Jack stared at Sam. “Well, I didn’t bloody make it up!” he cried.
Jack was angry. The detective couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Jack angry. There was no one more congenial than Jack Anderson.
Of course it was his job, but over the years there should have been some crack in the facade. The detective had never seen it.
The detective patted Jack on the hand.
“Don’t believe you did,” he said. “But no one can remember any such incident. Ah Christ, I think we’re all going a little mad. I’ve spent most of the week up at Joe Mackenzie’s place trying to find out how deep his bloody well is. I got no answer to that one either. Lost a video camera the other day. The line broke. We’re going to try one of those big spotlights they use sometimes over the city. What worries me is that the hole might not go straight down. But I ain’t giving up on your case, Jack. Officer McSherry said he heard of a death on the corner but it was before his time. Herb gave me the name of a retired cop, Ed Kaye. I’ll ask him.
Lives around the corner here in the retirement home.”
“But this happened the other day, Sam,” Jack responded.
Sam Kelly said nothing. After a few moments of silence he asked,
“What do you know about Joe Mackenzie?”
“Not much,” Jack said, shaking his head. “His wife used to come in here quite often before she took off.”
“Did you know that he was a graduate of Harvard University?”
“That big college in the States?” Jack asked.
The detective nodded.
Jack shook his head. “Well, I’ll be.”
The detective said, “He works as a night watchman at the plaza across the street. A little overqualified for the job, don’t you think?”
“He must be getting up there in years, Sam. His wife used to complain that he was too old. Harvard, eh? Maybe it’s just a job to pick up some extra cash. Not easy for seniors these days.”
“As far as I can tell, he’s never had any other job, Jack. And the walls of his house, the walls that aren’t covered with bookshelves, are covered with newspaper clippings. He told me some story about his father putting the clippings on the wall to educate his kids in current affairs.
Trouble is that as far as I can tell, all the clippings are from one year.” Jack’s mouth dropped.
“What did I say?” the detective asked.
“What year?” Jack asked, taking a small shot glass from beneath the bar and pouring himself a shot of whiskey.
“The year?” the detective replied. “Jesus, I think it was-”
“Nineteen-fifty,” Jack said.
Sam looked at the bartender, grabbed the whiskey from Jack’s fingers, and swallowed it.
The Office
Mary Hendrix plucked away at the typewriter. She stopped occasionally to take a puff from the cigarette that tightroped on the edge of an ashtray. A woman entered the office. Mary turned.
“You’re early,” she said.
“I was bored,” Margaret replied.
“Let me finish these invoices first,” Mary said.
“God,” Margaret said, “are you still using a typewriter?” Mary nodded. “Brennan hasn’t forked out for a computer yet. Worries about every nickel.”
“I thought what’s-her-name did this stuff?”
Mary smirked. “She went out to lunch with her new boyfriend. Remember that asshole I told you about, the one that couldn’t keep his hands to himself?”
Margaret nodded.
“Apparently he was in here the other day and chatted it up with our favorite secretary. I spotted him. Kept myself hidden in the back room while he was here. Anyway, maybe the girl will have better luck.” Mary looked at the pile of papers in front of her. “Brennan needs these invoices today. I don’t know why I’m protecting her ass.” Margaret picked up a magazine from a nearby rack and took a seat.
“Jesus, these magazine are ten years old,” Margaret said with a laugh.
“Look at these prices.”
“Brennan won’t replace them.” Mary continued her typing. “God, I wish I hadn’t booked that hair appointment.”
“It’ll do you good.” Margaret leafed through the magazine. “Look at these dresses.”
“I keep thinking about the money.”
“You can’t take it with you.”
“My hair?” Mary said.
Margaret laughed. “Your money!”
Mary stopped typing and turned toward Margaret.
“Do you ever worry about getting old alone?” Margaret looked up from her magazine.
“As long as you’re breathing, some man will take a run at you.” Mary laughed and returned to her typing.
Margaret picked up a second magazine.
“Has he asked you yet?” Mary asked.
Margaret shook her head. “And he’s a detective! You’d think he could pick up on the clues. I’ve been tossing enough of them his way. Sometimes I think I could serve him his coffee and toast stark naked and he wouldn’t notice.”
Mary laughed.
“Look at all these ads for cigarettes. Nine out of ten doctors recommend Lucky Strikes. If he doesn’t ask me out soon, I’m going to do the asking. Only one thing bothers me.”
“What’s that?” Mary asked.
Margaret looked up from her magazine. “What if he says no?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sam Kelly waited patiently in the Canadiana Restaurant for his blueberry pie. Several customers stood at the cash register, paying their bills and talking to the waitress. Margaret smiled warmly as she handed back their change, glancing apprehensively toward the detective. Completing the transactions, she turned to the kitchen and picked up several plates.
She moved confidently across the room and delivered them to another table of guests. When she returned to the police officer she apologized.
The detective sipped at his coffee. Margaret remembered the pie and moved over to a nearby refrigerator.
“Been looking forward to this all morning,” Sam Kelly said.
Me too! Margaret smiled.
“Did you pick the berries yourself, Margaret?” Margaret giggled and slapped the detective’s hand playfully as she slid the pie onto the counter.
“Is it always this busy here in the morning?” He looked around the room.
“Some days,” Margaret sighed, “it’s dead in here. But if there’s a funeral over at Our Lady of Peace we can get pretty busy. I like it 61 busy-not that I wake up hoping someone has died. But time passes by faster when it’s busy.” Dirty shirt collar. Good sign.
“You don’t have any other help?” Sam made sure to keep his mouth closed as he ate.
“Susan comes in mornings. But she’s got kids and there’s always some emergency or other that makes her late. Or so the story goes. But the boss likes her. She’s a single mother and he thinks that he might get lucky. She doesn’t have four kids for nothing. That’s what the boss tells me. Men are such optimists.”
Sam shook with laughter. Have to tell that one to Jack. Shaking his head with delight, he smiled as he washed down the pie with a swallow of coffee.
Margaret took an ashtray out and set it on the counter.
“You don’t mind?”
The detective shook his head and continued to eat his pie. Margaret watched. Love to watch a man eat. Tells you something about how they touch a woman. Meticulous and tidy. Finishes what he starts. I like that.
When Sam finished he pushed the plate aside, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and sighed.
“Wonderful,” he said with a smile. “A pie like that deserves some kind of prize.”
Margaret drew deeply on her cigarette and slowly let out several smoke rings. Do I have to bat my eyelashes?
The detective sipped at his coffee and watched in wonder as Margaret’s rings rose toward the ceiling and dissipated.
“Never could do that,” he said.