“Are you going to join me later?”
“Don’t think so. I’d better hang with Bella. She’s more freaked than she’s letting on.” Des softened her gaze at him. “I’m afraid our big evening’s over. I’m real sorry.”
“Don’t be-shit happens.” He flashed a boyish grin at her. “That was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I had to go there.”
“I knew that.”
“I knew you knew.” Just as he knew that he couldn’t kiss her good-night. She was in uniform. The neighbors were watching. Public Displays of Affection were a no-no. “We’re good,” he assured her as he climbed back into his truck. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”
“I’m not worried,” she said quietly.
Because she wasn’t. She was furious. The Dorset Flasher had made this personal now. And she wasn’t just thinking of him as some abstract loser boy any longer. She had someone very specific in mind now. Someone who was openly hostile toward Dorset’s blue-blooded dowagers… “You say hello to them and they act like you just took a leak on their shoes…” Someone she’d clashed with that very afternoon. A public altercation that had left him flat on his butt and humiliated. He’d warned her that she’d be sorry. And now there was a turd on her welcome mat. Coincidence? Des Mitry didn’t believe in the tooth fairy, clean coal technology or coincidences. What she did believe was that she had her man. He was a bitter, angry widower. He had a drinking problem. And he lived by himself smack-dab in the middle of the Historic District.
Oh, yeah, she had her man, all right. Augie Donatelli was the Dorset Flasher. Des had zero doubt. None.
The only tricky part was going to be proving it.
CHAPTER 5
Beth had a radiant smile on her face when she answered the doorbell. And was impeccably turned out in a coral knit top and white linen slacks. “I’m so thrilled to finally meet you,” she exclaimed warmly, taking Des by both hands. “Mitch was always like family. I hope you’ll think of us that way, too.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind. And real sorry about the gunny-sack,” Des said, meaning her uniform. “But I’m on the job tonight.”
“No apology necessary. Believe me, we’ll all sleep better when that sicko has been put away.” Now Beth gave Mitch a hug and said, “And don’t you look handsome.” He had on an untucked white button-down shirt and khaki shorts. “That shirt really sets off your tan. Or should I say sunburn?” Her brow furrowed with concern. “My goodness, you look awfully red all of a sudden.”
“From my daily run,” Mitch explained. “It was really windy out at the point.”
“Of course it was, dear. Of course.”
Beth’s apartment was huge, with high ceilings, tall windows and polished oak flooring. The decor was elegant but impersonal. No quirky little keepsakes. It had the feel of an executive rental, Mitch reflected. There was a screened-in porch off of the dining room. He heard voices out there.
It was a long, deep porch that looked out over an expanse of lawn to the Lieutenant River. Beth had furnished it with a white wicker loveseat and armchairs. A glass table was laden with chilled shrimp, deviled eggs and cheeses and crackers. There was hard liquor, wine, a washtub full of beer and soda on ice.
Kimberly and Kenny stood there together, hand in hand, glowing with so much love for each other that Mitch, who was known among his fellow New York film critics as the Town Crier, instantly felt himself welling up. Kimberly looked absolutely beautiful. Her long blond hair was brushed out. And the sleeveless print dress she had on showed off her lean, muscular arms and legs. She and Kenny were the same exact height-if you ignored that Kimberly wore flat sandals and Kenny thick-soled trail hikers. Still, Kenny was no longer a little twerp. He stood a wiry five feet ten in his Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts. Was built like a marathoner. And was a good-looking guy in a neo-wonky sort of a way. His thatch of brown hair was stylishly unkempt. He had a four-day growth of beard. And the eyes behind his wire-framed glasses were bright and earnest.
He rushed toward Mitch, and pumped his hand excitedly. “God, Berger, it’s so good to see you again!”
“Same here, Lapidus.”
“And I’m ready for you this time, I swear. All set? Here goes: ‘I’ve met some hard-boiled characters in my time but you-you’re twenty minutes.’ ”
“Easy. That was Jan Sterling to Kirk Douglas in Ace in the Hole.”
Kenny’s face fell. “Damn, I still can’t beat you.”
“And you never will. Kimberly, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this doofus was your boyfriend.”
“Honestly, I had no idea you two had a history,” she confessed. “And when I found out about it, Kenny swore me to secrecy. He and Beth wanted to surprise you.”
“Which I’m happy to say we did,” said Beth, bustling in from the kitchen with a platter of piping hot cheese puffs, then bustling right back out again.
“Kimberly, you know Des, don’t you?”
“Of course. We always get seated together at the Chamber of Commerce dinners. We’re the only single women who are under forty. We even get our very own table-just us.”
“That’s because the wives make up the seating chart,” Des said, smiling at her. “Consider it a form of flattery. That’s what I do.”
“Really glad to meet you, Des,” Kenny said effusively. “I’m guessing that if you spend time with this guy you must be into old movies.”
“I’m developing a healthy appreciation-with the notable exception of the Three Stooges.”
“That’s a gender thing,” Kenny stated with great conviction. “There isn’t a woman on Earth who can tolerate the Stooges. Don’t know why.”
“I do,” Des said. “Because they’re really, really stupid.”
He frowned at her. “And this is a problem because…?”
“Oh, God, you two did grow up together.”
Kenny and Kimberly were both sipping bottles of Sam Adams. Mitch fetched himself one and a Diet Coke for Des. Also a small plate of devilled eggs, promising himself he’d be careful. He could eat his body weight in devilled eggs. As he devoured one, he noticed Kimberly studying him with a critical eye. “Uh-oh, am I hunching my shoulders? No, it’s my feet, isn’t it? They aren’t hip width apart.”
“Actually, I was just observing how tall and straight you’re standing.”
“Really?”
“You’re doing real well in class, Mitch. Besides, your mat is a judgment-free zone. Yoga is all about the acceptance of our lack of perfection.”
“Mitch can totally vibe with that concept,” Des said. “You should hear him play Purple Haze on his Stratocaster.”
Kenny let out a laugh, that same high-pitched whoop he’d had when they were kids-one part rebel yell, two parts Woody Woodpecker. “You wouldn’t say that to him if you weren’t wearing that.” Meaning her holstered SIG.
“Actually, she would,” Mitch told him. “My sound is something of an acquired taste. Kimberly, are your folks into yoga, too?”
“Not at all. But they’re both very active. Father still does the same Royal Canadian Air Force calisthenics every morning that he’s been doing since I was a little girl. Mother plays tennis and tends the Captain Chadwick Blush Noisettes like a demon. Mother’s very particular about ‘her’ roses. Won’t let Augie within ten feet of the things. They were planted way back in the fifties, I’m told. Tourists always stop to take pictures of them. The two of them will be along soon. Mother has this thing about always showing up twenty minutes late. Something she learned at finishing school.”
Beth returned now with a platter of sizzling stuffed mushrooms. Set it down on the table, poured herself a glass of white wine and joined them.
“Des, did you know that this guy here saved my life?” Kenny said. “Real deal. If it weren’t for Mitch Berger I would be embedded face down in the Stuyvesant Town playground to this very day.”