“Boy, they don’t do a very good job cleaning these tables, do they?” he says, rubbing at an imaginary stain.
The reaction from William-not-Bill is instantaneous. His attention shifts from me to the tabletop and he starts flicking away at imaginary crumbs. The flicks are always done in sets of four and in a rectangular pattern. I grit my teeth and ball my hands into fists to suppress the urge I have to slap him out of it.
Izzy flags down a waitress and we order: a gin-and-tonic for Izzy, a screwdriver for me, and a rum-and-Coke for Dom. William-not-Bill orders a bottled beer and asks the waitress to bring a glass on the side.
“So,” William says, making another set of flicks as the waitress departs, “what did you guys have to do tonight? Is it anything you can talk about?”
“Not really,” says Izzy. “But I can tell you it’s a murder investigation.”
“Murder? Really? Was it someone local?”
Izzy nods. “I’m sure you’ll hear something about it tomorrow.”
“How awful,” William says with a shudder. “And on Halloween even. That’s kind of scary.”
It is, and a moment of silence follows as we all contemplate that fact. Then I’m distracted by the feel of William-not-Bill’s leg rubbing against mine.
“I’ll bet it’s messy work, isn’t it?” William says, breaking the silence and looking even more horrified than he did a moment ago.
“Very,” I say. Then I look over at Izzy and add, “Even after scrubbing in the shower I don’t feel like I got all that blood off my legs.”
William’s leg pulls away from mine like he just got burned. Izzy shoots me a puzzled look but I’m saved from having to elaborate any further when the waitress brings our drinks. Izzy pays for the round and as the rest of us sample our wares, William picks up his glass, eyes it a moment, and then pulls a hankie from his pocket. He starts wiping down the glass both inside and out and I roll my eyes at Izzy and take a big gulp of my screwdriver.
Once he has his glass up to muster, William pours his beer and says, “I’m glad you asked me to join you, Mattie. I really enjoyed our time together earlier.”
“So did I,” I lie. An awkward silence follows and after waiting futilely for several beats for Izzy and Dom to fill the gap, I sigh and jump in. “So, William, since I can’t talk much about my work, why don’t you tell me a little something about yours.”
“Well,” he says, swiping at some imaginary dirt on his sleeve, “it’s not anywhere near as exciting as what you do, I’m sure. Basically I handle investments, do taxes, and provide accounting services to a few businesses.”
“Does it keep you pretty busy?” Dom asks.
William nods and I slug back more of my drink as he flicks away at imaginary dust motes. “I’ve got more work than I can handle most of the time,” he says. Then he turns his doe eyes to me and adds, “But I’d be happy to take a look at your portfolio if you like and make some suggestions.”
I try to stifle a laugh and end up snorting screwdriver out my nose. The closest thing I have to a portfolio is a file folder in my kitchen drawer that contains my bills and one bank statement. The current balance in my new checking account is just over a thousand bucks, barely enough to feed my ice cream habit for a month. My ex has everything else though I’m hoping to find a good enough divorce lawyer that I can at least get half the value of our house in the settlement. It’s the only thing I have any hope of claiming since we have no kids and all of our other assets are either in David’s name alone or were excluded in a prenup I happily signed in my then, starry-eyed state.
The house is worth close to a million, though, and since I have no desire to live in it anymore, I’m hoping to force David to either sell it or pay off my share of its value. Until then I am living more or less hand to mouth, the grateful recipient of Izzy’s beneficence in that he not only gave me a job, he is letting me rent a small cottage behind his house that used to belong to his mother, Sylvie. Unfortunately the cottage is next door to the house David and I once shared, a proximity that makes it difficult to let go of my old life, though it does make for easy spying, a fact that has already gotten me into trouble.
“I don’t think I have enough assets to need an accountant or financial advisor,” I tell William. “Check back with me after my divorce is final.”
William’s eyes drop from my face to my chest and he says, “I think your assets are just fine.”
As I roll my eyes I hear a noise that sounds like a snort, and it takes a moment to realize it came from behind me. Then the voice I most want to hear says, “May I join you?”
I look up and see Hurley standing there. Given that I was hoping to see fiery jealousy, his expression of bemusement is disappointing.
“Sure,” Izzy says. “Grab a seat.”
William frowns at the invitation and his expression darkens considerably when Hurley grabs a nearby empty chair and swings it around to our table, setting it right between me and William. His blatant rudeness annoys me and I decide to challenge him.
“What could possibly bring you out here tonight, Detective?”
“I come bearing gifts,” he says, flashing me an enigmatic smile and handing over a large manila envelope stuffed with papers. I give him a puzzled look and he explains, “They’re copies of those letters you found. I kept the originals for evidence. You said you wanted to read them.”
I’m surprised, even though I suspect he made the copies so quickly only so he would have an excuse to venture out and find us. “Good detective work, Hurley,” I say. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy tracking us down here, and so quickly, too.”
For a second Hurley looks guilty, making me suspect that Izzy was right—Hurley was watching me to see where I’d go, and who I went there with. Then Hurley shrugs. “It wasn’t that hard,” he says with great nonchalance. “This is the closest bar to your office so it made sense to look here first.”
“Well, thank you for these,” I say, folding the envelope full of letters and tucking it into my purse. And though I know I’m being petty, I can’t resist tossing off one last jab. “But really, couldn’t it have waited until morning?”
“It could have but I also found out a few things about our chief suspect that I thought you might be interested in,” Hurley counters.
“Such as?”
He shrugs and tips back his chair, his hands laced behind his head. “I can’t elaborate right now.” He glances around but avoids looking at William. “This is too public a place, with too many ears.”
William blushes a bright shade of red, and I can’t tell if he’s embarrassed, angry, or both. Guilt washes over me as I realize I set William up for this, and I feel a sudden surge of anger, part of it aimed at Hurley, part of it at myself.
“Seeing as how you’re busy, I guess it will just have to wait,” Hurley says, dangling the bait a little closer. “Unless you can free yourself up tonight.”
William looks down at his shirt and starts plucking away at imaginary lint with a ferocity that’s frightening. “I . . . I can leave, if you like,” he stammers.
He looks so wounded, so pathetic, that I hate myself for what I’ve done. And Hurley’s smug expression is just screaming at me for a slap-down.
“That’s okay,” I say, shooting a scathing glance at Hurley. “It can wait.” I reach over and place my hand on William’s arm. “What do you say you and I go back to my place for a nightcap?”