I thought for a minute. “No. No one in particular. But we talked some about how capable he was. I mean, he brought it up. The first time I was there, he made a point of telling me that I shouldn’t think he was decrepit-that’s the word he used, decrepit-just because he was old. That he could still drive and he still balanced his checkbook to the penny. We laughed about that because I told him I couldn’t.” I smiled a little. “He offered to work for me and be my bookkeeper. He winked and said he had a good head for numbers. Talking to him, I believed it. The questions he asked about my business showed without a doubt that all of his marbles were intact.”
Alverez nodded and paused. He looked at me and I looked back. He looked liked an outdoors man, rugged and fit. He also looked reliable and honest, but I reminded myself that looks can be deceiving, and that sometimes people use their good looks, youthful appearance, or innocent demeanor for devious ends.
“How you doing?” he asked.
“I’m okay.”
“Ready for that coffee?”
I asked him the time and was surprised that it wasn’t yet three. I’d thought it was later. “How about a martini?” I countered.
“No can do, ma’am.”
“Figures,” I said. “Still, it’s been a martini kind of day.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “So, change of subject. Have you ever been fingerprinted?”
I reacted as if Alverez had ripped a Band-aid off without warning, and I closed my eyes to shield my dismay.
Yes, I answered him silently, I’ve been fingerprinted. It had happened on a Tuesday and I was thrilled. Frisco’s policy held that all new hires had to go through a comprehensive security check, and I’d passed. But I didn’t want to tell him that. I didn’t want to talk about my past at all. I didn’t want to reveal how much I’d loved my job, nor explain how hurt I’d been when I’d been forced to leave. I considered lying, rationalizing that a lie isn’t a lie if the information solicited is irrelevant. Yet I knew that in all probability, Alverez would expect that an art and antique auction house as prestigious as Frisco’s would fingerprint new staff. Plus, nothing said I had to talk about any other aspect of my years at Frisco’s except the fingerprinting. Certainly there was no need to reveal my involvement in the price-fixing thing. What was it Max had said? Not to volunteer information. Got it.
Suddenly, words my father spoke echoed in my head: Stop, breathe, think. Stop, breathe, think. It was a refrain he used to chastise me when I heedlessly rushed to action. Those words calmed me now and allowed me to regrasp control.
I opened my eyes and took a deep breath. Alverez’s face revealed nothing. His eyes stayed steady on mine.
Max cleared his throat and leaned toward me. “Are you okay?” he asked.
I smiled as best I could, took a deep breath, and said, “You bet.” To Alverez, I added, “Sorry. I just couldn’t believe my ears.”
“Is that a yes? Have you been fingerprinted in the past?” Alverez asked.
“What a question!” I replied, feigning indignation.
“No offense intended. There are lots of reasons people get fingerprinted. Security clearance, that sort of thing.”
Appearing slightly mollified, I shrugged. “Yeah,” I admitted. “I was fingerprinted once. For a job.”
“Then you’ll be familiar with the procedure,” he said.
“You want to take my fingerprints?” I asked.
“Yeah, we need to.”
“Why?” Max interjected.
“Because Josie was in the house looking at the contents carefully, touching everything, and we need to know which prints are hers.”
“We’ll consider it.”
“Come on, Max,” Alverez said. “Don’t drag it out. You know I can get a court order.”
Max looked at him for a moment, leaned over to me, and whispered, “Did you touch anything we don’t want them to know about?”
“No,” I answered softly, shaking my head in disbelief. “Max, I didn’t do anything wrong!”
He patted my arm again. “She’ll be glad to let you take fingerprints.”
“Let’s get it over with,” Alverez said, standing up.
“Then can I go?” I asked.
“Yeah, but we should plan on talking some more tomorrow.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Tomorrow I’ll know more about what’s going on. Will you be around?”
“Yeah, I’ll be working. I have an auction preview on Friday and our regular tag sale’s on Saturday.” I stood up and stretched.
“How about we touch base around noon?” he asked Max.
“Sure,” he said.
“What will happen then?” I asked, anxious for more information, dreading his answer all the same.
Alverez led the way to the main room as I spoke.
“By then I’ll know if I need to ask you some more questions,” he said.
Cathy was filling a coffee mug with water from a standing dispenser as we passed through the main room to a smaller area on the right. I watched her drink a little and return to her desk, ignoring us, as Alverez methodically took my fingerprints. Max stood nearby, watching the process, solemn and silent.
After I’d cleaned up, Alverez led us to the exit. He opened the front door and the rush of fresh chilly air felt good. I looked at him.
“Here,” he said to us. “Take my card. If you think of anything, call me.”
I slipped the card in my purse. Max put out his hand. “I’ll take one, too,” he said to Alverez. Turning to me, he added, “If you think of anything, don’t call him. Call me.”
Heading back to Portsmouth because I had nowhere else to go, I gave myself a mental shake. I felt lonely and afraid, and that would never do. Get over it, I told myself, and decided to go get a martini and drink to Mr. Grant, a decent man who’d died too soon. I called Gretchen and told her where I was going and why.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “Eric, Sasha, and I have everything under control.”
“Thanks, Gretchen. But there’s so much to do.”
“Sasha’s finished cataloguing the Wilson goods. She’s in the office doing some research.”
I could picture Sasha twirling her hair, biting her lip, concentrating as she read something on the computer. She’d earned a Ph.D. in art history, and research was her favorite part of the job.
“I might come back to work, I’m not sure.”
“No need,” she said, her instinct as a caretaker overtaking her business sense.
As I headed back to town I again began to cry. At first I thought I was crying about Mr. Grant, but then I realized his death was only a small part of it. Of course I was sorry that such a kind man had died, but after all, I hadn’t really known him, so my grief was about something else-probably, my father.
Even though nearly four years had passed since my father’s death, I still felt raw. I missed him every day. He’d been my best friend and only family. I was thirteen when my mother died of cancer, but that loss had been nothing like as hard as the sudden loss of my father. When my mother died, I’d been able to say good-bye.
I rolled down the window and the rush of bitter air helped chase away the blues. I smiled, remembering the exhilaration I’d felt when I landed the Frisco job right out of college, a dream come true. I told my father that as excited as I was, I hated the thought of leaving him behind in Boston, and joked that he ought to move to New York, too.
“Ah, Josie,” he said, “why would you even think about that? You’re moving to New York, not Mars.”
And so I went. Luckily, since my new career required that I navigate the complex and unfamiliar terrain of the antique business, he came to visit often, offering wisdom and support. In fact, for the next decade, he came almost monthly. We were a team, my dad and I.
Until his death left a black hole in my heart and a vacuum in my life. Even Rick, the man I was dating at the time, couldn’t help fill the void, and our relationship had faded to nothing within weeks of my father’s death.