I finished lunch, crumpled up the sandwich wrapping, and tossed it in the trash. I folded down the top of the cellophane bag with a generous helping of leftover Fritos and secured it with a paper clip. I slid them into my desk’s bottom drawer, saving them for a snack in case I felt peckish later in the afternoon. I heard the door in my outer office open and close. For a brief moment, I thought it might be Marvin and I looked up expectantly. No such luck. The woman who appeared in my doorway was Diana Alvarez, a reporter who worked for the local paper. While I’m not famous for my friendliness and charm, there aren’t many people whom I truly detest. She was at the top of my list. I’d met her in the course of the investigation I’d closed out the week before. Diana’s brother Michael had hired me to find two guys he’d suddenly remembered from an incident that occurred when he was six. The particulars don’t pertain so I’ll skip right over to the relevant part. Michael was highly suggestible, given to bending the truth. In his teens, he’d accused his family of hideous forms of sexual molestation after a shrink administered truth serum and regressed him to an earlier age. Turned out to be hogwash and Michael eventually recanted, but not before the family was destroyed. His sister, Diana-also known as Dee-was still bitter and did everything she could to undermine his credibility, even in death.
I took in the sight of her, reveling in my distaste. Seeing someone you dislike is almost as much fun as reading a really bad work of fiction. It’s possible to experience a perverse sense of satisfaction on every clunky page.
Diana was officious, superior, and aggressive. On top of that, I didn’t like the clothes she wore-though I’ll admit I’d adopted her habit of wearing black tights on the rare occasion when I wore a skirt. Today’s ensemble was a perky red-and-black plaid jumper with a red V-neck T-shirt under it. I repressed a tiny spark of appreciation.
I said, “Hello, Diana. I didn’t think I’d see you so soon.”
“A surprise to me as well.”
“I’m sorry about Michael’s death.”
“It’s just like the Bible says: you reap what you sow. I know that sounds cold, but what else would you expect after what he did to us?”
I let the comment pass. “I thought I’d see something in the paper about his funeral.”
“There won’t be one. We’ve decided against. If we change our minds, I’ll be happy to contact you.”
She sat down without invitation, tucking her skirt under her in a manner meant to minimize wrinkles. She put her purse on the desk while she settled herself. The first time she came to my office, she’d carried a clutch not much bigger than a pack of cigarettes. This bag was substantially bigger.
Fully settled, she said, “I’m not here to talk about Michael. I’m here to talk about something else.”
I said, “Be my guest.”
“I went to the services for Audrey Vance. I saw your name in the guest book, but I didn’t see you.”
“I left early.”
“The reason I bring it up is I pitched a story to my editor about the people who’ve gone off the Cold Spring Bridge, starting with Audrey and working back to 1964 when the bridge was completed.”
Her tone suggested she’d composed the lead in her head so she could try it out on me. My gaze strayed to the purse still sitting on my desk. Did the clasp harbor a teensy-weensy microphone attached to a recorder picking up every word we said? She hadn’t taken out her spiral-bound notebook, but she was clearly in reporter mode. “How did you know Audrey?” she asked.
“I didn’t. I went to the funeral home with a friend, who was there to pay his respects.”
“So your friend was a friend of hers?”
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
She steadied a look on me, one brow rising slightly. “Really. And why is that? Is there something going on?”
“The woman died. I never met her. Sorry I can’t help you turn her miserable demise into a feature-length article.”
“Oh, please. You can drop the pious tone. I’m not in it for the sentiment. This is work. I understand there’s a question about whether or not she jumped. If you think I’m exploiting her death, you’re missing the bigger picture.”
“Let’s just say this. I’m not a good source. You should try someone else.”
“I did. I spoke to her fiancé. He says he hired you to investigate.”
“Then I’m sure you understand why I can’t comment.”
“I don’t know why not when he’s the one who suggested I talk to you.”
“I thought it was because you saw my name in the guest book and couldn’t wait to chat.”
Her smile was thin. “I’m sure you’re as interested as I am in finding out what happened to the poor woman. I thought we could team up.”
“Team up? As in what?”
“Sharing information. You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.”
“Uh, no. I think not.”
“What if it was murder?”
“Then you can get the inside dope from the cops. In the meantime, don’t you have a string of suicides to research?”
“I’m not your enemy.”
I said nothing. I swiveled in my swivel chair, which made a satisfying squeak. In the silence department, I could outlast her, which she must have realized.
She put the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “I’d heard you were difficult, but I had no idea.”
“Well, now you know.”
The minute she was gone I picked up the phone and called Marvin. He was in a chatty mood. I was not.
“Excuse me for cutting in,” I said, “but did you send Diana Alvarez over here to talk to me?”
“Sure. Nice gal. I figured it would help if we had someone like her on our team. She says newspaper coverage can make a big difference. ‘Huge’ is what she said. You know, getting the word out to the public something fishy’s going on. She said it would encourage people to come forward. Somebody might have seen something without realizing what it was. She suggested I offer a reward.”
I suppressed the urge to bang my head on the desk. “Marvin, I’ve dealt with her before…”
“I know. She told me. Her brother was murdered so she’s sympathetic to the situation.”
“She’s as sympathetic as a piranha gnawing on your leg.”
He laughed. “Good line. I like that. So how’d you do with her? I thought the two of you could brainstorm and come up with a game-plan, maybe develop a few leads.”
“She’s a bitch. I don’t talk to her about anything.”
“Oh. Well, it’s your call, but you’re making a mistake. She could do us some good.”
“Then why don’t you talk to her. Or better yet, she can talk to the police. These are two of the three suggestions I have for her. The third I won’t repeat.”
“You sound testy.”
“I am testy,” I said. “Is there anything else?”
“Actually, there is. I’ve been thinking about this shoplifting stuff and I don’t see that much to get upset about. Sure, Audrey might have lifted a couple of items. I’m willing to concede the point, but so what? It’s not like I approve, but in the greater scheme of things, it’s not that big a deal, right? I’m not whitewashing her actions. All I’m saying is shoplifting’s not the same as knocking off banks.”
“Oh, really. Well, maybe I can put it in perspective,” I said. “Audrey wasn’t operating on her own. You’re disregarding what I told you before, which is that I saw her working with another woman. Trust me when I tell you, there are others involved. These people are highly organized. They make a regular circuit, moving from town to town, stealing anything that isn’t nailed down.”