Affairs of Steak (7 page)

What had just happened?

MY OWN CELL PHONE HAD RUN SO LOW ON power that I didn’t risk making a call unless it was an emergency. I kept the little device tight in my sweaty hand as I waited for the next Metro train. There were two men on the platform with me. One was a large fellow wearing a hat, a cell phone tight to his ear.

The other man was elderly, white-haired, with bushy eyebrows. He leaned on a four-foot aluminum cane and stared down the tunnel as though awaiting the train’s arrival. Except he was staring in the wrong direction.

Not that it mattered. The train came soon enough and I readied myself to get on, wondering if the elderly man needed assistance. Just as the doors opened, however, the man in the hat was behind us, nudging the old fellow in. I couldn’t tell for certain whether the two knew each other or whether the younger man was just impatient. Either way, you didn’t push people with canes. It just wasn’t right.

Once inside the car, I made sure to study each and every commuter. Two young women chattered about an upcoming
wedding. Neither gave me a passing glance. They were safe.

The hat-wearing younger man sat behind the two girls, while the older man took a seat by the door. Apparently they didn’t know each other after all. Across the aisle from him, a younger man sat with his legs wide apart, bouncing on the balls of his feet as though ready to leap into action. When I walked past him, he gave me a curious look, but maybe that was because he’d felt the weight of my stare.

Paranoia and I made our way to the middle of the car, choosing one of the many empty aisle seats. My senses were so heightened by my recent encounter that I sat ramrod straight, trying to quiet the thrumming of my heart. Again I wondered what had just happened outside. “Come on,” I whispered, urging the train to depart. I needed to get home. Today’s gruesome discovery was weighing heavily on my mind and was undoubtedly the source of my intense suspicion.
Deep breath
, I told myself,
it’s safe now. It’s okay to relax.

The man with the hat got up just as the Metro doors closed. I watched as he lumbered over. He wore a business suit under an open, camel-colored trench coat, and his hat was pulled low over his eyes. All I could see of his face was the deep cleft of his chin, until he pushed back the brim of his hat, made eye contact, and took the aisle seat across from me. “Cold draft over there,” he said.

There were plenty of other choices in the nearly empty car. Why pick one so close to mine?

Annoyed, I gripped my phone tighter, snugged my purse under my arm, and pretended to brush debris off the seat next to me. With a shake of my head and a disappointed huff, I stood up and walked farther back in the car, proud of my dramatic talents. Three rows behind the guy with the hat, I had a wide, unobstructed view of all occupants. I liked it much better this way.

To my relief, the guy stayed in his seat. He pulled a Metro map from his pocket and spread it open across his lap, studying it for a few minutes before jamming a finger
near the bottom to hold his place while he looked around. Apparently pleased by whatever he saw, he folded the map up again and slid it back into his pocket. Probably an out-
of-towner on a business trip.

The two women and the antsy young man got off at Foggy Bottom, leaving me with the elderly gent with the cane and Map Man for company. The older fellow’s head drooped lower and lower and I thought I heard him snore. The man with the map kept his hands folded as he read the ads on either side of the car. Neither of those two seemed particularly interested in me, so I tucked my phone back into my purse and stared out the window, able to relax a little, finally.

Two stops later, we hadn’t picked up any passengers, but by then the old guy’s snores had taken on a life of their own. During an extended open-mouthed gurgle, Map Man turned to me and spoke in a stage whisper. “Should I wake him up? What if he misses his stop?”

I shrugged. “If he’s not awake by Crystal City, maybe we should wake him then.”

“Is that where you get off?”

I looked away and pretended I hadn’t heard him.

He pulled his map out again, but instead of reading it, he tapped it against his leg and kept looking at the elderly gentleman whose head bobbed and wagged with each bump and joggle of the train. We sailed through the next two stops without the old guy waking up. Map Man kept up a staccato rhythm against his leg, its tempo getting faster by the second as the old guy’s snores reverberated around us.

“Maybe I’d better ask him.” Map Man got up and shook the sleeping fellow’s shoulder. “Hey, Gramps. You okay there?”

Startled, the older guy blinked and leaned away from the intruder, clearly terrified. “What? What?” Frantically looking around, he asked, “Where are we? Is this my stop?”

Our train began to slow as we approached Crystal City. I stood up.

Map Man rolled his eyes. “Don’t know. Where do you get off?”

He coughed. “Clarendon.”

Oh no
. I was about to offer to help when Map Man’s words froze me in my tracks. “Gramps, you got a problem. You didn’t just miss your stop. You’re on the wrong train. This is Blue. You should have switched at Rosslyn.” He pointed to the floor. “This is the wrong train, mister.”

I stifled my surprise. Unless he possessed a photographic memory, an out-of-towner wouldn’t know that information off the top of his head. I fought the queasiness that took hold of my stomach. This could be nothing. A misunderstanding on my part. But I wasn’t about to take chances. Without making eye contact with Map Man, I approached the older gentleman.

“Let’s get off here,” I said, taking his elbow and helping him to his feet as the train came to a stop. “I’ll get you onto the right train.”

Map Man seemed surprised. “Is this your stop?” he asked.

The doors opened.

Map Man followed us out. “Let me help you.”

“I’ll handle this, thanks.” I turned to my elderly charge. “What’s your name?”

He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. “Bettencourt,” he said, pulling his arm from my grip, “Benjamin Bettencourt.”

Map Man gave me a skeptical look over the back of Mr. Bettencourt’s head. “You sure you want to handle this on your own?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Suit yourself.”

Visibly vexed, Mr. Bettencourt stamped his cane on the ground. “For the love of Pete,” he said, “would you two stop acting as though I’m an idiot who’s lost all my marbles?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I just thought…”

“I know what you thought,” he said, voice rising. “Just
because I’m old doesn’t mean I’m feeble. Wait until you’re my age, girlie, and some do-gooder tries to manhandle you.”

“My apologies,” I said, backing away. “I’m sure you’ll be fine from here.”

“Darned right I am. This is my stop.”

“I thought you said Clarendon,” I said.

Bettencourt worked his mouth. “Yes, well. It’s none of your business where I get off. I just got confused for a minute. I was having a good dream before I got shaken awake.”

Map Man pushed his hat farther back on his head and shot me an amused look. I didn’t return it. All I wanted was to get away. “Are you sure you don’t need help?” I asked Bettencourt.

His face contorted as though highly annoyed. “My daughter will be waiting for me outside. She’s very important, you know.”

Not totally convinced he really knew where he was, I was reluctant to leave him to his own wiles. And, selfishly, I figured that if I took charge of him, Map Man would back off. With any luck he’d get on the next train and disappear. “Tell you what,” I said, “I’ll go with you and wait until your daughter shows up. It’s getting late.”

“You do-gooders are all alike,” he said, but at least he didn’t argue. As we set off for the escalators, he gripped my arm and spoke under his breath. “I may need to call her.”

“Of course.” I turned to Map Man. “Another train should be here in a minute. Thanks for your help.”

“This is my stop, too.”

Oh great.

With that familiar “something is not right” feeling tingling up my back, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed. With any luck I’d have enough juice for this important call and another to Bettencourt’s daughter.

“Who are you calling?” Map Man asked.

I ignored him.

Mr. Bettencourt cleared his throat several times as the number went to voicemail. “Hey,” I said into the receiver,
“it’s me. I’m just getting off at Crystal City. Can you…can you meet me?” I didn’t know what else to say, so I hung up.

We reached the top and made it through the turnstiles. “So, what’s your name?” Map Man asked.

Again I ignored him. “Come on, Mr. Bettencourt, we’re almost there.”

Map Man was nothing if not persistent. “My name’s Brad.”

He looked like a Brad.

“No need to give me the cold shoulder,” he said, trailing us through the exit and outside into the windy chill. “I’m just trying to be friendly.”

When the frigid night wind hit me, I questioned myself. Maybe he
was
just trying to be friendly. To help out an older person. Why else would he hang out here in the cold if he didn’t have to? Maybe he knew the Metro system well and had brought home a map for a friend. Maybe he didn’t have an evil agenda and my fears were completely unfounded. I often picked up on conspiracies before others did. Trouble arose when I thought I detected one where none existed.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “long day.”

I looked up and down the street for Mr. Bettencourt’s daughter. “Is this the exit where you’ll meet her?” I asked. “Will she walk or drive?”

Bettencourt wrinkled his nose as he stared upward, clearly looking for landmarks. He didn’t seem very sure of himself when he nodded. “Yeah. This is it.”

“I hear you about the long day,” Brad said. “Mine was a bear.” He studied the landmarks, too. “You live around here?”

I was spared answering because Mr. Bettencourt thought the question had been directed to him. “Not far. She’ll be here in a minute.”

Brad shifted his weight and looked ready to launch into a new round of questions.

“You can go ahead,” I said. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

“I don’t want to leave you out here by yourselves—”

“Trust me, we’ll be fine. I have a friend meeting me.”

“No, you don’t. You only left a voicemail,” he said. “No telling when
your friend
will get the message.”

Brad was smiling in a way that scared me. But I couldn’t take off, not without making sure Mr. Bettencourt was all right. I had slipped my cell phone into my pocket and now I reached in to grip it again, ready to dial James at the front desk of my building. He’d be quick to send help if I so much as squeaked.

“Mr. Bettencourt, do you have your daughter’s phone number?”

The question seemed only to confuse him further.

“How about I call a cab?” I asked.

Still looking around, Bettencourt seemed to grow less certain by the moment. “I don’t know.”

“Hey!” Brad snapped his fingers and pointed at me. “I know you.”

“Mr. Bettencourt?” I said, turning my back to Brad. “I’m going to call a cab. If your daughter comes in the meantime, I’ll just take it myself.”

My apartment was within easy walking distance, but I didn’t want Brad offering to accompany me. I also didn’t want to hear how he thought he knew me. I pulled up my phone again to see if I had a local taxi company on speed dial. Low on battery juice, the handset gave a warning beep. “I know,” I said under my breath, “just one more call.”

Brad came around to face me. He tipped his hat very far back to look me straight in the eye. I got a much better look at him. Dark blond hair. Thinning. Tiny ears, small eyes spaced far apart, and a pudginess around his features that let me know his excess bulkiness couldn’t all be blamed on the coat. “I knew you looked familiar. You’re the chef.”

My stomach lurched. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The one who was on TV today.”

“What?” My attention no longer on the phone display, I stared up at Brad’s wide-set eyes.

“Got your interest now, huh?” he said. “You’re the one
who found the White House chief of staff dead. Murdered, right? It’s all over the news.”

I felt all the blood drain from my face.

“Who’s dead?” Bettencourt asked.

“Not you, Gramps. Not yet, at least.” A corner of Brad’s mouth curled up. “What was that like—finding the body? Two of them, right? That girl got murdered, too.” He went on before I could say a word, “Did you see who killed them?”

Who was this guy? Every single hair on my body stood on end. My voice croaked, “No idea what you’re talking about.” Still scrolling even with trembling fingers, I finally found the taxi number. “You must have me confused with someone else.”

I hit the call button just as headlights swung past, making me blink in their brightness. At first I thought it was Bettencourt’s daughter, but the car was moving too fast. As it approached, I took a closer look and nearly jumped straight up. Waving my hands, I called, “Hey, over here.”

The squad car slowed, coming to a stop across the street. The cop rolled down his window. “Is there a problem?”