“It’s just that I want you to know that you can do something real with your life. You don’t have to dance on the wrong side with your boys on the corner.”
“I told you I was just hanging.”
“Maybe, but hanging often turns into something else. And then you’re just being used by a bunch of creeps who don’t give a damn about anything but their business.”
“Is the lecture a necessary part of it? Is that another requirement along with the tax forms?”
“I’m just saying.”
“I know what you’re saying. But I don’t think there’s a great demand outside of this office for my detecting services, know what I mean?”
“You don’t know, Derek. Get some training, find an entry-level job with a PI firm. I could help you get started. You just don’t know.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I don’t know.”
He gave a yank. I let go. He loosed a bright smile as he stuffed the wad into a pocket. “Thanks, bo.”
Just as he turned to leave, I noticed it. On the outside of the file that was sitting on my desk. The printing. Made by hand. All capital letters. “COMPLAINT LETTERS.” Just two words, but they reminded me of something. And when I looked close, I could see it. The way the L looped. The way the S curved. It all came together like a thunderclap.
“Hey, Derek,” I said before he was out the door. “You busy tonight?”
He stopped, leaned back into the office. “Not really.”
“I might have another job for you.”
“My usual rates?”
“Sure.”
“Thirty an hour.”
“It was twenty-five.”
“But that was before I got all this detecting experience.”
“Okay.”
“Plus expenses.”
“Fine.”
“Beautiful. So what do you need from me?”
I opened a desk drawer, pulled out a small brick of electronics, tossed it to him.
“This is a mini tape recorder. I want you to go to the store and buy some mini tapes that fit. And then I want you to spend some time and figure out how the damn thing works.”
28
It was a neat little Cape Cod, white and freshly painted, in a neat little neighborhood in Haddonfield, New Jersey. The lawn was well cared for, the perennials beneath the dogwood were neatly weeded, there was a cat in the window. The cat was gray and fluffy, and it eyed me with evident suspicion. Smart cat.
I knocked on the door.
“Not a word until I give the go-ahead, all right?” I said as Derek and I stood side by side and waited.
“I got it, bo.”
“Just follow my instructions and do as we planned.”
“I heard you the first three times.”
“Good. This is tricky stuff. The timing is all.”
“Now, don’t go insulting my timing. My timing is impeccable.”
“Impeccable?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Let’s hope so.”
I knocked again. We could hear footsteps from inside the house, the cat jumped off the sill, the door opened. The wide face at the door peered at me blankly for a moment and then froze with surprise.
“Hello, Margaret,” I said to the secretary from the Inner Circle Investments offices, who had made the copies of the complaint letters for me. She was wearing a print dress and sturdy shoes and held a dish towel in one hand.
“Mr. Carl,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“This is my friend Derek. Do you have a moment to speak to us?”
“Not really.”
“We just have some questions.”
She glanced quickly at Derek and then back at me. “I’m sure Mr. Nettles can answer all your questions. He’ll be in the office tomorrow morning.”
“We don’t want to talk to Mr. Nettles,” I said. “We want to talk to you. Do you mind if we come in?”
She looked at me, then down to her cat, who was twisted within the twin pillars that were her legs and showing me its teeth. I showed mine back.
“Yes, I do mind,” she said. She leaned forward and glanced up and down the street. “You shouldn’t be here. How did you find my address?”
“Have you started planning your wedding yet, Margaret?” I said.
“That’s none of your business.”
“Does Mr. Nettles know who your fiancé is?”
“My private life is my own, Mr. Carl. Now, please leave, or I will have to call the police.”
“You won’t call the police, you’re too smart for that. You don’t want them sniffing around, asking questions. You do know that bankruptcy fraud is a federal crime, don’t you?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Does Mr. Nettles know that you’ve been engaged to Dr. Denniston’s personal lawyer all the while you’ve been working for him? Does Mr. Nettles know that your fiancé drafted a legal agreement for Miles Cave, the investor he has the FBI out searching for? Does Mr. Nettles know that you are slipping fraudulent letters from that selfsame Miles Cave into Inner Circle’s files?”
“What do you want?” she said, her face a stony mass of anger. I’d seen softer peaks in the Alps.
“We just want to come inside,” I said, “and maybe have some tea.”
The house was spotless, and her knuckles were raw to prove it. While she was in the kitchen making the tea, I checked out the living room. I would have thought it would be filled with knickknacks and sentimental doilies, but it was bright and clean and uncluttered. I stepped over to a shelf with a few photographs in frames. Margaret standing stiffly with Clarence. A young Margaret with a rather formal family. And then a few pictures of Margaret dancing, in all her finery, dipping low in the arms of some slick-haired lothario, the line of her stout body suddenly elegant and long. There was a harsh edge to Margaret, except in the pictures of her dancing, where her face was suffused with a soft joy.
“How many years have you been dancing?” I said as we were situated in the living room and she was pouring. The tea she served was Darjeeling, the cookies were sugar.
“Since I was a girl,” she said. “I had stopped for years before I found the club.”
“From the pictures, I can tell you love it.”
“It’s a place where I can forget about things.”
“What things?” I said.
She looked at me levelly. “Can we get on with this?”
“Okay,” I said, picking up my teacup, taking a sip. Hot, rich, and florid, like a ripe bunch of daffodils. “We only have a couple of questions.”
Right then Derek took out a small tape recorder and pressed a few buttons, then a few buttons more, grunting a bit until he got the thing to work. He laid it on the coffee table beside the pot of tea.
“What’s that?” she said.
“Just a tape recorder,” said Derek. “I only got hold of it today, so I’m still trying to figure it out. You don’t mind, do you, ma’am?”
“Yes,” she said. “I do.” She turned to me. “Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe I ought to call Clarence.”
“Put it away, Derek,” I said. “That’s totally unnecessary. We’re merely having a friendly little chat.”
Derek shook his head as he picked up the tape player, clicked a few more buttons, and put the player back in his pocket.
“Better?” I said.
“No.”
“We were talking about Miles Cave and his money.”
“Were we?”
“We are now. What do you know of him?”
She paused for an instant to bite her lip. “I’ve seen his name in the records.”
“Did he ever come into the office?”
“Not that I remember.” She scrunched her face, as if considering. She glanced at Derek and then said, “But there were letters, and he did call occasionally. I always put him right through to Dr. Denniston.”
“Do you know anything about him? Where he is?”
“No.”
“Anything you know of a personal nature would be of much interest. Anything?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Yes, I’m sure you are.”