Death by the Riverside Read online

  “Sorry about the cat,” I said. “I guess she didn’t like what I fed her this morning.” I didn’t want Miss Clavish to think that I was a cat-starver.

  “She just started,” was her answer. “She can probably recognize your footsteps and saves her act until you’re here.”

  I had to chuckle. Someone who knows the wily ways of cats. Hepplewhite, you’ve been found out. Miss Clavish waved goodbye and headed down the stairs. She and I have a relationship built on odd stair passings. At least today I’m in a skirt and look respectable. Her other glimpses have, I’m sure, given her the wrong impression about me. Twice she’s seen me with a rather full bag from Antoine’s Spirit Store. Once she caught me leaving dressed completely in leather with a dog collar around my neck. It was for a friend’s birthday. But I didn’t think that trying to explain that would help matters. That left the question of what sort of friends did I have anyway? And once I took off my jacket coming up the stairs and she saw my gun. She had to have a strange opinion of me.

  I picked up Hepplewhite and dropped her on top of her food, hoping that if she got her feet in it, she might notice it.

  I thought about calling Danny, but let myself off the hook by deciding that if she hadn’t called me she must still be out of town. I also thought about calling Ranson, but I didn’t have anything to tell her.

  I ended up sitting with a cat in my lap, sipping Scotch, and re-reading Pride and Prejudice. Oh, the exciting, glamorous life of being a P.I.

  Next morning I got another lucky break. The regular receptionist had had her wisdom teeth out and wasn’t going to be in today either. Barbara was even kind of apologetic about my being stuck behind the phones for another day. I smiled and said that it was okay, I could manage.

  By lunchtime I had the rest of the combination. The big problem was to figure out when I could get in. Then it came to me—if the copy machine could break once, then it could break again. All I needed was a big copying job late in the day and the proverbial bobby pin.

  After being kicked off the reception desk, I opted for the crummy desk up front so that I could check up on who came and went. I didn’t get my chance until Thursday. It was easy to break the copy machine. And there I was, stuck at four-fifty-seven with a pile of papers to copy and only the small, slow machine to do it on. Barbara offered to stay and help, but I told her no, to get home to her kids, and if she felt really guilty, she could buy me two beers tomorrow. She agreed and left. This was beginning to look too easy. As far as I could tell, everyone was gone. There should be no one waiting for me behind door number two.

  I hung around the copy room for a few minutes, actually doing some work, to make sure everyone was gone. If I could get the copying done in an unsuspicious amount of time, I would; if not, then the second copy machine was going to be roughed up a little.

  The hallway was clear. I walked quickly to the reception area and punched in the combination. The door opened. Sanctum Sanctorum. Now it was up to lady luck. For an inner sanctum, it was pretty boring. Lots of file cabinets and stacked-up boxes of imported junk, Mardi Gras beads, tourist trinkets, and the like. Also some phone equipment still in boxes. I assumed that those were legit, that the stuff actually carrying the drugs would go to nondescript warehouses. That left the files. Now, if I were a drug importer, where would I keep records of what Freddie the crack dealer owed me? A was too obvious, same for Z. H for heroin? C for cocaine? M for Micky sounded good. I played my hunch and started flipping through M. Nothing that looked suspicious. Then I tried H, because it was close. Pure as the driven snow, the cold kind.

  There were a couple of unlabeled file drawers under Z. I decided to try those. The first one contained coffee, tea, cups, spoons, etc. The second one had a few paper clips and a couple of blank pieces of yellowing notebook paper. I had to kneel to get to the third one. I pulled on the handle. It didn’t budge. Bingo. An unlabeled locked file drawer in a locked room.

  Then I noticed a glow in the room that hadn’t been there before. The door was open. I was not alone. A flashlight beam hit my eyes, blinding me. Shit creek and no paddle flashed through my head.

  “What are you doing here?” It was Barbara Selby. I was never so glad to hear a woman’s voice as I was now. My chances of modeling cement overshoes for the Mississippi catfish had just decreased markedly. Hopefully the worst that she would do would be to have me arrested. Which would not be that bad considering that I was working for the police.

  “I don’t suppose you’d believe that I was just looking at the scenery?”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” she replied. Another in the long list of people not really thrilled to see me.

  “Could you get that light out of my eyes?” I asked. There was the possibility that she was part of the drug ring. If, for example, she were pointing a gun at me; my inquiring mind wanted to know.

  She lowered the flashlight. No gun. I shifted my weight, releasing tension.

  “Don’t move,” she said. Then I realized that she was nervous, too. From her side of the file room I seemed very threatening to her. “Now, tell me, what are you doing here?”

  “Do you know what this company does?” I countered.

  “Import and export, of course,” she answered. “I’m going to call Mr. Milo and let him deal with you,” she said, starting to back toward the door and the phones.

  “Don’t do that,” I said. I took a step toward her. I was perfectly willing to tackle Barbara Selby to keep her away from the phones. Better her a few bruises than me a bullet in my head.

  She saw me move and aimed the flashlight at my eyes again. I used the light as a target, took two running steps, and hit her about mid-waist. She wasn’t expecting it. She was on the floor and I was on top of her. I had my hand over her mouth, my thumb and index finger pressing in her cheeks, so that if she tried to talk, she’d end up biting herself. I knew it was hurting her, but it shut her up. I had to talk fast. She was in pain and the security guard probably made rounds.

  “I’m not going to hurt you. That’s the last thing I want to do. This company does a lot of importing, but it’s not what you read on these invoices. Heroin, coke, you name it. These are not nice people you work for. If you call them and tell them that I was in here, they’ll put a bullet in my head.”

  I shifted, putting more of my weight on the floor and less on her. Then I relaxed my hand, but still kept it very close to her mouth.

  She didn’t do anything for a moment, then she said, “Please, I’ve got two kids.” She was very scared, I realized. It was time to let her up and hope that she took it in the spirit intended. I don’t like scaring people.

  I stood up, then reached down and lifted her up. She was breathing quickly, like a scared kitten.

  “Please don’t yell. It’s all going to be all right,” I said. “Let’s get out of here, before that guard shows up and starts asking questions. I’ll explain everything once we’re out of here.” She nodded. I picked up the flashlight and we left. I heard the guard whistling, so I ducked us into the copy room.

  “Why shouldn’t I just call the guard?” she asked, starting to realize that I no longer had the upper hand.

  “Because you’ll feel very bad when you find out that I’ve got a .38 slug in my head.”

  The guard’s footsteps got closer. I moved away from the door, making it clear that she could tell the guard if she wanted. Also making myself as unthreatening as possible. I maintained eye contact with her, not letting her betray me without looking at me. I was betting that Barbara Selby was basically a decent person.

  The guard paused in the doorway, nodded to Barbara, and then moved on. His footsteps echoed down the hallway until we could hear them no more.

  “Thanks,” I said, letting out the breath I didn’t know I had been holding.

  “Don’t thank me yet. I’m still of half a mind to turn you over to the police. What’s the real story, industrial spy, theft, blackmail?”

  “Why don’t we get out of here and I’ll t
ell you?” We headed for the elevators and got on.

  “I came back because I remembered that tomorrow is Patrick’s, my son’s, school play. I thought you might be interested in that beer today, plus some help with the copying,” she explained as we rode down.

  “Where do your kids stay?” I asked.

  “With my mother. We live in the same apartment building.” She paused for a moment, then burst out, “Wait a minute, what is this? I find you behind a door you don’t have a combination for, you make some wild accusations about the company I work for, and now we’re talking about my kids?”

  “Where’s a good bar around here?” I replied.

  “What?…Oh, all right. This way. I’m probably safer with you in a bar than out on the street.” We walked a block to a wood and hanging plant type bar. It wasn’t very crowded. I ordered a beer and she ordered white wine.

  “Okay, Ms. Knight. Explain.”

  I handed her my private investigator’s license. She looked at it for a minute.

  “You’re not police.”

  “But I work for them.” I decided it was best to be honest with her.

  “Prove it.”

  “Tomorrow, at lunch, come with me and I’ll introduce you to my contact.” I wasn’t sure Ranson would approve of that, but I was sure she wanted to know what was in that locked drawer.

  “I can’t. I’ve got to go to the bakery and get something for the party after Patrick’s show.” I gave her my there-you-have-it look and shrugged my shoulders. “I can’t believe this,” she continued. “Drug smuggling and murders are something from T.V. It doesn’t happen in my life. I’m sorry, I can’t help you.” She shook her head.

  “Not real? Ever seen a junkie?”

  “Well…yes, but…”

  “Where do you think they get their dope? Does the stork bring it?”

  “No…still…”

  “How old is Patrick? And your other kid?”

  “What? He’s eleven. Cissy’s nine.”

  “Do you worry about them?”

  “Of course, I worry.”

  “About doing drugs?”

  “No, I hope I’ve taught them better than that.” I looked at her, not believing that no. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “You can’t live today and not worry…I still don’t know.”

  But she was wavering. I decided to try a little logic.

  “Look, there’s a locked file drawer that…”

  “None of them are locked,” she broke in. “I have access to them all.”

  “At the end, where you found me. The bottom one under Z.”

  “But that’s not used.”

  “So why is it locked?” She looked puzzled, searching for an innocuous reason to explain the drawer being locked.

  She finally replied, “I don’t know. Are you sure it’s locked and not just stuck?”

  “Positive.”

  “That’s strange,” she said, more to herself than to me. “I can’t think what might be in it.”

  “There’s one way to find out. Let’s look.”

  “How? It’s locked.”

  “File cabinet drawers are very easy to pick, if you know how.”

  She thought about this for a while before she said, “All right. But I have to be there to make sure that’s all you do.”

  “If you insist. And if we find what I think we may find, I’ll let you go with me to the police. If not, we’ll probably find out what Milo’s taste in porn is.” Milo was Barbara’s boss. And possibly Mr. Big.

  “You think?” She laughed. Barbara had a deep hearty laugh. I liked this woman. I was much happier making her laugh than making her scared. “Now, that would be worth all this,” she added.

  “Sorry,” I said, thinking of the bruises that I must have given her. “I don’t really like tackling people in the dark.”

  “Oh, I didn’t even mean that. I just meant my two years on this job. Milo can be a real pain in the neck.” She signaled the waiter for another round. “So what do you think he’s into?” she continued.

  “Kinky, very kinky.”

  “I almost hope it is porn. I’ll get my thrill of the…year,” she said in that slightly disparaging voice used by women who don’t think they’re quite pretty enough.

  “Of the year? I don’t believe that.” I didn’t. Women with the kind of eyes Barbara Selby had should have no problem with being unwillingly celibate.

  “Believe it. It’s true.” The waiter brought us our drinks. “I’m on the wrong side of forty, size fourteen, and I’ve got two kids. Men may tell you they’re interested in your mind, but only if you’ve got a body like yours to go with it.” There was no bitterness in her voice, just a shrug and acceptance. Barbara struck me as one of those people who get on with life as best they can, no matter what it throws at them.

  “But you have beautiful eyes,” I blurted out, “like a horse that knows so much more than the rider she’s stuck with. That’s a compliment, although it may not sound like one. Brown and so deep you could fall into them.” That was a line Danny had used on me that summer we had been lovers. I stole it because it said what I meant better than I could.

  She laughed an embarrassed laugh, like I had that summer. “Thank you. Give an old lady some vicarious thrills. Tell me about all the men you have panting after you.”

  “Me?” I was too tall, too dark, and had hair that went in every direction but fashionable. I had always been left on the sidelines at school dances. Aunt Greta thinks I became a lesbian because there was no one to dance with me in high school.

  “Yes, you. Now that you’ve embarrassed me about my dirt brown eyes, I need something to embarrass you about. You must have a boyfriend.”

  “No.”

  “In between?”

  “Sort of.” The devil and the deep blue sea.

  “So tell me the details of your last affair. The hot gossip among my friends concerns Little League coaches and PTA presidents. Not together.” I sat still. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Am I mucking about in something that you’re not interested in taking lightly?” She looked very concerned, mistaking my silence for a broken heart. “Why did he leave you?” she asked kindly. “Or should we just not talk about it?”

  It was too much. I had to burst out laughing. I was remembering why he had left me. It was back in sixth grade. This only caused Barbara to look more concerned. Maybe I had gone crazy.

  “Do you really want to know?” I asked, controlling myself.

  “Yes.”

  “All right. I was too tall. Tommy Jerod had asked me to go steady with him when school began. But when we showed up on the first day, I had grown five inches and he hadn’t. He told me I was too tall.”

  “When was this?” She was beginning to catch on.

  “Sixth grade.”

  “Oh.” There was a pause. “I doubt you’re a nun. What does that leave?”

  “Want to find out?” I didn’t think she did, but I didn’t think a proposition would do Barbara’s ego any harm.

  She looked at me over her sliding glasses, gave a dry chuckle, then said, “I’m at the age that if I thought you might be serious, I might take you up on it.”

  “If I thought you might take me up on it, I could get serious,” I replied.

  “Well, this has certainly been an interesting evening,” she said, backing off a little. The next step would have been yes or no. I wasn’t sure either of us was ready for that.

  “You’re a brave person, Ms. Selby. Most women would have called in the Marine Corps by now.”

  “Why?” She looked genuinely puzzled.

  “For protection against deviant, communistic, secular, humanist perverts, such as myself.”

  She laughed at that. “So I’m supposed to be shocked? Is that what you wanted?”

  “No,” I replied. “I would get along much better if no one was shocked at me being who I am.” She nodded agreement. I continued, “I’m even so bold to think that I can tell another woman, even if she’s straigh
t and has two kids, that I think she’s very attractive.” She finished her wine and started to say something, but I broke in. “And now you’re going to say, ‘thanks, but I’ve got to be moving along.’ And that’s all right. I’ve had a good time tonight.”

  “Being a proper Southern woman and all, I suppose I shouldn’t admit it, but so have I. An affair with a good-looking woman fifteen years younger than I am sounds like a wonderful adventure. I’d much rather turn it down than not have it offered.” She took a final sip of her wine. “And now I’ve got to be getting back to my kids.”

  We paid the check and went out into the chilly night.

  “I’m really sorry about tackling you,” I said. “I hope I didn’t leave too many bruises.”

  “I’ll survive. Besides, a bruise or two tomorrow will mean that this really happened. I’ll see you then.”

  “Good night.” And we parted. I watched her disappear around a corner, then I headed off. I looked at my watch. It was only eight-thirty. The evening was still quite young. I decided to hit I Know You Don’t Care, an upscale lesbian bar in this part of town. Since I had on a skirt and pumps (also a shirt, underwear, and the rest), they might let me in.

  I got a drink and settled in, leaning against the wall next to yet another hanging plant. If there’s ever a revolution, I want to be on the green side. This was a good place to watch the action. Or lack of it. The bar was fairly full, but the couple next to me was discussing mutual funds and I overheard snatches of conversation about the condo market. Perhaps I could find some lovely lesbian to impress with the $13.05 in my checking account and my method of playing the stock market. I left it alone, hoping that it would leave me alone. I didn’t see any interesting women. In a bar full of women, I couldn’t find one that interested me. I was slipping. I had another drink and decided it was time to go home and finish Pride and Prejudice and maybe manage a fantasy or two about women with deep brown eyes.