Widow’s Walk

CHAPTER TWELVE

Susan had decided we should ride bikes. So we rented a couple, to see how we liked it, and set out.

“We’ll just ride along the river a little ways,” Susan had said. “And then we can sit and have our little lunch, and then ride back. It’ll be fun.”

“Did you know that bike riding is a threat to male fertility?” I said.

“That doesn’t matter.”

“How about a threat to potency?”

“That would matter,” Susan said.

We rode past the Harvard Business School on the Boston side of the river, heading into town. The balance was still a little shaky, but I knew it would come. There wasn’t room on the trail to ride beside each other. Bikes coming in the other direction couldn’t get by. So I trailed along behind her, admiring her butt in its spandex tights. It was not fun. I hadn’t ridden a bicycle since I was a kid in Wyoming, and after five minutes on this one I was glad I hadn’t. We went over the Weeks footbridge to the Cambridge side again, and stopped and sat on benches near the Harvard women’s boathouse. Susan took a brown paper bag out of her backpack and began to set out finger sandwiches.

“There,” Susan said. “Was that fun?”

“What would be fun about it?” I said. “We’re not even together while we’re riding.”

“You’re just afraid you’ll fall off and embarrass yourself.”

“I thought you thought I was fearless,” I said.

“About stuff that matters,” she said. “But when it doesn’t matter, you hate doing things at which you’re not accomplished.”

“Shall I lean back, Doc, and recall my childhood?”

Susan took a small bite of her egg salad sandwich. “I have all the information about you I require,” she said. “Tell me about the Nathan Smith business you’re working on.”

“There’s a lot wrong with the Nathan Smith business,” I said. “First of all, there’s someone following me.”

“Dangerous?”

“No,” I said. “It’s a what’s-he-up-to tail, rather than a try-to-kill-him tail.”

“Oh good,” Susan said. “Do they know you’ve spotted them?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “They’re still being covert. If they knew I’d made them they wouldn’t bother.”

“And you think it relates to the Nathan Smith murder?”

“Started shortly after I took the case,” I said.

“Do you know who they are?”

“They’re connected to a company called Soldiers Field Development Limited, the CEO of which is on Mary Smith’s invitation list.”

I took a second finger sandwich from the bag.

“What’s here besides bread and ham?” I said.

“Butter.”

“Butter?”

“Well, not exactly butter. I sprayed it with one of those no-calorie butter-flavored sprays. Same thing.”

“Jesus,” I said.

“Is it possible that it’s a coincidence, the surveillance and stuff? Or maybe connected to another case you were involved in? A loose end somewhere?”

“Always possible,” I said. “I leave enough loose ends. On the other hand, what do you shrinks think about coincidences?”

“They occur, but it is not a good idea to assume them.”

“That’s what we sleuths think about them, too,” I said.

“So if this were the open-and-shut it seems to be,” Susan said, “why would anyone follow you?”

“Why indeed?” I said.

“Do you have a theory?”

“Nothing so grand,” I said. “The tail aside, there’s a lot I don’t like about this. I don’t like how lousy Mary Smith’s alibi is. I don’t like the sense I get that there’s a lot I’m not being told.”

“By whom?”

“By Mary Smith. By a guy named Roy Levesque that she was in high school with. By a guy named DeRosa who says Mary asked him to kill Nathan. By the woman I talked with at Nathan’s bank. Nice woman, Amy Peters.”

“As nice as I am?” Susan said.

“Of course not,” I said. “She has information, or at least a theory, that she’s not sharing. So does Mary Smith’s PR guy. I’d also like to figure out why a stiff like DeRosa is represented by an attorney from Kiley and Harbaugh.”

“But you have a plan,” Susan said.

“I always have a plan,” I said.

“Let me guess,” she said. “I’ll bet you plan to keep blundering along annoying people, and see what happens.”

“Wow,” I said. “You shrinks can really read a guy.”

“Magical, isn’t it,” she said.