Weird Phone Call
My phone woke me. I rolled over and tried to ignore it. I heard myself on my answering machine encouraging the caller to leave their name, number, and a brief message after the beep. “Beep!” “Hi, this is Julen. I am calling you back.” “Beep!”
“Well, Blue, I guess it’s time to get out of bed.” He snorted softly and tucked his head farther under his back leg. I watched him breathing slowly at the foot of my bed and decided that I loved my dog. He had gained weight since moving in with me, and there was something about his soft, rhythmic breathing, his lightly closed eyelids, and the sound of air passing through his nose that overwhelmed me.
“Come on, boy. Let’s get up.” He ignored me. “Blue, it’s time to get up.” I prodded him with my foot. He grumbled but didn’t move. “Fine. I’ll get up.” As soon as I pulled the blanket off myself, his head popped out. I slipped on a robe and made for the kitchen. My body was sore but not in a bad way. It felt like I’d spent some time at the gym working out.
I turned on the radio and the coffeemaker, both of which sputtered to life. Blue followed me around the small space of the kitchen as I gathered coffee, sugar, and milk. I spooned a cup of dog food into Blue’s bowl, which he crunched on as the coffee machine filled the house with the irresistible smell of fresh-brewed French roast.
After enjoying most of the pot of coffee and listening to the news of the day while staring out my living room window, I went to get dressed. I had slight bruising on my wrists, and there was no way I was putting on any tight pants. I found a long, loose skirt and a pile of bangles that made me look like a hippy but covered up the evidence of the previous nights “play.”
I took Blue for his morning business. Blue inspected a nearby tree, a somewhat fascinating piece of newspaper, and the tire of a Vespa. When I got back upstairs, my message machine blinked two. I listened to Julen’s message again. The second message was from Mulberry. He sounded sad or something. He wanted me to call.
“Why are you calling me?” Julen asked.
“I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just had a couple of questions.”
“Are you a cop?”
“What?”
“Don’t call me anymore. I told your friends I would do what they asked. Just leave me alone. Leave me alone.” He sounded on the verge of tears. “Leave me alone.” Julen slammed the phone down, missed the receiver, cursed, and then another bang, and the line was dead.
“What the f*ck was that about?” I asked out loud. My friends? Who would my friends be? Cops? He thinks I’m a cop. So maybe the cops asked him to do something. But what? I immediately called Mulberry.
“Hey, it’s Joy.”
“I’m glad you called. How did it go last night?”
I didn’t want to get into that. At the moment I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to tell him. I rubbed at my wrist. “Fine. I saw some of the guys you asked me to look for.”
“Great, great. Can we meet?”
“How about happy hour at Flannigan’s on the West Side.”
“Sure, that’d be great. Thanks again.”
“It was my pleasure.”
Drinking with the Detective
When I went to meet Mulberry, the place was filled with smoke despite the statewide ban. Looking around the dim, wood-paneled space, I saw him at the bar talking with an older man over pints of amber beer. Not wanting to interrupt them, I walked over to the jukebox.
Four quarters bought me two songs. “Oney” by Johnny Cash—the song of a man who after 29 years of “builden’ muscles puts his point across with a right hand full of knuckles.”—followed by “How Long Has This Been Going On?” sung by the one and only Judy Garland. I’ve never really understood that song. I couldn’t tell if she has been cheated on and wants to pretend it didn’t happen or if she just found out her man was cheating on her and wants to know how long it’s been going on. But that had nothing to do with why I put it on. She belts out, “kiss me once, then once more” in a way that makes me tingle.
My two songs came and went. The detective’s drinking partner left, and I moved around the bar to sit with Mulberry.
“Hey, how long have you been here?” he asked.
“Long enough to drink most of this pint. I’m ready for another. You?” He called over the bartender, an Irish guy with bulging muscles and piercing blue eyes, who you could just tell was a rabid rugby fan. “Another round,” I told him. He moved off to pour our pints.
“I’ve got some pretty fascinating information for you,” Mulberry said.
“And I for you,” I said, still unsure of how I was going to tell him about what happened the night before.
“That man who just walked out,” he said, pointing at the door with his almost empty glass, “He’s the pathologist assigned to Tate Hausman’s case, and—” The bartender came back with our pints and a shot of whiskey for Mulberry. He downed the shot, paid, and the bartender went away. “He did the autopsy on Tate, and he says that he died of strangulation but not from being hung up the way he was. Tate was strangled while lying face down.” I sipped my beer and listened. “He thinks he had a fight with the killer. The murderer managed to knock Tate to the ground then choked him using the same line he hung him up with. Tate was already dead when the perp suspended him from the ceiling.”
“That makes sense.” His eyebrows rose. “As far as I could tell, Tate Hausman was not a part of the scene I attended last night.”
“Really?”
“Elaine was there, and she said that, get this, Charlene e-mailed her and asked her to start a rumor about the two of them.”
“What?”
“She thinks it was to throw people off the truth that Charlene was having an affair with Joseph Saperstein.
“I suspected as much.” he said sighing.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”
“I thought we were working on this thing together!”
“Keep your voice down,” Mulberry whispered.
“Sorry, but really.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Is there anything else I don’t know?”
“No.”
“OK then.” I sulked for a moment. “I don’t think the message was from Charlene.”
“Of course not. She’s not an idiot. Tell me, did you see anyone there? Anyone I asked you to look out for?”
“Yes.” I’d gotten home late last night, but I’d made sure to check the photographs before passing out. “The Commissioner of Police, Harold Faultner.”
Mulberry banged his fist on the bar. “I knew it! Faultner is pushing too hard on this thing. That guy,” he said, pointing to the door referencing the pathologist, “told me he was being asked to rule Tate’s death a suicide.”
“Is he going to do it?”
“Yeah, I think so.” Mulberry shook his head. “He’s close to retirement. I mean he’s got too much to lose.”
“I think someone is leaning on Faultner. I don’t think it’s his idea.”
“Yeah? What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know.” I thought back to the drunken man and the pudgy girl we’d left behind at the fireplace. “He didn’t seem like a killer. And what would his motive be? I could believe he is being blackmailed but not that he is the killer.”
“Look,” he leaned towards me. “There is someone with a hell of a lot of clout trying to make Tate suicidal and Mrs. Saperstein a black widow.” He leaned back and picked up his beer. “It’s not just the Commissioner. When I tried to get a warrant for Charlene’s place I was refused. Do you know how ridiculous that is?” He looked up at me, and I shrugged my shoulders.
“But I thought you did search her place.”
He smiled. “Yeah, I got a different judge and myself off the case.”
“Alright, so someone is manipulating the pathologist, judges, and the police commissioner.” We sat in silence for a while draining our beers and thinking. “You know Robert Maxim?”
Mulberry turned slowly toward me. “Yeah. Everyone knows Robert Maxim.”
“It was his dog.”
“You’re saying maybe it wasn’t a coincidence?”
“Maybe the dog knew the body was there.” Mulberry narrowed his eyes. “He was at the party—playing. I saw him talking to the police commissioner, and he is obviously a powerful guy.”
“Powerful is practically an understatement. He basically runs this city. I mean Fortress Global provides security for half the corporations based out of New York, both overseas and in the States. He is up to his neck in this city.”
“But look, I’m telling you the guy is deep into S&M. He married a dominatrix.”
Mulberry choked on his sip of beer. “What?”
“Yeah.” And she’s kind of hot I thought to myself. “My point is if you’re this all- powerful guy-, why would you kill someone not as important as you, using a method that would make it look like you did it? That’s almost as dumb as Charlene writing an e-mail to Elaine asking her to spread rumors that make her look guilty of murder.”
“Someone else must have written it,” Mulberry said, his half-intoxicated tongue fumbling over the word written, making it sound like witten.
“What?
“The e-mail to Elaine from Charlene. Someone else must have written it.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Hacking into someone’s e-mail account isn’t exactly brain surgery. I mean, if this person can turn murder into suicide and a grieving widow into a murderess, then a bogus e-mail would be child’s play.”
“Good point.”
“It’s someone who knows about the parties and is powerful enough to control the most important people in the city. Possibly even Robert Maxim.” Mulberry contemplated his beer and then, with a smile on his lips, continued, “The only person more powerful than the people we’re talking about is the mayor, and I don’t think he’s running around killing stockbrokers and accountants.”
We both sipped our beers. “That is crazy? Right?”
“Yes,” Mulberry said without looking at me.
“There’s no way.”
“None.”
“He was friends with Tate.”
“Even more of a reason not to murder him.”
“They were scuba buddies, you know?” I said.
“Yeah, I watch TV.”
We sat in silence for a moment.
“Another round?” the bartender offered. The beers arrived dripping with condensation. Mulberry threw back his shot, slamming the small glass onto the bar.
“I got a really weird phone call from Julen this morning. He told me not to call him anymore and said he did what my friends asked. Any idea?”
Mulberry was staring at me. “He changed his statement yesterday afternoon. He now says that Mrs. Saperstein was not with him. That she wanted to kill her husband.”
“Jesus.” My phone rang. “Excuse me.” It was James, and he was almost drunk.
“You have to come out here,” he yelled over the background noise.
“Where?”
“I’m on the Lower East Side at Meow Mix and there’s the greatest band playing. They’re called ‘The p-ssy.’”
“What?”
“The p-ssy. You’ll love it. Get over here.”
“I’ll see you in a bit.” I walked back to Mulberry.
“I was just thinking,” Mulberry said as I sat back down on my stool. “The woman in the doorway—the blond that Chamers saw.”
“Yeah?
“You know, we never figured out where she went. We combed the place. We opened every locked door, went down every passage. We even had the head of the building, William Franklin, helping us. We found all sorts of shit. Boxes of records” he said as he ticked off a finger, “old wet suits,” another finger, “dust, a lot of dust,” he looked at his third finger for a while then continued, “but no unsecured or surveillanced exit.”
“Is there surveillance in the halls?”
“I wish. Only on the parking entrances, and all the other doors have alarms, like the alley exit.”
“Maybe she was disguised and changed before she entered one of the parking lots.”"
“No. No women at all during that period.”
“Maybe she hid in the building.”
Mulberry waved his hand, “There is no way. We searched the whole place. Trust me. She did not leave through any of the exits that we know about, and unless she is down there right now crouching in a corner, the woman is a ghost.”
“What’s your point?”
“I think there’s an exit we don’t know about. There has to be.” His cheeks were flushed.
“So you want to try and find it?"
“I want you to try and find it.”
“What? Come on. How am I supposed to do that?”
“Talk to Chamers. He liked you.”
“He’s not going to tell me anything he didn’t already tell you.”
“You have to.” He slammed his drink down, and beer sloshed over the rim of the mug.
“Whoa, I don’t have to do anything.” I stood up. “I’ll talk to you when you’re a bit more sober.”
“What? You’re leaving? Come on,” he whined.
“You’re drunk and I’m outta here.” I turned to leave. He grabbed my arm, and I ripped it away from him. “Back off,” I hissed at him.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please sit down.” I turned and left.
Meow Mix
I found James drunk, leaning on a dirty bar, sipping from the lip of a Corona bottle. “Hey,” I yelled over the music.
“You made it,” he shouted. “Let’s get you a drink.” James waved to the bartender, a woman with a shaved head and an ‘I heart Mom’ tattoo on her neck. On stage, four girls in short skirts with dark eye makeup jiggled. The lead singer, her faux hawk dyed midnight blue, held the mike right up to her full lips and screamed while shaking her thin legs. The guitarist moved to the edge of the stage and rubbed her instrument between her thighs to the wild cheers of the crowd. “Here.” James pushed a shot of tequila into my hand.
“Oh, so this is how it’s gonna be?” I yelled at him.
“What?”
“So this is how it's gonna be!”
“What?”
“Never mind.” I poured the salt onto my hand, licked it, quickly shot the tequila which made me feel like I was going to throw up, sucked aggressively on the lime, and felt a shiver. “Argh. Beer,” I yelled to James. He passed me a Corona. I took a nice, cold slug and felt better. "Argh. I hate that.”
“The first one’s always the worst.” It was already relaxing me. Mulberry’s outburst had me worried. I was starting to think that he was crazier than I thought, which made me crazier than I thought. The next shot of tequila lessened these worries even more. By the third I had forgotten I had a problem and was in the middle of the dance floor with James, bouncing to the music.
“I have to pee,” I yelled to James, and he nodded. I moved through the crowd toward the bathroom. The line made me groan out loud. “Is this the back of the line?” I asked a woman leaning against the wall behind ten other women.
“Yup.
“Thanks.” I stared absently into the surging crowd. A woman broke free of the mass and passed me heading for a door marked “Employees Only, Stay the F*ck Out.” Her hair was chopped almost to her scalp and dyed Pepto-Bismol pink. Her face was in shadow, but I could make out strong features in a grimace. I inched forward with the line. Where had I seen her before? The door opened, she turned to look over her shoulder, and a light illuminated her eyes for just a moment. My heart started beating really f*cking fast. Charlene Miller. Charlene f*cking Miller. She wasn’t dead; she wasn’t kidnapped; she was in the back room of a lesbian club on the Lower East Side.
Never Do Important Things While Drunk
I dragged James out to the street. “What are you doing?” he protested as I marched him down the deserted block and away from the crowd of smokers outside the club.
“I don’t want anyone to hear us,” I whispered. He looked back at the crowd of drunken people.
“I don’t think you have to worry about them.”
“Just shut up.”
“Hey, what’s going on?”
I stopped on the corner. “I just saw Charlene.”
“Who?” He looked confused and drunk.
“Charlene,” I annunciated as clearly as possible. “The woman I got the dog-walking route from who mysteriously disappeared.”
He gasped. “Where?” he whispered and peered around us.
“Inside. She walked right past me and went into a room for employees only.”
“Holy shit. What are you going to do?”
“I guess I should call Mulberry.”
“Right. That’s a good idea.”
“But, he’s drunk.”
“Oh.”
“Do you think we need another drunk person around?”
“Probably not. Wait. I have an idea,” James said.
“Great.”
“Let’s follow her.” He smiled wildly.
“Right. That way we will know where she’s hiding out.”
“That’s right. And then when Mulberry’s sober, we can tell him.”
“OK. We should have coffee.”
“Right. Coffee.” We looked around the empty streets. Nothing was open but a tired-looking bodega on the adjacent corner. The florescent lights made us look like the drunk, sweaty fools we were. “God, this is not the lighting for us,” James said, looking at me as I poured thick, brown sludge into a Styrofoam cup. His skin, hair, and teeth were all the same unpleasant yellow. We paid for our coffees and walked back out into the night. The coffee had been burnt in the original brewing and then sat for most of a day.
“Well, we have to sober up somehow.” I shrugged as James grimaced.
“Right. We are on a mission.” We smiled at each other.
“Let’s finish these and join the smoking crowd. That way we’ll see her leave, and we won’t look suspicious,” I suggested.
“Don’t you think she might recognize you?”
“Good point. And what if there is a back entrance?”
“I think we should finish our coffees.” I nodded. “And then go back inside. Have some water.” I nodded again. “Then blend with the crowd until we see her leave.”
“I agree.” But before our plan could be put into action, I saw her bright pink head exit the bar.
“There she is,” I said grabbing James’s arm.
“Alright, alright. This is it. Stealth.”
“Stealth.” She started toward us. “Crap, hide me.”
“Don’t be so obvious,” James whispered. I was turning in circles and trying to cover my face with my coffee cup. “Pull yourself together, Joy. Stealth, man, stealth.” Then he started laughing. She was on the other side of the street, and as I watched her head turn toward us, I spun my back to her. James leaned on me, laughing.
“Pull yourself together,” I whispered harshly at him.
“No, you idiot, start laughing.” He was right. Being drunk was the perfect cover. I started to laugh along with him. “She turned down Pitt Street. Let’s go,” James said. We both straightened up and turned serious. During the day, Pitt would have been bustling with shoppers and commuters, but at three in the morning it was just her and us. “Where do you think she’s going?” James asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Are we obviously following her?”
“She hasn’t turned around yet.”
“True.” And just then she looked back at us.
“Act natural,” James said through his teeth. She was standing under a streetlight, and we weren’t. I prayed that was enough to keep her from recognizing me. She started walking a little faster. “I think she saw us.”
“Shit.” We picked up our pace. She took a left onto Stanton Street. We followed, but there was no one there. “Where’d she go?” James and I looked around. Cars lined one side of the block. Street lights formed pools of yellow that illuminated every third car. On the other side, a grove of trees marked the corner of Hamilton Fish Park.
“She could be hiding behind one of the cars,” James whispered.
“You think she saw us?” I whispered back.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Who the f*ck are you?” came a voice from behind us. We turned around to face an angry looking Charlene Miller with a shiny new pistol in her hand. James and I both reached for the sky in what would have been a comic reaction if the gun hadn’t been so real.
“Sorry,” James said.
“Yeah, sorry.” She looked closely at me, and I saw the recognition flicker in her eyes.
“Oh, my God. You’re—” I smiled and laughed a nervous snort. “How did you find me? Who sent you?” Her surprise had turned to suspicion.
“No one. Really. It was a coincidence. I just happened to be at the club. James,” I motioned toward him with one of my raised arms, “called me and told me a great band was playing and that I should come and check it out, and then when I went to pee, I saw you.” My explanation spilled out of me.
“Then why are you following me?”
“If I may,” James cut in. “We don’t want to hurt you.” She stayed quiet. “We just thought you had gone missing. Joy’s been really worried about you. Mulberry’s worried about you, too. But we didn’t want to approach you in case we scared you.”
She laughed. “You two scare me? I’m the one with the gun.”
“I’ll admit our logic was flawed,” James said. “But we don’t want to blow your cover or anything. We’d like to help.”
“Help? Why would you want to help me?”
“Because you seem to be in some kind of trouble,” I jumped in. “Forces are working against you. Powerful forces.”
“What do you know about it?” she said harshly and took a step toward me.
“I think someone is after you.”
“Just leave me alone.” She started to back away. She reached the end of the block. “Don't follow me.” Then she darted out of site. James and I lowered our arms.
“We just had a gun pulled on us,” James said.
“I know.”
“Ten years in New York, that’s the first gun I’ve had pulled on me.”
“I almost pissed myself.”
“We both raised our arms over our heads.”
“It seemed the natural thing to do.”
“Last call’s in a half-hour and I need a drink.”
There was still a crowd outside of Meow Mix. Inside, the speakers piped in music I didn’t recognize, and the crowd simmered around the bar. We got beers and moved to the quietest, darkest corner. The beer calmed our nerves quickly, and soon the whole thing seemed really funny.
“You looked like an idiot with your hands in the air,” I laughed at James.
“You’re the one who put your hands up first.”
“Are you crazy? You totally were the one. And you’re the one who said we should be stealth.” We both burst out laughing again. “Stealth.” I wiped a tear from my eye. “That’s funny.”
“Power—” James laughed.
“What?” He held his hand up and laughed so hard that no noise came out. His face turned red.
“Powerful,” he lost it again. “Powerful forces,” he finally squeaked out. “You said there were powerful forces working against her.” I almost squirted beer out my nose. I stamped my foot and James slapped his thigh.
Dragged Down, Beaten to Hell, and All Alone
When I woke up the next morning, a film lined the inside of my mouth, and my head throbbed. It took me a couple of minutes to remember my name and then a couple more to grasp the events of the night before. When I walked out of my bedroom, I heard soft snoring coming from my living room. I was surprised to find James passed out on my sofa next to a nearly empty bottle of tequila.
I quietly made coffee and took Blue out. When we came back upstairs, James was sitting up on the couch, his blond hair flattened to one side of his head and sticking out of the other. “My head hurts,” he said.
“Yeah, look at that bottle of tequila.” His bloodshot eyes roamed to where the bottle lay on its side on the coffee table. He groaned. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
I poured him a cup and joined him in the living room. “I can’t believe we drank that much last night.”
“Me, neither. We’ve never done that before.”
“Shut up.”
“What I can’t believe is that we had a gun drawn on us,” James said.
“The missing Charlene Miller.”
He sipped his coffee. “What are you going to do?”
“Call Mulberry, I guess. The bigger question is if we can find her again. I can’t imagine she’ll stick around after last night.” The doorbell rang. Blue flew down the hall and started barking as loudly and deeply as he could. James covered his ears and groaned.
“Blue, shut up!” I yelled, following him down the hall. He was growling with his nose pressed against the crack at the bottom of the door. “Alright, alright.” I dragged him out of the way and looked through the peephole. It was Charlene Miller. Holding Blue back, I opened the door.
“I want to apologize for last night,” Charlene blurted out, her hands clasped at waist height and her shoulders rounded.
I wrestled Blue into a sitting position. “It’s OK, really. Please come in.”
“Who is it?” James yelled from the living room.
Panic spread across Charlene’s face. “It’s my brother,” I reassured her. “You met him last night.” She released her breath. I followed her into the living room, holding Blue by the collar. He struggled, rearing up on his hind legs and whining. James made room for Charlene on the couch. She repeated her apology to James.
“You’re scared. We understand,” James told her.
“Yeah. It’s fine,” I agreed.
She looked at me. “I think someone is trying to hurt me. I don’t really understand what’s going on, but I know I’m in trouble.” James and I stayed quiet. “I just don’t know what to do.” Her chin wobbled. James put a hand on her shoulder.
“Do you want me to call your brother?” I asked her.
“Joseph told me to stay away from the police. To not trust anyone.”
“Mulberry is really worried about you,” I said. She stared past me at the blank ceiling above my head. “I think he can protect you.”
“I guess.” I let go of Blue, and he flew to Charlene’s side. He licked her hand. She looked down at him, unmoved.
“I’ll call Mulberry. Do you want a cup of coffee?”
“Sure.” I went into the kitchen. Mulberry answered on the fifth ring. “I found Charlene,” I said pouring a cup of coffee.
“What?” I heard him knock something over. He sounded as hung over as I. “Shit.”
“I found Charlene last night, and now she’s in my house.”
“In your house?”
“Yeah, get over here.”
“I’m on my way.” I hung up and went back to the living room. It was filled with silence. I handed her the cup of coffee. Blue sat on her foot.
“Thanks,” Charlene said.
“He’s on his way.”
“Good. I guess.” She looked at the coffee without tasting it.
“I think he can help you.”
“I hope so.”
“Can you tell me what happened? How did you know you had to hide?”
“Joseph called me.” She stopped, her eye rims pinking. “Joseph and I were in love, you know? He was leaving his wife. We were going to go someplace warm.”
“But I thought he lost his job. What were you going to do for money?”
“He said he was working on something big. Joseph said he was going to have enough money for us to live like royalty for the rest of our lives.” The memory of this promise shone in her eyes.
“What happened?”
“I don’t really understand. Joseph said we would be leaving soon which is why I wanted to sell the dog route. But then he called me the day I met you and said we had to leave the next day. He said something had gone wrong. We were supposed to meet at Penn Station to catch a 9:15 train to Florida. He told me that if he didn’t show, I should hide—from the police, from everyone I knew. He said they would be looking for me.” She sniffed back tears.
“Who’re they?”
“I don’t know, but when he didn’t show up, when I saw that the train was gone, I started to head for the exit, and a man, a very large man, tried to force me to go with him. He said Joseph needed to see me, but I could tell he was lying. I ran away from him, he pursued me. I made it onto the subway moments before he did.” The coffee cup in her hands shook. “He was very scary,” she whispered.
“Where did you go?”
“I went to the only person I knew I could trust. She took me in and helped me disguise myself.” Charlene reached up and ran a hand along her mutilated hair. “You don’t need to know anything about her.”
“What do you think Joseph was involved in?”
“I don’t know.” Her eyes, unfocused, wandered the room.
“Can I ask what your relationship was with Tate Hausman?”
“I didn’t know him that well. He was friends with Joseph. They grew up together.”
“What about your work at the Biltmore Club?” Charlene’s eyes focused on me. “You know about that?” I nodded.
“Does my brother?”
“Yeah.”
James looked at me, and I waved him off. I’d have to explain the whole thing later.
“Shit,” she looked down at her feet and laughed. “What did he say?”
“He’s just worried about you.”
“Do you think your work at the Biltmore was connected in any way to Joseph and Tate’s deaths?”
“Tate’s death? But I thought he committed suicide.” Looking at her, I was struck by the difference between the woman sitting on my couch and the one I had first met. That woman, with her beautiful green eyes and shining auburn hair, had seemed almost mythical in her beauty, her style, her New Yorkness. She was everything a strong woman of today should be, with her own business and expensive apartment. The woman sitting on my couch was the picture of desperation. Her hair had been chopped off and died by amateur hands, the pink still marked the tip of one ear and the very edge of her forehead. Charlene’s eyes, which I’d found so intoxicating on our first meeting, were bloodshot and sunken inside dark circles of exhaustion.
“Tate Hausman did not kill himself.” Her chin trembled with terror. “It was made to look like suicide or a breath play accident, but it wasn’t. It was murder. I think someone is trying to make it look like one of the members of the Biltmore killed him in order to manipulate them.”
“I don’t know. But—” she paused, bit her lip and then continued, “Joseph and Tate were always friends, but a couple of months ago they started spending a lot more time together.” She paused, then said, “I think they were doing something illegal.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know—” She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a blue and silver scarf wrapped around something. “Joseph gave this to me the last time I saw him.” She unwrapped the scarf, her lower lip shaking, to reveal three gold coins. Charlene held them out to me. They were stamped on one side with a crowned shield and on the other with the profile bust of a man with long curly hair and a serene expression. “They’re from George II’s reign, Joseph told me. He said they were used to pay British troops. He said he had lots more.” James and I stared down at the softly glowing gold. The doorbell broke the silence.
“It’s probably Mulberry. But put that away,” I yelled over Blue’s renewed barking. He skittered down the hall. I opened the door and Mulberry stood on the threshold. I got Blue to sit down, and Mulberry came into the apartment. He moved down the hall slowly and then stopped once Charlene was in view. She looked up at him.
James and I stayed quiet. This was something we didn’t understand, not knowing if your sibling was there for you. I just couldn’t imagine how you’d go on. The awkward silence stretched into an awkward minute. Then Blue pushed his way into the living room, laid down on the floor, and, as if things couldn’t get any weirder, Blue began to clean himself (if you know what I mean).
“Ok Blue, that’s enough.” I shoved him out of the room and, turning to Mulberry, said. “How about you give your sister a hug?”
Mulberry moved to his sister’s side and enveloped Charlene in a hug. She started to cry. “It’s going to be OK. I’m here now,” Mulberry said. He looked over her pink head at me. “Thank you for finding her.”
“You’re welcome.”
“We’ve got to get you some place safe,” he said.
“I don’t know where we can go,” Charlene said.
“I’ve got a friend who can look after you. He’s a retired cop, so he knows what he’s doing. The guy lives upstate. I’ll get you there myself.” He stood up.
“Wait.” She held out her hands.
“Look, I’m guessing that Joy’s place is being watched, so we need to get you out of here now. I promise you, I’m going to take care of this.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“I’m your brother! Do you think I would hurt you for anything.”
“Where have you been?” She started crying harder. “I haven’t heard from you in years.”
Mulberry bit his lip, and for a second I thought he was going to start crying, too. “I’m sorry Charlene. I can’t tell you how sorry. Please let me help you.”
She shook her head.
“Charlene,” I placed my hand on her knee. “I think you should go with him. I certainly can’t keep you safe, and the way you’re living now is not sustainable. Mulberry can help you.”
She started to cry more. Charlene bent over herself and sobbed. It was James who finally had enough.
“Charlene,” he said gently. “You need to go with Mulberry now because I’m starting to get paranoid that someone is going to break down my sister’s door looking for you. So I’d like you to leave.” He smiled at her, but he meant it.
“OK, OK,” she said. “I guess I don’t have a choice.”
“You have a couple of choices, but only one of them is any good.” James stood and so did Charlene. I held Blue back as Mulberry led her slowly past us.
At the door Mulberry turned to me. “We’ll talk later?”
“OK.” I closed the door behind them.
“This is insanity,” James said.
“I’ve got to go.”
“Where are you going?”
“Uptown. I want to talk to George Chamers’ boss.” I started gathering my stuff.
“What? Why?” I found my cell phone on the kitchen counter.
“I had been kind of assuming that the blond woman that Chamers spotted was Charlene, or she knew who it was, but obviously she has no idea. All we know is that whoever it was, knew her way around that basement, so who knows that? The man who knows who knows is George Chamers’ boss.” I grabbed my bag off my bedroom floor.
“Who knows who knows?”
“What?” I scanned the living room for my keys.
“Exactly.”
“Where the hell are my keys?