Fry Me a Liver (14 page)

“What? Who?”

“The lovebirds,” he said. “Benjamin and Grace. We should see what they're not showing or telling people.”

“How?”

“See where they go, what they do.”

I have to admit, the prospect appealed to me. Those two
fressers
from California had corrupted an admittedly corruptible employee with the promise of advancement in their corrupt world. That may not have defined “supervillain” in Captain Health's world, but it meant “rotten people” in mine.

“If you're serious, let's do it,” I said.

“I'm very serious,” he said. “I love doing this . . . with you.”

That was sweet and a little oxymoronic. It reminded me of the
Bounty
mutineers who told Fletcher Christian they were proud to be with him after setting Captain Bligh adrift in a longboat. That sentiment ignored the fact that mutiny was a hanging offense. In this case, stalking was probably very, very illegal.

But so was industrial espionage. And blowing up a deli.

I wanted whoever had done this.

Thinking that Benjamin and Grace may have seen my car when I was here—or peeked out to see it so they could watch for it in the future—we drove Kane's van to the Owlet and parked across the street. Darkness had settled in and we parked away from the streetlights. It was like an honest to God FBI surveillance . . . minus all the necessary equipment.

“The G-men used to just eyeball their quarry in the early days,” Kane said as he poured me coffee from his thermos.

“Were there G-women in those days?” I asked.

“I suppose so,” he said. “I'm sure they didn't do the same kind of field work, though.”

“No, I'm sure of that. They were probably all Mata Haris.”

“I'd bet they weren't all seductresses,” he said. “Some were probably secretaries or scrubwomen.”

“Jobs where women would hardly be noticed,” I said with a little bite.

“Well, yes,” Kane said, pouring coffee for himself in a ceramic mug. “Isn't that the object of undercover work?”

He had a point.

“And I'll bet they had African American bootblacks and white men hawking papers or pretending to be lushes at bars,” he added. “Anyone who wouldn't stand out. People who are ordinarily invisible.”

“Makes sense,” I had to admit. Sometimes feminism shouted louder in my ear than cold, sane reality.

“The only minority I ever belonged to was ‘nerd,'” Kane went on thoughtfully.

“Were you oppressed?”

“Not really,” Kane said. “Growing up, I wasn't big on sports or cars or any of the usual things boys are interested in. For book reports, I read novels about the Lone Ranger and the Shadow. I worked out at the gym, I ran, I swam, because I was determined to look like Batman. I was at least physically intimidating, so people kind of made a wide circle around me.”

“Girls too?”

“Girls especially. They were very clique conscious. It was toxic to be seen with an outsider. My dad used to worry that I was ‘queer,' as he called it. He tried to get me interested in watching football. I asked him how come his men in tights were any straighter than my men in tights? He couldn't answer that one.”

“Pretty funny,” I said. I looked out the window. “They could decide to stay in for the night.”

“You said they're connoisseurs, right? They're going to want to sample what they can while they're here.”

Another good point. Kane was pretty sharp at this detection stuff.

We sat silently sipping coffee. All was dark around us, quiet. Kane was a gentleman, didn't even put a hand on my knee, which both pleased and annoyed me. There's the dichotomy, right? No wonder guys can't figure us out; we don't know ourselves.

We chatted a little about people we knew in common—mostly my customers and his, which happened to include Elsie Smith of the Owlet—and finally the couple emerged. They were dressed for dinner, Benjamin in a sharp blue blazer, Grace in a satin sheath of the same bright blue.

“That's them,” I said.

“I figured,” Kane said. He watched them carefully. “Look—they're not holding hands, not walking arm in arm.”

“They're not even talking,” I said. “But it's more than just a business relationship. At least, that's what he said.”

“If you can believe anything he tells you,” Kane observed.

Benjamin took out his cell phone and started tapping on it. Grace did not look over. She was busy examining the gardens that lined both sides of the walk. Spotlights, hidden inside shrubs beyond them, threw a charming light along them and the cobblestone path. Grace paused to take a photo with her cell phone.

“She obviously likes the nighttime design,” Kane said.

“They'll steal from anyone, anywhere, anytime,” I added bitterly.

“They've already admitted that,” Kane said. “We're here to find out what they maybe aren't admitting.”

The couple went to their rented car. Benjamin did not open the door for Grace and went straight to the driver's side. Either she didn't approve of chivalry, they'd been together a longer time than I thought, or he just didn't give much of a damn about her. But before either opened their door, they had a conversation across the hood of the car and then apparently changed their minds about driving, and they headed down the sidewalk together—still not holding hands.

“So what do we do, follow them on foot or in the van?”

Kane was quiet, contemplative.

“Captain Health?” I said.

“Following them isn't going to tell us what we really want to know, is it?”

“I don't know. It was your idea.”

“I thought we could learn something watching their body language,” he said.

“We have. They're not as lovey-dovey as they pretend to be. That doesn't exactly make them unique.”

“True, but their motives may be. Everyone loves a good romance. It keeps us from scrutinizing things too closely.”

I wasn't convinced that it was as calculated as that. I thought back to how both of my big-time loves, hubby Phil and Grant, always made a show of putting an arm around my waist when we were at a party or with other people. That actually felt worse than being ignored, like I had value only as an accessory. When we were alone, I was like the pickle that happened to be on a plate. It could be the same with Benjamin and Grace—though, in support of what Kane had said, they weren't even married yet. Things couldn't have gone that far south already.

“So what do we do with that?” I asked.

“We check to see what they don't want us scrutinizing,” he said.

“Whoa, hold on!” I grabbed his sleeve. “What are you talking about?”

He smiled, reached past me, and popped the glove compartment. He removed a large leather sleeve. “We're going to investigate,” he said. He hesitated long enough to fold a stick of chewing gum into his mouth.

My grip had weakened and he slid easily from the driver's side door. I followed him quickly.

“Kane, wait!”

“Do you know what room they're in?”

“No,” I said.

“Doesn't matter,” he told me as he strode along the path. He hopped up the stairs to the patio and rang the bell.

I caught up just as Elsie answered the door. She had on her pleasant, neutral hostess smile. It stopped being neutral when she saw us.

“Well! What are you two doing here?”

“We'd like a room,” Kane said provocatively.

Elsie blushed quickly and actually recoiled. “For . . . the two of you?”

“Good lord, no.” Kane grinned, winking. “We were talking business, refi for Gwen's place. She mentioned that a friend is coming up with her husband to help her. Thought they'd make it a mini-holiday.” He looked at me. “Did I get that right?”

“You sure did,” I said through a big, phony smile. “That's Liz for you! Her motto is always try to turn a tragedy into recreation. Does that with funerals too. That's why they don't want to stay with me, even though I have a house. It isn't really a vacation, then.”

My mouth was running like the Pamplona bulls. I couldn't help it and, worse, Kane seemed to be enjoying my distress.

“I see,” Elsie replied.

“Anyway, Gwen said she'd check out the rooms,” Kane said. “Possible?”

“Certainly,” Elsie said, admitting us. “When are they planning on coming down?”

“That depends on what rooms are available when,” I told her. “After they looked at your website, they decided they didn't want to stay anywhere else.”

“How sweet of you all,” Elsie said. “Well, come on. I'll show each of the rooms to you, provided no one is in. I don't think anyone is.”

I suggested that we start with the four rooms upstairs, since I knew one of those was where the Californians were staying. We followed Elsie up.

“I don't know what I'm going to do when I can't go up and down the stairs any longer,” Elsie said. “Maybe install one of those seats that rides up the banister.”

“Or maybe Captain Health can come by and carry you,” I offered.

“Who?”

“That's Kane's alter ego. He entertains children in hospitals, dressed as a superhero.”

“How very thoughtful,” she said. “Yes, you could run into a phone booth at the bank—well, maybe not a phone booth anymore but a broom closet, perhaps—just like Superman, rush over and assist me, then hurry back before you're missed.”

“The superhero's dream.” Kane smiled.

We hit pay dirt with the first room. There were three open suitcases, clothes on the bed and hanging in the open closet, and two laptops side by side on the desk. There were towels on the back of the chair and over the footboard of the bed.

“I apologize for the condition,” Elsie said. “They have requested that I not bother tidying up in here.”

“Young love,” I said. “It functions wildly, unpredictably, at all hours.”

“That must be it,” Elsie agreed.

I pretended to check the view while Kane moseyed about. We left quickly and went on to the next room. I had not missed Kane sticking the gum into the latch opening. That, not the latch, was what held the door shut. I also did not miss Kane backing out the doorway once Elsie took me into the next room.

“Where is Mr. Iger?” she said, looking around.

“He probably went back downstairs,” I said. I leaned forward. “I have a feeling this sort of thing bores a lot of men.”

“Straight men, anyway,” she said.

“Right.”

We looked at the other rooms, only one of which wasn't taken, though everyone was out for the evening. I hoped Kane had done his surveillance work quickly and was back downstairs since the tour took less than five minutes. We went back down and Elsie was visibly surprised not to find him waiting.

“He must have gone outside to use the phone,” I said.

“Ah,” Elsie replied. “Reception in here is regrettably spotty. Your friend Benjamin kept going outside to use the phone.”

“Alone?”

“Yes. I don't think his lady is very much interested in his business dealings.”

“How do you know they're business?”

“Oh, he's always so intense,” she said. “Not relaxed, like he was with you. I think he is trying to buy property. That is such a brutal business.”

“Probably more than any of us realizes,” I said.

I thanked her with all the warmth I could muster considering that I felt as cool and sweaty as that pickle I mentioned earlier. I turned to go outside knowing damn well I wouldn't find Kane there. My heart thumped annoyingly as I went to the van and waited, hoping I hadn't made a mistake comparable to Yul Brynner chasing Charlton Heston through the parted waters.

I received a text.

Without hesitating, I turned back. “Oh, Elsie,” I said cheerfully, “there is one thing I wanted to ask.”

“Yes, dear?”

“The flowers out front—I'd like to ask you about one of them. I'm thinking of growing it at home.”

“I don't know about those,” she said. “The gardener takes care of that.”

“Right, but maybe you could ask him for me if I pointed it out?”

“Of course,” she said as she got a shawl from the closet and came outside with me. It wasn't a brisk night, but she was a bony lady and pulled the shawl closer. I was sorry to make her do this.

I asked her about a purple star-shaped flower at the foot of the walk. I positioned myself so I could see the front door. Kane emerged quietly, walked to the side, and stood there in the shadows with his phone. We saw him when we turned back to the house.

“Ah, Mr. Iger,” Elsie said. “You were so quiet there we didn't see you!”

“After libraries, banks are the second-quietest commercial institutions in the nation,” he said.

“I didn't know that,” I told him.

He grinned. It was a big, satisfied smile. I was eager to learn what was behind it.

Elsie stood on the patio and faced the street. “It's a bit chilly but a nice night. They usually are, down here, don't you think? I have only been north once but it was beastly. I went to Pennsylvania with the late Mr. Smith. It was about ten years ago, a family reunion.” She made a face. “A bunch of Yankees. I never felt so out of place.”

“I'm a Yankee,” I pointed out. Some things you can't let stand, no matter how much you want to move on.

“I meant no disrespect,” Elsie said. “But people can be good people, well-meaning people, and still have very, very little in common.”

“But you married a Yankee.”

Elsie smiled. “Lemmy wasn't a Yankee. Not really. He spent most of his adult life in the South, building roads. He understood our people, our values, the importance of the land. He knew you couldn't simply use eminent domain to pave over a farm that had been in a family for generations, you had to go around it. He knew that a hillside could not be blown up if it had significance to the locals as a traditional place of courtship or if it had been an outlook during one of too, too many wars fought in this country.”

“Blown up?” Kane said. “Was he involved with explosives?”

“He wasn't—what do you call them? A demolisher?”

“Demolition experts,” Kane said.

“Yes. No. He wasn't on that crew. He was a supervisor.”

“How did he die, Mrs. Smith?” I asked. “If you don't mind my asking.”