A Knife to Remember (9 page)

“I know that, but I'm still angry. And it's screwed up my whole week. I was all prepared to be the guilty mother and cook a series of extraordinary dinners for my children before going off on my weekend of sin.”

Shelley grinned. "I hope this weekend can live up to your expectations."

“But I can't even cook now! The kitchen is full of police."

“That's fine," Shelley said. "Paul's gone and I was going to get Kentucky Fried for my kids. We can just get more and all eat it at my house."

“I don't know about that. Katie's social studies class watched a horrible documentary about chicken processing and she doesn't consider them politically correct. The only kind she'll eat is 'free range.' That sounds to me like some tough old bird you'd run over in Arizona. I didn't mind veal going out of style; I could never afford it anyway, but I hate losing chicken."

“Then how about carryout Chinese? Nobody can tell what's in Chinese food."

“Can I have a whole order of crab Rangoon to myself?"

“To eat, or to apply directly to your thighs?" "Are we having Chinese tonight?" Mike said from the doorway.

“Mike! I didn't hear you come in," Jane said as Mike and his younger brother Todd came into the living room and took up positions peering out the back window.

Todd was making repressed jabbing motions. "We're practicing being burglars," Todd said. "What are they doing out there?"

“I have no idea," Jane admitted. "How was the movie you went to?”

She regretted having asked this, as she was treated to a blow-by-blow description of the martial artsfilm they'd seen. Todd enthusiastically demonstrated some of the better kicks and punches, almost knocking over her best lamp. Willard loved the performance, but the cats disappeared in the face of the violence and even Shelley tiptoed away, mouthing "One hour" as she went.

“It was great, Mom!" Todd finished up. "Is that the kind of movie they're making in the backyard?" "No! Certainly not."

“I'm going to go call Elliot," Todd said. As he got to the doorway, he stopped. "Oh, yeah. Mike says you're going to New York this weekend. Could you get me some baseball cards? I'll make a list of what I want."

“Sure," Jane said weakly. When he was out of earshot, she said to Mike, "Does he know I'm going with Mel?"

“Sure. I didn't know you hadn't told him yet or I wouldn't have said anything."

“How'd he take it?"

“Fine, Mom. Don't worry."

“And you, Mike. How are you taking it?”

Mike smiled sheepishly. "Well, to tell the truth, I didn't much like the idea at first. My own mom, going off and shacking up with some guy. It didn't seem like a 'Mom thing.' But I didn't pay much attention to the movie this afternoon. I just sat there in the dark and thought about — about Dad and things. I guess it's pretty easy to think that somebody dead was perfect. And I hadn't really been remembering him. I'd been remembering, I dunno, I guess what I wanted him to be like."

“That's probably okay," Jane said softly.

“Yeah, for me. But not for you. You've been letting us think he was completely cool and all that time you must have really had your feelings hurt — like I did today.”

Jane felt tears welling in her eyes. This was one
terrific
kid.

Mike saw the tears and started talking briskly. "So anyhow, I was thinking about it and decided why shouldn't you have a boyfriend? And why shouldn't you get to go on a trip with him if you want? You're a grown-up."

“Not nearly as grown-up as you think. I haven't told Katie either. Or your grandmother Jeffry.”

Mike smiled. "I'll tell Katie if you want me to, but Gramma's your problem. Jeez! She's gonna go ballistic! I hope you'll let me hang out nearby when you tell her. I might invite Scott over to watch, too."

“Mike, I can't tell you what it means to me that—"

“Aw, Mom. Don't get mushy," Mike said, moving away before she could hug him. One hug a week was already beyond his limit. "If you'll give me money to put gas in the car, I'll pick up dinner.”

“
What are you looking so gloomy about? The food wasn't that bad," Shelley said when they were through eating.

The kids had gone into the living room to play with the Nowacks' new Super Nintendo. Outside in the near darkness the last of the movie people were finally clearing out after a thirteen hour workday. Shelley and Jane were looking over the wreckage of dinner. There were at least a dozen little white cartons with dabs of leftovers in them. Shelley set out three covered glass dishes. "All rice in one, all fried stuff in another, and everything else in the last one," she instructed as she set about loading plates and silverware into the dishwasher.

“Mel called just before I came over," Jane said. "I told him I'd had a talk with Mike and things were sorted out so that I could still go with him this weekend. I told him about my conversation with Mike, including the part about Steve leaving me. I'd never mentioned that to him before. I guess I was afraid of him knowing I was a reject."

“And…?"

“And I was sorry I'd talked about it on the 87 phone. I wanted to see his face. He was real noncommittal and cool. For all I know, he already knew about it. I had to tell the police where Steve was going that night, so it's in a report he could look up if he wanted.”

Jane's mature son's voice wafted in from the living room saying, "Use your Moon Sword, butt breath!”

Jane shook her head in dismay. "Mike's walking a thin line between kid and adult and I never know which side he's going to slip over. I guess he doesn't either.. "

“Jane! About Mel?”

Jane studied the last crab Rangoon, wondering if she could eat it without blowing up and decided she couldn't. "He said that was too bad because now he couldn't go because of this murder."

“Why not? There are other detectives who could take over," Shelley said.

“I know. I asked that too and he said since he was the person who actually found the body, he couldn't unload the case on somebody else. He was sounding cranky, like it was my fault he found the body."

“Jane, if he can't get away until this is solved, it could be months. You know how slowly the police work. Lab results alone can take weeks."

“I know." Jane dumped a half carton of shrimp fried rice into the proper bowl.
"But
there's nothing I can do about it."

“Except solve it for him," Shelley suggested. "Shelley, you know how it pisses him off for us to butt in."

“Yes, but unless you want to take a walker and a case of Geritol along on your weekend of sin, we'd better."

“I don't know, Shelley. Those people might as well come from another planet for all we know about their lives. It's such a weird world they live in. We have no idea what makes them tick."

“They're still people, Jane. Same motivations as anybody else, just different frills." She started rinsing out empty paper cartons and putting them in the trash masher.

“You clean your trash before you throw it away?" Jane asked in wonder. Shelley was, hands down, a better housekeeper than Jane, but this surprised her.

“Sometimes. The masher takes so long to fill up that things can get awfully ripe. Somebody once told me a trash masher was the greatest invention in the world for turning fifty pounds of trash into fifty pounds of trash."

“No, the greatest invention this century is the hot glue gun," Jane said. "Everything from my dishes to my carpeting is held in place because of it. I keep hoping to find a way to use it on my hair."

“Come on, Jane. Don't change the subject. You know I'm right about the movie people."

“But it would mean hanging around them and frankly, my one lunch with them was a heart-stopper. I don't want to repeat that experience."

“But you won't. You got the shocking part over with right away, unless you think the other women on the set are going to be lining up to tell you they slept with your husband — which, I have to admit, is sounding like a possibility. Besides, they're interesting in their weirdness. And the one thing they seem to love above all else is talking about themselves.”

Jane was beginning to feel a spark of hope. "You really think—?"

“I
know
we can get to the bottom of this before Mel can pick his way through DNA samples and fingerprints and heaven knows what else. You know it, too.”

Shelley glanced around the kitchen for anything else that could go into the dishwasher and, satisfied there was nothing hiding, closed the door and punched the buttons to start it. Then she got a fresh pot of coffee started. As the dishwasher swished and hummed, she washed off the kitchen table, then sat down. "Now, it's simple, Jane. Somebody killed Jake. We just have to figure out why and who."

“Oh, sure. That
is
easy," Jane said.

“Sarcasm is wasted on me. It can't be that hard. Killing somebody isn't a normal way of dealing with problems. It's so abnormal that it ought to stand out a mile if we really concentrate on the problem."

“Okay, I'm concentrating," Jane said.

In the living room Shelley's daughter Denise shrieked with delight or defeat.

“Hold it down," Shelley shouted back.

“If I ever get to go away with Mel, I think I'll buy my kids the Super Nintendo to keep them busy while I'm gone," Jane said.

“You mean, to play with it yourself when you get back," Shelley guessed accurately.

“Okay, okay. Who killed Jake? I think the 'why' has to come first, don't you? And the obvious `why' is the blackmail. We know he was attempting to blackmail at least one person and maybe others as well."

“Hold it," Shelley said. "Let's examine that. Do we
know
it was Jake doing the blackmailing?”

Jane considered. "No, not a hundred-percent sure. But if you know somebody was being blackmailed and a few hours later there's a dead body, can't you assume he was the blackmailer?"

“Okay, you're probably right. Tell me again what you heard.”

Jane closed her eyes and tried to tune out the other noises to recapture the aural memory. "The first person, let's say 'A,' said something about being in a hurry. Then 'B,' who was probably Jake, said that girl had come down with chicken pox — no, I don't think he actually mentioned chicken pox. Just that. somebody had come down with something. And then he said that 'A' knew what he wanted."

“But he didn't specify what it was?"

“No. It must have been something they had talked about before."

“Or something 'A' could be expected to know about him."

“Like what?" Jane asked.

“I don't know. . like, maybe they'd worked together before and 'A' knew that Jake was terrified of diseases and would want to be excused from the set or something."

“Pretty thin," Jane said.

“It was the best I could do on the spur of the moment," Shelley said, looking impatiently at the burbling coffeemaker. Shelley firmly believed she couldn't think without regular infusions of coffee.

“Okay, I'll go along with it provisionally. So Jake, if it
was
Jake, wanted this 'A' person to intervene with the director. They talked about Roberto. 'A' said he and Roberto were hardly on speaking terms and he couldn't and wouldn't help. And then 'B' started talking about what I supposed were dirty movies."

“So did 'A' agree to do whatever he was supposed to do?"

“No, I don't think so. That was the end of it. Jake must have moved away because 'A' just mumbled `son of a bitch' and I didn't hear any more.”

The coffeemaker had finally finished. Shelley got up and poured them both enormous mugs. "Don't worry. It's decaf," she said, handing one to Jane. "Okay. That's all we've got to work with. You think they were men's voices. Both of them?"

“I think so. But I can't be positive. And you heard me telling Mel that there was nothing unusual about their word choices or accents or anything."

“So, we have to assume this 'A' person was probably an actor rather than a technical person, right?"

“I think so," Jane said, blowing on her coffee. "I guess making porn films could reflect badly on a director, but probably not on anybody else."

“And we know it wasn't Roberto because 'A' had no accent and they were talking
about
him."

“Uh-huh. And it was probably an important actor, rather than somebody with a bit part.""How do you figure that?" Shelley asked.

“Only because somebody in a minor part wouldn't be expected to have any influence on the director. Although, 'A' said he and Roberto couldn't stand each other."

“All this sounds to me like it must be George Abington."

“Yes, I'm afraid so."

“Why 'afraid so'?" Shelley asked.

“Because he's nice. He was the only one at the lunch who was polite to me. The only one who even acknowledged that I was there at all."

“How did he act toward Jake?”

Jane shrugged. "Nothing. No animosity, no friendliness. Nothing."

“He ignored Jake?"

“Not aggressively ignored. They just didn't happen to speak to each other. Well, nobody got to speak much because Roberto Cavagnari was holding forth."

“That seems strange. If somebody had tried to blackmail you and threatened to ruin your career, could you sit down with them an hour or so later and show no signs of anger?"

“Not unless I were a very good actor," Jane said.

Katie came into the kitchen. "Boys are so
dumb,"
she said, as if it were a revolutionary discovery. "I'm going home, Mom. Thanks for a great dinner, Mrs. Nowack."

“Homework?" Jane asked.

Katie rolled her eyes. "Jeez, Mom. Like you have to remind me?"

“No phoning until it's done," Jane said.

From Shelley's side door she could see into her own kitchen. The police officer was still at the table, shuffling paperwork, so she felt it was all right to let Katie go home without escort. When Katie had gone, Jane went into the living room to question Todd about homework. When he admitted he had a few math problems to do, she sent him home as well.