Death in a Funhouse Mirror (25 page)

 

By nine I'd finished the proposal and left it on Sarah's desk. Bobby and I were discussing some things I needed him to do when Sarah knocked briskly on the door and came in. She was wearing a wonderful salmon-colored dress that suited her coloring and emphasized her curves. She was holding the sheaf of papers I'd left on her desk and frowning. "Detective Florio on the phone," she said, "you want to call him back? And didn't I tell you not to do this to me today?" She shook the papers.

"I need that stuff as soon as possible," I said. "Eleven-thirty latest. Good thing you're the best typist on the East Coast. You get that dress last night?"

"You bet," she said. "We had a great time. I spent a bundle and I don't feel one bit guilty. And Brad did give me a birthday present. The asshole."

"What did he give you? Cookware?"

"Worse. A stair-climbing machine. Stood there with a foolish grin on his face and told me it was for my thighs. I can't wait, really. I'm gonna use it daily until I have thighs like Wonder Woman and then I'm gonna squeeze his little head between them and crack it like a nut. You want to take the call?"

I'd almost forgotten about the call, listening to her. Funny as she was, Sarah was getting to be one angry woman. I hoped Brad woke up soon, before she really did lose her patience. "I'll take it." I picked up the phone. "Hi, Dom."

"What the hell is going on, Theadora?" His voice thundered out of the phone.

"Excuse me?"

"I said what the hell is going on?"

"I'm sorry," I said sweetly, "I don't understand the question."

"I mean what's this stuff about someone outside your place in the middle of the night with a goddamned hunting knife?" he thundered.

I sighed. I hate people who call up and yell at me first thing in the morning. "I put it there myself and called the police because I was dying for attention."

"Cut the crap, Kozak," he said.

"That has a nice alliteration, Dom."

"I don't know what the hell alliteration is, but if you don't stop kidding and tell me what happened I'm going to come over there and shake you."

"Don't threaten me with police brutality, Dom. If you've talked with Officer Harris then you know as much about it as I do. Noises woke me up in the night and I saw someone outside on my deck. I switched on the light and went to investigate and whoever it was dropped what they were holding and ran. I followed but they got away, and when I got back I found this big hunting knife on the deck."

"They? There was more than one?"

"No. One. They is the preferred sex-neutral pronoun at the moment, even if it is grammatically incorrect," I said.

"Are you okay?" His voice was calmer now.

"As long as the sun is out and I'm surrounded by people."

"We need to talk."

"We are talking."

"Boy you
are
a real bitch today, you know that?"

"Lack of sleep and mortal fear will do that to a person, you know. That and being yelled at by one of the few people I trust. Besides, I never said I was nice. That was just an assumption you made."

"Sorry," he growled. "I was worried about you." Bobby was observing the whole interaction, goggle-eyed.

"I'm going to be in Anson later. You want to meet for coffee at the IHOP? Around two, maybe?" He agreed reluctantly. It sounded like it was hard for him to resist his urge to come right over and see for himself that I was okay. He should have been able to tell from talking to me. If I wasn't too intimidated for a little sharp repartee, I was doing okay. I wondered how much of his concern was for me because he liked me, and how much was the product of fraternal bonding, guarding the territory of a fellow homicide detective.

"Okay, Kozak. I'll meet you," he said. "Meanwhile, watch your back."

Yeah, sure, I thought, I'll spend the next five hours looking over my shoulder and bumping into walls. Bobby shook his head. "Boy, you sure do lead an exciting life. Everyone around here does. Well, you and Suzanne anyway. And it doesn't sound like Sarah's life is exactly uneventful either."

"She's just got a man who's a bit disappointing to live with."

"Funny," he said, "I never have that problem. The man I live with is as nice as the day is long."

"Well, maybe you got the last good one, Bobby. Or maybe you made a wiser choice, though I wouldn't suggest that to Sarah, if I were you."

"Don't worry. I try to steer clear of anything that looks like confrontation, and Sarah's been loaded for bear—don't you just love that expression?—all week. Back to work?"

"Please." I finished with Bobby, called Lisa and lined her up for Monday morning just in case Bartlett Hill wanted to get started that fast, and sneaked out to the 10:00 a.m. aerobics class. Last night's anxiety and lack of sleep had left my body feeling like a loosely assembled collection of knots. I needed to work them out before lunch with Martha Coffey. I might have denied it in my conversation with Dom, but he was right, I was bitchy. My nerves were ragged and I kept having these little spurts of anxiety, like shorts in an electrical circuit, that left me momentarily breathless.

Sarah gave me a bleak smile when I passed her desk. "You coming back for this, or can I spend the rest of the morning chatting on the phone with my girlfriends?"

"I'll be back for it by eleven-thirty. Proof it when you're done, and make me eight copies."

"If the beast is working today."

"If not, use Lucy's. Please?"

"I hate to keep imposing on her."

"Maybe I should have given you a new copier for your birthday."

She plucked at the fabric of her dress. "Rather have this, thanks. Makes me feel great. Don't worry, you'll have your copies."

I rarely went to morning classes, so I didn't know any of the instructors. I was surprised to see it was Aaron again. I guess I was just being sexist, but I'd assumed it was an after-work job for him, something he did after his "real" job. It was a different crowd from the evening group. The women in front of me and behind me had small children in tow, and waiting outside for the class before us to be over, the talk was all of day care and childrearing. Even the outfits were different. Everyone was coordinated, down to their shoes and socks, and there was a lot of makeup and jewelry. The evening group is quieter. Tired. A lot of lank hair and tense faces waiting for the jolt to jump-start their evenings.

There was a lot more chatter, too. The ladies were clearly taken with Aaron, and wanted him to notice them. I waited restlessly, doing stretches and plies, impatient for class to begin. Finally Aaron switched on the music, positioned himself in the front of the room, and said, "Let's warm up." After that it was okay. He gave another workout that left me drenched with sweat and trembling but I felt a thousand times better when I walked out.

Back at the office, Magda was on the phone, a harassed look on her face, speaking slowly and firmly to someone. "I am sorry," she said, "but as I have already explained to you three times, this is Ms. Begner's office, not her home. I am only her secretary, not her mother. I will give her the message if she calls in, but I do not know where she can be reached." She banged down the phone and wrote something on a pink slip. The pile of them on her desk was already gigantic. "Only one more day. I'm not sure I can stand it. All of these people are so stupid! Why can't they keep things straight? This person here," she tapped the note angrily with a forefinger, "wants to know if the rehearsal dinner is tomorrow night or Sunday night? Of course I said it was tonight, and they told me it was impossible. Tonight they are completely booked. And no way to reach Suzanne."

I patted her on the shoulder and took the note. "I'll take care of it. Anything else of crisis proportions?"

"I will check." I waited while she sorted through the pile. "No. That's the only one."

Sarah was sitting behind a small mountain of papers, looking as harassed as Magda. We weren't a very happy family today. The only unlined face in the office was Bobby's. He was sitting at his desk, bent over his work, a happy smile on his face. I could have hugged him just for being there. I paused and asked Sarah what was going on. "Damn collator won't work. I swear someday soon I'm going to execute this machine."

"Make it easy on yourself. Call the company rep, get him in here, and order a new machine. None of us needs this frustration."

"You mean it?" Her face lit up. She was awfully pretty when she wasn't angry.

"You ought to smile more often," I said. "It suits you. Of course I mean it."

"I'm so happy I could dance!"

"Maybe after you finish putting those together?" She made a face and went back to her sorting. I kicked off my shoes, put my feet up on the desk, and grabbed the phone.

A cheerful little voice answered, "Cipio's."

I asked for the manager and was transferred to a man with a slight accent. I explained why I was calling and asked what was going on. "I will check. Please hold."

In the time I was on hold I could have knitted a sweater, and I had places to be. I drummed impatiently on the desk with my fingers. I was still waiting when Sarah brought the proposals in. She looked odd, like someone who has just heard bad news and can't quite absorb it. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"Miss Kozak?" said a voice in my ear.

"Can you hold on a moment, please." I put him on hold. Sarah was hesitating by the door.

"I'm not sure I should tell you."

"It can't be that bad. Not unless you're quitting, that is."

She shook her head vigorously. "It's nothing like that. There was a phone call for you. Someone who wouldn't give a name. A very faint voice, gruff, asking for you. When I said you were on another line the person said to give you a message." She stopped and stood there looking miserable.

"So?"

"So the message was 'last night was only the beginning.' "

Once again I felt the cold chill of fear go through me. I wrapped my arms protectively around my body. "Don't worry about it, Sarah. Probably just a prank."

"I hope so." She left me alone with my fear.

I punched the button and got Cipio's manager back on the line. "What's the story?" I said.

"We have no record of Miss Begner's reservation."

"What is your name, please?"

"Roscoe," he said. "Mark Roscoe."

"Can you hold on a minute please, Mr. Roscoe?"

"We're rather busy right now, Ms. Kozak. Perhaps you could call back later?"

"Look, Mr. Roscoe, we're talking about a wedding rehearsal dinner. An event that was planned months ago. A dinner that has to take place tonight."

I buzzed Sarah. When she came in I asked her to have Magda bring me Suzanne's wedding file. Magda was at my side in an instant, and just as quickly sorted through the file and handed me Suzanne's letter to Cipio's making the reservation and their letter confirming it. Suzanne was much too organized to do anything that important without leaving a paper trail. "Okay, Mr. Roscoe, you don't have to go on hold. I have here in front of me a letter dated January 23 to Cipio's from Suzanne Begner, making the reservation for tonight, and another letter from Cipio's dated January 27 confirming that reservation."

"There must be some mistake," he interrupted.

"The mistake would be for you to continue to pretend this reservation does not exist. The signature at the bottom of the letter is Mark Roscoe. Now as I see it, you have two choices. You can honor the reservation, or you can have me very mad at you."

His response was huffy. "I guess I shall have to have you mad at me."

This time I interrupted him. "Let me tell you what I will do if you make me mad, Mr. Roscoe. First there will be a lawsuit. A consumer complaint under Chapter 93A, the Consumer Protection Act. A breach-of-contract claim, and a claim for intentional infliction of emotional distress. We are talking about a bride here, Mr. Roscoe, and your negligence ruining one of the most important occasions in her life. I will hire people to pass out leaflets outside your restaurant during business hours containing copies of both letters and a description of your despicable behavior. I am not naive, Mr. Roscoe, I know that you like to attract wedding parties to your private dining rooms. I've seen your advertising. We both know how skittish brides can be. They worry about things going wrong."

"Are you some kind of a nutcase? You wouldn't dare do those things."

Being scared makes me angry, and Mr. Roscoe was getting the brunt of that anger. "I am the matron of honor, Mr. Roscoe, and it is my job to make sure that things go smoothly. If that makes me some kind of a nutcase, then perhaps I am, although it doesn't seem at all nutty to me to have a strong reaction when someone claims they will not honor a confirmed reservation the day of the event. As for what I will not dare to do, I haven't finished my list...."

"I don't have to listen to this...."

"You'd better. I am going to hang up now, Mr. Roscoe, and if I don't get a call back from you within the next ten minutes, assuring me that the dinner is going ahead as scheduled, my next call will be to the board of health, complaining about bugs in my food, followed by a formal complaint to the town that you are abusing your liquor license and it should be reviewed. I seem to recall an automobile accident last month caused by an intoxicated person leaving your parking lot. And wasn't there a fight there recently? That's all for now, but I could go on and on. I'm hanging up now, and remember, Mr. Roscoe. Ten minutes."

I hung up, out of breath, and collapsed in my chair to the sounds of vigorous applause. Magda, Sarah and Bobby were all standing in the doorway watching me.

"Bravo," Magda actually smiled. "You should have been a lawyer."

"Now we wait," Bobby said, checking his watch.

"Don't you people have any work to do?"

"Don't be a party pooper," Sarah said. "That was the best show I've seen all week."

I stuffed the proposals into my briefcase and scribbled Martha Coffey's number on a piece of paper. "I'm going to run to the ladies' room. Can you call this woman and tell her I'll be a few minutes late? And if Roscoe calls, put him on hold."