In the Drink (11 page)

“That article arrived at my apartment this morning. I found it outside my door. It was in a big envelope and with it were instructions to give you something if you came in here before my next day off.”

“When is your next day off?” I asked.

“Tuesday,” she said. “I work every Saturday, Sunday, and Monday from open to close.”

“Who would know that?” Mal asked her.

She thought a moment and then said, “Anyone, I suppose. Our schedule is posted on the wall over there behind the cash register.” She pointed to the area where the orders were taken and I could see the schedule on the back wall. “But in my case it doesn't really matter. I work the same days every week and have since school started in order to fit my work hours in around my school schedule.” She then picked up another item from her tray and handed it to me. I recognized it right away. It was another of the plain, white, business-sized envelopes. I took it from her and laid it on the table.

“Was there a payment in the big envelope for you as well?” I asked her.

The girl nodded and glanced around nervously as if looking to see if anyone was listening or nearby. “It's not anything illegal, is it?” she asked.

“No,” I lied with a smile. “It's fine. Thank you.”

“This isn't some kind of drug deal or something like that?”

“Don't worry,” I reassured her. “It's just a game, a scavenger hunt.”

The girl nodded, but still looked wary. She started to turn away, but I stopped her. “Do you still have the big envelope this came in?”

She shook her head, her eyes wide with worry. “It's at home in my trash. Why?”

“It's no big deal,” I said. “I just thought that if you did have it I could take it. Tell me, are you supposed to let the sender know somehow that the package was delivered?”

She nodded. “My instructions said to leave a picture of one of the brown bears in my front window at home.”

“Where do you live?”

“Lake Summit Apartments. I have a second-story unit overlooking Summit Avenue. I'm a student at UW Milwaukee and it's close by.”

“And did the instructions tell you what to do if I didn't show up?”

“Yeah, it was very specific. The note said the deadline was an absolute one and at exactly two-thirty on Monday I should destroy the letter by shredding it. Our boss has a shredder in his office so I figured I'd use that if it came down to it.”

I glanced at the name badge she was wearing, saw it said
HEATHER
, and said, “Thanks, Heather. You've been a big help.”

This time when she turned to leave, I let her go. I looked at Mal, my eyes wide with caution. I could tell he wanted to say something, or to ask about the letter, but I needed him to remember that someone might be watching or listening.

He gave me a very slight nod of his head to indicate he understood and then proceeded to play along. “So what's this scavenger hunt you're doing?” he asked with a smile. “I didn't realize you were such an adventurous type.”

“It's nothing really. Just a silly online game I play to help pass the time and get me out of the bar on occasion.”

“So you had an ulterior motive when you suggested we come to the zoo today?”

“Busted,” I said with a sheepish smile, holding my hands up in surrender. “It's something I've been wanting to do anyway ever since my father died because he used to bring me here a lot when I was a little girl. I have a lot of fond memories of him associated with this place. I've been putting it off because I wasn't quite ready emotionally, and the bar has been keeping me so busy. But then you came along. My schedule has eased up, and the scavenger hunt clues pointed to the zoo, so it seemed like fate.”

“Well, I'm happy to oblige,” Mal said with a warm smile. “If I'm going to be used by a woman, this isn't a bad way to do it.”

I marveled at how well he was handling our little game. We played off one another nicely, communicating so easily and often with few words. Had it not been for the very dire reason we were here, it truly would have been an enjoyable, nearly perfect date.

“I know there's stuff we haven't seen yet,” I said, “but I should get back to the bar. I've been neglecting it lately, abusing this sudden free time I have. But this has been fun. And I'd love to come back again with you to see the rest of it. That is if you'll forgive my subterfuge this time.”

He reached across the table, took my hand, and held it in his. His hand was surprisingly warm, and the calluses I could feel along his palm made me taste popcorn. “I'm happy to go anywhere and do anything with you,” he said, and if the taste of his voice was any indication, he meant it.

Reluctantly, I withdrew my hand from his, picked up the envelope, and stuffed it in my purse. I knew that doing so would contaminate it, but if history was any indication, it wouldn't matter. We carried our trays over to a trash bin, cleaned them off, and added them to a stack of other dirty trays. Then we went back outside and headed toward the main entrance. We didn't talk at all as we walked, but Mal took hold of my hand and held it the entire way.

When we reached the car and he finally let go of my hand I was disappointed. It was an exciting but scary emotion, and even though I've always considered myself a pretty together person, at that moment I was as confused as I've ever been.

“Are you going to open that letter?” Mal asked once we were under way.

I shook my head. “Not yet. I've contaminated it enough already just by stuffing it inside my purse. The last letter had that single animal hair tucked inside. If this one has any sort of similar clue, I don't want to risk losing it. Besides, I'm sure Duncan wants to examine it himself.”

We were stopped at a red light, and I sensed Mal wanted to say something but was hesitant to do so. My first thought was that his curiosity was killing him and he was trying to figure out a way to talk me into giving him a peek at the letter. But it turned out I was wrong . . . very wrong.

“So you and Duncan are business associates?”

I turned to look at him, but he kept his focus forward out the windshield. “We're not business associates, not really,” I said. “I did help him out with a couple of cases a few weeks back, but I'm sure you heard all the media crap that came out as a result.”

“I saw a few news reports and read something in the paper. They were saying that you're some kind of psychic or something?” His voice was rife with skepticism. “You're not, are you?”

I shook my head. “No, I'm not a psychic. I can't foretell the future, I don't speak with dead people, and I can't read your mind.”

“Phew!” he said, swiping the back of his hand across his forehead. “That mind-reading stuff might get me into trouble.” The light changed to green and he hit the gas.

“Your thoughts are safe from me,” I said with a laugh.

“So what exactly did you do for Duncan to help him solve these cases?”

“Didn't Duncan tell you about me, about my . . . little talent as he calls it?”

Mal gave me a puzzled look. “What little talent?”

I sighed. I had assumed Mal knew about my synesthesia. Now that I realized he didn't, I was reluctant to tell him about it, not wanting him to see me in a different, potentially weird light. But now that the subject had been raised, I knew there was no avoiding it.

“I have a neurological disorder called synesthesia,” I began. And during the rest of our drive, I filled him in as best I could, explaining how it affected me, a brief synopsis of the childhood issues I'd had with it, and how Duncan had used it—and me—to help him solve cases. By the time I was finished we had arrived back at the bar. Mal parked his car in a spot two blocks away, the closest one he could find.

“I had no idea,” he said as he turned off the engine.

“Really? Don't you guys down at the station share in the latest scuttlebutt?”

“We do, but when you're undercover the way I am now, you don't go to the station for long periods of time in order to keep up the façade. Besides, I'm in a different district than Duncan. And I don't hang out or talk with the other cops all that much. It helps keep me in character, you know, kind of like an actor immersing himself in a role he's playing by staying in character even when he's not acting.”

“So how is it you know Duncan? Or maybe I should ask how he knows you?”

“We met at the gun range. The two of us happened to show up at the same one at the same time and we got to talking. We discovered we were both cops, and that we were both recovering from broken hearts, although Duncan's was worse than mine. He got left at the altar.”

“Yeah, he briefly mentioned something about that.” I had wanted to ask Duncan more about it at the time, but couldn't figure out a way to do so without being rude. And I didn't feel our relationship at the time gave me any proprietary rights, so I let it go.

“Anyway,” Mal went on, “we bonded over our shared miseries and went out for a few brews. We've remained friends ever since. So when he called and said he needed some help, I didn't mind pitching in, particularly since it involves the kind of sicko who is behind this letter crap.”

“Well, however you got here, know that I appreciate your help.” I turned to open my door and get out of the car, but Mal grabbed me by the arm. It was a gentle, staying touch, but it sent an electric shock of warmth all the way up my arm to my chest.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

“Sure.” That touch flustered me. I looked back at him but kept my hand on the door handle. I'm not sure why. It wasn't like I was going to have to flee, but something about the touch of that handle, the cool, smooth feel of it, steadied me.

“You and Duncan . . . are you more than just business associates?”

“Um, I suppose we are,” I told him. “But right now things are kind of strange with the constraints he's had placed on him by his boss, all the media hype, and now this.” I pointed to the envelope sticking out of my purse. “The first letter made it very clear that I was not to consult with Duncan in any way. If I do, someone else will die. So if we do get together at all, it has to be very clandestine.”

“Hunh,” Mal said with an arch of his brows. “That can't make for an easy relationship.”

“No, it doesn't.”

“Well, I wish you two the best.” He turned and opened his door to get out, and this time I was the one who stopped him.

“Why did you ask me that?”

His door was open and he had one foot on the ground. He froze where he was, but he didn't look back at me when he answered. “I like you, Mack. But I don't want to step on anyone's toes, particularly Duncan's.”

He got out then, shut his door, and this time he came around to open mine. We fell into step, side by side, walking down the street toward the bar. After half a block I said, “I like you, too, Mal. I'm not sure where things are going with Duncan, but I'm not in a position right now to move on to something else.”

“I understand totally,” Mal said with a warm smile. “I figured it couldn't hurt to ask. Thanks for letting me know where things stand.”

“You won't stop helping me out with these letters because of it, will you?”

“Of course not,” he said. “You can't get rid of me that easily. If we figure this letter thing out and catch this moron, I suppose you and I will have to stage some sort of breakup. But until then, I'll keep up the façade and keep coming around the bar, both to hang with you and to hang with your group. I kind of like them and what they do.”

“Good, because I think they like you, too.”
I know I do
.

We walked the rest of the way in silence. It wasn't quite a comfortable silence, but it wasn't completely awkward either. We'd established a relaxed rhythm and camaraderie quickly, and I liked how easy it felt to be with him. Being in his company energized me; I felt daring, adventurous, and exquisitely alive. I knew in my mind that our relationship was something of a façade, a secret to be kept hidden, and maybe that lent it a spice that appealed to me. But in my heart I suspected it might be more than that.

The truth of our relationship, at least on the surface, made me realize something by the time we reached the bar. I stopped before opening the door, turned to him, and said, “Before we go in we need to discuss something.” I looked around to see if anyone was close enough to be eavesdropping on our conversation, but the nearest people were far enough away that I felt safe as long as I lowered my voice. “There are several cops who come into my bar on a regular basis, including some who hang with the Capone Club. Do we need to do something, or tell them anything to give them a heads-up about you? I don't want to blow your cover . . .
our
cover.”

Mal shook his head, looking confident and unworried. “I think we'll be fine. I've only been here in Milwaukee for a year and I've been undercover almost the entire time. I had a six-month assignment in narcotics before this current job. You would have loved me on that one. I had hair down to my shoulders and a full beard. I was pretty scruffy and looked a lot different. Most of the guys in my own district don't know me, much less Duncan's cronies.”

With that potential obstacle eliminated, we headed inside. After fielding greetings from my staff and a few customers on the main floor, the two of us headed upstairs to my apartment. I took the envelope out of my purse and laid it on top of the dining room table. Then I took out my cell phone and called Duncan.

He answered after only one ring. “Hey, Mack, how did it go?”

“It went as well as can be expected, I guess.” I gave him a brief—and sterile—summary of our trip to the zoo and how we had finally ended up getting the next envelope.

“Did you open it?” Duncan asked.

“No, I thought you might want to do that.”

“Is Mal still with you?”

“He is.”

“Are the two of you alone?”

“We are,” I said, and for some reason, I felt myself start to blush.

“Put me on speaker then.”

I did so and set my phone down on top of the dining room table, a ways away from the envelope.

“Hey, Mal,” Duncan said.

“Hi, Duncan.”

“Any insight you can give me on this thing?”

“Not really. It sounds like whoever is sending this stuff has all the bases covered. Mack said you already looked at the envelopes and letters. Find anything?”

“I found a bunch of prints on the courier envelope. We didn't get any hits in AFIS, but I'm betting they belong to the delivery guy and other employees from the company. The envelope from the first letter had a bunch of prints and partials, too, but since it came via the mail, I'm sure it was handled by any number of people. The inside envelope from the second letter had two sets of prints on it—Mack's and the guy from the art store. When we got to the actual letters, the first one had Mack's prints on it, but the second one didn't have any.”

“It sounds like we're dealing with a smart guy here. But even the smart ones trip up eventually. What do you want us to do with this envelope? I can bring it to you if you like.”

“Not until I open it,” I said quickly. “I need to see what it says.”

There was a moment of silence while I waited for either man to say something. It was Duncan who went first. “Do you remember how I handled the last one?” he asked.

“I do,” I said. “Plain piece of paper beneath it, open it slowly and carefully, and wear gloves of course.”

“You got it,” Duncan said. “And get some baggies from your kitchen to put stuff in when you're done.”

“I already have them here on the table from last time.”

“You're in your apartment?”

“Yes. Why?”

“No reason,” Duncan said, but even over the phone's speaker I sensed he was lying. “I had pictured you in your office, is all. Go ahead when you're ready.”

I put on some gloves, and then went into my father's office to fetch a sheet of clean white paper from the printer. I set it on the dining room table and then used a clean steak knife to carefully slice the envelope open. Holding the envelope over the paper, I removed the folded letter. I peeked inside the envelope for anything else and turned it upside down, shaking it just to be sure. Nothing came out, so I switched my attention to the letter.

Like the others, it was folded in thirds. I carefully unfolded it and stared at the page.

It was blank.