“Hardly. Spencer’s never had a crush on anyone except himself. I don’t know why he doesn’t like me. I think I’m very likable, don’t you? But I don’t want to talk about Spencer anymore.”
I sat up, turned around to face him, and held my wine glass out.
“More, please, sir.”
Barnacle grumbled mildly as Gabe stood and went to the kitchen to refill my glass and his own.
“Thanks,” I said as I reached for my glass. I re-situated myself with one leg tucked under me and my back resting against the arm of the sofa. When Gabe had settled in facing me, I lifted my glass to him.
“To your safe return from the big city. I missed you. Tell me about your trip. Did you have fun? Fix your friend’s problem? What was the problem, anyway? You didn’t say.”
“I didn’t say, because I can’t. And it’s not fixed, no.”
His voice was a little sharp and he seemed to realize it, because he smiled and put his usual light teasing tone in the next thing he said.
“I had dinner with my old boss and some friends from the office, and that part of the trip was great. You’ll have to come with me sometime. I can show you all over the city.”
I picked up on the “that part of the trip” phrase but decided not to push it at the moment.
“Yes, please. I’d love to do a Law & Order tour of New York. We could go to all the places where the bodies are found, take a trip to Alphabet City, Rikers, maybe stop by Hudson University.”
“You do know Hudson University isn’t real, right?”
“What? I suppose you’re going to tell me that Jack McCoy isn’t the real Manhattan District Attorney, either.”
He lifted an expressive eyebrow and shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry for your loss.”
“Well then, no. I don’t want to go to any New York where Law & Order isn’t real. You’ll just have to stay in real world Himmel if you want to keep seeing me.”
“Oh, I definitely do,” he said, lifting my wine glass out of my hand and setting it down on the coffee table. Barnacle, sensing that we were about to engage in activity in which he had no part, jumped off the couch.
6
On Monday, I virtuously spent most of the day pounding out pages on my book, but around four o’clock, I got a surprise phone call from an old friend. I put everything away in favor of meeting her for a drink and dinner to catch up.
Linda Linkul is a tall, green-eyed blonde. I hadn’t seen her in five years, but she looked just the same walking into McClain’s Bar & Grill. Her long hair, parted on one side, waved softly to her shoulders. She could have been a suburban mom dressed for cheering on her seven-year-old at a soccer game—navy and white striped T-shirt, white and navy zip jacket, navy ankle pants, and white sneakers. But I knew she was actually a very tough reporter, who was a lot more at home shouting questions at a slippery politician than she would be shouting encouragement at a soccer game.
I slid out from the booth and stood to give her a hug.
“Linda! You look great.”
“You, too.”
As we sat down she said, “I like your watering hole. Something about duct tape on vinyl and scratched wooden tables speaks to me. This reminds me of the Tortoise and Hare. Remember how we used to go there after deadline?”
As she asked the question, a waiter came by with two glasses of Jameson on the rocks.
“Perfect timing, Brent, thanks,” I said as he placed the whiskeys I’d ordered in front of us.
“You’re welcome. Do you guys want a menu?”
“Mmm, it’s a little early for eating. Maybe in a while. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
As he left I lifted my glass. “To old friends.”
“To old friends,” she said, clinking her glass against mine.
“Jameson!” she said with satisfaction after taking her first sip. “Even if you forget to stay in touch, at least you remember how I taught you to drink.”
“Don’t try to guilt trip me. I’m just the second-worst person in the world at keeping in touch. You’re the first.”
“Okay, you’re right. It’s great to see you now, though. What are you up to?”
“No, you first.”
“Well, you probably read that the Tampa Tribune shut down a couple of months ago.”
I had worked for a short while at the Trib before moving on to the Miami Star Register. Linda had been at the Register when I arrived but had moved to the Tribune shortly after that. Our careers had crisscrossed at several papers since we had first met in Green Bay.
“Yes, I heard about that. Things are getting scary out there.”
“Yeah, they are. I’ve been doing some freelancing, but the constant hustle is wearing me down. I don’t think I’m built for the gig economy. Lately I’ve been thinking I might follow in your footsteps.”
“You mean you’d like to write a book, make some money, then throw it all into buying a newspaper that isn’t making it? From personal experience, I have to say that’s not the path to success it might sound like.”
“I mean I’m thinking about trying to write a true crime book myself. I’m doing some research now. Do you remember a murder in Sherwood years ago? A young waitress was strangled and her killer was never found.”
“Doesn’t sound familiar.”
“You were probably too busy being a college kid then. Or wait, no. God, I’m old. You were probably still in high school. It was right after I started in Green Bay. It was my first murder.”
“Is Sherwood that one-stoplight town southeast of Oshkosh?”
“You got it. It’s just a post office, a grocery store, a second-hand shop, and Harvey’s Wonder Bar. Harvey’s is one of those out-of-the-way bars that people go to because the drinks are cheap, the burgers are good, and the staff doesn’t look too hard at IDs. The murder was the biggest thing that ever happened there.”
“So why do you think it will make a good book?”
“I’m not sure it will, but it’s one of those stories I can’t get out of my head. You must have a few of those.”
“Yeah, sure,” I said, thinking of the Mandy Cleveland murder, a story I’d been turning over in my mind and trying to write for years. “What makes this murder one of those for you?”
“Tessa Miles. The victim. She was nineteen. A foster kid who aged out of the system. No family to help her. She wanted to be a special ed teacher. So, when other kids were partying and living off their parents, Tessa got a job at Harvey’s Wonder Bar at night and cleaned houses during the day. She lived alone in a rental about the size of a shipping container, but not as nice, and saved everything she made for college.”
“She must have really wanted to be a teacher.”
“According to the people she worked with, that was all she talked about. Though she didn’t talk much. She was a cute girl, a little shy for waitress work. Everybody liked her, but nobody knew her very well. Tessa pretty much went to work, went home, walked her dog, and went to work again, according to her boss and her coworkers.”
“So, how did she wind up dead?”