so.’ The rose was no more.

  ‘Did not,’ Christy said snatching the napkin from her. ‘Barry gave me the account numbers and I wrote them down in a notebook. Then I did the two transactions. That was it.’

  ‘Can we see the notebook?’ I asked.

  Christy frowned. ‘The deputy took it. My phone, too, but that they just gave back.’

  Well, that was good news at least. ‘You said you put some security questions in place?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Christy, suddenly apologetic, turned to Helena. ‘I couldn’t get into the accounts without doing that. I’ll give you the questions and answers and you can change them. No reason my information should be on Barry’s accounts now.’ She sniffled.

  ‘That’s kind of you,’ Helena said slowly, seeming to take a new tack. ‘Now tell me. How did you and Barry meet? On a dating site, I understand?’

  ‘Well, yes.’ Christy seemed startled, but also a little relieved. ‘Things hadn’t been going well with Ronny. Jail and all, you know.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I was telling Rebecca and she said I deserved better. And asked if I had thought about online dating. I set up a profile and, presto, Barry answered.’

  ‘Rebecca?’ Helena glanced at me.

  ‘Yes, Rebecca Penn, down the street,’ Christy continued. ‘You’ve probably seen her. She’s about your height and with dark hair, too. In fact, when I saw you cross the street just now, I thought it was her. But then I realized, “Wait – I’m on the phone with Rebecca. Duh.”’

  Duh, indeed. ‘Speaking of your phone,’ I said. ‘Do you have a voicemail from Barry saved?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ Christy said, glancing at Helena uncomfortably. ‘I kept one particularly because it was just so very Barry.’ She sighed.

  ‘Could I hear it, do you think?’ Helena instinctively seemed to know where I was heading with this.

  Christy tilted her head. ‘Poor dear, you want to hear his voice again, too. It’s just that … well, it may hurt your feelings. Being that he left it for me and all.’

  ‘Is it dirty?’ Sarah could always be counted on to ask the uncomfortable question. And be absolutely comfortable doing it. ‘Phone sex is inevitable, I suppose, your being so far apart.’

  ‘I told you we weren’t.’ Christy frowned. ‘Having phone sex, I mean. I’m just trying to be sensitive to Helena’s feelings.’

  ‘You were phone-banging her husband,’ Sarah said. ‘A little late to be thinking about her feelings.’

  ‘I was not phone banging him, which is a filthy way of putting it anyway.’ Christy was folding the napkin on her lap. A swan maybe, this time. ‘And I told you I didn’t know he was married.’

  ‘Of course you didn’t,’ Helena said soothingly. ‘And don’t worry about the content of the message. I just want to hear Barry’s voice one last time.’

  ‘I so understand,’ Christy said, setting aside the napkin bird to get up.

  As she disappeared down the hallway toward her bedroom, I turned to Sarah. ‘Are you really going to visit Ronny?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said, pushing herself up and out of the lawn chair.

  ‘You broke the chair,’ Helena said, pointing at the hole in the weave where Sarah’s butt had been.

  ‘I think it’s more that it broke me,’ she said, rubbing where she’d landed. She craned her neck to see around the corner. ‘Think she has a bed in her—’

  ‘Here it is,’ Christy’s voice said, from down the hall. Sarah backed off and went to lean against the kitchen counter.

  ‘Don’t you want to sit?’ our hostess asked her. ‘You can have my bucket if that chair … oh, dear. Did it break?’ She looked like she was going to cry. ‘It was my parents’.’

  ‘I’m sure it was,’ Sarah said. ‘But sadly aluminum tubing and plastic webbing doesn’t last forever.’

  ‘No.’ Christy was trying to reweave the disintegrating webbing.

  ‘You can get new webbing,’ I told her. ‘It’ll be practically brand new.’

  ‘I suppose,’ she said, running her hand a
long the frame. ‘But it won’t be the same.’

  OK, time to get off the lawn chair. ‘Did you find the phone with Barry’s call?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ She tore herself away from the damaged heirloom and pulled the phone from her pocket to punch up voicemail. When she found the one she wanted, she hit the ‘play’ arrow.

  ‘Hello, my dear,’ the voice said, and I recognized it as the man I’d spoken to when Christy thrust the phone at me on Tuesday morning. ‘Sorry that I missed you, but my project here just ended. I’ll phone you from Heathrow before I fly out.’

  I looked at Helena, but Sarah jumped in. ‘That’s the message you kept? My insurance agent could have left that. Or my plumber.’

  ‘Your plumber calls you “dear”?’ I asked.

  ‘No, but my insurance agent does. He’s very British.’

  ‘And that’s why I love this message,’ Christy said with a pout. ‘Barry says “prō-ject” and he’ll “phone” me. And he talks about Heathrow. He was so … so continental, don’t you think, Helena?’ She asked it like the two were Sister Wives.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ Helena said, and then turned to me. ‘That’s not Barry’s voice. Not even close.’

  She was right. I should have realized when I spoke to the real Barry on the street. Between the storm and the drama of the moment, it just hadn’t sunk in.

  Apparently for Christy, either. She seemed astonished. ‘But—’

  ‘But nothing,’ Helena continued. ‘Barry doesn’t say “my dear”, for one thing. He says “sweetie”, if anything.’ Her voice broke. ‘He’s not … well, he’s not one to be mushy, he’d call it. And he certainly doesn’t pronounce “project” like that. Or fly in or out of Heathrow, for that matter.’

  She turned to me. ‘You saw. You paged through his passport.’

  I did, but I didn’t realize she’d seen me. ‘There weren’t many stamps, and none for Heathrow, that I saw.’

  So no London trips, until the one scheduled for … was it today?

  ‘… Except for our honeymoon in the Bahamas,’ Helena was saying. She cocked her head. ‘Maggy?’

  I had snagged my purse from the floor and was digging through it, praying.

  Yup, the sheath of papers was still there. I pulled out the credit card transactions and traced down the list to the third highlighted entry. Flight booked for today, as I thought. ‘Barry and Helena Margraves. Milwaukee to Chicago O’Hare and then on to London.’ I looked up. ‘The fake Barry booked this, that’s why the real Barry highlighted it. He hadn’t made the purchase.’