The Jinx

Twenty-Three

T hey moved as if in slow motion, she standing one step below him on the escalator. I watched as she turned back toward him, to better catch his words. The movement made her long dark hair swing, a silken curtain flowing from one shoulder to the other, and as she tilted her face up the light glossed the fine curves of her high cheekbones, delicate nose and oval forehead. I could see Peter’s familiar profile, bending down to make himself heard, gazing into her expressive dark eyes with the affectionate look I knew so well and speaking with the lips I knew even better.

“Is that Abigail? If so, she really does look like Christy Turlington,” said Hilary.

Jane, Luisa and Emma shushed her in unison, and I was pretty confident that Jane added a sharp elbow to Hilary’s ribs.

“I mean, she looks like how Christy Turlington would look if Christy Turlington were a hussy. You’re much prettier, Rach.” But I could barely hear her over the laughter of the Jinxing Gods.

Peter and Abigail stepped off the escalator and paused, still deep in animated conversation. He put his hand on her arm, as if to emphasize a point. Then Abigail kissed him on an indeterminate spot somewhere between the cheek and the lips-it was hard to tell from where we were sitting since the back of her head blocked his face. Being tall and gazellelike, she didn’t need to stand on tiptoe to kiss him, the way I did. Then Peter headed off in the direction of the convention center at a rapid clip.

“That’s it,” said Hilary. “He can’t treat Rachel like this. I’m going after him. He needs to get his head on straight.” She was half out of her seat, but Jane and Luisa each took an arm and managed to restrain her.

Abigail, meanwhile, had started toward the Starbucks adjacent to where we sat.

I don’t know what possessed me. If I’d been thinking clearly, I would have hid under the table until she’d passed. But so much had happened already that morning that I seemed to have entered an altered state of consciousness. Unbidden, Twilight Zone Rachel called out Abigail’s name, loudly and in a welcoming tone.

Abigail stopped and looked around, trying to identify where the voice had come from. I stood and waved, a forced smile plastered on my face, until her eyes focused on our table. I didn’t think I imagined the way her expression changed, morphing from pleasant calm to flustered embarrassment, but by the time she reached us she seemed calm again, although slightly pinkish in the cheeks. And she clutched the Tiffany’s bag in one hand, trying to shield it with her body, as if I would snatch it from her and run off with it.

“Rachel!” she cried. “What a surprise. What brings you here?” She leaned her willowy self down and gave me an awkward one-armed hug, careful to keep her body between me and the Tiffany’s bag.

“Slut,” I heard Hilary mutter under her breath.

When in doubt, be gracious. These were words I tried to live by, usually unsuccessfully. And I wished I felt more doubt about what I’d just seen. Still, I dredged up enough graciousness to introduce Abigail around.

“It’s so nice to meet you all,” she said, her smile revealing even, pearly white teeth and a fetching dimple in her right cheek. “Peter mentioned you have your annual reunion with your college roommates this weekend. It sounds like a great tradition-I should do something like that with my friends from college.”

Hilary muttered something else, but Emma’s coughing fit covered up her words.

“It is a great tradition,” I agreed. And then, scraping the bottom of my graciousness pool, I managed in a voice that sounded genuinely nice, “It’s just too bad that Peter’s been too busy with work to join us. How’s the sales effort going?”

“Slowly,” she answered. “The negotiations have been pretty intense.”

“Not too intense to get some shopping done,” Jane pointed out, in a tone that could only be described as arch. I turned to her, surprised. Arch was a tone I’d never heard before from Jane. Perhaps pregnancy was sharpening her tongue.

The pink in Abigail’s cheeks seemed to deepen into red, but it could have been a trick of the light. She shifted the Tiffany’s bag from one hand to the other. “Um, yeah. Actually, it’s, um, a gift for the, um, the client. If we get them signed up as a customer. We got them some, um, some-”

“Pens?” supplied Emma helpfully. Only if you knew Emma as well as I did would you pick up on the sarcasm in her tone. And sarcasm from Emma was even more rare than archness from Jane.

“Yes. Pens. As a gift.”

“How considerate,” said Emma.

“Well, I’m glad I ran into you, Rachel, and it was great to meet you all, but I need to get going. I’d just stopped to get some coffee before heading back to the convention center.” Abigail indicated the Starbucks. “We have yet another meeting with the potential client, and I don’t think I can handle it without a big dose of caffeine. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since I got here.”

This time I heard what Hilary said, but Abigail was busy saying goodbye to everyone, and she didn’t seem to notice.

“Knock ’em dead,” I said as she rushed off.

Hilary turned to me. “Knock ’em dead?”

“What was I supposed to say?”

“You could try ‘Keep your hands off my boyfriend, you skank,’ for starters. Are you sure you don’t want me to go after her? I’d be delighted to tell her for you.”

“Hilary,” began Luisa, “I think we may be on the wrong track-”

The ring of my cell phone was a welcome interruption from their spatting. I checked the caller ID, relieved to see that it was neither Peter, with more lame excuses, nor Jonathan Beasley, my favorite serial killer. “Hello?”

“Ms. Benjamin. This is Detective O’Connell. I’m returning your call. You said it was urgent?”

My friends were concerned enough about my delicate mental condition to insist on coming with me to the police station for moral support. In fact, Hilary volunteered to accompany me before the phrase “moral support” had even been uttered.

Ten minutes later we’d retrieved Jane’s Volvo from the garage where she’d parked. I sat up front with Jane, trying to ignore Hilary’s monologue about the various things she would do to Peter, and to Abigail, if she were in my shoes. I knew that this was Hilary’s way of being supportive, but mostly I was just wishing I weren’t anywhere near my shoes. My phone rang again, as if it could sense when I needed a break from Hilary. This time it was the Caped Avenger.

“Rachel, darling. Whitaker Jamieson here.”

“Hello, Whit.” He liked to be called Whit. He felt it lent him a raffish air that went nicely with his cape.

“Wasn’t this morning fabulous? Such a rush. And this deal’s going to be such fabulous fun! I only wish you could have been part of our side of it, but Stan Winslow said you’d have a conflict of interest or something absurd like that. I tried to get around him, but he foisted me off on this Epson fellow. I must say, my dear, that boy’s nowhere as much fun as you are. He never wants to go anywhere fabulous for dinner. And he definitely lacks your charms.” The way the Caped Avenger said “charms” made me wish I didn’t have any, but it was probably a good thing I did. Or at least that he thought I did. Otherwise, he would never have agreed to meet me in an hour to discuss his “fabulous” deal. (“The bar at the Ritz, darling. It’s so fabulous.”)

I must have passed the Cambridge police station in Central Square on more occasions than I could count, but I’d never been inside. It turned out that I hadn’t been missing much.

Jane found a metered spot across the street from the entrance, so she parked and we all went inside together. Hilary didn’t bother to hide her disappointment when O’Connell sent a uniformed officer to bring me, and only me, up to see him. Telling my friends I shouldn’t be long, I followed the policeman up a flight of stairs and down a hallway.

O’Connell’s office defied all stereotypes. I was expecting chaos, overflowing ashtrays and coffee mugs with dregs of whisky remaining from the bottle any seasoned detective must keep stowed in a drawer. Instead, O’Connell’s desk was spotless except for a couple of neatly labeled file folders and a liter bottle of Poland Spring water that didn’t look like it was even spiked.

The man himself looked nearly as spotless as his office-he’d clearly managed a shower and a change, even if the haggard set of his features suggested that he hadn’t managed to sleep since I’d last seen him. He rose when I came in and ushered me into his visitor’s chair with a grave courtesy before resuming his seat behind his desk. He rested his elbows on its surface and templed his fingers together, balancing his chin on their tips. “What can I do for you, Ms. Benjamin?”

“I’m sorry to bother you-I know how busy you must be-but this is important. I’m actually here about two of your cases.”

“Two of my cases? Now this is a blue-ribbon day.” Sarcasm seemed to be in the air today; if it had infected Jane and Emma, I held out little hope that a hardened police detective would be immune.

“I think I know who the prostitute killer is. And I also think that I may know who’s behind the attacks on Sara Grenthaler.”

“Yes, you mentioned that in your previous message. Grant Crocker.”

“I know, but I may have been wrong about that.” I related the events of this morning’s board meeting to O’Connell. “I think Barbara Barnett might have tried to smooth the way by making sure the primary opponent to a takeover was out of commission. The witness said he wasn’t sure if he saw a man or a woman, and Barbara’s tall. And really fit for a woman her age.”

“So let me get this straight,” said O’Connell after hearing me out. “Barbara Barnett attacked Sara Grenthaler in the boathouse in order to prevent her putting up a fight for control of the company.”

“I think so. She probably knew about Sara’s rowing schedule. And she probably has one of those scarves. It seems like everyone has them.”

“And then, when the first attempt didn’t work, she put ephedra in Ms. Grenthaler’s IV bag?”

“She was at the hospital yesterday afternoon,” I pointed out. “We left at the same time, but she mentioned that she had left her gloves in Sara’s room. Sara had just taken a painkiller when we left, so she was probably asleep, and Barbara managed to get drugs into her IV. And then maybe it took a while for the drugs to work their way into her system and have any effect. I’m pretty sure that Barbara’s on some sort of diet pill. I saw her taking something this morning, and she’s obsessed with weight loss.”

Why was it that what had seemed to make perfect sense in my head sounded so flimsy when I laid it out for someone else? I had the same feeling I’d always had as a child when I’d been sent to see the school nurse. I could have been puking my guts out, but she still made me feel like I was faking. I shook my head to clear that memory but now that I was actually telling my story to a trained professional, it did sound pretty absurd.

“Look,” I went on, “I know it sounds implausible. But having Sara out of it while her son’s making a run for her company makes it all a lot easier. Barbara had motive, means and opportunity.” I’d read my share of Agatha Christie novels, after all.

“It’s an interesting idea, and I’ll look into it. Now, let’s move on to the other case. Who’s the perp in that one?”

I was having a bad day, and this time there was no smile to take the edge off his tone. I stood up. “I am not, I repeat, not, a hysterical female. I wouldn’t be here if I thought I was wasting your time.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Please. Ms. Benjamin. Sit down. I don’t mean to make light of your hypotheses.”

I didn’t sit down. “Listen, buddy.” I had no idea where the “buddy” came from. “I’m not here for my health. You may be fine and dandy with Jonathan Beasley running around killing prostitutes willy-nilly, but I think some of the area’s concerned citizens might be a little upset about it.” I had even less an idea as to where I’d come up with “fine and dandy” and “willy-nilly.”

Now his lips were pressed together, as if it were the only way he could contain his laughter. After a long pause, he seemed to trust himself to open his mouth. “You think that Professor Beasley is the prostitute killer.”

“Yes, I do,” I said in my most confident and authoritative voice. And I used the same voice to tell him about watching Jonathan load a body into the trunk of his Saab, as well as my theory about his potential motivations.

“You really saw a foot poking out of the duffel?” O’Connell asked me.

“Yes. Caucasian. With red toenails.” I gave an involuntary shudder.

“Caucasian?” he repeated, arching an eyebrow.

“I watch Law & Order. Isn’t that the term I’m supposed to use?”

“And the bag seemed heavy?”

“Beasley’s a pretty strong guy, but he was having trouble lifting it, like it was unwieldy.”

“Okay. I’ll check into it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“And the thing about Barbara Barnett? You’ll check into that, too?”

“I’ll check into that, too,” he affirmed. “And in the meantime, we’ve still got a guard at the door of Ms. Grenthaler’s hospital room and UHS has beefed up their security protocol.”

He seemed to be taking me seriously, but I hadn’t forgotten his barely suppressed laughter. “I’ll be going then,” I said in my most haughty voice and headed for the door.

He called after me. “Listen, Ms. Benjamin. Rachel. Wait.”

“What?” I asked, spinning around to face him. There was nothing smug or supercilious about the expression on his face. If anything, he looked embarrassed.

“I-I owe you an apology. I didn’t mean to be rude. And I hope I didn’t give you the wrong impression. I do appreciate all of this information. It’s just that I’m really, really tired. We found another body last night. I’ve been up for two days straight, and I’m sort of on edge.”

This, of course, made me feel guilty. “Oh. That must be hard.”

“It is. And we have hardly any leads, and you wouldn’t believe the phone calls I’m getting. When they’re not nutcases confessing to crimes they didn’t commit, they’re city officials threatening to have my job.”

“Oh,” I said again.

“And here you are, trying to do the right thing, and I was being a jerk.”

“No. You weren’t.” Well, he had been a little bit of a jerk, but it was hard to blame him. Even I had found my story to be outlandish. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

“I probably deserved it.”

“I probably was a little hysterical. I’ve had a bad couple of days, too.”

“Either way, I owe you one.”

We looked at each other, mutually sheepish. Then I had an idea.

“I know how you can make it up to me.”

His phone rang, and he apologized to me before picking it up. “Sorry, they wouldn’t have put it through if it weren’t important.” I didn’t point out that I had said my call was urgent and that they hadn’t put it through. “O’Connell, here.” There was a pause while he listened to whomever was on the other end. “Uh-huh…uh-huh.”

My cell phone rang, so I picked it up.

“Rachel? It’s Edie. Edie Michaels.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I’m here with Sara, in her room at UHS. And we found another letter.”

“In her room?”

“Yes. It was in the folds of a magazine I brought her. Only somebody must have put it there after I gave it to her. I bought the magazine at Out of Town News yesterday evening before I picked up the pizza, and then I came directly here. I’m sorry to bother you, but Professor Beasley didn’t answer his phone, and I called the police and they said Detective O’Connell was in a meeting.”

“I know, he’s actually meeting with me, but he’s on a call right now.” I looked over at O’Connell, and he was still occupied with his phone. Then I heard the beep that indicated I had another call coming through. “Edie, can you hold on?”

“Okay.”

I fumbled with the handset for a moment before finding the flash button. “Hello?”

“Hi. It’s me.” It took me a second to realize it was Peter.

“I’m on another call,” I said abruptly. “I’ll call you back.”

I pressed the flash button again and returned to Edie.

“Listen, Edie, I’ll tell O’Connell about the letter, but it’s probably nothing to worry about.” If Barbara Barnett was behind the attacks on Sara, it looked like her Stalker was only Creepy and not Violent. “Can you hang out with Sara for a bit longer?” I checked my watch. I was due to meet the Caped Avenger in a half hour, but then I would go to UHS. I wanted to check on the security for myself, and I also needed to update Sara on everything that was going on with the company. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t alone in the meantime, just in case Barbara Barnett decided to pay a visit.

“Sure.”

O’Connell and I finished our calls at the same time. I told him about the new stalking letter as he escorted me back to the reception area. His brow furrowed. “I’m not happy about that.”

“Not happy about what?” asked Hilary brightly, rising to greet us.

O’Connell looked at me, and I nodded at him. He turned to her, and his smile was only slightly stiff. “I need some coffee,” he said. “I’ve got to make a couple of phone calls first, but if you can wait until I’m done, maybe you could come with me and we could do that interview you mentioned?”